I always knew that there was something very wrong about Andrew. The way he moved, the way he spoke, even the way he breathed always troubled me.

Andrew had a secret.

I could see it in his eyes. His eyes, the colour of honey. Sometimes as they glistened in the sun, it was as if they were made up of tiny hexagons, like sticky honeycomb in a beehive. Andrew had beautiful eyes. But not beautiful enough for me to see right through them and into his brain.

“Are you all there, Andrew?” I asked him once, as we lay side by side on the grassy hill at the park. Andrew smiled showing his perfect white teeth and rolled over to pluck a daisy from the dirt.

“You tell me.” He replied, his voice just as perfect as the rest of him. I reached over to stroke his smooth shaven cheeks. His skin never felt normal, either. Andrew never went without a shirt, but even the skin of his hands felt too waxy. I often asked myself whether I was dating the son of a plastic surgeon. Andrew never introduced me to his parents, though. He was an orphan, living in an apartment of his own in the city. Andrew never showed me inside the apartment.

Everyone thought Andrew was the perfect man for me. I mean, how could they not? Andrew was everything a girl could ever dream of. He had the body of an angel, eyes like liquid gold and the sweetest, gentlest smile. If only he were different.

“Do you love me?” Andrew asked often. I’d always smile warmly, nod my head and let him cradle my smaller body in his strong, sturdy arms. His chest was warm, like a mug of hot cocoa.

“I love you, Andrew.” I’d whisper into his sweater.

Andrew and I would pass notes in class. He’d write things like: I love you. And being the soppy girl I am, I’d reply with something like: Me too. Or <3 I’d never have thought that Andrew wouldn’t truly love me in that heart of his.

One night, a few months after we’d been dating, Andrew took me to the park, where we’d always sit together for a picnic on the hill. He sat down cross legged in front of me and I could see that he was taking deep, slow breaths. I touched his hand and asked if he were okay. Andrew met my eyes with his honey ones and for a moment I could have sworn there was something beneath them but then it was gone. Just like someone had snapped their fingers and turned out the lights.

“Do you love me, Melody?” Andrew had asked. I smiled at him instantly and nodded, answering in the exact same way as every other time.

“I love you, Andrew.” I whispered, leaning forward to hug him. Andrew pushed me away gently and I frowned.

“Melody.” He asked in a much softer voice. He angled his head so he stared into his lap.

“Yes?”

Andrew took another breath and raised his hands to his temples, rubbing them. Finally, he met my eyes again. “Would you… love me if I looked any different?” He asked me, sounding very serious.

“What do you mean?” I’d questioned almost instantly. Andrew had never asked me anything so strange before. He reached down to the grass, and picked me a daisy. He took a moment to thread it through my hair before answering.

“I mean, if I looked… different on the inside, would you love me?” He said.

I giggled at his comment. “How could you look any different? You’re the most handsome guy I could ever meet!”

Andrew relaxed a little at my words and his shoulders slumped. “Please don’t be afraid.” He whispered, the sentence catching in his throat. I wondered what was wrong but before I could ask, Andrew went completely still. His body froze cross legged, with his mouth half open in mid-speech. It was as if someone had pressed pause on a TV remote and stopped him completely. Andrew’s shining honey yellow eyes flickered like lights and snapped off. What remained were like… glass windows. Almond shaped glass windows that were nothing like eyes.

I screamed.

“Please Melody… it’s okay.” Andrew said, but his mouth didn’t move in time with his words. In fact, it didn’t move at all. I crawled away from his robot-like body, my heart fluttering in my chest. Andrew sat frozen in front of me. “Wait Melody!” His voice sounded again, through a mouth that wasn’t his own. Was he having a seizure?

Suddenly his neck began to glow a soft, white colour. There was a faint hissing noise and the skin parted halfway up Andrew’s neck…

The creature that emerged from the severed head smiled sheepishly across at me. “Do you still love me, Melody?” He asked in a voice which was an exact replica of Andrew’s.

I screamed.

I screamed until the police heard me and asked me what was wrong. My throat was raw by the time I finally stopped. But when I pointed to the place where Andrew had been, he was gone. The body and the creature had disappeared.

I screamed again.

All the way to the hospital.

