May I see the Face and not the Mask

On March 26, 2022February 18, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

While I don’t make perfect practiced poses, just like Isabella, there’s a lot that hides behind my smile. At the office and even among friends, I’ve adopted the role of being the one with all the jokes. The one that laughs the loudest even as I offer dark deadpan humour. In many ways it’s become my shtick and the way I deal with the challenges life has thrown us. And in this pandemic, if you aren’t laughing, you’re basically crying – either at the numbers that are dead and dying or because the human race is imbecilic.

There’s a lot of pressure to pretend that everything is fine and that the world isn’t burning (somewhat ironic considering we had an electrical fire in the office not too long ago – I wasn’t there but gosh, it sounded so darn exciting). And that there is another song from Encanto that definitely that struck a chord with me. Surface Pressure. I may not have other siblings but I shoulder so many things and expectations that it’s a wonder I haven’t yet cracked from all the pressure.

In the workplace, I’m known as ol’ reliable. I help new staff that come through, answer questions and am trusted with all the hard work that no-one else can actually do even though they’ve already been there for years. And because I just don’t know how to say ‘no’ anymore, particularly now that I have to actually be an adult, I bend over backwards trying to get all my work done. All without the additional pay or privilege that comes with actually being a team leader or manager.

That’s not to say that I want to be one. Oh no. The responsibility of actually managing people is terrifying. But I also hate that my kindness is being taken advantage of. Yes, I’m competent at what I do (and my talents are probably being wasted in an office job), there’s no denying that. And yet, to quote a song from the musical Six, ‘You must think that I’m crazy’ if I’m going to just allow people to steamroll right over me. ‘Sorry not sorry about what I said, I just wanted to have some fun. Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t lose your head. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.’

Why aren’t we training up the others in the team? Why aren’t we giving them more opportunities to upskill?

Honestly, there have been moments when I fantasise about how freeing it would be to just walk away.

Maybe if I were to fake my own death and then pop up in the life of luxury or as a Twitch Streamer or a New York Times best-selling author.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just very good at masking my own needs and wants very well. I feel like a fraud every time I walk into the office with pep in my step and a saccharine smile on my face. Because, truth be told, I’m really just dying on the inside.

Anxiety and melancholy have always been my two best friends through life. Some people worry about performance issues with a partner in bed. I worry about if I’m hitting or even exceeding KPI. In the dark of the night, the things that send a trickle of fear down my back is how well I’ve been doing and the things that I might have forgotten to do in the office – like printing off a letter and sending it out.

And it shouldn’t be like that!

It’s for that very reason I wrote my short story Splintered. I am so sick of pretending at being just one aspect of who I really am. Of showing people the masks I wear to fit into society that I forget who I am on the inside. It’s tiring and draining and sometimes I just want to give up the fight.

There’s a lesson to be learned here. About how society keeps pushing and pushing and pushing when all I want to do is lie still and just simply be. Is it any wonder that people like to hide in their houses such as the hikikomori phenomenon in Japan?

Maybe that’s why I felt so drawn to Ren, the main protagonist in the Rook and Rose series of books. It always feels like I’m living a lie. When everyone else seems to be taking photos down next to the pool, I’m indoors trying to get through the next big blockbuster game or watching through an interesting documentary about a serial killer on Netflix.

There’s a ton of labels out there in the world today. And there are so many people that just want to pigeonhole themselves into a role because it makes the world more understandable. This may not be politically correct, but you can be all those things AND MORE. There’s no need to limit your interests and hobbies to what is typical of a given label. Nor do you really need to label yourself just to feel that you belong to a particular group.

But maybe I’m just angry that I’ve been trying to find a place to call my own and I keep failing to make those connections to people I think I have the most in common with. Maybe I am just jealous of the closeness others display that make me wonder what if I had been the one to make the first move.

I have a ton of regrets and I’m not entirely sure where my life might lead. In desperation, I even downloaded Hinge as an experiment. The men I’ve chatted with have been nice, but there hasn’t been anyone I’ve clicked with just yet. I’ve tried matching with some of the women and non-binary individuals on the app, but so far…nothing.

Probably because I’m just another one of the ‘pick me’/ ‘not like other girls’ stereotypes that seem to rankle their sensibilities. A woman that hates wearing dresses? Plays video games? God, could she be trying any harder?

But really, the only reason I’ve liked them is because I just want tips. Like where to get their suits/ tuxedos, how they’ve managed to find the best guy-like shoes that are made for women, and if someone will GOSH DARN PLAY DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS WITH ME! I live with my grandmother and mother. One of whom doesn’t speak a lick of English! And the other is obsessed with reading Chinese isekai stories!

I also have no-one in my immediate vicinity of friends that seems to care about Critical Role! Can someone please just discuss how awesome Fearne Calloway and Laudna are? Or maybe we can chat about GameTheory and the hundred other things that seem solely to have piqued my interest but no-one else.

Why does it feel like every day that I have to hide all these things about me, smile and laugh when people talk about the weather, and why couldn’t I have made friends with the cool people in the grade below/ in another school/ somewhere halfway across the world/ only exist on the television that also SHARE THE THINGS THAT I LOVE!

Okay. That was my scream into the universe done for the day. I’m just going to find some dark corner to curl up in now and read trash fanfiction until I die.

Pokemon Legends: Enter the Omegaverse!

On March 19, 2022February 22, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

The latest Pokemon game by developer GameFreak is a re-imagining of the franchise that defined several key moments of my childhood. Gone are the days of walking around in circles, hoping to enter a random battle with an elusive creature that has a 0.2% of appearing. There are no bicycles to be had. Nor are there any big towns or cities with gyms that are awaiting to be challenged. With Pokemon Legends: Arceus, many of the old formulas are thrown out the window – and the game is better for it. If I had to go back to how Pokemon used to be played, I’d almost definitely find the process exceedingly tiresome and grindy.

Arceus begins with the player character being zapped from their home, given the outfit I was wearing, it felt a bit like Alola, and travelling through a space-time rift into the past. Before I knew it, the God of the Pokemon world had vanished my phone and I was left on a beach without any idea of where I was or when I was. Until a Professor Laventon, dressed in 19th century attire, bumped into me and vouched for my good character into becoming part of Jubilife Village.

Many people have described the aesthetic of Arceus as Feudal Japan. But after spending time in the game world, and taking in the actual technology on display, it felt more like the closing years of the Edo period and perhaps the start of the Meiji. Of course, I’m no actual student of Japanese history and my knowledge is limited to the anime shows I’ve watched.

That aside, I was keen to change out of my t-shirt, shorts and horrendous sandals (I may not have a feet fetish like Quentin Tarantino but my goodness, have you seen the feet of my player character? It’s terrifying!) and into something more appropriate for a grand adventure in the Hisui wilderness.

And what a breath of fresh air was the gameplay! The fact that experience points could be gained just from lobbing a Pokeball and catching these wonderful creatures at full health! The stalking around in tall grass or distracting them with berries or flavoured cakes!

Yes, Pokemon battles still existed but I wasn’t stopped every few metres by some youngster or bug catcher after accidentally making eye contact with them.

For the first time, playing a Pokemon game evoked the feeling of actually living in a world with these creatures and trying to understand how they all fit into the ecosystem. For too long, the games were only satisfied with providing creepy Pokedex entries but limited the way the players could see how these monsters interacted with the environment. And getting to see their individual personalities was also interesting. Not all Pokemon are docile. And just like the inspirations that they derive from, some are aggressive while others scarper at the first sign of trouble.

Night and day also had different Pokemon roaming the wilderness. And, as before, zubats and drifloon proved to be the most irritating to encounter.

From a narrative standpoint, Arceus falters. There’s a basic plotline of the main character helping out the Galaxy team as they explore a new region and helping the clans that already call it home by quelling their frenzied noble Pokemon. Yes, there’s a whole grand reveal of Volo being some sort of cultist of one that is devoted to remaking the whole world in his image by capturing Arceus (which is only revealed in the end-game), but for most of the plot, it was an excuse to bind together the different locations together in order to continue the addictive gameplay loops with a variety of different Pokemon types.

I must say, though, that water types lurking out in the water are the HARDEST to capture. Some of the flying ones are as well, but their pre-evolution forms populate the rest of the world and oft times, it was just a simple affair of levelling them up to evolve.

As for graphic fidelity…while the game is a vast improvement from the models used in previous entries, when compared to the state of video games on other platforms, such as PlayStation and Xbox, it is clear that Pokemon lags behind. The fact that the franchise is about twenty-five years old and STILL doesn’t have voice acting for cutscenes is also a shame. Although, as with my playthrough of the Great Ace Attorney, I also supplied a few of the voices of the characters for my own amusement. That Commander Kamado slipped into some weird interpretation of Scottish when he was angry was just a highlight to voice in the silence of my own gaming area.

Honestly, at this point, my mother probably thinks I’m crazy. But hey, if a game doesn’t have voice acting, I need to supply my own.

Pokemon Legends: Arceus is a great step forward for the franchise that has felt like it’s been stagnating for several years. As a player, I’m keen to see how GameFreak might implement the lessons they’ve learned in the development of his game to the mainline games. A modern setting can still work and there’s certainly still a form of wondrous magic that comes with throwing a Pokeball at something and watching it snap and pop with a successful catch.

But on a real note, the introduction of frenzied Pokemon and Alpha Pokemon being much more aggressive does make me wonder about something. As someone that is not unfamiliar with the fanfiction world, it definitely seems like there’s something lurking in the distance. The random lightning wasn’t just imbuing the Noble Pokemon with more power. It was basically putting them into their first heat. All these aggressive stand-offs? They’re all in need of a good ru-

Hey! Why are you dragging me away? This is what the internet is all about! How can you say that there aren’t pheromones in play?

I won’t be silenced! You won’t hear the last from me!

THE OMEGAVERSE IS REAL! AND IT’S HERE!

Expulsion, definitely worse than death.

Schrodinger COVID

On March 12, 2022February 11, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Trying to keep one step ahead of COVID-19 is like trying to frenetically duck and weave in a boxing match with Muhammad Ali. My home state of New South Wales saw numbers peak in January even though testing sites were fewer and there were plenty of people that were still desperately trying to go on holiday. It came as no surprise then that leaders tried to ease the panic that had seized the population by advocating for the results from RATs (rapid antigen testing) and to discourage testing from individuals that displayed no symptoms after a possible casual encounter.

