Hell is Other
People
A
Daria fanfic by Arctic Rose
Chapter One: The Thursday
from Hell
Daria Morgendorffer woke up that Friday morning with a feeling of
dread in the pit of her stomach.
If she opened her eyes, she knew she would have to face the day, complete
with the rift between her and Jane.
It wasn't as big as it would get once she unloaded what was weighing
so heavily on her mind, but it was already larger than it had ever been during
the course of their friendship.
Needless to say, she kept her eyes closed, wishing desperately for
the mindless oblivion of unconsciousness to overtake her.
Of course, it refused
to. So, with a mental sigh, she opened her eyes, dreading
the sight of the cracked ceiling of her
room.
Her brain took a moment to register what it was that she was currently
viewing. Of course, after
registering, it still refused to believe what her eyes were telling
her. Nearly-blind without her
glasses she might be, but color blind she most certainly wasn't; and
right now her eyes were saying there was a whole lot of pink above
her. Strangely enough, it
wasn't blurry, either
At some subconscious level, she realized that she had two
options: she could wake up more
fully and try to figure out what the pink thing was; or she could close her
eyes, and irrational as it might seem, hope it went away while she was
asleep. This being the early
morning, she chose the latter.
She had almost reached the exquisite nirvana of complete and total
unawareness when a voice filtered through the fog that had not quite permeated
her brain.
GAH!
QUINN! YOUR SISTER'S
MISSING!
Quinnmissing?
Daria's mostly-shut-down brain tried to process the statement
while it was still being reluctantly dragged to the
surface. What happened to
Quinn? Her eyes snapped
open and her room came into focus, even though she wasn't wearing her
glasses.
Except it wasn't her room.
She barely had a few seconds to take in the deep pile carpet, three-way
mirror, and various clothes strewn about when her father burst into the room
in full panic mode. Quinn,
wake up! Your sister's gone!
she said, trying to frame a reply and startled at
the higher pitched, slightly nasal tone of her
voice. I'm
not-
But Jake was already running down the hall, screaming for his
wife. Helen, wake
up! Daria's
gone!
I'mgone?
Daria woke up. Tentatively, she lifted a hand, examining the perfectly
manicured nails. Oh, God,
she said, even though she didn't usually believe in
Him.
I'mShe couldn't finish the
sentence. Instead, she got out of bed and went over to the three-way
mirror. What she saw there inspired
a level of terror far beyond any horror flick she and Jane had watched on
Bad Movie Night.
Standing there, clad in pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers, Quinn's
reflection stared back at her, a look of shock on its
face.
Amid the whirling mass of jumbled thoughts that passed for her mind
at that moment, Daria tried to organize some semblance of
order. Unfortunately, nothing
came of it. Eventually she put
her sister's body on autopilot while she figured out her
options. If she started acting
like herself, her parents would think she was making fun of her sister
(herself?), or worse, might think that she was
insane. The safest thing, therefore,
was to get to school and find Jane.
Assuming she could somehow convince her of what had happened, her
best friend might have some idea what to do.
Abruptly, she realized she was standing in front of the mirror, examining
her reflection critically. The
belly shirt and flare jeans made her feel exposed and vulnerable, but that
couldn't be helped. If
she changed her wardrobe any, Helen and Jake would freak, considering they
were already worried about whatever had happened to her sister's –
no, HER – body. Good Lord,
she was going to go crazy if she didn't figure out a way to fix this,
and soon.
She opened the door and stepped into the hall, deciding to have a
look into her room. Cracking the door open slightly, she saw the familiar
padded walls, the bed on which she had been lying while in such inner turmoil
last night, the broken TV, and the various articles of debris scattered about
on the floor. Picking her way
through the mess, she sat down on the bed, hoping for some sort of
revelation. None seemed to come,
however. Figuring she might
as well do the thing properly, she lay down and stared up at the ceiling
which she had so dreaded seeing that morning.
Something came to her then.
Not a revelation, certainly not an epiphany of any sort, but an
impression. The sound of
laughter. Derisive, somewhat
evil laughter, but familiar somehow
Quinn! Come down here
now! Helen's voice
was not anywhere near as panicked as her husband's, but certainly was
worried, underneath the no-nonsense take-charge
tone. I need to talk to
you.
Daria took a moment to consider how Quinn would
react. But Muh-om, I need
to finish my makeup! Having
heard Quinn whine often enough, she hoped she could do so
convincingly.
Helen sighed loudly and Daria knew she had pulled it
off. All right, but come
down as soon as you're finished. Daria heard
retreating footsteps as Helen went into the living room.
Going into the bathroom, she looked at the myriad bottles and containers
of all shapes and sizes. She
had no idea what most of them were for; aside from lipstick and maybe a little
mascara, she had never worn makeup
before. Fortunately, she had
heard Quinn babbling on at dinner one night about how the
look was in, so she selected a shade of lipstick that seemed fairly close
to her sister's lip color, applied it, and put it
back. That looked fine, so she
decided to leave the rest alone until she had some clue as to what she was
doing.