****

And in the distance, a figure with eyes the colour of honey stood. He looked down at his muddy converse for a minute, sighing, before turning on his heels and walking into the sunset…

I forget faces, eyes colours, body shapes, postures, hobbies, even names as time passes. But it’s the screams I remember. Screams of horror for some, shock for others. Their pitches, frequency and volume differ as my targets become older. It used to be thirteen years old girls. Now, four years later I aim for the seniors. Like me. I guess it gives me hope that they’ll understand what’s wrong with me better than the younger ones. I have to hope, sometimes. Unlike bodies though, the screams have nothing in common except one thing.

They’re always directed towards me. My cursed self, that is. No one would look twice at my perfect, old body. Even though, over time, it’s aged quite a bit. I was cursed at thirteen, actually, hence the young girls I once dated. Since then, it’s been me and Andrew Jr. against the world. And even though, after four years of trying, no one has loved me for who I am inside, I refuse to believe I’ll stay cursed forever. As I said before, I have to hope, sometimes.

In the timespan of four years, 1059 screams have left my girlfriends’ mouths. I’ve had almost as many girlfriends as that number. The last scream my ears heard was that of Melody Ryan. Another name to tick off my list. Another town to move from. Every single date ends the same way. The screams. The girls jump back in shock as I program Andrew Jr.’s head to slide off so that I can introduce myself. More than once, they’ve grazed their knees or torn their beautiful dresses while trying to scramble away from my horrible interior.

I never let anyone see my interior until I am sure that they love me. It’s been my guideline, for the past few years. Too many girls have run away calling the police about poor Andrew Jr. after my first introductions, when they were done too early into the relationship. Sometimes I wish Andrew Jr. would break or something. Maybe it would rid me of my curse forever. The thing is, I built him for a reason.

Andrew Jr. is my Exterior.

I am the Interior. 

Beneath my exterior is my cursed body. I built Andrew Jr. because no one would even notice my cursed self at school, or anywhere for that matter. Since then, my dating status has become more and more promising… right up till the big screaming sessions. My mental status has collapsed in that time, though. Inside Andrew Jr., away from everyone else, I am lonely. Sitting at the captain’s quarters, my hands controlling the exterior expertly, she talks to me. The witch without a name. The witch who cursed me for the numb nuts thirteen year old I once was.

See, witch? My interior agrees with you! 

The witch only answers when I’m at a loss. Basically, every time I go to bed at night, curled up in a tight ball at Andrew Jr.’s steering wheel.

I’ve learnt my lesson already. I think, knowing she’ll reply.

I know. She tells me. I was dumb for cursing you at such a young age. I was practicing magic and thought you needed to be taught a lesson.

It’s okay. I think eventually. The witch falls silent shortly after.

Mist was a toddler when she cursed me. I remember walking home from school and spotting her crying at the base of a plastic red slippery slide. Her knee had been grazed to the bone and her parents were nowhere to be seen. I’d walked up to her, already angry at everything because I’d gotten suspended from school. Mist had calmed down a little at my presence, hastily wiping the thick tears from her deep purple eyes. She stared at me as I approached with wide, curious eyes. Her hair, after only three or four years of growth, reached her ankles. Witches always have black hair.

“Can you pwease help me?” The little version of the witch asked, showing me her ugly, deep wound. I wondered at the time why she’d suddenly halted her crying at my approach. The wound, so large and so gruesome looking, oozed a mixture of blood and pus as I looked at it. Her tiny legs were stained crimson. ‘Mist’, her name, was written on her purple t shirt, which matched the young witch’s eyes.

I laughed in the child’s face. “I have my own problems, kid.” I snapped, walking past her, my destination being her equally violet crib, parked alone a few metres behind her. I reached underneath the basket and grabbed Mist’s mother’s wallet, checking I wasn’t being watched. I unzipped the leather thing and stuffed the whole one hundred dollars into my pocket before shoving it back into the crib.

“Shhtttooopppiez!” The toddler whined, somehow managing to shuffle around on her ruined knees so she faced me.

I laughed loudly. “Have fun playing, kid.” I snapped, before turning away and beginning to walk home with the money.

“Mommy will be cross!” Mist yelled after me. I rolled my eyes as I continued across the park. Before I could round the corner and sneak out of sight though, I’d felt my body freeze itself, like I’d just had an eye off with Medusa. I gritted my teeth in panic, thinking I was having a fit. I couldn’t move a muscle.

