Being woken up to 'Say Good morning to Aunty Daria' made her wished that she was just undergoing a nightmare. Dark disappeared outside the windows throughout the home and was replaced with fresh new sunlight; it streamed down and burned her eyelids closed. Four pounds was added to the bed but Daria insists on keeping her eyes locked shut. The weight crawled closer to her face and greeted it with quick licks. Even then she does not let herself see the budging crossed eyes and tiny needle teeth crowning the root of the tongue. Daria jerked to the other side, her lazy 'ew' did not measure up to her true disgust. Not just disgust for it but the one who released it onto her bed.
Downstairs was not much better as Mr. Morgendorffer covered from one part of the floor to another. His skin color now matching the spray bottle in hand; Daria missed when she did not recognize the product at first, just dubbing it a red Windex bottle. Not when he practiced making bacon has the kitchen air been so toxic and hard to breathe in. The histrionics of Jake were often tiresome but she could not bring herself to blame him this time.
"See dad, this is why I didn't want a dog!" he hollered to the heavens above. Even though he swears his father would not have been there. Daria passes by him, looking unimpressed by the event. She picked over to her mother instead as she sat down in a chair. Like Daria, she was not so eager to be in a frenzy over what happened while she barely slept.
"She peed again?" Mrs. Morgendorffer murmured.
Daria wanted make a joke reassuring she didn't mean Quinn but it was just too early,
"uh-huh."
"Story of her life." Her mom massaged her temples with a single hand. The back of her hand covered her eyes.
Quinn came down with the dog in hand and gave her a mild scolding in gratuitous baby talk. She stares vacantly with big bat ears raised. Quinn drops her onto the small blue lined mat near the corner of the kitchen.
"No Tinkerbell! You have to go to the bathroom on the Wee Wee Pad!"
"I guess she's allergic to the elephant urine they use to make those things." Daria steals a sip of the milk jug she took out to masquerade making coffee.
"Ewwww!" Quinn quickly snatches her dog off the pad in a way reminiscent of a falcon would do if you ever let a creature that tiny
go outside. Something Quinn would be so quick to do, Daria assumed. She pictured her on a lounge chair in sunglasses too black to see in, hoping to turn tan from the sun as Tinkerbell is being closed in by a dancing butterfly-like shadow that grows into a bigger, uglier one while roaming free without parental protection.
Mr. Morgendorffer tested the spray can on the back of his hand. "Say Quinn, why don't we get something that pees in a box, like instinctively. Let's get a cat."
"But they're mean and hiss at you," she said.
"You already have three of those anyway," Daria describes the fashion club.
"Jake, get over it," Hellen joined in, "and besides we don't need another thing peeing under the table for you to wake everyone over for."
"But...Tinkerbell peed in my room this time."
Hellen turns to her younger daughter by rotating on the chair, to ask her a rightfully asked question. Quinn stayed quiet, daring not to cough. Jake's next predictably loud 'dammit' dropped before he runs up the stairs and straight to Quinn's room. The red bottle was being held like a loaded Uzi. While the girls stayed downstairs, he was off to find the hidden stain.
It was later that day, too later that day. Sandi could just laugh, it was not a good look to her and having someone in her circle wear it was an insult. However, she thinks of herself as a leader, one who should never halt for someone who didn't care. Just so long as everyone else was present looking good, she won' and Stacy came in almost an hour ago and sat pretzel legged the minute they touched the air of Sandi's room. Wearing the same outfits they always wore; they look passable. If up to Stacy she would equip complicated add ons that were not necessary and if it were up to Tiffany she would blend color that would be hard on the eyes. Sandi loathed contrarians, Quinn often becomes one during discussion-based meetings.
"Is there anyone here who dares not concur with my statement of rightfully punishing Amanda for ostentatiously wearing a tutu at the mall?"
Quinn chimed in proving herself not absent. She breathed heavily while Tinkerbell was still on her arm not shaking like a dog her breed often does. Its small head cocked back and forth to view the other humans with big eyes.
