Friday

The last thing you can remember is the sound of an EKG machine beep, beep, beeping. You had been in a hospital, you know that much. But you don't know what for. You weren't sick. Were you? Don't answer that. None of those questions matter now, anyway. You're not in the hospital anymore. You're lying in a bed, in a room you recognise but can't quite place. It's the spitting image of the bedroom you always wanted as a young child, but something about the... perfection of it feels off. You slowly sit up on the bed and glance around the room, taking it in. This must be weird for you, huh? Just as you're about to peer into a mirror you'd found on the bedside table, the door of the room opens. A boy, roughly around your age, with dark blonde hair and a face that's ever so slightly blurred, so that you can only really make out his blue eyes, and wearing an oversized dull blue sweater, faded grey flared jeans and a pair of scuffed tartan converse high tops, comes in. He looks at you and you hear him gasp softly. He then takes a couple steps towards the bed, and says loudly, not really talking to you. "You's awake, Mom!" You notice his voice is slightly distorted. Spooky. Then he rolls his eyes and steps closer to the bed again. "Sorry about that, but I've got to play along. I'm Friday." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You like the room? Don't." Friday looks out of the window, flicking the curtain out of the way. He looks down at the perfect trap that is the early morning Ash Grove, scoffs softly, then side eyes you. He feels sorry for you, you know? But he's going to get you out of here, even if neither of you really know what 'here' actually is. "Don't like anything here, You you'll regret it if you do. I'll help you fit in, you know, learn the routines and all that." As he talks, Friday picks at his fingers - so that's why they're covered in plasters! He opens the curtains, letting the morning sun's rays cascade into the room. "Talking about routines, we've got breakfast in a few minutes." Friday glances at the still open door, as if expecting someone to come in, but they don't. From outside the window, sounds of Ash Grove's residents waking up for their perfect day's can be heard.