As fatigue set in, many have given up. What’s the point of trying to keep yourself safe when it seems like all your friends have somehow contracted the virus? When will we ever return to normal and actually start earning a living? Apathy, more than anything else, has finally led to people conceding in the war of attrition against the virus.

In the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, though, being informed that you may have been a contact felt just as soul-crushing as a cancer diagnosis. I remember the call I received from a manager at work to tell me that there was a positive case at my workplace. There I was, sitting on my couch at home. Gaming. When my phone rings.

Initially, I thought it was a scam call. Or a telemarketer. These days, they seem to be favouring some place in Craigieburn, Victoria, or they ghost someone’s mobile number.

As one can imagine, I was hesitant at answering the call. It was about 8PM. I’d just settled in to either finish the story or complete some of the sidequests in an epic sprawling adventure. And then…the dreaded phone call.

So, when I picked up, I kept silent. If it was a scam or a telemarketer, I knew they’d hang up on me after a few seconds. Instead, I heard my manager’s voice. She was there to inform me that a courier that had visited the office building at the start of the week had tested positive. He had been wearing a mask at the time and the risk was low. They’d also checked the security feeds and she was positive that the courier hadn’t stopped on our floor. Nor had we interacted with him in any way.

Still, given that this was the Delta variant, that it was airborne and that it was highly transmissible, it meant that I needed to keep an eye out for any symptoms and go to get tested if I was feeling unwell (I was fine, of course – given that I was informed at the end of the week and had been sheltering in place for as long as I’ve been alive. Ah, the joys of introversion. Who needs to chat with people anyways?).

But that first blow, of being told that I might have encountered someone that had been positive and that I could possibly be carrying the virus was kind of shattering. I remember sitting down on the stairs of my house – trying to compute what I was being told and how that might impact me and my family. If I had the virus, what would it mean for my elderly grandmother? At that stage, none of us were vaccinated. I feared the worst.

Still, I thought about it rationally. If I did have the virus, I had no power to go back in time to reverse what had happened. After all, not all of us are Max Caulfield and it wasn’t as if I was living in Arcadia Bay. Sitting there, grappling with the news that I might have been exposed, I accepted that if I had caught the dastardly virus, I’d simply have to deal with it the only way we know how. Go and get tested if I was displaying symptoms and maybe head to hospital if I suddenly found I couldn’t breathe.

What else was I supposed to do, anyways?

The call ended with me waxing philosophical on how things are never quite as predictable as humanity would like. And that there are some things that cannot be changed no matter how much we may wish it. What’s the sense of raging against one’s fate if it was meant to be? The only thing I could do then was mitigate whatever damage.

Long story short, I never developed symptoms. And as such, never went to go get tested. During the Delta outbreak in Sydney, my mother had numerous scares but we’d been lucky enough to dodge the dreaded text messages from NSW Health identifying us as possible close contacts to the virus. The days went by in a blur and before we knew it, all of us had been vaccinated and Australia was finally opening up.

Nowadays, I don’t even blink twice when I see a COVID-19 alert. Given how pervasive it’s been during and after Christmas, it seems like everyone has caught COVID-19. And maybe it’s time to just get it over and done with. At least, that’s what I’d like to say.

Everyday I’m on public transport, mingling with people in the office. Everyday I’m risking contagion during lunch time when we all have our masks removed. I mean, I went and watched Six with a few work colleagues and a few friends. And I’m not letting COVID-19 ruin all my future plans to actually go to the theatre or to buy my video games.

I may be an introvert, but there’s still some merit in the occasional socialising. Maybe. Possibly? Oh, who am I kidding? Chatting with people is draining. Why are humans social creatures? Let me just escape into the world of Nadezra so I can be the fly on the wall as I watch and wait for Grey and Ren to fall for each other.

Sparking Joy

On March 5, 2022February 4, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

In living memory, there have only been three places that I’ve lived in. An apartment, a villa and now a freestanding house. The first time I moved was when I was in Year 1. From the beaches of Sydney, we headed west. To the suburb just behind Parramatta. The second time I moved, I was in first year university. Used as an excuse to get my hours down for my Learner’s logbook, we had shopped for property in the eastern suburbs in order to be closer to university and my mum’s place of work. In the end, we settled on somewhere just south of the central business district and fairly close to the airport.

Each time we moved, things were packed away and then unpacked. Toys with great sentiment value are placed once again on their pedestal. The library of books that I hope to own once again find their rightful place on bookshelves. And things I’ve hoarded for years can finally find their way to the nearest garbage bin.

There’s little doubt in my mind that I’ll move again. Either to establish my own life away from the family home (I am, after all, nearing 30) or when I finally settle with a partner. People move. It’s a fact of life.

Unpacking is a game that taps into this very real event in people’s lives and, through its simplistic gameplay, manages to tell a story of a person by the objects that need to be placed around the home. Each time the main character transitions into a new stage of life, they move and need to start etching a corner for themselves in a fresh environment. The game starts small, with a single bedroom but soon expands and it becomes a struggle to place certain items like the degree (especially when the main character moves into her boyfriend’s place). By the end of the four hour journey, I was placing objects into a three-bedroom two bathroom house.

While the story it tells is simplistic, Unpacking holds great meaning for many that have played it. For me, the gameplay simply tickled a pedant itch in me about object placement. Especially when it seemed like there wasn’t enough space to put the games or books that the character brought with them. Thankfully, the game provided multiple ways to stack objects, even if they weren’t as intuitive. But honestly, who owns DVDs anymore these days? It’s all about the streaming services and just purchasing movies digitally. I, certainly, don’t have a DVD or Blu-Ray player (unless you count my PlayStation 5 as an overpriced one).

Beyond these elements, I liked how each object that the main character brought with them helped to tell a story of where they might have gone and what interests carried on with them throughout their life. Examples include the evolution of the main character’s artwork, her love for table-top role-playing games and the ukulele that she keeps with her.

Through the unpacking of her belongings, we also journey with the main character – from childhood to university to moving in with friends. We witness the heartbreak she felt and the sense of new purpose when she finally finds her own place before settling into a new house with a partner and baby on the way. All of these poignant moments were expertly told simply through environmental storytelling. But especially the pictures that the character liked to pin on the fridge or on a corkboard.

Though Unpacking was incredibly short (and felt a little overpriced considering its price tag), I enjoyed my time with it. While I certainly struggled, on occasion, when it came to where certain objects needed to be placed (hello old photo of ex-boyfriend and these weird sticks that I still don’t know what they are), it was never too grating. I knew at some point the game would accept my placement of an object and was quite generous when I re-arranged certain things to make them fit just like I wanted them to.

And given that I was in-between games at that point (waiting for the release of Pokemon Legends: Arceus after just finishing Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy), it served as the perfect palate cleanser for me to delve right back into a game that will no doubt take me tens, if not hundreds, of hours to finish.

The Next Right Thing

On February 26, 2022January 28, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

The theme of grief, learning to ‘let go’ and a megalomaniac as the final villain – where have I heard this plot line before? But while Scarlet Nexus did it first in its charming anime style mixed with confusing story threads that were never fully explored, Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy upped the ante with its careful writing and the banter shared by our erstwhile heroes. Execution is everything. Whereas I couldn’t have cared less about Karen Travers and his obsession with saving Alice, the concept of The Promise and what it could bring back for our ensemble cast had a much greater impact. No wonder then, that Guardians of the Galaxy picked up the award for best narrative of 2021.

Separate from the cinematic universe, the Eidos Montreal’s version still centres on familiar faces. There is Peter Quill, AKA Star-Lord. Rocket. Groot. Drax the Destroyer. And Gamora. But while the game works great in fleshing out the other members (and I love that it does this), the main focus of the story still remains solidly on the human: Peter Jason Quill. After all, he’s the leader of the motley crew. The jam that brought the others together though they may have differing views and clashing personalities.

As such, it should come as no surprise that the prologue of the game begins with Peter on Earth. It’s his 13th birthday. After listening to the great fictional band Star Lord in the depths of his basement room (and reading a very in-depth review about their album in the Rolling Stones), his mother, Meredith, comes down to find him. Why? Well, how else does someone celebrate the date of their birth? With cake and presents. Just as Peter opens the door to his room, he wakes on his ship. Drax looms over him and the scene transitions to the rest of the Guardians as they prepare for a mission into a Quarantine Zone to make some units and build up their reputations as mercenaries for hire.

It’s a great setup for the actual narrative and showcases the various dynamics inherent in the team. The dialogue is quippy even as it helped to guide me as I played through the area. Better, it called me out for exploring all the nooks and crannies of the carefully crafted levels. After all, one never knows what one might discover – what with outfits, items and archival correspondence to collect.

After competing with Rocket for the glory of knocking down parasite nests (and winning with a decent margin), Peter sees something shiny drop down. When he picks it up, however, it burns his hand and he immediately lets it fall. No mere mortal can wield an Infinity Stone. Unknowingly, though, he has unleashed Magus. And thus, the seed of the adventure ahead.

What became clear in my playthrough of Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy and Scarlet Nexus was how the plot remained centred on the main characters. Yes, sometimes outrageous things happened but they fit into the universe created by the developers. There were no left-field revelations that did little to push the plot forward – even if the fight with Fin Fang Foom felt a little forced. Still, that narrative beat was hinted at with Drax’s insistence in the earlier chapters for trying to take on the legendary dragon to appease the Monster Queen of Seknarf Nine.

Everything fitted well into the story. Better yet, it was fun. As someone that has watched almost all of the MCU films, the vibe in the game was reminiscent of the irreverent ways of the movies. Tackling serious issues doesn’t mean that the game needs to be dark and sombre. As Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy shows, humour too can help push back the darkness. Slowly but surely, the pain that we’re left with by the loss of someone doesn’t hurt as much. With time, it scars. And that’s something all the characters must learn by game’s end. Letting go is never easy. Time cannot be reversed, no matter how much one wishes it.

In that way, Nikki’s situation was very sympathetic. It was hard to see her as a villain – caught up in a desperate hope for the impossible. The game also makes it very easy to bond with her in one of the earlier chapters as well. After an explosion on the Hala’s Hope, both she and Quill fall into the depths of the ship. Together, they manage to reach safety.