"Why are you late for today's meeting?" Sandi just said as the others politely greeted each other.
"Oh Sandi I'm so sorry but I had to put this cute dress on Tinkerbell before getting here- but she thought it was a new toy and tried chewing it like with everything else she sees." Quinn yanked the piece of the cloth from the lockjaw.
Sandi criticized, "It figures, a dress like that resembles mostly the worn and torn carcass of a baby cheetah."
"What!? Oh no," Stacy raved, misunderstanding the previous statement
Then Tiffany talked, "uh what is that?"
"I could go back home a put on the yellow raincoat on her?" Quinn looked sheepish, humiliated whenever Sandi made it clear she was doing something wrong.
"Or you could go back home and make her wear clothes that says 'I'm a big distraction and my mother projecting some disturbing fantasies on me'." the unique drawl in Sandi's voice beat the word 'mother' into 'mudder'.
"Uh what is thatttt?" This repetition made Sandi turn her sarcastic criticism to her, sarcasm that could put Daria to shame even.
"It's a lunchbox, Tiffany."
"Hmm...okay." Tiffany examined the so called lunchbox in its tan fuzzed glory. Not having to touch it, it licked her on the chin. It was as unmoving as any stuffed animal, dress like one too. Colossal glassy eyes and stiff legs can pass it as a Beanie Boo. She did not expect it to more.
"Please, she won't be a distraction I promise," Quinn pleaded, caught up in her desire to not have another passive aggressive argument with Sandi.
"Uh ohhhhh." Tiffany's hands became balloons. Water balloons, no, blood balloons; tight wrists closing off an excess of blood swelling and pumping through them. The usually thin fingers appeared meaty.
"Yeah, she could be the fashion club's mascot!" interrupted Stacy.
"Stac-yy! I suggest we not represent our unity under important issues with a miniature beast of burden."
Stacy gasped loud, not at the responds but at Tiffany who soon visually consumed everyone's attention. The barren head crowded with air grew six times its main size; forcing the slanting eyes shut as they sunk into the swelling. As the hands, that can easily fit over the long surface of her face. The forehead especially grew, rivaling the width of the Hanson poster on the wall rising at her back. Her hair could not reach even below her chin. It disproportionately hanged just a measly inch below the ears. This made it look like a short bob cut as opposed to the medium length locked black strands. Tiffany was her very own bobble head with these cartoony exaggerations of her body and the literal bobbling of her head swaying left to right on the stick-small neck. If she were to fall over it would flip the rest of her straight up. The raspy moans indicated aching pain.
"But I didn't know!" Quinn shrieked. Stacy danced around in a nervous frenzy. She looked horrified, Tiffany just looked beige personality of Tiffany had prevented her from reacting to problems like normal folks do. Sandi does not look too morbidly concerned either. Far too vindictive to prioritize, she sees this as an opportunity to target Quinn more.
"Gee Quinn, it certainly amazing how you overlooked Tiffany's deathly allergies by insisting that mongrel stays," she says smirking.
She turns white under her freckles when all three of her peers looked back her blankly. An uncomfortable responsibility was given to her,
"Okay fine, I'll call dad to pick her up."
The green door slammed and fastened into the rest of the locker. A face of banal unhappiness was revealed so only after. Jane could only wonder how long it hid itself as she searched for a book. Daria spoke no words, only looked around for any undesirable plebeians to catch sight. Whatever she was concealing, it was more than just her face. She raised an arm, gravity yanked down the loose sleeve of her coat and it fell closer to the elbow. Just above it, too stiff to reach the armpit. Jane had a silent gasp choke her from the presentation of angry gashes and some harmless boo-boos from the night before. As the aunt of the dog, she was in charge of watching her as Quinn was busy.
"Do you ever have a normal day?" Jane asked as a genuine question disguised as a sarcastic one.
