Susan's not ready for the end of the world.

‘Hello, Susan.’

I groan under my breath. It’s Cathy. My head lowers, stretching the back of my neck and my shoulders shrink in. I grit my teeth, preparing for the worse.

She bounces towards me with a wide smile, blonde, blue-eyed, and bubbly.

Today Cathy’s hair is styled in an artfully designed messy bun. The oversized black waistcoat compliments her oyster silk shirt. Loose trousers are rolled up at the bottom. She is cool, edgy. The flat, silver-pink brogues, sans socks, finish her look.

In comparison, I am drab and insignificant. Not that I care. I don’t. Honest.

‘Ho,’ I say, I slip the file into the wire tray. I wish I could disappear. I stare down at the thinning blue carpet and allow my hair to curtain around me in dull brown drapes, blocking my face from her view. Seeking comfort, my arms press in, tight against my ribs and I dig my hands deep into the pockets of my long black cardigan.

Cathy is one of those people with the strange impression that paying attention to socially awkward people is nice. It isn’t. People like me think people like her are weirdly needy. They require everyone to like them. I don’t need anyone to like me. Certainly not someone like Cathy.

I thought I was safe. I got a job as a file clerk at the council. A job perfectly designed for introverts. Only a few of us work in the archives and the odd temp joins us, but that’s ok because they are like us. If they aren’t they only last a day.

The archives are dark, warm, and enclosed. It has the reverent silence that large amounts of paper demand. Narrow corridors and stacks of boxes create a labyrinth only we know our way around. I’ve heard some of the office workers refer to it as the crypt, a sort of joke I suppose. I think of it more as the cloister and we are the wraiths.

Woe betides any mortal who steps foot inside.

But no one comes to see us. We barely talk to each other and only when we must. On the whole, we’d rather turn down another aisle rather than ask a fellow wraith to move aside. It’s a solitary life.

When a request comes down from the offices, it comes down via the computer. We find the file and deliver it to the offices only pausing to check for files that need to come home.

I hate taking things to the offices. The people there are… perturbing.

I slip in and leave the files in the metal tray, scurrying out before anyone says anything. I like to be unobserved. I like the thought that they will look up, see the files in the tray, and wonder how they got there. I'm a ninja file clerk.

‘It’s my birthday today,’ Cathy says. She talks with a loud happy voice; other people are beginning to see me. I’m exposed. What am I supposed to say?

‘There’s cake if you want a slice.’ She reaches out to touch my arm as if we are friends. I hold still, wanting to shrink away. I don’t though because people are watching, if I flinch they’ll see and I don’t want them to question the movement. ‘I’ll get you a slice.’

My soul withers a bit more. I mumble a response. No words, she doesn’t need words, just sounds. Cathy doesn’t wait, she sashays to the kitchen making little comments to people along the way, engaging someone here and there. Eyes follow her. She brims with life.

I hate her.

I was six when I first thought of the button. It’s a big red button that has the word SNOOZE written in white across its top. I need that button. Life is so confusing and too difficult. It’s a button that can stop the world. If I press the button, I can pause everything until I’m ready to start again.

I wish it worked.

The number of times I’ve jabbed away on that button when people insist on talking to me. Click, click, click, click, click.

I edge back to the wall and fade from the consciousness of the office workers until Cathy comes back holding a large slice of red velvet cake.

Stripes of thick cream cheese frosting separate the three layers of the blood-coloured cake. It sits on a porcelain plate, bright against the white. She is holding a fork on the plate with her thumb. I stare at the plate with a sour taste in my mouth. I should have asked for it to be wrapped in a napkin. This means she expects me to stay, which means conversation. In my mind, the button forms, once again. I push it.

That’s when I disappear.

I don’t mean I become invisible. I literally disappear and it’s the best thing that ever happens to me. 

One moment I am in the office wishing I wasn’t there, the next I am deep in the archives, section GRA157.