Karen Travers, in contrast, never has that opportunity to connect with Yuito and Kasane. He’s already presented as a hero – one that is incredibly and needs no help. Nor do the characters get to journey with him for any significant period or fight with him. Karen is always just out of reach. For that reason alone, he isn’t as easy to connect to or like.

I also liked how the confrontation with Nikki was a battle but a conversation with a girl grieving the loss of her mother. And just like that, I was transferring the skills I obtained as Alex Chen, empath extraordinaire to Peter Quill, therapist-in-training. Maybe this is a sign that I’m in the wrong profession and maybe I should become a counsellor. Or, at least, give out more unsolicited advice to those around me. I mean, I’m pretty great at it when it comes to pre-programmed AIs. How hard will it be to help actual real life people? (Probably really hard and it’s not as if there are preset dialogue options. Get a grip, Kyndaris!).

But while the narrative and the music (both licenced and original) rocked, the gameplay wasn’t as spectacular as I had hoped. The different elements meant that I could mix them up against the mindless mobs by game’s end, but by then most of my strategy had already cemented into place. And even unlocking new abilities for the crew sometimes felt underwhelming – particularly when Groot and Rocket already had such excellent crowd control abilities right from the start.

The combat then became fairly repetitive and there wasn’t much variety between enemies. Oh, a humanoid with a colour-coded shield to indicate what they’re weak to! How creative! More weird worms? Sure.

Considering how much a flop Marvel’s Avengers had been (which, thankfully, I never bought because after reading up on what the gameplay would be about and watching a few trailers, I never felt quite enamoured by what it offered), I’m glad that Guardians of the Galaxy felt like a return to quality gaming experience with the Marvel brand. Even if the combat could use some work and a few of the triggers for certain in-game actions could have been tweaked. My goodness, I was about to give up on one of the outfits in the Cotati Caves until I finally managed to luck out. The writing, too, was on-brand and carried true to the ones I saw on the silver screen.

Here’s hoping for future entries and maybe a Nikki Gold cameo in Volume 3 of the MCU films.

Papa-paparazzi

On February 19, 2022January 14, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Running a blog and maintaining it has been no small feat. While I created The Writing Corner as a means of screaming into the void, there have been moments where I’ve also shared my mad scribbles to friends and even work colleagues. Often, it’s because it’s a topic to talk about when catching up or when I’m hoping to acquaint myself with new recruits at the workplace.

An exchange of knowledge, if you will, to dig deeper into their psyche and to possibly use a few of their personality traits for my own fictional characters. I kid. I’m just a nosy busybody that wants to know every secret they’re trying to hide behind their facade of professionalism. To understand the person beyond the 9-5 job that we have.

What has become less fun, however, is the fact that I’ve seemingly become a permanent fixture of their lives and knowing that they talk about me with their family members or partners. “Look at what Kyndaris wrote!” “They helped me with all my questions at work today. So helpful!.” “Look at the murloc they bought me for Christmas! Why didn’t you get me an unprompted Christmas present?”

So on and so forth.

Why do people have object permanence anyways? They should get rid of it.

I should forever remain the person they know only from work. To anyone in their social circles, I ought to be a nameless amorphous blob of a person that does not exist outside the four walls of the workplace. In an anime, I’m supposed be the background character with the label of work colleague. There should be no mention of me in their day to day interactions. And they certainly should not be bandying around my name!

And then, of course, I also learned that one of the friends I met during a China winter camp also shared my blog with her sister! So, know her sister has come to know me from the things I’ve written! And they chat about me, discussing all the things that they find relatable (besides the game posts, because they aren’t gamers) about the things I’ve put to digital paper!

Hi there L! It’s great to know that you read my blog and kind of want to meet me. At least, S said something along those lines. But I’m sure that if we ever meet in person, I’m sure that I’ll fail to hit every single one of the expectations you’ve placed on your imaginary version of me. Honestly, I am not that funny or wise in person. In fact, I’m incredibly awkward. And I’m sure I’m not very likable in person.

In any case, it feels strange being a topic of discussion amongst other people’s social circles. What’s worse has been actually getting invited to visit them in a domestic setting! How does one interact with another fellow human being? Am I being too dull?

Is that the real reason why I’ve been sneezing up a storm and my ears have gone a feverish red?

When I think about my impossible dream of becoming a bestselling author, I often wonder how I’d deal with fame. Yes, I’m sure my friends will treat me as normal, but would I want to have my mug on the jacket with a little snippet of who I am? It seems a bit pretentious and I don’t know if I’d relish strangers coming up to me and asking for an autograph.

Even becoming internet famous – when people will forget who I am when the next viral trend hits – seems exhausting.

As my consistent burnout has proven, I don’t deal well with expectations. And that is probably why the song Surface Pressure from Encanto hit so close to home. It’s not about being the oldest sibling in a family, at least in the context of this only child blogger, but it gets tiring being the reliable one in the office. If I got a dollar for each query I’ve answered – whether it’s about work, computer issues or even interpreting services because I can somehow survive with my conversational Mandarin, I’d have a considerable sum saved up.

And I’m not even a manager!

(Although, to be honest, it would feel like more work and I don’t much care for all that responsibility. I’d rather be free to play my games and work on my blogs and write shite stories to feed my delusions of grandeur. Even though I’d probably be decent-ish, solely because I’m a pedantic slave to perfection.)

Yet, even though I shy away from the spotlight, I won’t deny that a part of me is flattered by the attention. Perhaps because I was constantly compared to others, compliments are not something I’m entirely comfortable with. My colleagues have told me ‘I write good,’ but I’m often sceptic. Are they saying because they’re trying to be polite and because they know me? Or are they actually being truthful?

Know that I always shy on the side of: you’re lying, what do you want from me?

It’s something I ought to work on. But who needs therapy when I have video games, books and TV shows to get me through each and every day? In any case, I’m not sure I deserve to be talked about in a positive light and people should really be focusing on the actual heroes of the world. Like people who are in emergency services, doctors, nurses, essential workers and activists that want to make the world a brighter place to live in.

Or, I don’t know, stalk an actual celebrity like Anna Kendrick or something. I don’t know. It’s your life.

But if you want to talk about a grown woman living in her mother’s proverbial basement, then I suppose I’ll have to learn to accept that maybe I’ve touched the lives of a few people in the world. After, of course, months and years of denial along with several mental breakdowns.

Once a Guerrilla, Always a Guerrilla

On February 12, 2022January 22, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Revolution is not an easy feat. It is not so simple as being idealistic. Nor is it simply seeing who has the most guns and the bigger army. To be a guerrilla takes grit, good leadership and an end goal. It also means having combat training, the funding and connections to ease the way. Just because you managed to defeat a tyrant, without sending our a counter-message, it is just as easy to be seen as a replacement dictator. For a revolution to truly take hold, one has to change the hearts and minds of the people. Those are the lessons I learned when playingthrough Far Cry 6 as the lucky one: Dani Rojas.

Now, I am no stranger to the problematic issues of supporting Ubisoft. The company, much like several other major publishers has been embroiled in controversy. NFTs, toxic workplace environments…the list goes on.

In so saying, the messaging from Far Cry 6 feels like a cry for help. And perhaps it is time for something to truly shake up the culture of game companies so that they can retain staff and make the games that everyone loves so much.

But, back to Far Cry 6, shall we?

May be an image of 12 people, people standing, outdoors and text that says 'F These are the ake Yarans and they have'

The game starts with Dani Rojas and their friends planning to escape to America. They enjoy one last drink, only for it to be interrupted by several soldiers. Alejo antagonises a group and is shot dead. Fearing for their lives, Dani and their friend: Lita flee for the boat that would be their ticket to a world of poor pay and being judged for their accent and colour of their skin. Sound familiar to any real-world examples? But even being paid to stock supermarket shelves can be seen as a blessing for many illegal migrants to the USA. And even if they might never achieve the dream purported by the land of the free, at least they are free of the conflict that might engulf their very lives.

Unfortunately, their escape via boat does not go as planned. El Presidente boards their little fishing boat to reclaim his son, Diego. After a tense conversation, the two leave and everyone else is condemned to a watery grave.

Somehow, through the powers of plot convenience, Dani survives, washing ashore on the Isla Santuario. There, they meet Clara Garcia and the rest of Libertad. So begins their bloody journey to retake their home from the power-hungry Anton Castillo.

From a narrative standpoint, Far Cry 6 keeps many of their serious moments quite light. Yes, there’s plenty of murder and gunning down soldiers of Anton’s regime, but there are many lighthearted moments such as the Yaran Story missions in order to recruit amigo: Chicharron. Then, of course, there’s Bicho, or Paz as he is later called.

Thank goodness for not having Hurk, or a version of him, being inserted into this title.

I did, however, like seeing the interactions between La Morale, Libertad and the Legends of ‘67. They brought a sharp contrast to the different factions that fuel why people may seek change, but they also highlight all the similarities between both revolutions. Many of the main players were students hoping to make changes to the country that they love.

Bella Ciao is also a great song given its history and how the game is also focused on routing out fascist leaders. As I was playing through one operation that involved burning tobacco leaves, my mother overheard and she did as the Leonardo DiCaprio meme. Sometimes I forget that she’s actually lived through quite a few things and what sounds novel to me is something she actually knows from real-life history.

Also, on a musical front, I really liked how Dani would sing to several songs on the radio. I did a double-take when I first heard them sing to Havana by Camila Cabello before subsequently YouTubing it to see if others had noticed.

May be an image of 6 people and people standing

From a performance perspective, I liked all the little vignettes with Anton and his son, Diego. But from a story standpoint, it never felt as if Anton had much bite. Giancarlo Esposito shines in the role, but it is always far removed from Dani’s actions. There were only a few occasions where the two crossed paths but none of them had me sweating in my seat as much as the confrontation between Vaas and Jason. Nor did I get terrifying but sexy chills like I did with the Seeds.

(Kyndaris, you need to stop reading Jacob Seed x Deputy and Joseph Seed x Deputy fanfiction!)