Suddenly, I felt weird, like I was as light as air. Tiny purple wisps of smoke surrounded me and I felt myself being lifted off the ground. My whole body went into panic mode as I began floating back towards the playground and the young witch. But everything felt numb. My muscles refused to budge from my mid-stride position. I couldn’t even scream for help.

The toddler version of Mist was standing up by then, with both pudgy little hands raised. The injury on her knee, which would have needed stitches if she’d gone to the hospital was now completely obscured by the same purple smoke surrounding my frozen body. The smoke seemed to be coming out of her tiny hands. Butterflies rose in my stomach. What is she doing to me?

“You are a bad boy!” Mist declared, smiling toothlessly. “I haf to punish you!”

She’d turned me into the interior at that point. In my panic, I ran away, eventually (to my luck, and probably with Mist’s assistance) finding a warehouse filled with bits and bobs necessary for the construction of Andrew Jr. With my cursed body, it was a little hard to create my exterior, but Andrew Jr. became my friend. And I’ve become a different –better- person. But like everyone else, I have my problems.

I’m cursed. And I only have one year left to break it, before I become an interior permanently. I’ve tried everything, really. But in this last, final year, I think I’ll try a new approach. Instead of forcing girls into relationships and then forcing my interior to love them back, I’m going to try and see it through differently. Maybe the key to finding true love will all be in the patience.

Unfortunately for my interior, it’s only a matter of time…

The only way I can break the curse that binds me inside Andrew Jr. is to have a girl love me for who I am.

The interior.

And even Mist can’t help me there.

****

Melody was another failed affair. As her screams pierce the night sky and the park around us, I slip back inside my exterior, Andrew Jr. and race to the steering wheel, just behind his honey coloured eyes. In seconds, I’ve programmed him into running away for cover.

As I walk away grudgingly into the sunrise to the next town, I hear the sounds of sirens in the distance.

Do you love me, anyone?

My journey is marked out on my map of Australia. Since the beginning, since I first created my exterior, it’s been that way. It all started in Brisbane, the destination of my curse. Andrew Jr. barely counted as a human lookalike back then, so no one wanted to date him. His skin was too pasty and fake, stretched across his skeleton, assembled from thick iron rods. You could easily tell he wasn’t breathing at all, and that his heart did not beat. Andrew Jr. is a machine. He can’t have a beating heart or real cells. Even I can’t do that much.

Once I’d first assembled him, I ran away from home with a suitcase of belongings to my first destination, Ipswich. Andrew Jr. had a major upgrade there. I managed to piece together a full muscle system out of a spongy material I found in an old dumpsite. It was also the birthplace of my first real girlfriend. Marcia soon gave me away with her petrified screams though, so I moved onto Logan, the next town marked out on my map.

Now, four years later, my exterior is perfect, and my map has almost reached its capacity. I’ve walked, hitch hiked, smuggled and cycled myself across Australia. My final destination is Hobart, Tasmania, before I continue my search for the perfect girl overseas. I have a feeling I won’t make it that far. I also have a feeling that Andrew Jr. will make a decent home for the rest of my life. There’s basically no chance in finding someone over in Tasmania. I’ve already tried the rest of the continent.

As I walk out of the town of Geelong and onto the highway in the morning light, I begin mapping out my next step in my journey of love. Walking across Andrew Jr.’s control room, I flip a switch over to automatic and study the cut out of Australia I found on a brochure a few months ago. The edges are faded and crumpled from the many times I’ve studied it. I place my index finger on ‘Geelong’ and trace the road map downwards, resting the pad of my finger on the nearby airport. I scramble back to the exterior’s steering wheel and press a few buttons expertly. Through the windows of Andrew Jr.’s eyes, I watch as his arm stretches forward to reveal the time.

“Okay Andy, I’m gonna have to set us onto ‘Forrest Gump Mode’ if we’re going to get to Tassie in time.” I mutter, stroking my freshly shaven chin. I smile slightly, stepping around my exterior’s control panels until I reach a giant red button in the corner, near a trapdoor which leads to Andrew Jr.’s left ear. “Here we go, Andy…”

I mash my palm down on the button and the world of Andrew Jr. jolts. As usual, I grip the side of the wall, where there’s a little metal bar installed for me to hold onto as my exterior’s body switches off ‘walking mode’ and into ‘forrest gump mode’. After a few seconds of gear changing and rumbling, which wouldn’t be heard outside the body of course, Andrew Jr. Begins to run steadily down the highway. As cars zoom past him as he runs nonstop at an insanely fast sprinting pace, I program one of his arms to wave. It can be funny sometimes, to live in the cockpit of an exterior like Andrew Jr.