"Yeah once," she stealthy fixed her sleeve, "it was a Friday."
Meanwhile the football team strutted by, stepping on each other, lead by Kevin Thompson. He was the QB, which means the quarterback. Which means entitlement and pigheadedness, at least according to Mr. DeMartino. They acted as a commercial for this exchange, taking up valuable time being disruptive with their stampede. Too noisy and lasting to continue any conversation. Instead of being a commercial they were the end credits. Only to comeback minutes later in their english language class. When there, Kevin asked a question.
"No Kevin, Ralph's major ally in the book is not Miss Piggy."
Mr. O'Neil shielded despair from everyone well. Even though the old kind face was in a state of nothing but honest seriousness. Passively holding the book over his chest to pray for verisimilitude progress from the children before him. A book was a worthy of being a shield even if it was as tiny as The Lord of The Flies was. All copies used and given out were short and squat enough to slide into a sorting slot for mail
"How about I call on someone I don't usually call on, how about you Tiffany?" He searched her out though the room only to withdraw his suggestion and call it pointless. Seeking her out was normally easy, as she sits among her associates. Now only three were present at the further back unit of the class.
"I forgot she's been hospitalized." He chuckles.
"It's about time," said Daria who thought little of Tiffany after the encounter from social counseling. Just as someone who has potential to be as nasty as Sandi but too dimwitted to cause much harm to anyone outside Stacy. The attention she brought to herself by speaking out made her subject to call, according to this teacher.
"Wait I didn't even raise my hand, AH!" There were invisible arrows shooting at her arm, punishing her for participating. They drugged her skin making too stiff to exert, doing so might tear it.
"Wow, the bite marks really hurt you that much?" Jane's mouth shifted towards Daria however forward her eyes remained. She thinks of the small dark bloody holes, it was difficult to imagine them being debilitating in a single way.
"I don't get it, they didn't hurt like that before." Once again Daria peeled down her sleeve. The lines of hardened blood and spots of scabs didn't brake. She flexed her hand in a circle to study the levels of pain. At that moment they were minor unlike a moment ago when just raising a hand crippled it.
Mr. O'Neil wheezes. Feeling like a witness of a crime, refused to say another on an impulse. Refused to call attention to the thing he sees and hear,
"class dismissed for everyone except you, Daria."
"Looks like he's ready to give you feedback on that Jack the Ripper fanfiction you handed in," Jane says as she freely stands up while the girl next to her remains seated.
"Go on without me, I'll see you later," Daria tells her.
The teacher was as awkward to be around alone as it was to be singled out by him. Once the room emptied itself of all but two breathing parties, it was very difficult for either of them to be the first to interact. A grey wind blew the grading papers away even though all the windows have been shut for days. Finally Daria collected them off the floor as slowly as possible. If there were more than twenty of them, it would have taken her a week. Mr. O'Neil yelped from the surprised of having the pile dropped in front of him for no other reason than his edgy state. Regardless, he thanked her after.
"Hello Mr. O'Neil," Daria spoke like how kindergarten students responds in unison to their teacher greeting them.
"Hello Daria." Once again he is being shielded, not with a book but with intangible compassion. The kind that conceals grave concern.
"I couldn't help but notice you showing off some, questionable scars on your wrist to your friend." His smile fades but his eyes remained buttery.
"Relax, they don't hurt that much." She was a bit disappointed that was the reason he asked for her. Mostly she was cursing herself for displaying her injuries in the open like that.
"It makes me wonder if they are self inflicted," Mr. O'Neil darkly spoke.
"What? Of course not." Daria could have groaned.
"Now Daria, you know as a teacher I am responsible for you and your classmates," he explains in a way to invite warm communication.
"If you really want to know I got wrapped up in dog-sitting a chihuahua with razors for teeth and a half of a walnut for a brain." Daria travels the backpack up her arm to signify her desire to go home.
