Dear Little Bird, future or whenever you happen to be reading this, I hope you are well.
Oh, the things that have happened to me since we last 'talked'.  I very meekly hope (a hope that is somehow tinged with fear), as I am writing this down, that my exile is about to be broken.

My scattered memories of before (memories and entries combined, that is) have helped me to piece together that what I've been experiencing is what we had come to expect, but most certainly not the circumstances we had been anticipating.

But enough of that, I need to actually try to tell you how my life has been going thus far.

It must have been Thursday, perhaps Friday, the day that everything we had planned went up in smoke... literally.
The day started as most of my days had been starting of late: with me dressing in the most flattering clothes that one could buy with less than the lowest wage and trying to wrangle myself into a vaguely human form - something quite unlike my swamp witch attire I had taken up whilst I slept - before addressing the day with tea, toast, and a firm word accompanied with emotion from Lucille.

I think she may have been trying to communicate concern for my well being, not that there were any problems with it, aside from the obvious depressive and intrusive thoughts I had creeping over my mind. But she didn't need to know about them.

Her concern, if that is indeed what her pale face and shaking hands were trying to portray, therefore fell on deaf ears.

I value her as a mother like figure immensely, but every time she reminds me of how much she loves me, it hits a chord that I don't want to hear. If I was to say "I love you" to her, in a moment of weakness or well thought out strategy, it would truly destroy me when she was gone.
I know that sometime in the next 40 years, I will lose her and despite knowing just how much it pains me to even write such things down, I would break. What would be the point of completing everything we have planned if I can't say one last goodbye to her.

But the day.
The roads from the council estate to Gleesons was an overcooked noodle of late people, slow people and people who needed to be in bed, which made for a hellish combination on the bus, as was the usual custom of London.

By the time I made it to the grey stone building that I had the misfortune of calling my workplace, I was incredibly late. Well, about 4 minutes by my own measurement, but that was later than any respectable person ought to be walking into their job.

As the day ran past me, allowing me to count each and every second of its appearance, I slowly drifted into the automatic Aria, the one who does as she is told and smiles at goblins trying to steal from the women's department before handing them over to security.
Automatic Aria has no emotion, something that was made very clear by a certain - well, I can't very well call her a person, perhaps human will suffice? - human who was rather insistent about her own knowledge.

~Brilliance~

"Hey! You! Excuse me, do you work here?"

I glanced up over the clothing rack that I was currently reshelving. A haughty looking woman was huffing at me, her nostrils flaring methodically.

My best workplace smile must have angered her a bit as her eyebrows rather quickly joined in on the even pattern of movement.

"Oh, yes. How may I be of assistance madam?"

"I was here yesterday, in this exact shop, and I was assured by three different assistants that this shirt,"    she huffed even louder as she held up the offending blue garment.     "Was indeed blue cotton."

This was getting more and more brilliant. My thoughts may have betrayed my feelings but my face certainly didn't. It never did.

The woman continued, seemingly ignorant that I honestly didn't care what she was saying.     "Now, I'm normally a very patient woman and I know that it can be difficult having so little knowledge of the real world, but I would like to know why anyone would think that this... disgusting disgrace to all of shirt kind, would ever be considered cotton or even be shelved near cotton when it is clearly polyester.   My dear husband has now got a severe rash covering his body from where this cheap material has touched him and I DEMAND a full refund plus compensation."

I didn't care.
I mean, yes, it was of course tragic that a poor man now had a rash from perhaps 'incorrectly' displayed clothing, but why should the blame fall upon me?
Did this woman realise that she was in women's wear? I could point her in the correct direction if she wanted help finding the proper garment, or better yet, the exit was a mere 3 meters away.

Automatic Aria began to slow down, allowing emotion fuelled Aria to rear her head in a fiery anger.
How dare this woman look down on the people who were working in a literal REDUCED goods store. How - no WHY on earth would she get compensation for a product that had correct labelling and no other physical issues?

No. This wasn't my department.

"I'm sorry madam. That is an issue you will have to take up with Tom at returns. I can show you where that is if you need me to."

"Hmmph."   She turned to leave and I let out a little sigh of relief, a barely noticeable one that was really more of a long exhalation accompanied by hatred in my closed eyes.

"What was your name again? I need to know it when I complain to your manager."

What a piece of-   "Aria Phillips, madam."

