Story 03: Homu!

I sat on a chair with one other in front, facing me. Cool black metal, the kind that wrestlers use to bludgeon each other into the floor. I scanned the square room. The walls, and room, were bare of anything but faint lines, suggesting it was made of tiles. White tiles. I was sitting on black chairs inside a bright, white room. Somehow the symbolism was lost on me.

My eyes moved back to the chair in front, only to find a girl sitting there. Loose, short pink hair. Cotton candy colored eyes that held a carnival's worth of joy. A mirthful smile, the sweetest I've seen in the whole world. Lime green PJs donned her petite body. She was wiggling in her chair, looking straight at me, clutching her hands in front of her in the way all little girls do.

"Hello, Homura-chan!" an innocent voice wafted through those lips. Something about her made me feel hollow inside, as if she took an ice cream scooper and scrapped everything out, leaving only expectant anticipation behind.

"Hello." I said back, hoping I sounded friendly, polite. Her name was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't remember it for the life of me. So I didn't say it. Didn't want to make a mistake.

"How are you?" She asked, never breaking eye contact with me. I felt watched, intense, as if she was scrutinizing my body as well as my soul.

"F-fine..." I replied, smiling a fraction. My eyes darted to the left, worriment overwhelming me, and soon my eyes were upon her's again.

"Homura-chan!" She raised her voice, the room vibrating from it, then shut her mouth, an embarrassed expression on her face, but continued once she lowered her voice some. "I want you to do something for me!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Say, 'Homu!'" She smiled wider, visibly excited.

"Homu? ... Why?"

"Just do it for me, pretty please?"

"Al-alright, if it's for you." Saying it once couldn't hurt, right? I licked my lips, making what was dry wet. "Ho-homu!" That word bounced around the room, only to end up inside this girl's ears, who was all too happy to hear it.

"Homura-chan, you did it! You really did it! That was so exciting!" Then she was holding a maid's outfit to me, still as ambivalent as before. "Now put this on and say 'Homuhomu.'" I grew worried. Why the dress? Why a MAID'S dress, specifically? Why was this girl in here and bothering me with such meaningless tasks?

"I... mm, no. W-why should I w-wear a maid's dress and say h-h-h... that?" I was on pins and needles, refusing a silly offer from a girl clearly ready to go to bed for the night. What unnerved me the most was that, she didn't move a muscle. Not a single iota of muscle fiber twitched, stationary as a gargoyle, stuck in that pure happy smile. Then a muscle moved. That one, right below her left eyeball, twitched. Then the fingers came to life, and bright rectangles obscured her eyes, and her smile turned into a snarl.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?!" She screamed at me, her voice echoing in the tiny, empty room, standing up to her meager height.

"I-I-I-I-I-I don't see the point, is all! Tell me, why am I doing these things?" My heart ran like the rabbit and pounded like a dragon's.

Silence.

"Put the dress on and say 'Homuhomu!'" she went into a rage and beat me repeatedly on the head with the maid's outfit. Pomf. Pomf. Pomf. The dress wasn't that heavy, or hard, it was the person wielding it that was the source of my misery. Pomf. Pomf. Pomf. Luckily my red colored glasses didn't fall off, and that my braids were holding fast against this storm. Pomf. Pomf. Pomf. Say it! Pomf. Pomf. Pomf. Get in the dress, Homura-chan!

Pomf.

Pomf.

You're boring Homura-Chan!

Pomf.

I couldn't take this abuse anymore. With tears in my eyes I said what she wanted me to.

Pomf.

"Say - wait, what did you just say?" the girl held the dress up as if it were the ten commandments.

"H-homu..." Tears ran down my cheeks as my pride and self dignity evaporated. The words came out like an ambulance's wail. "Homuhomu!"

"Very good, Homura-chan! Now, wear this and say it!" She prodded the dress against me. I took it and wore it, like a good pet. It didn't matter if I was wearing anything underneath, I was wearing the maid's outfit, and must've looked great in it, for she brightened up considerably.

"Homuhomu! Homuhomu!" I said those words over and over again, dying a little inside each time, a little more from her clapping, and completely with each hearty, mirth filled laugh. I stood next to my chair, feeling as good as naked, hands clenched side to side of the skirt, eyes plastered to the now very interesting floor, obeying her while her happiness stabbed my heart. Everything was peaches and limes to her.

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Chiaki Matsuda woke up. All she knew of was she was born in a world of cheap flooring and a thousand sledgehammer headaches. Flexing her limbs, she learned she was sprawled out every which way. Standing up - slowly, carefully, with unsteadiness - she squinted at her surroundings. She was in the kitchen, and, looking at her plain underwear, nearly nude. She must've fallen into a deep enough sleep for it to go away.

Stepping on turtleshells, she went to her bathroom, and opened up the wall mirror. Several bottles of painkillers stood while several others were intimating her stance from a minute ago. A flask of what would be Casey beer stood at the top shelf like a king. Grabbing it, she screwed it open, and opened a few bottles, throwing the empty ones aside and shaking the full one empty. She popped the handful in. She had a dream. A nightmare, really, of a maid's outfit battering her over and over again. She'll never wear one, she silently vowed, washing the mouth of pills down to her gut.

It was time to kill the pain.