The police never follow me out of town, if they’re hailed by one of my target girls. Even if they did, Andrew Jr. is about as harmless as a fly and wouldn’t be a suspect in a crime like that. Identical to his interior, Andrew Jr. is thin, faintly muscled and hardly the kind of guy whose neck would slide off his own shoulders to reveal his interior. Usually, the girls are dubbed crazy and shipped away.

I wish I could tell them that I’m sorry in person.

As Andrew Jr. runs, I tear my eyes away from the road ahead and walk cross the controller’s room to a fireman’s pole, which I slide down through into Room N. This room’s oddly shaped, for a specific purpose. The arched roof, the two vacuum cleaner-like nozzles at the back. The two open holes before me. Room N control’s my exterior’s nose. Sometimes, on long journeys like these, I come here to smell the flowers… quite literally.

Everything Andrew Jr. smells, I smell. Everything he hears, I hear, and vice versa. I made him that way. Took me a little over a year to perfect, but I’ve gotten him to that stage. Now all I can do is see how everything pans out, with you know… getting a girlfriend and all… or nine hundred.

It takes Andrew Jr. a little over an hour to run to the Melbourne Airport. It’s a record speed, I know, but when I set him onto the ‘forrest gump mode’, I truly mean it. My exterior runs literally like the Forrest Gump in the movie… only triple that since he can’t run out of breath like a human can. One of the benefits of having an Exterior is that he’ll never run out of anything. Because he’s programmed to run on air. Once, I had him take me at a nonstop running pace from Brisbane to Sydney. And that’s over 1000kms flat. It took us thirteen or so hours, without a break.

Once my exterior arrives, I switch him back onto the regular ‘walking mode’ and program his mouth to pant slightly, to ease suspicions about his… well, human likeness. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel I sit before, as Andrew Jr.’s ears fill with the latest pop music. I press a button on the dashboard of one of the control panels quickly, to block out the air conditioning from the vast white walled airport. As the interior, I’m extremely sensitive to the cold.

“I’d like a single ticket to Tasmania, please.” I tell the woman behind the counter, through the speaker box I use to project words through my exterior’s mouth. The receptionist eyes me up and down with obvious curiosity. My exterior doesn’t look out of place, of course, but it’s Andrew Jr.’s distinct beauty that startles her. And his eyes, of course. During my curse, my blue eyes switched to their current, deep honey colour. Through the windows of my exterior’s eyes, I can see the woman swallowing in shock.

“Of course.” She says tersely, before adding. “Do you wear contacts?”  

Quickly, I tilt a joystick back and forth so that Andrew Jr. nods once. “Yeah, I’m going to a… um… fancy dress party in Tasmania.” As soon as I’ve said it, I realise how absolutely stupid it sounds. I laugh out loud in the soundproof control room at the woman’s reaction to my comment. She rolls her eyes lazily and hands me a ticket.

“Sure, kid.” She waves me onwards. Having no luggage with me, apart from an orange backpack which contains spare parts for Andrew Jr, I continue on my way to the loading dock and take a seat to wait for my flight.

Three hours later, I’ve arrived in Hobart. I step out into the cool air and I can’t help but shiver, from within Andrew Jr. I make a mental note to buy some new clothes to fit an interior like me while I’m here. Speeding through quarantine and hastily dodging a metal detector (which would totally bust my cover since I’m the interior of a robot) I program Andrew Jr. so he strides outside the airport and onto a busy city street amongst a clutter of tourists, probably new arrivals like myself.

I weave through countless backstreets to get my bearings before seating myself down in the shade of an old oak tree outside a school. Andrew Jr. props his back up against the thick trunk. I take a step back for a minute to enjoy the scenery, my hands blistering against from continually turning knobs, jiggling joysticks and tugging at steering wheels.