On a gameplay front, Far Cry 6 is a lot more streamlined than previous titles. No longer are there radio towers to visit to reveal all the dots on the map. Rather, missions can be discovered by chatting to guerrilla fighters at camps or liberated outposts. There’s also no skill tree. Nor does Dani Rojas have to go hunting in order to craft more weapon holsters, healing syringes and ammo pouches for specific weapons.

Everything else played out as smoothly as one could expect from the franchise. The guns were weighty and packed a decent punch. The wingsuit was a great tool to soar through the skies and most of the vehicles handled quite well. My one gripe was the default controls for planes. After fiddling with them, I was able to fly much better and smashed through Yami’s race.

Far Cry 6 doesn’t stray too far from the formula established in the previous titles. There’s nothing that’s incredibly innovative and the twist at the end with Diego made some kind of sense. The Far Cry series is never content to give players a ‘good’ ending. In the worlds that they create, nothing is ever truly black and white. Just because one despot has been overthrown, it doesn’t mean that the world can right itself. Look no further than Far Cry 4 or even the apocalyptic ending that came when the Deputy fought back to save Hope County.

While I never quite connected with Diego as I would have liked to, it also felt like he was an authentic thirteen-year-old boy that was out of his depth and who wanted to live in a better world. And hey, who wouldn’t want that?

On a side note, the whole Jose threatening to poop on something belonging to Diego as he slept reminded me of something I read once. Probably something from the annals of Horrible Histories. But at least we got to underscore what a terrible and entitled person he was.

May be an image of 1 person, motorcycle, outdoors and tree — Boom Boom is just the cutest. Love that he returns. AND HE STILL SITS NEXT TO YOU IN VEHICLES!

Keeping On

On February 5, 2022January 5, 2022 By kyndarisLeave a comment

With soaring COVID-19 numbers in my home state, I find myself turning to a debate I had with a couple of my friends several months ago about governmental versus personal responsibility. At time of writing, it feels particularly apt. What with many politicians trying to foist the pandemic response on the public rather than actually imposing restrictions or mandates to help ease the burden on hospitals and soothing fears. Sound familiar to many situations across the globe?

But when it was first raised, it was during the extensive lockdown from June 2021 to October 2021. And all of that misery was sparked by a limo driver shuttling air crew from the airport.

Many people on social media, and even traditional news outlets, had pinned the blame squarely on the shoulders of the unfortunate man. Particularly as they had not been vaccinated and had not properly practiced COVID safety measures such as mask wearing and completing the necessary checks. My friends, however, actually lay the blame on the government. They said that if there had been stricter requirements and controls systems in place, perhaps disaster would have been averted.

Another shining example has also been the father and son duo that spread COVID-19 into rural New South Wales because of the ‘need to inspect property.’ A lie, no doubt. But who is responsible? Some might say the government for not explicitly stating that during a lockdown, such activities should be limited. Others pin the fault on the individuals for trying to find a loophole through the restrictions: of trying to have their cake and eating it as well.

While there’s an argument for both sides, it does put into sharp contrast the way that so many governments around the world, as well as individuals that live in particular countries have reacted and responded to the necessary measures to combat the virus. Recent endeavours have seen many of the restrictions that were put in place to stop the Delta outbreak have seen cases jump astronomically high. The popular political refrain has been that it is now up to everyone’s ‘personal responsibility’ to keep cases down.

As 2020 and 2021 have showed us, however, humans are intent on their own destruction. Without government mandates or public health orders, we are revealed for the self-centred hedonistic creatures that we are. You can’t breathe with a mask but you want to seem like you care that there’s a raging pandemic? Slap a mask on your face but keep it below your nose. Feeling stifled about a government that is trying to look after the vulnerable in the community? Call them out for being a tyrannical and oppressing force, or bandying about words such as segregation and apartheid. As if the choice to get vaccinated was something you’re born with.

Spoiler alert: It’s not. And right-wing extremists don’t get to use such charged words considering the horrors people have endured because they weren’t the right skin colour.

Sure, you might not be open to getting jabbed in the arm with something experimental, but that’s your choice. Just as it is your choice to put yourself in harm’s way and not reap the benefits of a protected public. After all, how can you visit friends or work in a high-risk field if you’re on a ventilator? I mean, just look at seatbelts. Sure, you can not wear it, get caught and be fined. That’s your choice. But what if you were actually involved in an accident?

Do death and severe injury not frighten you? Psh. Of course not. You only live once, after all.

Thank you for culling the herd of humans by crashing through the windscreen and becoming a smear of human paste on the road.

You’re doing your ancestors proud.

At the very least the gene pool doesn’t have to deal with passing on your stupidity to the next generation.

Oh wait.

It probably still will because there are idiots that manage to luckily survive. Or perhaps the world will all come to a catastrophic end when someone pushes the big red button that says ‘Don’t.’ I’m putting my money on that.

Over and over again, we have seen people (and governments) look towards short term gains rather than the long term picture. Why else would humans be at two minutes to midnight and still dawdle on the subject of climate change?

Beyond that, we’ve had to deal with several years of misinformation and conspiracy theories. COVID-19 has always been the flu. The pandemic is a worldwide conspiracy hatched by the elite. Vaccines are actually a way for global governments to insert tracking devices into humans (as if that’s needed. If you have a mobile phone, they could have been tracking you ever since you got it).

Now, while I understand being vaccine hesitant – I, too, was concerned about possibly getting an AstraZeneca jab after the Delta outbreak in Sydney and with Pfizer so limited. The possibility of developing a blood clot had me paralysed. Thankfully, one of my work colleagues was quick to disabuse me of how special I was.

Yet, in the end, there was a shipment from Poland and I, a twenty-something-year-old and supposedly a person in the age group that is mixing and mingling with others and totally getting COVID-19 and spreading it to others in my household, was finally able to feel a modicum of safety. It’s still a while to go before I’m eligible for a booster, but already I feel the weight of judgement despite my very introverted ways and hatred for the outside world.

On the other hand, we are not mindless drones. The social contract we share means that there are also several freedoms that we, as democratic countries, get to enjoy. And while many governments have seen the challenges that COVID has brought, they’ve also tried to place some trust in those that they govern. Masks. Public service announcements to wash one’s hands properly. To wear a mask in high-risk environments such as on public transport. Staff to be vaccinated, particularly if they work in hospitals or aged-care facilities.

But even reasonable requests have been looked at with ire. Just look at the protests all around Australia. Look even overseas to the United States of America and Europe.

However, I ask you this. How willing would you be to attend a hospital if the leading surgeon was known to believe that blood transfusions was the work of the devil and that cancer was God’s way of testing you? Would you feel safe in the hands of nurses that were coughing and spluttering, unprotected, as you were wheeled into ER after a horrific car crash? Would there be such a focus on the ‘economy’ if there were brain-eating zombies roaming the streets?

It isn’t as if Western governments have shot people for breaking curfew. There are no checkpoints or armed defence personnel patrolling the streets. The secret police haven’t kidnapped anyone and tortured them to reveal other anti-vaxx sympathisers.

Beyond that, and in the example of the father and son duo, governments are not as omniscient as we all believe. They are fallible. Like humans. And there will be the occasional hole in the measures that they’ve put in place that individuals will take advantage of. Is that a responsibility of the government to come up with incredibly stringent rules and mandates or does part of the blame also lie in the individual for trying to bend them?

Nothing is ever clear cut.

As the saying goes: where there’s a will, there’s a way.

People will constantly be trying to test boundaries. Perhaps governments should have been more specific about exemptions, or perhaps they shouldn’t. There’s also something to be said about personal responsibility. Western countries have always elevated the individual over the community, but maybe it’s time to flip that script and time to put some emphasis on why individuals should prize the whole over the one.

After all, it should be noted that masks are better served in protecting those around us, should that individual be carrying the virus, than the other way round.

I know this may be heavy stuff to read, but it’s been something that’s been sitting on my mind for a while now. 2022 is now here and I’m afraid that so many of us have not learnt the lessons that the previous years have taught us. Here’s hoping for some actual light at the end of the tunnel.

Triforce of Motion Controls

On January 26, 2022December 25, 2021 By kyndarisLeave a comment

The Legend of Zelda franchise is one that is near and dear to many people’s hearts. Not for me, however. Growing up, the only console I owned from Nintendo was the Game Boy Colour. Suffice it to say, there was a lot of Pokemon Red and Blue during my formative years. I hadn’t even heard of The Legend of Zelda. And I would not do so until I had entered high school and it became so much easier to look things up on the Internet and get filled in on everything I had missed out on.

Consequently, as I gained access to a Nintendo DS, I started to catch up on what I’d missed out on. Despite that, the series never quite hooked my interest. Yes, there were interesting mechanics, but only Twilight Princess had managed to tickle my fancy.

As the years wore on, however, I managed to sink my teeth into quite a few games that belonged to The Legend of Zelda. I even tried to learn more about the lore and history between each game. Fun fact, a copy of Hyrule Historia sits on my bookshelf!

Still, owing to the fact that I never owned a Wii (otherwise I would have played and finished The Last Story – why has this never been ported, Nintendo? WHY?!), The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword was something I never quite got to enjoy when it first came out. So, when a HD remaster was released in 2021, I decided to try it out.

Motion controls have always been a gimmick since the Wii era. For many people, it was their gateway to video games. Learning the controls of a game isn’t very hard when all you do is swing the remote at the screen and you’ve managed to swat back the tennis ball to the other side of the fence. Or, perhaps, bowled a strike.

Skyward Sword was Nintendo’s answer to this very versatile and precise form of play. Unfortunately, even with the HD remaster, the motion controls proved to be a frustrating mess. At least for this humble blogger, and partway through the first temple, I changed the controls and never looked back.

Story-wise, The Legend of Zelda franchise has kept it simple. Link, our not really mute protagonist, is a normal boy in his village. He has either been friends with Zelda or they just meet in the beginning of the game…and then whoosh! Disaster strikes. Link is called to adventure! He picks up the Master Sword, collects a few MacGuffins and hey presto! there’s a fight with the Big Bad. Usually a form of Ganon.

In the game set before all others, players catch a glimpse of where it all began. Link and Zelda are childhood friends that live in a village that floats above the clouds: Skyloft. There is no mention of Link’s parents. Indeed, many of the knights-in-training seem to have no home in Skyloft proper. But when it comes to these types of plot holes, it’s better to not think too deeply on it.