"Oh Aria. Good luck finding another low paying job, perhaps you can find one that allowed idiots to work for longer." She glanced over her shoulder as she strutted away, blue polyester shirt still held by the tips of her fingers.

~Brilliance~

Oh, Christie. If only she knew.
I can't say that I wasn't happy to help people, in fact I get PAID to be a people pleasing perfectionist, but I can say with the utmost certainty that I was disappointed in humanity.

How dare she assume that she was superior, that she had more authority than the people holding her up. How dare she.

But regardless, after she (shall we call her Polly?) left me in women's wear, I finished up my easy job of folding and went to care for the registers. It's not a difficult thing, working the low grade machines. I'd even say it's easier than shelving, but the problem with working the register lies in the fact that when you are scanning, folding and trying to separate the bloody plastic bags, it can become difficult to listen to what the customers are saying.

It must have been a brief moment where the universe allowed the stars to align in unrelenting favour of me, as while I was finishing up helping the sweetest old lady (not to judge, age really doesn't mean anything) needing a bit more help than others, who should march up to me but Polly and poor Felicity.

~Brilliance~

"This is the assistant you're talking about?"

"Yes. I can remember her sly smirk very vividly."

"And you are sure that you want to lodge a complaint?"

Polly glared at me, her fire sparking eyes throwing thinly veiled threats.     "Very sure."

The lady I was helping grabbed my arm gently, pulling my attention back to her       "Oh, thank you deary. You know... you remind me of someone I knew back when I was younger. Do you know a Melody?"

"You're welcome. I, uh, I don't think I do, but thank you?"     I handed the woman her last bag with a smile, and held out her receipt with a flourish.     "Have a nice day."

Back to the fury.

"-one of our best employees."

"I don't care. She back-chatted me. Whatever happened to 'the customer is always right?'"

Well, we disposed of it when you decided that we workers were less than human and more like slaves.

"I'm afraid that I cannot fire her without direct evidence, and as for the... what was it you wanted?"        Felicity knew how to play her cards, that was for sure.

"A full refund and compensation for my husband."

"And do you have the receipt?"

Polly The Dragon hesitated. A beat passed, then two.    "No. But the shirt was given as a to my husband last week. Don't you have a record of what you have sold?"

"I thought that you said that you bought it yesterday. I think you may need to get your story straight before you complain."

"But-"

"Have a nice day."

~Brilliance~

I don't think there has ever been a time when i was more proud of a human. Well, a 21st century human at least.

Once Polly had left, time meandered on until closing time made its appearance. It was, as it had been most weeks of late, my turn to give the lottery tickets to dear old Wilson.

Oh Wilson. What a darling man. The world really didn't deserve him (oh how I hate that word. It implies that one can lose the right to have or do something, but in this case it fits perfectly). Once, as you probably already know, he invited me out for tea and scones after a shift to commemorate his late wife Agatha. I really don't think I have ever met a human so selfless and honest, and if I have, the two really need to meet.

But here I go again, ranting about inconsequential things such as my own feelings for people. This diary has taken on the form of a child's notebook, rather than a book of memory emendation.

So I went down to the basement level, and this is where everything began to crumble.

~Brilliance~

"Wilson, are you down here?"

I received no reply, but that wasn't unusual. The poor man was as deaf as he was kind.

Emotional Aria kept walking to his little "office", which was really more of a cupboard given how cramped it was. The door prominently displayed both his name and his title, followed by a little note that said something about ducking out for dinner.

Oh well.

I glanced down at the envelope in my hand and made a split second decision. Bending down (far from the most unladylike thing I've done), I slid the envelope under the door and hoped that he'd see it when he got back.

As I straightened up ready to leave the basement (what sort of a company allows old men to work in basements?!), I heard a noise coming from the storage room. It wasn't a loud noise, per se, just a noise that I really shouldn't have been hearing at 8 o'clock in the evening.

"Bee, if that's you..."

It wasn't her.

I walked briskly towards the heavy door, stopping only to grab a flimsy wire coat hanger, something that would not help me when I needed it.

Pushing the door open, I glanced around, a chill running down my spine as my gaze fell upon all the plastic mannequins. They couldn't hurt me. They were plastic. Nothing more, nothing less.

Ding dong, I was wrong.

"Bee? Flick? Mike?"     My voice took on a desperate tone as I called for the friends I knew weren't hiding.     "Please come out now, it's really not funny."