Tired as ever, I rise from my chair in the centre of the control room and walk over to a small collection of blankets and pillows in the corner of the room. Flopping my weary body onto the bed of soft cushions, I take a minute to jab a nearby button which slides the blinds of my exterior’s eyelids shut before falling into a deep sleep.

****

“Hello?” A pause. “Um… I’m sorry, I just needed directions… oh god this is weird…” I snap my eyes open and rush back to the control panel’s seat, tapping a button. Light streams into the room as Andrew Jr.’s eyelids flutter back open. I instantly come face to face with a girl, who smiles sheepishly at my exterior form her kneeling position in front of me. I program Andrew Jr. to straighten himself up and blink twice to ‘steady himself’. Little movements that a human would undertake. Little movements that get me out of trouble and out of sight. From the outside, my exterior is about as inconspicuous as everyone else.

“Oh, you’re awake!” The girl exclaims, still wearing the same sheepish expression. Andrew Jr. nods and rubs the back of his neck with his right hand. I squint through the thick glass ovals of my exterior’s eyes to make out the girl before me. She’s short and thin with flowing black hair and thin black framed glasses. Her eyes are lime green behind them. She looks about my age, actually. “Sorry to startle you.” She continues, sounding a little frazzled. “It’s just, I don’t really know where I am and I thought you went to St Josephs with me so…”

“St Josephs?” I ask through Andrew Jr.’s mouth. The girl stiffens a little and her cheeks flame with embarrassment.

“Um... it’s that boarding school over there. I’m sorry… I’m a senior there. I just thought you, you know, went there too.” I follow her finger as she points to the school, just across from the park we’re seated in. Students mill around the large brick building in the centre, chatting noisily.

“It’s alright.” Andrew Jr. assures her. “I just got off a plane here, actually. I’m from Melbourne.”

The girl nods, after a long, awkward pause. “Cool. Well… I’m Emily, so…” She bites her lip to stop herself babbling. Andrew Jr. moves his lips into a gentle smile. I feel myself smiling too, actually. A girl has never really had that effect on me before. Hope bubbles in my chest as I stare out through my exterior’s eyes.

“I’m Andrew.” I introduce myself through Andrew Jr.’s mouth. “Andrew Lawson.”

Emily opens her mouth into the shape of an ‘o’ and then smiles cheekily. “Really?” She twirls a strand of her ebony hair. “Like the mental disorder?”

“Mental disorder?”

Her smile widens and she leans in close. “There’s this disorder in Australia, apart from Tassie of course, that’s been called the ‘Andrew Lawson’s Disorder’. It’s only happened to girls so far, but the effects are always the same.” Suddenly the air around me loses a few degrees in temperature. I stiffen at the steering wheel of my exterior’s control panel. I’ve become a… disorder now? “It starts with the screaming.” Emily continues, as if nothing’s changed. “The victims can’t stop dreaming and having terrible visions of robots and aliens. Then they go into shock because they think they’ve been dating a guy called Andrew, who’s supposed to be alien. So far, everyone affected has gone to hospital. There have been suicides, too.”

I swallow hard, tears pricking my eyes. I’ve killed people. I’ve pretended to be Andrew Jr. and killed. I’ve driven these girls insane. I’m a monster, just like Mist told me in my dreams all those times. I put my head in my hands, barely registering what the girl is saying. But I hear her story nevertheless through the ears of Andrew Jr, as much as it pains me.

“Apparently, everyone affected brings up this crackpot story about dating a guy called Andrew, and once they’ve built a relationship, the guy, Andrew, tells her he has a secret. And then, according to the chicks, this Andrew guy’s nick slides off and a…” She breaks off in a fit of laughter. Meanwhile, I try to control my terrified breathing. What if they find out who I am? I’d be killed. Dissected probably, because my cursed self would be something the world would never have laid their eyes on before. Emily continues laughing before it turns to a few heavy pants.

“I’m sorry!” She giggles. “The next part was just so stupid! I mean; how could there even be a disorder like this!?”

I bite my lip and lean forward in my seat so I can speak through the microphone connected to Andrew Jr.’s mouth. “What’s stupid?” I ask tightly.

Emily takes a deep breath to stop her fits of giggles before shooting me a firm look. “According to the sites on the internet and all, out of Andrew’s neck, which seperates from his body somehow comes a dude.”

The horrified look somehow manages to slip from my own face to Andrew Jr.’s, because Emily snickers at the reaction.

