Postmortem
By Nom de Plume or just Paige
Early Saturday. Daria, still recovering from exposure to vainness and dishonesty, wants nothing more than to remain in her bed, nestled in warm sheets and a blanket. When would Helen stop trying to accomplish the impassable? Never would she be able to stomach the presence of the Fashion Club at such close proximity. However, one had to give it up to Helen; a mother never wants to see her child suffers, but in this case, her remedy was worse than the ailment.
Daria thought about all the things that had happened lately. Her eyes, closed, and her breath warming her face as she hid from the world under a blanket. Not being able to stomach her own morning breath, she sat up only to slump back down. Breathing in deeply, she accepted that she couldn't wallow anymore, as she had. This self-imposed martyrdom was a joke. Period. Accepting to help out Jodie with the end of school year dance was one thing, but "hanging out" with Quinn and her friends was quite another. For approximately 4 hours, 51 minutes, and 21 seconds (alright, to be exact) she had traded in her regular ensemble for more "suitable attire" as Don Sandi had so amiably put it...right before she added that the Fashion Club could not be seen with a "freak or whatever"
But at least that night, she realized that all friendships are the same; petty jealousy and dishonesty being two factors that stood out in her mind. At least Helen couldn't say she hadn't tried.
Looking over at her alarm clock, she saw that it was nearly time for lunch. Getting up, she took a quick look at her electronic mailbox: 2 messages from a mad Mensa member and one from the NY Times with today's headlines but nothing else. Punctured, she made her way to the bathroom.
Splashing cold water on her face, she wondered how long it had been since she had spoken to her. Jane; the friend she thought would always be at her side. Rubbing her face dry with an azure towel that matched the color of the sky, which was fighting to get in through the window in the room. Looking away from it hastily, she looked into her own eyes. She chastened herself for being so asinine. Feeling true anger creep in through her fingertips and up her face, she threw the towel across the room, landing unceremoniously on the floor. Looking up at the mire again, she saw her flustered face. Choleric and hating it, she went and, bringing the lid down, sat on the toilet. It seemed that all she felt lately was anger. That and pain.
Shaking her head as if wishing to be released from this state of mind she made up her mind to not spend another minute enclosed in this house. Looking once more into the mirror, she saw her ashen face staring back at her; that sallow expression which she had for so long worn was exactly what had driven Helen to suggest to Daria and Quinn to spend time together. Quinn, who had somewhere along the line, grown a heart, had gingerly agreed and was her self surprised when the rest of the fashion club, her friends, had agreed as well.
Pity? Yes, but Daria was, at that point, indifferent to everything and everyone, including herself.
But not anymore, Daria thought. That pang in her which caused so much clamors in her under the surface of aloofness would be no more. For a while she had canonized her friendship with Jane but the realization that it was anything but ideal had become a cancer, eating away at her from the inside. Callous or not, to hell with friendship. There is only Daria Morgendorffer.
Masquerading her self in jeans and a white tee, roughly putting up her hair into a crude bun, and sweeping her hair away from her face. She looked almost unrecognizable. And that's what she wanted. As much as she wished, she couldn't but put on her Doc Martens on-besides, it was the only pair of shoes in her possession. Taking off her glasses, she figured she could stand to wear contacts for a few hours, after all, she wanted to camouflage herself into the world, her world. Taking with her 30 dollars, she stepped out of her home and caught the first bus that stopped at the bus stop near her home. She didn't even bother finding out where it was headed. She just wanted to be gone. Silently, she stepped onto the bus. The faint thump of her footsteps echoing through it. Not many people use public transportation she concluded and thought it might just be the career she's been looking for. Within minutes, the bus stopped a block away from Pizza King. Hungry, she decided to make this her first stop. The driver tipped her cap at her and bade her good bye.
Daria walked in, the babble she heard was strangely comforting. As she walked by, no heads turned even though she spotted several people from school. Pleased, she walked up to the line. There was a couple in front of her. The held hands and every now and then, she would bring his hand up to her lips and kiss it. It was positively revolting. She said pulchritude under her breath; a word she had often thought about. She couldn't even say a word with a remotely positive diction to it anymore. A voice creeping in from behind her asked, "What was that?"
She didn't even bother looking back, she said the word again, louder.
"Hmmm, pulchritude, I'm almost sure I know what that word means" stated a familiar voice. Daria turned around. This would be the first test.
Tom stood there, at least what seemed to be tom. He looked pale and unkempt, with bloodshot eyes. For a minute she felt her blood, that sanguine fluid which had been drained out of her circulate through her body once more. There was a flame in his eyes, a blaze. Daria concluded he must be sick with a fever, after all, he did spend a good hour out in the rain that day...her mouth went dry. His overall pall façade tempted her. She made her own dazzled eyes seek his. He looked expectantly down at her. Drawing in a breath, she finally said that it meant beauty. Her eyes kissed his ashy lips before turning away but only after she saw them form a grin. Ordering and paying for a slice and drink, she sat in a table near the exit. Looking around the room, she caught her reflection in Brittany's compact mirror. The blonde was powdering her nose while Kevin looked bored, picking at his food. Sometimes she wondered how those two were doing. They were still together.
But as Daria moved from that thought into another, she saw herself, she saw wantonness. Lost in that pool of truth, she was snapped back into reality by Brittany closing her compact mirror and placing it inside her purse. And by Tom, who stood in front of her. Looking up, she tried to palliate what she was feeling inside. She smiled. Tom's own expression was that of searching, scavenging her face, and trying to dig and dust in order to know who she was. She knew that he knew already. Motioning to the chair in front of her, she invited Tom to seat with her. He thanked her and sat down. The quietness suddenly became palpable. Daria knew she should go but found herself disarmed by tom's expression. She whispered, "how?"
Tom looked down and shrugged but soon he looked for and found her eyes, he responded he didn't. Quiet, glacially, quixotic, the two sat in front of each other. No screaming. No cussing. No declarations of love. No exchange. No truth. No lies. Just sober, subdued, and simple serenity.
Please be on the look out for the continuation of this story for I am actively brainstorming. Suggestions and feedback would very much be appreciated.
Viacom, MTV, and the powers that be by all means own Daria. I don't own anything (except my collection of decapitated teddy bears:)) so please don't sue me. I'm just a fan.
Author speaks: okay, thanks for reading this story. This was a little story I wrote solely for my own pleasure (I'm extremely selfish that way) but if you liked it, that is great. As you can tell, there was a blow out between certain cast members so if you're a bit confused, go to sleep, it's almost 2 am...um, I mean, don't worry, all shall be answered in time. Okay, bye, bye now. Cashewcountess@netscape.net