Nothing moved. Well, nothing moved except the mannequin directly behind me.
It reached out its arms and grabbed for some part of my anatomy (I really wasn't sure which part - plastic humans really didn't have that much manoeuvrability), but I moved just in time, turning to face the creature as I did so.

"Holy CHRISTIE!"

I screamed again as I  ran across the storeroom, slipping all over the place in my disregard of the polished concrete floors.
As I ran to where the pipes ran along the room, really not my smartest move given that it was LITERALLY IN A CORNER, I noticed a slight tingling sensation in a part of my head that definitely should not have been active, but ignored it (I mean, plastic mannequins moving around on their own was certainly more important at the time).

"BE GONE THOTS!"     I shouted in one last ditch attempt to not be accosted by the plastic.

When the mannequins failed to 'be gone', I closed my eyes and readied myself for death by naked plastic models.

Just as I was sure that the nude nightmares were going to kill me, I could feel a hand press into mine and my thoughts snap to attention.

"Run!"

The man, I mean he looked like a man at the time (not to assume genders, sexual orientation or anything like that), pulled me along as he sprinted out of the storeroom towards the lift. He was muttering things under his breath and I'm very very sure I was not supposed to hear them, due to the fact that they kind of sounded like insults to the human species.

"Blundering baboons, always in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Technically, there was nothing wrong with that thought, only that he had shared it so obnoxiously.

When he pulled me inside the lift and began pressing every button to try to get the stupid old thing to move, I noticed that the mannequins were still chasing us, and were almost at the the doors.

"Move."     I didn't wait for a reply as I shoved the man out of the way and hit the button I knew would close the doors and take us to the ground floor. Automatic Aria had no cares for social standing apparently.

"Oi! What was that for?"

"Deal with the nude nightmares first, then we'll talk, ok?"

The man huffed slightly but did as he was told, pulling the arm off one mannequin as the doors shut. He made yet another noise of indignation but handed the arm to me.

"There you go."

"Thanks."

Oh, well done sir. Many thanks to your ancestors for giving you the opportunity to be in this elevator going at a negative speed. I honestly couldn't believe what I had just done. I had snapped at him. And shoved him. And probably almost ripped HIS arm off.        "Hey, sorry about -"

"Just shut up, will you?! I'm trying to think."

Kind sir, you are indeed a stuck up prick.

"I know you said you were trying to think, but what were those nightmares? I mean, they're aliens aren't they? Or are they just idiots dressed up... in the nude?"

The man glanced at me, as if deciding whether or not I was worth talking to.    "Aliens, yup. Lucky guess."

"Hardly. I just used a little bit of deductive skills. They're trying to overthrow the world?"

"Yup."

Cool cool cool cool cool. Nothing out of the ordinary then.

Another little question popped into my mind, but I quenched it as soon as it was formed. I was NOT asking him that, not yet anyway. But I did need a bit of clarification.    "I have to ask-"

"Are all humans as prattling as you?"

Wow. Ok. Thanks. My three feelings have been hurt.    "I wouldn't know."
That was a stretch of the technicalities, most certainly.

"Huh. I was under the impression that was all you humans thought about. How stupid the others are, how ugly, how inconsiderate."

I mean, he wasn't wrong, there were certainly people like that. I just didn't consider myself one of them.

Bing. Ground floor.
In the split seconds that it took for the doors to open, the man had already strutted out, making a beeline for the exit.

I followed him as quickly as I could, not stopping even when I heard the left go back down.

Once I was outside, I let a notably angry emotional Aria deal with the situation.    "Hey!"

"Yes?"

"What was that?"

"What?"

"Going on about humans in the lift? I was going to say sorry for nearly ripping YOUR arm off! And for snapping! And for shoving you!"

He had the audacity to look shocked and began spluttering out a response, but I held up a hand.

"Nope. I rather DON'T want to hear it."

I began walking away but he grabbed my hand.

"I'm the Doctor, by the way. And you are?"

Taking a wildly overblown bow worthy of Shakespearean actors, sarcastic Aria finally introduced herself.    "Aria. Aria Phillips, a bumbling baboon."

Leaving him with a gobsmacked expression really made my day, despite everything I had been through. Clutching the plastic arm to my chest, I began running to the next block, hoping that I could get the next bus.

I managed to make it before the bus left.

~Brilliance~

~
3000 words
This is one of my longest chapters thus far and I'm rather happy with how it turned out.
The next chapter carries on from this, but I figured that it would be easier to read
if it wasn't over 6000 words in one chapter. Xx
- MallaHarkness04