Sunklands

She asked for the little lady’s room and got another stare. “The *what*?” he replied, then realized the nature of the request. “Oh, outside on the back wall we have what you call a *bathroom*. We, of course, have never used it but it came with the house,” the implication being that he and his children were mesh creatures each and every one. Marsha was the only actual person here with physical needs like that. Heck, they didn’t seem have a bed to sleep on, not one that she’s spotted. Probably just stop and rest upright when needed. But still they feigned to eat, hmm. Maybe for social acceptance in the small community where they lived. Must get a name for that soon (she made a mental note to herself).

She checked the animations in the toilet before using. She could, to put it more politely than the built in descriptions, do #1, #2, or throw up. Interesting possibility on the last for drinking later on. She noted Andrew’s fine wine collection on a table in a corner of the kitchen — untouched, he said at the time when she asked about it; the family only drank water. What was the point, she figured now, if you couldn’t taste it, thinking the wine was perhaps another amenity that came with the house. Which reminded her that she never actually saw anyone else woof down a bit of food at dinner — should have been a tip off to their type. They were all just chatting away in the vacant way they do. Wally about the Ramones that, the Sex Pistols this. Christina about her recovery from the crippling grips of polio — a miracle indeed (she hadn’t needed a wheelchair in years), but she wouldn’t stop about it. On and on and on, like it was the only thing in the World for her, and the people around her, her father and brother, were just sounding boards to proclaim this miraculous event again and again. She wasn’t real, Marsha then understood. Beyond just mesh. Something even meshier and more unreal than just plain mesh. At least with Biff (Andrew) you could carry on a conversation of sorts. And Wally — maybe the same as his sister. Is it some kind of *degenerative* mesh, passed on from generation to generation until they just end up as statues or something? She peered around outside the bathroom walls for the son and daughter “sleeping” upright. No sight of them on this side of the house. But they had to be *somewhere*. The ground, she thought. Do they just *bury* themselves at night… and then dig themselves up in the morning? Odd thought, she realized. Probably just staring too much at the tools lined up over there against a shed wall while she tries to finish her business. Must think of something else (she attempted to refocus).

She ended up just sleeping in the shed, which made her dream about malicious tools throughout the night. Dug her own grave and then beheaded with the same shovel to wake up.