After successfully completing the Wing Ceremony and getting some ‘alone’ time with Zelda atop the Statue of the Goddess, the two decide to fly out on their loftwings. A tornado strikes out of nowhere, scattering the two. Injured, Link manages to arrive safely back at Skyloft and informs the Headmaster of the Knight Academy what has occurred.

Called by a voice to the Goddess statue, Link then pulls out a sword and begins the search for Zelda in earnest. Along the way, he visits three locales: Faron Woods, Eldin Volcano and the Lanayru Desert. When he finally catches up to Zelda, she escapes through a gateway into the past. Impa destroys it to prevent pursuit from Ghirahim, a Demon Lord hoping to resurrect his lost master.

To reunite with Zelda, Link embarks again to the different locales to power up his sword to open a second gateway through time. Even this, however, is short-lived and LInk decides to get the Triforce and finally vanquish Demise.

As with many of the titles that came before, there’s a lot of repetition to the game. It is to the credit of the game developers, however, that they have made each visit to the same three locales somehow distinctly new each time – with different challenges to take into account.

By game’s end, however, I found it tedious to trek through the landscape, go back into the sky and drop down to another part of the map. Barring the puzzles and enemies that are scattered throughout the intricately designed playgrounds, there’s little to do. Sure, one might try and catch bugs or chase down tumbleweeds, but I found many of the side content lacking.

The motion controls also proved uncooperative during my short stint. However, changing to button-only controls made pulling off certain manoeuvres such as the spin attack and final blow much more difficult. Even after defeating Demise, I’m not sure if it was luck or skill that allowed me to pull off the blow that defeated the creature of hatred.

There are a few other quibbles I had with the plot. None of them were truly answered but perhaps there’s some lore squirreled away somewhere. Why does Demise’s sword have a spirit living within it? How could Ghirahim operate outside of the sword? Why has Fi never spoken to the incarnations of Link in the other games that took place, historically, afterwards?

Also, if Demise was brought back in the past, and then defeated by Link, would that not negate the entire events of Skyward Sword as there would be no sealed Demise at the Sealed Temple, which Ghirahim would be attempting to revive. It’s a time paradox! And yet, despite it all, somehow everyone has also maintained their memories in the current timeline though the past was changed.

I would go on, but I’d leave it here.

Overall, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword is an imperfect beast. In my, admittedly, small list of games that I’ve finished playing in the franchise, it ranks fairly low in terms of enjoyment. While the story was simple, the motion controls made me feel like I was fighting with the game until I changed it to button-only controls on the Switch. Even then, I’d still occasionally struggle with my sword hits. The level of precision needed with certain techniques drove me near insane. If I never have to flick the analog stick to attack something, I’d be quite happy!

May be an image of 1 person and text — Link is such a himbo. Look at that thousand yard stare.

May be an image of 1 person and text that says 'Help 386'

Splintered

On January 19, 2022December 12, 2021 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Another short story for people to enjoy. And, as always, it can be found on FictionPress and my Wattpad.

I hope you all enjoy!

Head buried in my hands, I tried to block out the cacophonous chatter of voices. The different personas that I had developed over the years, the different masks I wore with different people, swirled together into a monstrous force that threatened to pull me under.

Who was I? Where did it end and I begin?

Perfect and pretty and popular. A good student with straight As. Obedient daughter. Raucous party member that knew how to serve as a tank on the field of battle. Theatre kid extraordinaire, able to rattle off the lyrics to almost all the songs that had graced the stages of Broadway.

I took a deep breath. Held it. And then let it out after a count of four.

But the bubbling mess of panic inside would not subside as I hid in the girl’s bathroom stall. Just as it seemed like I would spiral into a proper breakdown, I heard the door to the toilets creak open and the sound of footsteps. It was followed by the twin squeaks of faucets turning and then the rush of water.

“Who does that new girl think she is?”

“I know, right? She needs to know her place. Waltzing in here, pretending she’s all that and then hanging out with the trivia team? That’s just not on.”

There was a moment’s pause. No doubt one or the other was reapplying a thick coat of lipstick to their lips. “Just because she’s got brains and looks pretty. It boils my blood to see those kinds of people think they’re better than us.”

“Oh my God, you’re so right, Naomi. Like, rude, much? We’ve all had our share of problems trying to fit in. So, like, pick a lane, yeah?”

Before the conversation could go any deeper, I made a show of flushing the toilet and stepped out of the cubicle. Naomi and Evangeline nearly jumped out of their skins. They turned towards me, their body postures screaming fear and trepidation that they hadn’t noticed someone had been listening. It felt powerful, knowing that I had been the one to place it there.

When they caught sight of me, however, two big fat grins stole across their lips. “Trish! Thank God. For a moment, I thought it was a teacher,” said Naomi. “Why didn’t you say anything when we came in?”

Mask firmly back in place, I grinned back at her. “And stop you from trash-talking the new girl? Never. So, have the two of you come up with a plan yet, or do I have to do all the work?”

By the end of the day, I knew all the basics about this new foe that had entered the Seven Oaks arena. I had her name: Amelia. I knew that she had transferred from a prestigious private school after an altercation with one of the other students. The reason was still unknown. I even had her schedule for the rest of the term.

Somehow, despite the closely knit cliches that had formed over the last year, Amelia had managed to weave her way onto the soccer team, switched to advanced mathematics and had taken a vested interest in the spring musical.

How could she blatantly ignore what had been handed down since time immemorial? The high school status quo.

Every student knew of the unspoken social hierarchy that reigned in the hallowed halls of secondary education. The rules that had been passed down over the years. They were as sacred as the Ten Commandments.

The very fact that Amelia was throwing all that away meant that she had to be eliminated. Or, at the very least, her rebellious spirit crushed. After all, why should she be allowed to partake of everything that I had been denied? It hurt, juggling all the personas in my head with the public masks I wore.

People’s expectations had forced me into an untenable position. My true self hidden away. Buried so deep that I couldn’t tell what was real or fake. Did I really like having Naomi and Evangeline as my vapid airhead friends? Was Bryan really a good match for me?

It was hard to keep track of all the things that I was supposed to like – the latest fashion stylings from H&M and Forever21, shopping at Sephora and obsessing over Noah Centineo’s latest Netflix film – versus what I actually did like but had to pretend to despise – the works of the greatest female authors of the twentieth century and the cutesy characters of the latest Japanese role-playing games.

“Patricia, dinner’s ready!” My mother’s voice jolted me from my thoughts and my endless scrolling through social media. Reluctantly, I locked my laptop and put it on my bed as I headed downstairs. Research would have to wait. By the time I saw Naomi and Evangeline tomorrow, I would have a proper game plan for taking down Amelia and her ability to serve as a social chameleon.

As I sat down at the dinner table, I dared not question where the irrational fear and envy of her possible success to upturn the status quo came from.

Perhaps if life were different…

“So, how was your day at school, Pat?” asked Dad.

I looked up from my peas. “Good. There’s a new girl. We share the same AP Calculus class.”

“Is that right? Well, I hope the two of you can become friends. It’s rare enough that we see any girls engaging with STEM fields. And I’d like to think she’d be a better companion than…what were the names of those that you were help tutoring again?”

“Naomi and Evangeline,” I answered.

“Yes. Them. Sometimes, I swear there’s not a single braincell between the two of them.”

“Dad! You can’t say that!”

“You know what I mean, Pat. It’s always about boys. I want you to have more riveting conversations than how to snag yourself a boyfriend. Particularly at your age when there’s so much that life has to offer.”

I pushed my peas to the side and stared at the steak cooked to perfection. Tears burned at the corner of my eyes, though I refused to let them fall. It was the same old refrain I’d heard a thousand times before. I knew Dad meant well. And, truth be told, there was a part of me that was tired of playing the role I had chosen. Naomi and Evangeline couldn’t satisfy my need for intelligent discourse.

It was why I had to keep such tight control of the masks I wore. Without them, I feared what would happen if I let something slip. Life was a series of juggling personas to match the perceptions others had of me. But it was getting so hard to track them all…

Dad set his fork and knife down and leaned towards me. “Hey, Pat…I’m sorry about what I said. If it offended you. Or if sounded too harsh. It’s just that I want only the very best for you,” he said, concern laced in every word. “We sacrificed a lot to get here. But, more importantly, we want you to be happy with who you are.”

Forcing a smile to my lips, I lifted my head back up. “It’s fine, Dad. I know you mean well and I appreciate it.”

He reached for my hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“Okay, now who wants some more potato mash?” Mom asked, breaking the awkward silence that had descended over the dining table.

The art of pretend was a delicate game. Easy to pick-up, hard to master. That was why I had been systematic in the creation of my masks. Each one had a dominant personality trait that was easy for me to slip into. They each had certain likes and dislikes.

But, more importantly, they were unique and distinct. There was no sharing between the personas I adopted (though they were all facets of me). It was easier to compartmentalise that way. To know what was acceptable and what wasn’t.

With Naomi and Evangeline, I was Trish. The baddest bitch on the block. A Queen Bee looking to hook her stinger into the most popular boy at Seven Oaks High School. She was popular and liked all the things that were expected of the walking cliché that she was. A stereotype with high ambitions.

At home, I was Pat. Hardworking straight-A student. Eager to meet the lofty expectations of her parents. Had her nose stuck in a book most days and was painfully shy when it came to meeting new people. She was burdened with acing the SAT exams and getting into a prestigious college and finding a high-paying job as an accountant or lawyer or whatever else might be considered success.

When I was online, though, I was PattieNeko. It was here that I could be the most authentic version of myself. It was where I could express my views on anything that caught my eye. Where I didn’t have to hide my enthusiasm for musical theatre or games with androgynous male leads that were tasked with saving the world from a massive threat. I could discuss the books I wanted, from Sylvia Plath to Kazuo Ishiguro to Jane Austen.

Of course, I would never be able to show my face on YouTube or TikTok…but I could derive some enjoyment for the content that was on there.

Hell. I even had multiple Instagram accounts. One in which Trish would be expected to use. Another to share things with my parents and family. And a third where I could follow whoever I wanted and share the posts that I felt the most strongly about.

But it was just so hard to keep it all up. I didn’t have time to keep updating my multiple social media accounts and do my homework and try to appease the two most insipid sycophants in the world.