"I apologies but that excuse isn't going to work every time, even if you replace 'cat' with 'dog'. Please understand that this byproduct of your clear depression is not only hurting you physically, but emotionally too." He begged for her to speak the truth.
"I don't cut myself, damn it." Her eyes broke into an angry slant.
"It's better to be safe, I am obliged to call an ambulance." When Mr. O'Neil said that, she was on the verge of screaming on the inside.
A big white car drove her away. Two men lead her into it before with no force; behind her glasses Daria appear immensely frightened as her stone expressions would allow. What firstly just bothered her but has evolved into one whole serious thing to come. Three watched her from the sidewalk, the fashion club minus Tiffany Blum-deckler on their way to the mall stopped a walking to observe. They were not above listening in, gossipy as they were. Just moments ago they were clucking quietly to each other behind the ajar door of their classroom after English was over. Now they see Daria again, as they overheard, in the back of the truck looking at nothing in particular. It was a strange kind of ambulance, one with a rear window.
"So sad, your dog sitter turned out to be an emo," said Sandi to Quinn.
"Yeah, you think you know someone." Quinn remembered who Daria was to her, she knew the truth. Her dog gave her those cuts, not herself. This could have been serious, yet she does not get out of character. After all, the parents are to blame; Jake begrudgingly agreed with his wife to get her a pet to make her feel better after her boyfriend David ran away, Quinn started to think he got hit by a car.
Mrs. Morgendorffer could have died of shock when she received that phone call. It was easy to worry about what is going on with Daria but she instantly took her side. Although surprisingly, she believed her claim against what rumor was buzzing around the hospital. They hoped it didn't go viral at school as well. One of the officers conversed with her, he was the one who referred to her as 'madam'. There was a lot of clamor, Hellen said that keeping her child away from home against her will is unjust and she will contact authority. The Morgendorffers were told they had no room to call authorities, authority was right in front of their face. The fact was, all suicidal patients have to remain under supervision until they feel they will not do anything to kill themselves. Hellen grew red but still tried to deliver her point that her daughter, Daria Morgendorffer, as malcontent as she is, does not cut nor want to kill herself and the later came out of no where. It started as a small theory that germinated. It goes without saying that they had difficultly believing her, to be expected. They would have a better time if not for her disposition as an apparent clinically depressed child. As a clinically depressed child she must take off from school until given emancipation. This made Daria smile, and speak of her urges to jump out of a window onto her head. Hellen screamed at Jake to say something, the man who stood in place without a hair of argument towards the scary white and blue clad adults wanting to keep his daughter captive. It wasn't like he did not care; heavens know he does, but his limited speech system forbid him from saying anything besides "damn medical institutions". It was up to Hellen to haggle for her Daria, who was now left out in the halls waiting on a little stool. Either she is allowed home with some prescript therapy sessions or she stays for at least three days. The only saving graces gathered around her, the Lane sibling sent their sympathies.
"I got you something from the claw machine outside the hospital." Trent came bearing a gift, a molding teddy bear from decades ago put away as a prize for a game no one can win except him. Keeping claw machines right outside marketplaces was normal but one at a hospital was silly.
"Um, thanks Trent." Daria did not take it from him. Although she soon wished she had, as something to remember him by. When they left after staying for support for an hour, she felt shamefully alone. The conversations were nice, like an old friend visiting you when they heard you were sick. Jane foresighted the possibility of Daria having to stay here for the entire night. She promised to visit, bringing missed homework and pizza.