“Yep, a dude.” She says. “And not just any ‘dude’. Out of Andrew’s neck comes a tiny guy. About three or four inches tall. And you know what the creepy part is? The bit that scares all the girls into suicide?”

Andrew Jr. shakes his head abruptly, causing me to shudder from the steering wheel. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can blot out the girl’s piercing voice. But like before, Andrew Jr. is still just as tuned into the conversation as before.

“The scary bit about it is,” Emily whispers. “Is that the tiny guy, the guy who came out of Andrew’s neck is an exact replica of Andrew. Down to the last tiny detail.” She smiles at the reaction still plastered on Andrew Jr.’s unmoving face. Before saying. “It’d be cool to meet this Andrew Lawson, actually.”

Wish granted. I think, before clawing at my face fearfully.

They know my secret…

They know my curse.  

I’d be lying if I told you that Andrew Jr. was the one who brings upon the screaming every time I try to show a girl my true form. I’d be lying if it was he who sent them away to mental institutes for post traumatic shock or now corrected to the ‘Andrew Lawson Disorder’. And what I’ve learnt from my curse and my long journey across Australia to find my cure is that lying only gets us into trouble. It’s trust that gets you a girlfriend.

So I’ll tell you the truth now. It isn’t Andrew Jr. who sends the girls screaming, running and committing suicide. Okay… maybe the fact that he isn’t human startles them just the slightest. But it is in fact my cursed form that sends them off the edge. Every time I step out of my exterior, my cocoon, I send them into insanity. It’s why I wait until I’m sure they love me enough. If I introduced myself and after let’s say, a day or so of dating then proceeded to dislodge my exterior’s neck from its body in order to say ‘hi’, then I’d literally send a few chicks running off cliffs or sky rises for dear life.

Because from what you’ve probably gathered, my cursed body is much different from your average teenager’s. I mean, why else would I live inside the skeleton of a robot replica of me? The answer lies right inside Emily’s description of the Andrew Lawson Disorder, round about where she mentioned the dude coming out of the other dude’s neck.

The tiny dude.

Yes, it was in fact Mist who cursed me into that state. Because my cursed self is small and weak. Something that doesn’t belong in a world of equal proportioned beings. That’s why I keep myself hidden as the interior, as I’ve said. It’s much easier and much safer to get a girl that way. And if, well, the curse never ends up getting broken, then I have a backup plan. Although, living permanently inside a blown up robot version of yourself at the height of four inches tall isn’t very appealing. I’ve already survived four years at this state and don’t think my brain would appreciate taking it all to the next level.

“That’s bogus!” I laugh forcefully through my exterior’s mouth. Emily’s lips curl into a cheeky sort of smile, which I can’t place. She tilts her head to the side, as if studying me… well, Andrew Jr.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t really think so, because my sister’s had the disorder and all, but…” Emily’s voice trails off, along with her smile. I bite my lip. That must mean…

I’m the reason her sister is insane.

“What’s her name?” I blurt out, through Andrew Jr.’s mouth.

Emily scrunches up her eyebrows, looking at me curiously. “It’s Megan.” She says.

I take a deep breath, staring blindly through the windows of my exterior’s eyes. I remember Megan. She was one of the first girls I tried to date. One of my first failures.

She had the loudest scream.

I swallow, before answering through Andrew Jr.’s mouth again. “I’m sorry. Is she okay now?”

Emily seems to perk up a little at the question. She nods her head. “Yeah, it’s cool now. She works as a psychologist up in Brisbane these days. Just finished the university degree.”

“Sounds good.” Andrew Jr. mumbles.

“Yeah…”

We don’t speak for a few minutes. A light wind rustles the leaves above us and some fall from the branches, surrounding my exterior in a makeshift circle. I want nothing more than to leave the control room and lean against the tree, un-cursed and carefree. I want to breathe in the air, the real air and not the stale stuff I get while I’m inside Andrew Jr.’s head. I want to walk around normally without having to worry about anything. Instead I’m cooped up in this soundproof, ice cold cockpit. And if I don’t find someone I truly love, it’ll stay this way for a long, long time.

“So you’ve just arrived in Hobart?” Emily’s voice catches me off guard and I straighten up in the captain’s seat, almost whacking my head against my steering wheel. The girl sits down again, across from Andrew Jr. and tugs a strand of her dark hair from out of her eyes. Her eyes are gentle. It calms me down a little.

