Symbiote Mask Stories

Two Weeks. It’d been two weeks since Trisha’s mom died. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, cancer, 55, came out of nowhere – or at least it seemed to. If her mom had known about it earlier she certainly hadn’t told Trisha, which to her seemed all too on brand. To say that she and her mother didn’t see eye to eye would be a gross understatement. There was no juicy drama, no audacious scandal between them, just your usual heaping helping of parental alienation, sprinkled with a heaping side of residual ill will from a childhood without a dad and a mother who apparently felt mere financial support was all her child needed from her. Not exactly gossip fuel, but enough to keep her therapist busy. She couldn’t even remember the last time they talked, much less had a conversation. Probably their yearly Christmas call. Even then calling it a conversation would have been a stretch, mostly it was just pre-packaged holiday pleasantries. Until... ...

Amy couldn’t sleep. For almost two hours she’d laid listless on top of her unwashed sheets staring at the ceiling. In that time all she’d managed to do was count how many veiny cracks were now in the plaster. Running count was 57. Her arm had long since fallen asleep, having been wedged under her head to prop it up after she’d decided her pillow was too soft. She hadn’t washed up and didn’t plan to. Instead she’d thrown on a loose grey t-shirt and sweatpants as soon as she got home, letting her blonde hair remain in its matted, pixie cut shambles – complete with grease. ‘Oh well’ she thought ‘don’t gotta impress folks when you live alone, right.’ She could barely move, in large part thanks to her recently concluded waiting shift at Mr. Moogies Family Restaurant – her second twelver that week. Maddie had called out sick, so when Mr. Stone demanded she stay she agreed without much fuss. Not that it bought his good graces. Not even an hour later he went right back to...