Having left the bathroom, she was about to go downstairs when an idea
came to her. She crept into her room again – her room,
not the one she had woken up in – and grabbed a pair of her familiar
combat boots. This pair had
been getting slightly small for her, but they fitted Quinn's feet
perfectly. She laced them up and put the bells of her jeans over
the tops. Hardly noticeable,
but she felt better now. More
prepared. Less
vulnerable.
As she walked into the kitchen, her mother looked at her
approvingly. You certainly
came down more quickly than usual.
Now, can you tell me where your sister is?
I don't know!
Daria mimicked Quinn's exasperated
Mother-You're-Prying-Into-My-Life
tone. Maybe she went to
school early. Maybe she's
at her weird art friend's house. Or maybe she decided to elope with Knuckles and move to
Tahiti. Oops, Daria
thought, as she saw Helen's expression become a stern
frown. Rule number one of being Quinn – Keep a handle
on the sarcasm.
Daria brought her thoughts back to what
her mom was saying. Quinn,
you don't need to imitate your
sister. It's enough having
one sarcastic in the family. If
you see her at school, tell her to come home immediately
afterward. I need to speak to
her.
All right, fine, whatever.
I've got to go to school now, Sandi's convening an emergency
meeting of the fashion club this
morning. She turned around
and flounced out, tossing her long red hair over her shoulder as she did
so.
Picking up her sister's bag, Daria went out the
door. At the corner, she saw
Jane waiting, apparently for her.
she called, forgetting for a second who she looked
like. Jane's expression
of condescension mixed with disgust gave her a startling reminder,
however.
What do you want, Ms.
Fashion-of-the-month?
Jane's icy tone of voice brought Daria up short; not because
she had hardly ever been on the receiving end of it, but because it was exactly
how Daria had imagined Jane would treat her if she told her about the previous
night. Suddenly, though, that
was on the bottom of her list of
priorities. And where's
your sister? Jane continued.
We're going to be late for school if she doesn't
hurry.
Daria tried to come up with an answer that was both explanatory and
believable. she
said. Seeing Jane's look
of surprise, she added helpfully, But she's not really
gone.
Jane raised an eyebrow.
What the hell are you talking
about? You're making even
less sense than usual, and for you, that's saying
something.
Way to go, Daria thought to
herself. Now how do I explain
my situation? Or more specifically,
how do I explain my situation without her thinking I'm totally
nuts? Finally she took a
deep breath. Would you
believe me if I told you I'm actually Daria?
To her credit, Jane took a moment to survey the girl standing before
her before answering. Aside from your somewhat tasteful change in footwear,
I don't see any reason to believe
that. What are you trying to
convince me for, anyway? I thought
you despised your sister. Is
this some sort of joke?
Daria was trying to come up with a persuasive rebuttal when she heard
a car pull up behind her and a window roll
down. Hey, Quinn,
a familiar deep voice called, do you want a ride to school or would
you rather walk with your cousin-or-whatever's geeky
friend?
Daria started to contort her face into the placating smile she had
seen Quinn use whenever Sandi insulted her, then thought for a
moment. Why was she playing
Quinn now, when her parents weren't around to freak
out? Instead, she turned and
gave Sandi a frosty glare.
For your information, Sandi, I would rather spend time with
someone I can talk to.
Unless you have anything else on your agenda aside from the latest
kind of blush?
Sandi hid her confusion under a veneer of
condescension. But,
Quinn, she said patronizingly, the Fashion Club's Blush-a-thon
is continuing all this week.
We're supposed to talk about
blush. Unless, of course, you
think that you are a better judge of conversation than the president
of the Fashion Club?
As a matter of fact, I do,
Sandi. But I'm not going
to waste it on a bitch who can't stand even the idea of a little
competition.
Sandi turned several shades of red before rolling
up the window and zooming off, nearly running Daria over in the
process.
Turning back to Jane, Daria saw a look of shock on her friend's
face. Convinced yet?
she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Jane recovered from her catatonic state enough to
speak. Well, I'm
not sure if you're Daria, but I sure as hell believe you aren't
Quinn. But if you really are
Daria, then what happened to, she held her hands up in a gesture of
confusion,
I don't know, Daria shook her
head. I just woke up and
she was gone. That's when
I realized what had happened to me.
I don't even know if Quinn is in her head now or if she's
just
Jane's expression turned
crafty. Without warning, she
started firing off questions as rapidly and precisely as a
semi-automatic.
What's the fastest glue gun on the
market?
Stickmata 5000, Daria answered
immediately.
What's my boyfriend's name?
Daria sincerely hoped the sudden onrush of guilt she was
feeling wasn't showing.
Jane didn't seem to notice,
however. What's your
favorite type of music?
She wasn't convinced.