Head down, pretending that I was struggling with the problems before me, I kept my eye on Amelia and her straight blonde hair. She was attentively listening to Ms Kaur; nodding at the end of each sentence and jotting down notes. At one of Ms Kaur’s many jokes, she smiled and I could see a dimple form.

God. How I hated how genuine she was and the effortless ease she used to navigate the social mores of Seven Oaks High School. Maybe it was that very naivety and innocence that shielded her from being torn apart. Or perhaps they were simply taken aback at the sincerity she threw into everything.

I watched her for the entirety of class instead of noting down the solutions to the multiple equations on the blackboard. Something I would rue the next day when Ms Kaur would spring a pop quiz on us.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, I was one of the last to leave as I waited for the new girl to pack up her things.

Amelia and I shared several other classes and I had volunteered to show her around earlier that morning. It was mostly to show off how charitable I could be; how nice and friendly and earnest I was. The fact that it might bolster my chances for a recommendation to the best schools in the country was the least of my concerns. After all, among the teachers, I was an extension of Pat, not Trisha.

“Thanks for waiting up for me. We have history next, right?”

I nodded, keeping a pleasant smile on my face.

As we walked down the corridors, I set my plan into motion. The first step was gathering as much intelligence I could about Amelia. It didn’t matter who someone was, they had to have secrets. Ones that I could use to great effect. “So, what brought you here to Seven Oaks? Rumour has it that you were attending the prestigious private school on the other side of the river. A lot of people wish they could afford the tuition there. It’s supposedly an easy ticket into any Ivy League college.”

Amelia shrugged. “Yeah. But after going there for two years, I realised it just wasn’t what I wanted. Everyone there is just so competitive. Seven Oaks…well, it’s a different pace. I like it here.”

“What about your friends? It must have been hard on them when you left.”

She fidgeted with the strap of her backpack. “Listen, Pat—”

“You can call me Trish. Almost everyone in school does.”

“Trish,” said Amelia, testing the nickname on her tongue. “Okay. Well, it’s not really something I’m trying to keep secret, but back at my old school, I just felt so stifled. As if my every move was being watched and remarked upon. I couldn’t deal with that. So, I left.”

“That sounds rough. Was it the teachers, the other students or maybe expectations?”

Amelia shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “What I do know was last year I suffered three panic attacks and couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed for almost an entire month. I shut everyone out. Couldn’t bear the thought of living until mum came home with my little brother.

“It seems so stupid that one little thing can change your whole perspective, but that’s exactly what Hugo did. He brightened up my world just by being in it. Even though I missed the birth and everything.”

“So, Seven Oaks is a new start. I get that.”

She smiled at me as we rounded the corner and arrived outside the history classroom. “Thanks for listening. And being so understanding. I hope we can be good friends.”

I shook her outstretched hand. “Likewise.”

It wasn’t hard formulating a plan. The problem was execution. Naomi and Evangeline, while eager to see the new girl pulled off her high horse, hated hard work or contributing anything more than just words of encouragement. Even then, they struggled with their limited vocabulary. For three nights, I had received variants of ‘You go, girl’ and ‘Make that bitch pay.’ Probably, they were catching up on the latest episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians or some other reality TV show that would only serve to diminish what little was left of their brain cells.

Easier to put them into supporting roles.

I envied the ease that they coasted through high school, worrying primarily about catching the attention of any player on the Seven Oaks football team, even Michael Sanchez (who was about two inches shorter than them and looked like he was still a middle school freshman). It was like they lived in a completely different world from me.

And while Naomi was a skilled dancer and had participated in several contests, it wasn’t something she had to hide. After all, it was cool and fitted the image she had already curated at school.

The stress of trying to put my plan in motion whilst juggling multiple personas was getting to me. Twice, I had broken down in the school bathrooms. Another time, I had a panic attack on the way home. Naomi and Evangeline knew nothing of these moments though they looked at me strangely when I quoted a line from Dear Evan Hansen at lunch. Of course, by the time I had ripped into Stewart – the costume head of the local theatre – for spilling his drink on my blouse, they had all but forgotten the slip-up.

I hated that I could never truly be myself with anyone. Except Amelia. That she saw me as Patricia – whether that was the perfect straight-A student or the queen of the drama club – and seemed to have accepted every facet, was dangerous. It filled me with terror every night and haunted most of my thoughts during the day.

If she wasn’t so genuine, I might have felt bad for what I planned to do.

Picking up my phone, I texted three simple words that would see Amelia stripped of her self-righteousness as she stepped into the cafeteria and waved to me. Did she think escaping to Seven Oaks High would free her from the prison of judgement and expectation? Ha. I couldn’t wait to see her being crushed against the anvil of despair that was the lived experience of almost every teenager.

That was what it was all about, right? The crucible of bullies, high SAT scores and taking the crown at Prom.

Amelia stepped up to my table, tray in hand. “Got a spare spot, Trish?” she asked.

Naomi and Evangeline exchanged a look. “Sorry. The seats are taken,” said Naomi.

“But there’s only three of you.”

Evangeline looked up from her cuticles, gave Amelia the once-over before turning her attention back to her nails. “So?”

I threw Amelia an apologetic look and mouthed the word ‘sorry.’

“You know what, that’s fine,” said Amelia. As she turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of the disappointment that flashed across her face. Something in my chest twisted at the sight, but I ruthlessly quashed it down. I had a plan. I couldn’t let sentimentality get the better of me.

Amelia marched towards the doors of the cafeteria, tray, laden with lasagne and chocolate milk, balanced precariously in one hand. Just as Cormac and the rest of the basketball team came through. The two collided and Amelia was knocked to the ground, her lunch splattering to the ground.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Watch where you’re going, bitch. You’ve got pasta sauce on my shirt. This was signed.”

“I said I’m sorry,” said Amelia, head ducked low in a desperate bid to appear invisible.

Cormac grabbed the upper part of her arm. “Yeah, well, sorry ain’t going to cut it.” He pulled Amelia close. “What say you to a proper apology this afternoon, behind the gym?”

Amelia began to struggle but Cormac was too strong. The other members of the basketball team crowded around her and I lost sight of her among the jeering crowd of testosterone. He was laying it on thick. A part of me thought that the sick bastard was actually getting a kick out of hassling the new girl and it riled a small part inside me.

Memories flashed to the forefront of my mind though I tried desperately to quash them. The first few months of freshman year. Of how hopeful I had been for a fresh start after being thoroughly bullied during middle school. And then the realisation that if I wanted to succeed in this part of my life, I had to hide away almost every aspect that made me such an easy target and wear the public mask of Queen Trish of Seven Oaks.

Keeping up the charade was difficult at first until I took full advantage of my love for theatre. But Amelia’s presence complicated all of that. I couldn’t quite pull off the roles I had so carefully curated when she was around. In her presence, I felt much too comfortable. What had started out as a means to gather information had slowly formed into a tentative friendship of sorts.

“You’re nothing like what the other students say in the school corridors,” she had said during one of our study sessions. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure how to peg you. Wondered if all that sincerity you showed was just a way to get into the good graces of the teachers.”

I’d tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Well, it’s one thing to claw for popularity and another thing to get good grades. Admission into Ivy League isn’t based on the fact you were Prom Queen.”

“So that’s why you’ve been so accommodating despite your reputation.”

Silence descended over us as we finished off the last of the AP Calculus questions that we had been assigned.

“I don’t understand why you would hang out with Naomi and Evangeline,” said Amelia.

“They’re good people,” I replied. “Say, why not join us for lunch on Tuesday? I’ll have a word with them.”

It should have been criminal, how easy it was to plant the seed. Amelia left that afternoon, musing on the olive branch I had extended – never knowing that it would only be the start of her downfall.

The sound of a feral scream broke me out of my thoughts and I looked up. Cormac, restrained by two of his friends, his nose dripping blood. There was no sign of Amelia except for the swinging of the cafeteria doors.

Something had gone wrong. This wasn’t part of the plan.

I wanted to crush her free spirit, not set a jock on the warpath. And knowing Cormac, it was likely he’d take it too far. The boy wouldn’t have known restraint if it slapped him on the wrist and pinned him against the wall. I needed to head the problem off at its source – talk some sense into the star basketball player before he lost his mind. If I didn’t, I could already see tomorrow’s headlines.

Before I was out of my seat, Naomi had risen and sauntered over to the basketball team. She whispered something into Cormac’s ear, running a curious finger down his chest. His expression immediately changed, as if he had forgotten the altercation with Amelia. I let out the breath I had been holding.

“Didn’t think Naomi was into Cormac,” Evangeline said, leaning in close. “I thought she had her eyes on Sebastian, the quarterback.”

“I’m surprised too,” I replied. “Wasn’t she yapping about the villain in that show from Netflix just the other day? Shadow and Bone? Like, what is up with that?”

“The Darkling. Ben Barnes knows how to play brooding, dark and handsome. The books are pretty popular too.”

I raised an eyebrow. Evangeline admitting that she had read Young Adult fiction? What was the world coming to? Had she always been able to read? For a moment, my world tilted, but I maintained the façade. “Well, I, for one, am glad that she managed to defuse the situation. Cormac looked ready to commit murder.”

Evangeline hummed her assent, turning her attention back to her food. She picked at the lasagne. “So, what’s next in your grand plan, Trish? If we want to ruin Amelia, there’s got to be more. You’ve embarrassed her but that’s a play from every high school movie that’s ever existed.”

Someone had obviously been paying far more attention than I had given her credit for. Perhaps there was more than one braincell floating in that head of hers after all.

A secretive smile blossomed over my face. “All in good time, my dear Evangeline. All in good time.”

The next phase was harder. I needed to isolate Amelia from everyone in the school. To break her spirit, I needed her alone and helpless. To that end, I used the information she had willingly given me and, with the help of Naomi and Evangeline, spread the rumour that she had tried to kill herself before she had transferred over to Seven Oaks. It was malicious and terrible and I should have felt bad about it. But all I saw was a threat that needed to be put down.

Every day I saw Amelia shrink into herself. Bit by bit. She said not a word in class, hand down though I knew she had all the answers tucked away. During lunch, I never once glimpsed her in the cafeteria. And when I tried to call her to check in, I only ever managed to reach her message box.

