You move to try the door handle only to find that there is none. The door has completely sealed shut, becoming just another steel wall of the phone booth-sized chamber.
The smell of burnt meat and chemicals is enough to make you gag. The bare bulb above flickers and hums. You notice a blue residue encrusted to the sides of the bulb in streaks, as if some liquid has poured down it and dripped. Above the bulb, nozzles are set in to the ceiling, encrusted with the blue chemical too.
"Um, he-hello?" you ask.
The sound echoed back at you from the walls, the only company the image of yourself reflected back upon the mirror wall, looking rather absurd in their ornate, billowing graduation gown. Your face looks pale and nervous. Why should you be afraid? You're only a dozen feet beneath the streets of Wonder City, the happiest theme park in the world. Nothing bad happens here.
Yet your fingers betray your nerves, absently tugging at tearing at the heavy parchment of the envelope, tearing it into strips and the strips into confetti to distract your mind. You'd forgotten all about the letter! It is sure to explain everything!
Dear Charles Wright,
Congratulations on successfully passing the Wondrous™ Certified Actors Training Program and Thank You for agreeing to become a part of WonderWorld: The Theme Park of the Future, Today!
In order to keep the magic of WonderWorld a secret, we would like to remind you that you continue to be held under the Non-Disclosure Agreement signed at your admission to the Program and that any breach of said agreement with regards to the workings of WonderWorld or any activities you may perform, or have performed upon you, to visitors, social media, traditional media, law enforcement, or government agencies will be punished to the full extent of the law. Furthermore, Wondertainment maintains the right to terminate your contract immediately due to this or any other infraction, with any outstanding tuition fees waived by Wondertainment for the 5-year probation period required to be repaid with 14-days.
And furthermore... Welcome!
During your years at WonderCollege, you may have been studying with us but what you may not know is that we have been studying you! Using personality surveys conducted discretely during your three years with us, as well as assessments submitted by your tutors and classmates, we have hand selected for you the perfect role within our extensive stable of characters, which we believe is well within your acting range. Don't disappoint us!
Please find below the list of what we believe are your greatest strengths as an actor, which were used in our selection process:
- Pep 67%
- Naivete 96%
- Height 170cm [within acceptable adjustable parameters]
- Servility 36% [within acceptable adjustable parameters]
- Litigitinousness 12%
Considering this, furthering your required Meconstruction, you have been cast in the role of...!
The bottom third of the letter has been folded over and glued down. A handful of gold glitter pours out when you open it up.
Mighty Maid
"Wait, what." This is a mistake, right? No. Your name is right there at the top of the letter.
Mighty Maid is a joke of a character, a sexist relic of a time in the 1970s when comic books were written by misogynists and illustrated to pander to the 13-18 male demographic, after they discovered that a big breasted French maid on the front page tripled sales. Her creator, William Byrne, had been infamous for his love of bondage, and so her stories usually involved her being tied up after (once again) naively accepting the job of cleaning the evil villain's volcano lair, and typically ended with her being rescued by Captain Capable and spanked over his knee on the steps of the town hall.
It was frankly baffling to you that company as progressive as Wondertainment had deigned her appropriate for a role in their Wonder Cinematic Universe, let alone their theme park. Fortunately they had chosen to improve the poor actress' working conditions after that disgruntled employee had come forward.
"Hello?" you say again to the cubicle. "I think there's been a mistake."
To your surprise, with a tiny electronic click, the mirror in front of you suddenly becomes a window. A window on to a broad, darkened room illuminated by the thousands of glowing switches on banks of computer terminals, and the light that streams from your cubicle and the cubicles either side of you. Though you cannot see into the cubicles next to you, you can see the light from them playing over the faces of the men in white coats seated at the computers - some of the light is blue and ripples, as if shining though a spray of chemicals pouring down the window; another distinctly shows the shadows of arms thrashing before the bulb.
The man at the console situated in front of your cubicle leans towards a microphone at his desk. "No mistake."
*click* The window becomes a mirror once more.
"What! I'm not Mighty Maid!"
*click* The mirror becomes a window. "Not yet." *click*
A cold sense of dread is starting to form in the pit of your stomach. You bang your fist on the mirror. "Mighty Maid's a girl!!"
*click* "Do not bang on the glass." *click*
You can picture her clearly from the news coverage - the video recordings taken by visitors of her mincing about the tropical resort on stilettos with a frilly black skirt hitched up over her backside, bending over with her feather duster to clean up every piece of trash the gaggle of leering male fans threw in front of her. You picture the middle-age men pinching the curvy cheeks of the 2D character they'd grown up fantasizing over. You slam your fist harder.
*click* "I said don't touch the glass," says the voice icily. The man reaches for a blue dial on his desk, cranking it up. There is a gurgle above...
Psccchhhhh. A mist of neon blue liquid sprays from the ceiling. In a moment, you look as if you've fallen into a port-a-potty as the acrid stuff drips down your torso, soaks through your clothes, until you're sodden to the skin. You splutter in protest. The man cranks the dial further and the mist becomes like a heavy rain.
There is something thicker dripping down the back of your neck. You reach your hands up to your head and pull them away covered in black goop. The mortarboard hat was... melting.
"Hey, that was a rental!"
The letter, envelope, and diploma in your hands are becoming mush, the thick parchment like a rice paper that tears apart and dribbles through your fingers. You can feel the deep groves of the drainage channels beneath your feet, as the thick rubber soals of your shoes begins to melt and wash away. The heavy graduation gown slings to you, chunks of it bubbling and sloughing away.
The treacle-like melted plastic and fabric of the mortarboard dribbles still down your scalp. You try to pull more of it out of your hair. Your fingers comes away matted in a handful of your auburn curls.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