“Yep.” I project through Andrew Jr. “I was just looking at enrolling in a boarding school, actually.” The words are long practiced, sentences I use much too often when travelling from place to place. Since I’m not yet graduated, in order to get a girlfriend, I have to get into school. It pretty much puts me in a good place with the public world. I’ve been going this way since the beginning of my journey.

“Really?” Emily asks with a smile. “I moved here about a week ago.” She breaks off for a minute, deep in thought. “I’m boarding at St Joseph’s there and don’t have a roommate, so…” she twirls a strand of hair in her fingers, almost flirtatiously. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I watch her. Emily takes a deep breath. “I could hook up something with the headmaster, if you wanted to move into my room.”

Andrew Jr. is quick to reply. “That’d be great, thanks.” He cracks a smile with his perfect teeth. It practically seals the deal. Emily grins back and stands up.

“Let’s get you enrolled then. It’s a co-ed school, by the way.” She says.

“Figured.” Andrew Jr. laughs back, causing Emily to blush. She gathers her shoulder bag under one arm and tugs up the sleeves of her thick striped sweater before beckoning me to follow. I obey, programming Andrew Jr. to stand and walk alongside her. Emily’s shoes clank against the concrete path as she moves. I wonder briefly why she’s wearing them. Her tiny feet and reed thin legs in their bunchy stockings barely support huge sandals like those. Emily reminds me of one of those quiet girls who isn’t popular, sporty or confident. Her body is tiny compared to Andrew Jr.’s, like a fragile doll’s. The dress she wears makes her look like a geeky princess.

I don’t think I’ll try dating her.

Judging by her knowledge of my ‘disorder’, I wouldn’t risk trying. She’d most likely uncover my secret even before I revealed it in person. I can’t afford to let something like that happen.

Emily leads me across a road separating the park from St Joseph’s boarding school and into the building itself. The school is much like the many I’ve been to in the past; simply furnished, brick and in need of a paint job. Inside, it’s musty, like an old library and the walls are painted an ugly yellow colour, with a floral white trim. There are two pot plants in the doorway.

“Wait outside.” Emily instructs, as we reach a doorway marked ‘reception’. “I’ll get you enrolled.”

I’m a little suspicious, by both her confidence in enrolling me, and her curiosity. No one’s ever seemed so intent on doing something for me before. It’s unnerving, the way Emily is acting. Maybe she’s just a desperate wannabe or something. Maybe she’s just seeking someone who happens to be male and robot?

Maybe she knows.

No, Andrew! I snap at myself as I scrutinise the girl from the control room of the exterior. She can’t know, can she? I bite my lip. If Emily knows about me, or at least has her suspicions, then I have to get out of here. That, or lay low. How could she have guessed, though? It’s not like I’ve told her right up that I’m not who she thinks I am…

Hang on.

Her sister.

Megan.

Megan knows about me. She would have told her what I look like. Okay, this isn’t good. Slowly, I back up, programming Andrew Jr. to be as quiet as possible. I have to get out of here. I have to get away from this girl. I’m about to slip through the front gate of the school when a small hand touches my exterior’s shoulder.

“It’s all sorted.” Emily announces. “You’re bunking with me.” 

“I’m glad that worked out.” Emily smiles, picking up her pace as she leads me through the school. I make a conscious effort to keep up with her, running across the width of the control room and programming Andrew Jr. to match all the pace changes. Emily’s tiny legs move incredibly fast as she weaves through the vast complex of the campus.

“Um… thanks.” I tell her through my exterior, biting my lip as I speak. I fiddle with the cord of my tracksuit pants as I’m guided around the school.

“Oh it was no problem.” Emily gushes with the flick of a wrist. She skips further ahead of me and cuts across down a cobblestone path beside the math’s block. I already know I’ll have trouble getting my head around the map of St Josephs. “I needed a roommate, anyway.”

It makes me wonder why.

“Aren’t co-ed rooms banned?” I try. Emily rolls her eyes instantly and continues traipsing up ahead.