Initially, I kept up the façade of the concerned friend. I made enquiries into whether everything was all right. But as the rumours started to spread through the hallways of Seven Oaks, I decided to play up my shock and horror at hearing every nasty embellishment that grew and grew from each lip it passed.

I knew things were reaching their peak when I glimpsed Amelia, pale and gaunt, floating down the corridor. She was like a ghost. Barely corporeal.

Now was the time to clinch the deal. To show Amelia her place. That she could not simply waltz into the hallowed halls of Seven Oaks high and be her authentic self. Sacrifices had to be made. The status quo maintained. She had a choice to make. Would she be among the apex predators or was she a wilting wallflower, eager to keep her head down as she kept up her grades?

Yet, even though victory over Amelia was close at hand, it was harder to keep my unruly personas in line. Fine cracks were beginning to appear on my masks. Every attempt I tried at mending them only served to damage them further. After my near breakdown in the girls’ restrooms, they were getting harder and harder to control.

Mom had been the unfortunate witness to one of my episodes. The day had started off good. I had woken up and felt in control. Saturday meant finishing off my assigned homework and then practising for my role at the local theatre.

But as I was rehearsing the lines, Trish came barging in and stomped all over Pat’s hard work. “What was the point?” Trish screamed. “She hadn’t gotten the lead. A two-bit character in a play was hardly worth the effort!”

Pat, of course, was happy for anything that she was granted. Acting was the only time she could cast all of her worries aside and focus instead on the now. There had been a row.

At first, mom had knocked politely on the door – afraid to interrupt what she had deemed ‘my process.’ Then the screaming had begun and she had burst through the door to see me in front of the mirror, scissors in hand and about to stab my reflection.

“Pat, what’s going on?”

I whirled around. Seeing her, Trish sloughed away. With a concerted effort from my other personas, we quickly stuffed Trish into the deepest recesses of my mind as I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Just practising for the play. There’s a scene that is a little intense. I thought I’d try something a little different just to amp myself up. Was it too much?”

She frowned. “Is this the method acting you were talking about before?”

“You could say that. So, what’d you think?”

“It’s a little too extreme for my tastes. For a moment there, I thought you were going to stab yourself. There was such a wild look in your eyes. One of the last things I want is for you to hurt yourself.”

Sheepishly, I set the scissors down and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, mom. I’ll try better.”

Mom reached over and gave me a bear-crushing hug. I returned it, just as fiercely. All I had wanted was someone to see me and accept that I was everything from Pat to Trish to PattieNeko and more. As Mom held me, I pretended that was the case – but always knowing that if she ever saw behind the thin façade that I presented each morning, she’d spurn me. Trish was not the girl she had raised. I was supposed to be meek, polite and obedient. Everything that I had baked into Pat.

Tears pricked my eyes. All I wanted to do was break down and cry but mom wouldn’t have understood. So, I forced them back until she left the room.

A crumpled ball of paper landing a few feet from my desk brought my attention back to the less than riveting class of the American civil war. I glanced down at it and then, making sure I wasn’t caught by Miss Williams, I leaned down and scooped it up.

Flattening it out, I recognised the distinct script of Amelia though it was jagged with emotion and ink blots.

I can’t keep going like this, Trish. Can we talk? After school. 4pm. Behind the bleachers.

This was something unexpected. But it brought my plans closer to fruition. I glanced over my shoulder. Amelia sat three desks behind me. She kept her head down; hair curtaining her off from the world. Mascara tracked down her ashen face. It was clear she wasn’t doing well and only holding onto her sanity by a thread.

Better to put her out of her misery now instead of prolonging the torture. I was no sadist – thriving on the pain of others. My goal had been achieved. Amelia’s spirit was broken and she would fall in line nicely. Uncapping my pen, I wrote my response and, when Miss Williams wasn’t looking, lobbed the note back to Amelia.

I didn’t look to see if she picked it up or read it. I didn’t need to. 4pm. Behind the bleachers. That was when we would talk and finally hash out the manufactured bad blood that had festered between us. Pulling out my phone, I managed to send off a text to Naomi and Evangeline before Miss Williams turned around to discuss the repercussions of the civil war that had split the nation in half so many years ago.

It was five minutes to 4 and I could see the bleachers in the distance. I was early. Trish would have railed at that. When you had the upper hand, you didn’t kowtow to the demands of others. Make a splash, the Trish side of me whispered. Being on time was overrated. Being fashionably late would always be in vogue.

Besides, if Amelia was serious at all about having a talk, she would not mind waiting.

Pat, on the other hand, was always conscious of the time. Mom and Dad had trained her well. In fact, she’d get anxious the closer the appointed time drew closer. After all, if I wanted to impress teachers, or an admissions board, I needed to be polite and courteous and conscientious. What was so bad about arriving a few minutes early? It meant plenty of time to revise my notes or to check Instagram about the latest updates on everyone’s social lives.

The two personalities fought it out in the privacy of my mind as I stopped behind the changerooms. In the end, Trish won. After all, the whole setup had been her plan. The tearing down of Amelia’s reputation, singling her out and ostracising her from the rest of the student body…

You could destroy a person within minutes if you knew whose ear to whisper into. Gossip spread like wildfire or like an aerosol contagion that could not be stopped.

Trish deftly took control. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through TikTok, waiting for the minutes to pass me by. 4PM came and went.

By the time I looked up again from the deep dive of videos the algorithm had fed me, it was 4:11PM. Perfect. By now, Amelia would be nervous – wondering if I was late or had simply forgotten. There hadn’t been any texts but considering how we stood, I knew Amelia wouldn’t have thought it appropriate.

I sauntered to the bleachers, taking my time. Pat was buried deep within my psyche. She would be no use – her bleeding heart a liability for what I intended.

As soon as I rounded the corner, I spotted Amelia pacing the length of the field. Biting her nails, she was the epitome of stress as she pulled out her phone and glanced once more at the screen.

“Sorry I’m late. Got held up.” It was a feeble excuse but the relief I saw on Amelia’s face was enough to tell me that she would subsist on anything just to feel a tiny bit of support.

“For a moment there, I thought—” she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“What? Think I wouldn’t show?”

Her face flushed. “No, it’s not like that,” she protested. “I just…Okay. Maybe a little. It’s almost 20 minutes past. I thought you’d never show up.”

“Amelia, you know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do I? Trish, I know I should have been a better friend, answered your calls, but I was so messed up in the head. And then you left those messages…I thought you hated me.” Amelia began to turn away as tears threatened to spill.

I reached out and caught hold of her shoulder. “Hey. No. I just wanted to hear from you. After all, it’s not everyday that you hear about the drunken parties with frat boys and joyrides across the city.” I drew her closer, capturing Amelia in a loose embrace. “Is any of it true? Is there anything I need to know?”

She spun around in my grasp, her gaze drifting to my lips before they glanced up again and I saw the vibrant blue of her eyes. Amelia nervously bit her lip. Something fluttered in my chest but I ignored it. I was Trish. Trish was me.

There would be no mercy once I heard her admit her weaknesses and beg me for assistance. The mask of proprietary would fall.

“Well, Amelia? What aren’t you telling me? Why did you always feel like you were being watched at your old high school? Why was it so overwhelming that you needed to leave?”

Minutes passed and yet she still said not a word. As I started to pull away, however, she held tighter onto my arm. “Wait, Trish.” I looked over my shoulder. She swallowed nervously. “You asked me once why I left my old school.”

I nodded. “I remember that you said that it was because you hated how everyone judged you. That you felt every movement was watched and that you couldn’t handle all that scrutiny.”

“That’s true. But it’s only part of the story.” Something sharp pricked my skin. Amelia looked up at me, something dangerous flashing in her eyes as she held a switchblade knife right in the soft skin of my belly. A bead of sweat adorned my brow. Shit. Was I going to get stabbed? This was not how I had anticipated things going. “They like to throw labels around in my old school. I was ‘troubled.’ Always getting into fights. What the school counsellor never understood was that I never much liked how the rich bitches tried to impose their will on the student body.

“When I came to Seven Oaks, I thought it would be different. That I could make friends and be accepted for who I was, status quo be damned. Guess I was wrong.”

A stammer entered my voice as I eyed the blade Amelia held. I hated the weakness but couldn’t help it. None of my masks were overly familiar with violence except perhaps PattieNeko. Even then, it was consigned to the realm of video games and pretend. “P-put the knife down, Amelia. I thought you w-wanted to talk.”

“Scared now, aren’t you? When your life is on the line?” Amelia scoffed. “You’re just like the others, Patricia. All bark, no bite.”

The pressure on my stomach lifted. Relief flooded through me as she stowed the knife away and I let out the breath I was holding.

“You know the problem with people like you, Patricia? It’s that you’re constantly hiding. Too afraid to show the world who you really are. And because of that, you feel that the whole world ought to follow your lead. It makes me sick.”

I should have kept my mouth shut. It would have been the wise choice. To remain silent. But Amelia’s words struck a chord deep within me. “Do you think I like putting on a happy face each day?” I hissed at her. “High school is a fight for survival. Everyone knows that if you want to come out on top, there are a few necessary sacrifices you need to make.”

“Is that really what you believe?” said Amelia. “I pity you, Patricia. You’re probably the only one in Seven Oaks that can’t seem to accept the authenticity of who you are. Even Naomi and Evangeline, though their grades are abysmal, have a better grasp of who they are and what they want out of life.”

“And? What’s the point of this diatribe?” I said, puffing out my chest. I could still salvage this. Amelia might have a weapon at her disposal, but I still had the upper-hand when it came to the support of the school. I’d threaten her by reporting her to the disciplinary board. Maybe even the police. It was clear that Amelia was unhinged – deranged even.

Amelia shook her head. “Even now, you hide and cower behind the personas you’ve created, Patricia. Isn’t it tiring? Don’t you find it exhausting?”

She was trying to goad me into admitting my faults. It was probable that she had set up a camera or a microphone to record our conversation. Even though she was a lunatic, she was still a novice when it came to the confession playbook. I could see her every move and I refused to play the game that she so desperately wanted me to.

No. I needed to spin this opportunity to my advantage.