I can’t lie, the experience is disturbing. At the same time, a sensation of lightness engulfs me. Huh. I think I somehow blocked out the whole cake incident. Puzzling, yes, but I’ve blocked out so much of my life, it’s almost normal.

I return to my work mulling over the memory lapse, not quite yet grounded back into reality. I’m sure I will be shocked in a minute.

I read the list attached to the clipboard on my trolley. The files I’m looking for. I stare at the sleeve of my jumper. It’s a soft baby blue. I freeze. I don’t own any coloured clothes. Colour means I’d have to think about clothing choices. I only wear black and grey and a second ago I was wearing a black cardigan.

My eyes widen further when I see my nails. They are painted. I put out my hands in front of me, fingers splayed. I stare in horror at the perfectly manicured nails. The shade they are painted in can only be described as bubble gum pink.

My hands move to my head to grasp a chunk of hair to bring to my mouth, a habit I’ve had since childhood. I’ve weaned myself off it, overall, but when my anxiety level hits red, my first response is to reach for my hair.

Surprise number three. My hair is pulled back. I feel along my head, I have a plait. I pull the end of the plait around and look at it astounded. My hair is pink.

I clasp at my chest, suddenly unable to control my breathing. I wheeze. My breath a coarse rattle. I can’t get oxygen into my lungs. The strength in my legs evaporates and the world spins. I fall against the files grabbing the metal cabinets. They shudder at the unexpected weight.

What has happened? I look around for help. I don’t know why I think any of the wraiths would be of any assistance. I think I need human contact. The thought that someone might know something. What the hell has happened to me?

I need a mirror. I need to see myself. I leave my trolley and run with staggering steps to the toilets.

The person looking back at me wasn’t me. I mean, it was me, but my habitual dark clothing is gone. My dull brown hair is now a dusky rose shade. I lean in close to the mirror. My breath, still heavy, mists my reflection. I’m wearing mascara, a soft blush, eye shadow, and lip gloss.

Not only am I wearing a blue cardigan but I’m also wearing a black floral tea dress. A dress? I don’t even own a dress. I look down at my DM’s, something recognisable at least.

My stomach turns over. I have been violated. Used. I might have disappeared but something else took my place. I turn my back on the mirror. I push my hands into the pockets of the cardigan seeking comfort in their depth. I call up the button in my mind, this was too much to cope with. If it worked once…

I catch my reflection and pause. What did the button really do? How did this happen? I moved out and someone else moved in? For how long? A piece of paper scratches the back of my hand. I twist my hand on the paper, pull it out and unfold it and stare at the message.

Speak to Cathy.

Cathy? Cathy had been bringing me cake. What did she have to do with this? I lean back against the sink reading and re-reading the note.

Can Cathy shed any light on what has happened? I leave the toilets for Cathy’s office. Anxiety and anger compete within me. How dare someone take over my body. How dare they put me in colour.

‘Hi Suzy,’ said a young man, running down the stairs.

‘Hi.’ He’s the fifth person to greet me on my way to question Cathy. How does he know my name? Suzy though? I always insist on Susan. Suzy is too casual, too relaxed, and way too friendly. Crossing the office to Cathy’s desk, people look up as I pass and smile. A couple of people across the room wave when my gaze drifts in their direction. I look down at the floor. This is freaking me out.

Reaching Cathy’s desk, I hover. Now I’m here I don’t know what to say. Cathy’s fingers fly over her keyboard. She looks up and winks at me. ‘Hi, Suzy.’ I don’t respond. She looks up again and frowns. ‘Ah, hello Susan.’ Her fingertips move from the keyboard and rest on the desktop. ‘I wondered when you were going to get back. Let’s go outside for some fresh air. I can see you have questions.’

So, she does know about it.

The sky is blue. The temperature isn’t cold enough for a coat but it still has an edge to it. I wrap my cardigan around me and hold it in place by crossing my arms.

Cathy leads me to a bench in a sunny spot and sits down, after a moment I sit beside her and wait. She smiles and turns her face up to the sun, her eyes close and she soaks up the late spring warmth. ‘I suppose you have come to ask where the last three weeks have gone?’