Every clock, classic and digital, turned to five o'clock at night. The blinks and the ticks laughed at the Morgendorffers. They were counting every hour wasted at a place so stale. Even regarding the turnabout that they could to be free to go home without regulation, it would have been far too late for it to just be a small memory that was written in sand to be blown away. It could turn into a joke to look back on in the future, but it will never be forgotten. There was no reassuring points, not a second of school time was missed. A group of girls from Lawndale were on their way to the mall the second school ended. Daria will miss the following days after, being forced to sleep at the hospital and depending on Jane to bring assignments over. For Daria's sake, Jane would actually take the effort to keep tabs on everything she missed. She would also be open to joke about the hospital's hilariously outrageous antics. Doctors cawed at her urine sample, scrapped intrauterine fluids, and everything about her. At first it looked so silly, they made a big deal out of the color of her pee. Asking her if it was from that morning and if she ate anything before. It was a shade of dark gold, unacceptable for a healthy teen. Detrimental dehydration likely resulted in it. The paper label she had to write her name plastered around it was tarnished from being run under the sink. Getting scrapped caused a familiar kind of hurt to Daria, the process felt too identical to copulating a metal spoon. Ironic, as that was what occurred on the small TV above. Only the girl on the screen looked more pleased than Daria had, because she literary was pleasing herself with it. Even the ludicrousness of Sick Sad World was a better world than this. Even when the initial attraction of it was the opposite. Her parents were not strangers to overreacting but after the heat of the revelry wore off they idled in the assigned patient room with Daria.
"Hey is that some orange Gatorade?" Jake bends down to be eye level at the labeled jar.
"Drink it, it'll be extra sweet from that apple I had," Daria urged, hopefully unserious. Picking off her jacket, she drifts. Then her shoes follow, then eye glasses. She took parts of herself apart from her and feels the need to be broken down. All left behind fell carelessly to the floor, except for the glasses which were valuable enough to be placed onto the folding table at the end. The fruit bowl sat next to it, all clean and colorful except the curly brown plant bearing the grapes. An apple was missing, of course.
"This is ridiculous! America's treatment of troubled teens couldn't be anymore twisted and this reaction is just a joke to serious issues relating to mental health!" shrieked Hellen circling the room. She went a little red in the face, quite literary. Her face became pink in a way so close to her husband. Even her ears went white, she wasn't done though. Once her breath is caught, she continues.
"They're lucky we're trumped by 'real authority' or I'll give them a litigation they'll never forget." While vouching for Daria, she takes a look at her. Doctors to the left, doctors to the right, her daughter wasn't anywhere to be found in her eyes. Until now when she watches her, Daria resigned to her new bed. Her eyes locked shut as to concentrate for a solution, but that couldn't be it.
Hellen Morgendorfer's rage was put out to talk to the one more effected by the situation than her, "Daria, honey? What are you doing?"
"What I did this morning, pretend I'm in just one big nightmare and keep sleeping." And so she forced herself to feel at home.
Daria woke up, looked around and laid back down. The room was quiet, it could not have been so late. Maybe eight o'clock at latest, yet it feels like everyone went to sleep. The heavy door of wood remained shut sealing away sound. The television no longer ran as a doctor must have turned the power off before leaving. She should not be alone, the room was a double. The border dividing the two did not trail all the way and ended at the own end of her bed. Daria wondered if it was occupied, possibly an old lady minding her own business quietly discarding her dentures. She bounced a bit in place to deliver herself further down the mattress. It was hearty work traveling to the foot without arms too tired to help. Daria lastly took her glasses and slobbery put them on. Being able to see made the room appear brighter but more desolate. Cold machines surrounded her and even the generous supply of ordinary equipment was made to look robotic. The bowl of fruits at the folding table was a rainbow in a room of grays. She was drawn to the colors in a sense, only to follow the other sources. A pink stick of lipgloss stood afar on a black table from the other room. Daria thought of another teenage girl, one who was likely going to be like her sister. All too much into appearance and feminine pursuits. What she saw was true to what she imagined, a teen girl was starring into reflective glass of some metal contraption like everything else. Not a deep contemplating look into a reflection, just vapid looking at something shiny. She turned around and Daria was reminded of her time counseling by someone doing volunteer work. Then she was reminded of a member of the club her sister is apart of. Daria could have hit the ground.
"Damn it," Daria says the phrase she has been saying the whole day.