“The only thing I find exhausting is you, Amelia,” I said, confidence returning. I gestured to the empty bleachers around us. “This whole setup just to…what? Out me? I don’t know about you but I’ve never hid a day in my life. For years, I’ve endured putdowns and comments about my appearance back in middle school. But I rose above them. Proved the naysayers wrong. It took hard work to land where I am now.”

From the look in her eyes, I could see that she had realised she was losing traction. Any advantage that she had briefly gained by her earlier powerplay was gone. “Another lie,” she said, though her previous conviction was gone.

Anger flared and, against my better judgement, I stepped up to Amelia. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” I growled under my breath. “Having friends that don’t have two braincells to rub against each other? Sure, they can be a pain but Naomi and Evangeline are loyal.

“You talk about being genuine and one’s true self. Well, that sentiment can go and die in a hole. You can’t begin to understand what I’ve struggled with throughout my entire life. I’ve had to claw my way up from being the bullied wallflower. It wasn’t easy trying to juggle good grades with popularity but I did it anyways. So, stop trying to push your self-righteousness into my face.

“Learn your place in Seven Oaks. Every other student here has.”

I turned away, disgusted by my own emotional response. Yet, it all had to be said. Amelia had no right to come into my school and demand that the entire student body dance to her tune. Blood, sweat and tears had gone into the careful curation of all my distinct personas – each to cater to the whims of the people around me. It could not be for nothing.

In hindsight, it was not one of my better ideas to leave my back unguarded against a person that had been backed into a corner. And even though I had seen the switchblade, felt it against my belly, I had still thought it a prop from the theatre department. I realised my error as soon as I felt a stabbing pain on the lower right of my back and I crumpled to the ground.

Fearful that she would attack me again, I lashed out with wild kicks. Primal in the defence of my own person. This was another side that was neither Trish or Pat or PattieNeko. My lizard brain had finally turned on and I was running on pure adrenaline.

Somehow, I managed to knock Amelia to the ground. The blade went spinning away. It and her hands were red with my blood. She was still a danger; still a threat. With a feral strength that was unknown to me, I rose to my knees and leaped onto her prone body.

With a strength I did not know I possessed, I struck at her face. Once. Twice. And then an entire barrage of blows as I tried to reach every available piece of skin to punch or scratch. She had tried to kill me. Had stabbed me with a fucking switchblade that she had smuggled into school. Had tried to have me commit social suicide and ruin my chances at an Ivy League college.

Amelia deserved more than what I was able to dole out. With one last animalistic cry, I threw one last punch and managed a lucky blow.

Fist throbbing from pain and anger spent, I rolled off her. Chest heaving, I glanced back over at Amelia and the damage I had inflicted on her. It wasn’t much. She had turtled behind her arms and had rolled with the punches. A slowly forming black eye and a split lip would be her only souvenirs of today. Whereas I would probably need several stitches for the knife wound in my lower back.

“Are you satisfied now?” I gasped at her, once I managed to take in several mouthfuls of air. “You’ve ruined any chance of going to a good college. One look at your permanent record and you’ll be finished. Assaulting a fellow student, carrying a weapon onto school grounds…someone ought to just shoot you dead. A pity it wasn’t me.”

She turned on her side to face me, a shit eating grin on her face. “I always knew there was something off about you, Patricia. How did it feel to let it all out? All those frustrations?”

I ignored her, instead focused on how to extricate myself from the situation and spin it in my favour. It would be my word against Amelia’s. Given my standing in Seven Oaks, I knew I would win. Beyond that, I was the more grievously injured. And unlike her, I had a network of support. Friends and family that would be the first to denounce the violent girl that had harmed the jewel of Seven Oaks.

My first order of business, of course, was calling for an ambulance. After that, I needed to reach out to Mom and Dad. Naomi and Evangeline as well.

As I lay on my back, reaching for my phone in the back pocket, I noticed for the first time in a long while that the voices in my head were utterly and completely silent. There were no snide comments or unhelpful advice as Trish, Pat or PattieNeko battled it out to be the dominant persona inside of me. I was me. Without any conditions.

Had this been what Amelia had meant?

The revelation was almost enough to undo me; the temptation too great. I relished the silence. No expectations. Just me. I reined the enthusiasm back in. This was something to explore another time. For now, I had to deal with the teenage girl before me.

Just as the phone began to ring, something flashed in the corner of my eye. Immediately, I was on my feet again and ducked to the side. Amelia was back on her feet. In her right hand, she held a second blade. She gave me a knowing look before lunging forward with the switchblade. In my haste to get away, I dropped my phone. Amelia kicked it aside and it went spinning towards the field.

“What is wrong with you?” I screamed at her. “Why are you trying to kill me?”

“I know you felt the exhilaration, Patricia. Admit it. Didn’t it feel good to be you? To have all those voices shut up?”

There was a mad glint in her eye as she spoke. Realisation struck. Amelia was utterly deranged. Was this how I’d turn out if I let go of all my inhibitions? While it was intoxicating not having to worry about all the responsibilities that had been placed on my shoulders, if this was the cost, I would not partake in it. I had a feeling that acknowledging that particular truth would only lead down a slippery slope.

This was not who I wanted to be. No. I needed to extricate myself from this rapidly deteriorating situation and get to safety. Hopefully, Naomi and Evangeline would still be at school. If not, I could find a teacher.

The only problem was that Amelia served as the obstacle between me and the main campus building. Yet, what else could I do?

I feinted to the left and then raced through the opening she presented. Amelia cursed under her breath as she chased after me.

It felt like hours as I pelted through the ankle high grass. My side ached something fierce and I was sure that the wound Amelia had scored on me was bleeding again in earnest. I sucked in a shuddering breath when I finally reached the side doors of the main school building and fell into the hallway. Scrambling back to my feet, I screamed for help until my voice was hoarse.

Behind me, I heard the sound of footsteps. I didn’t need to glance over my shoulder to know that Amelia was close on my heels. I needed to keep running. But where? And for how long? I turned down a hallway, hoping to see someone. To my dismay, they were empty; the doors to the classrooms shut tight.

Where was everyone? It was nearing 5PM, true, but surely there was still someone in the school building?

I stumbled along, powerless and alone. The voices in my head returned with a vengeance. Trish was suggesting that we stand our ground and face the threat of Amelia head on. Pat disagreed. She was joined by PattieNeko. Both used their logic to dissuade Trish from making a stand. It was a foolhardy hope. Life was no video game and I didn’t have anything to defend myself with.

A cacophony of orders rose in my head. They were unbearable. Trish was telling me one thing, Pat another. And PattieNeko couldn’t be entirely sure which side to join. Perhaps, my online persona added, Amelia was amenable to talking it out.

But then, to my growing horror, I heard a fourth voice. One that had never existed before. It demanded order and obeisance from the others before it offered an alternative plan that was both bold and audacious.

Amelia only wanted one thing: recognition.

If I wanted to survive, perhaps it was better to play along. After all, what had my staunch resistance to Amelia brought me but pain? Before I could mount a counter-argument, the fourth voice reminded me that had I acquiesced earlier, I would not be in my current situation. What was one small admission in the face of death?

Now, of course, to do such a thing would be too late. The enemy would be suspicious of any attempt to accede to her wishes. It was time to take the battle to her.

Though it went against every fibre of my being, the fourth voice assumed control. It steered me towards the cafeteria.

As I burst through the doors, with not a soul in sight, I beelined towards the kitchens. I needed a weapon. Something pointy and sharpy and bigger. To my dismay, I could find no knives on display. Instead, I grabbed the nearest equivalent – a rolling pin.

Armed, I stepped out of the kitchens just as Amelia pushed her way in. Her movements indicated that she was in no rush. I despised how she acted so at ease. Amelia knew there was no escape for me and she had taken her bloody time getting here.

The urge to spit in her eye was almost overwhelming. Patience, whispered the fourth voice in my head. You’ll get your chance. I nodded; enslaved to the idea of smashing Amelia’s head in and finally claiming my rightful throne as Queen Bee of Seven Oaks.

Before either Amelia or I could do anything, someone charged through the doors of the cafeteria and tackled Amelia to the ground. There was the sound of something smacking against the rubber tile flooring. Evangeline stepped through a moment later, phone in hand as she recorded the scene. She stepped over the prone unconscious body of Amelia and waved to me. Michael Sanchez popped back up and flashed me a grin.

Realisation struck. Oh God. When had Evangeline got together with the worst player on the football team?

“We heard shouting in the corridor. When I poked my head out, I saw you dash into the cafeteria with Amelia following after,” he said. “After Evangeline told me about your plan, I knew that things had probably gone shit and you were probably in trouble.”

I was at a loss for words. The fourth voice, filled with darkness, had vanished as if it had never existed in the first place. Finally, Pat took control. “Thank you,” I said, lowering the rolling pin I still held in my hand. “We should probably get one of the teachers. And maybe call the authorities.”

Michael Sanchez thrust both thumbs up. “Sounds like a plan.”

The three of us watched as Amelia was taken away in handcuffs. I was given something warm to nurse, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl. Someone had also taken a look at my wounds and patched me up as best they could.

Just an hour before, however, I had been bombarded with question after question. What had happened? Was this normal behaviour? Had there been any indication that Amelia would suffer a psychotic break? Could I describe the exact order of events as slowly and as succinctly as possible?

I had retreated into my mind, allowing one of the masks I wore to take command, only daring to venture out again once Amelia had been put into the back of the patrol car.

As the vehicle passed me by, Amelia turned to look at me. Our gazes locked. In that instant, the fourth persona that I had not known to exist within me rose inside to meet the steely challenge.

I could not say how she knew, but Amelia saw the change. A wide grin broke across her lips and she mouthed something through the thick glass. There was no doubt in my mind that it was a promise of things to come. Bile clawed up my throat and I felt as if I was about to vomit.

Yet, though I was disgusted by the teenage girl before me, I could not tear my gaze away from those slate-grey dead eyes. A tiny part of me was thrilled to see what would happen should we ever meet again. It could not wait until the next meeting. Would it be a fight to the death or simply a meeting of the minds? Amelia could not be so easily categorised and her view of the world intrigued this dark aspect of me.

If Evangeline and Michael Sanchez hadn’t been tonguing it in the history classroom, what would have happened, I wondered?

I turned away, trying to hide the shudder that rippled through my body.

That thought, more than anything else, absolutely terrified me.