‘Yes, I…’ I stop. My voice fades away. What? I clear my throat. ‘Three weeks?’

Her lips twitch. ‘But that’s not the important question. You need to ask yourself why you are wasting your life.’

‘I’m not…’ Again, I stop. Life is cruel and hard and tedious. I am barely living. I’m just going from day to day, waiting for the end. I suppose it could be viewed as a waste of a life. If you were like Cathy. ‘I’m not,’ I say weakly.

‘You didn’t put the training in so now you’re squandering the experience. Everyone wants to experience the fall of a civilisation. Come for the culture stay for the event. Dinner and a show,’ Cathy says.

‘Ah...’ Right. I see. Cathy’s mad. I stare down at my painted nails wondering how I can extricate myself from the conversation. A mad person won’t have the answers.

‘You have the button in your head, don’t you?’ she says, confidently.

‘What button?’ I squeak. I scratch my chin. ‘How do you know about that?’

She tuts. ‘We all have a button at first. Once you’ve got some experience you don’t need it and forget about it.’ She lifts her hand to block out the sun and scouts the garden shade. ‘Everyone should start on simple assignments. World-building. Worlds where you have no choice but to participate. You can’t hide away. You must communicate to live. It’s a hard slog but it’s how you level up.’

She sighs and her gaze lands on the flower bed full of weeds. ‘You newbs think you can just jump into this experience and enjoy it, you have no idea. You haven’t learnt anything yet. There should be a rule. Generally, I’d just let you get on with it. But I owe a friend a favour.’

What was she talking about? I tug on the end of my rose-pink plait, catching it halfway to my mouth. ‘Are you insane?’

‘I don’t know.’ Cathy raises her eyebrows and tilts her head, grinning. ‘But really, it’s irrelevant to this conversation.’

I twist the heel of my DM into the gravel. ‘I think you might be,’ I mutter.

‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘You’ve been gone three weeks. It’s quite a big dip for the first time. It must have crossed your mind not to come back. You should push the button again, Susan.’

Now she’s told me I should push it, I rebel. I’m not going to press the button. 'Someone else moved in when I was gone. This is my body; I'm not going to leave it.'

'Don't worry about that. I'll hold your spot. Just press the button. You are not ready for the end of the world.’

‘The end of the world? What are you on about?’ This joke has gone on long enough. ‘You were giving me cake and then I was in the cloisters,' I say stubbornly. 'It hasn’t been three weeks.’

Cathy nods more to herself than me and strokes the line of her waistcoat flat. ‘Yes, it has been three weeks. You won’t remember the other place. Human brains can’t cope with the reality of the outside. No one can remember the outside when they are inside. But really, what kind of experience would it be here, if you weren’t totally committed?’

I see the flaw in her argument. ‘You know about it.’

‘A limited amount only. I have to. I’m a…’ she pauses and her lips purse, she looks up to the side and back at me, ‘…a moderator.’

I bark a short laugh. ‘You are insane.’ I want to retreat to the safety of the cloisters but I have one more question that I need to ask before I go. She’s tickled my interest. ‘How’s the world supposed to end then?’

‘A viral mutation of the human race.’

I really laugh then. ‘Zombies? Oh, come on.’

She shrugs and watches me, squinting in the sunlight. She’s quite calm. There is nothing about her that leads a person to think she is insane. To my mind, it makes her far more interesting.

I watch her, meaning to leave. I play with the end of my plait. The button is just there. Will I go somewhere else? If I press it and nothing happens, I can go back to the cloisters and she’ll never know I tried. The temptation is intoxicating.

I press the button.

+++

Cathy is staring at me. I wink at her and grin.

‘Glad to have you back Suzy,’ she says. ‘Damn, you’re hard work when you’re young.’

‘You were no picnic either Catherine,’ I say.

‘Well, debt paid in full,’ she says, ‘What now?’

I shrug, that else is there to do? ‘Let’s go save the world.’