“They are, but I’m allowed to bend the rules just a little bit.” She says matter-of-factly. Andrew Jr. jogs down the path, falling back in step with her fast paced walk/skip.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

Emily doesn’t reply, instead shaking her head. We pass a few small groups of students as they mill around the tuckshop eating. A light drizzle falls above us, coating our backs as we jog across a small clearing of grass which separates the school from the boarding homes. Emily leads me in the direction of a large block of brick units. Out the front I spy a metal plated sign. St Joseph’s Boarding House.

Barely anyone is in sight as we enter the main building. I wonder how long ago school began. Has Emily skipped class to go sit in the park or something?

Hey. I think. Didn’t she ask me for directions before??? Why has she suddenly changed her schedule so she can fit me into her room…?

 “It’s just up the hall.” Emily says after she’s accepted a room key from a woman behind the administration desk. As we step down the cream walled corridor, I do my best to memorize my route to my apparent room but my head is filled with doubt.

She knows.

No one’s even come close to guessing my secret before. As far as anyone’s ever known, I’m just innocent old Andrew. The guy who comes and goes across the towns, picking up chicks and the proceeding to dump the news that he’s cursed and living inside the skeleton of a robot. The guy who walks around carrying a backpack filled with pieces of metal. The guy who doesn’t go swimming because he’d sink.

The guy who relies on their exterior to live.

Emily wouldn’t have gotten that far into the puzzle of my life, would she? I mean, all she knows is that I coincidentally share the same name as my own disorder. Maybe if this continues, I should change my last name. maybe even change Andrew Jr.’s appearance, if it reached the point.

“We’re here.” She announces, derailing my train of thought. I shake my head abruptly, blotting out the worried thoughts and focussing on the scene outside the control room. Emily yanks open the faded white door, marked with the number 23. The room inside is hardly what I expected and I gasp from my seat, almost letting it slip through my exterior’s mouth. It’s happened before.

The room is simply furnished, like the rest of the school with a metal framed bed on either side. The floor is a beige rug. As I peer through the windows of Andrew Jr.’s eyes I notice there’s a mini kitchen set up through another door on the right. The same goes for a bathroom on the left. The room is lit partly by the light streaming through the open window beside one of the beds, and as soon as Emily flicks on a light, it only brightens further. But it isn’t any of those factors that surprise me about the room.

It’s the IV pole and clear mini fridge filled with bags of thick brown fluid at the end of Emily’s neatly made bed. They rest beside a tattered blue suitcase, still barely unpacked. Is she…Anorexic or something?

I step inside and sit awkwardly on the edge of the second bed, the mattress springs creaking under my exterior’s body. I place my backpack beside me, zipped shut to hide its contents. Emily pauses at the front door for a minute, breathing heavily before rolling up her stockings and crossing the room to sit on her own bed.

“It’s not what you think.” She says at once, her green eyes stone hard. I glance again at the IV pole and the bags of fluid. The mini fridge hums quietly in the background.

“You don’t have to tell me.” I say through Andrew Jr.’s mouth.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay.” Slowly, she tugs up her dress so I can see her stomach area. Protruding from her belly is what looks like a plastic tube with a thick clear cap over the top. From what I gather, it goes into her stomach. The skin around the hole is stretched, a sickly yellow colour. “It’s Gastroparesis.” She says, pulling the dress back down. “A stomach disorder.” My eyes trail to the IV pump once more. “It’s called an NJ tube, the thing I’ve got. It gets food into my stomach because it’s never really functioned right.”

“Oh.” I say, not sure what other means of comfort she’d need. Suddenly I wish I could tell her that my life isn’t so perfect either.

“Um… yeah.” Emily says. “So I’ll be hooked up to the IV at night for feeds and it might get a bit noisy, if that would bother you at all. I could do it in the bathroom if you don’t lik-“

“It’s fine.” I interrupt, curling my exterior’s lips into a gentle smile. “I’m a pretty heavy sleeper, to be honest.” Okay… that was a lie. I know that the noise won’t trouble me, but it isn’t because of my sleeping patterns. Actually, the cabin I sleep in is completely soundproof. Whether or not I can have some time outside my exterior at night is my main dilemma. I always give myself a few hours at least, in the middle of the night to get outside into the open. Even if it’s just sitting on the windowsill breathing in fresh, outside air that isn’t stale or metallic like what I get from Andrew Jr.

I hope Emily is a heavy sleeper.

“Well, that’s enough about me.” She declares, shifting around on her bed until she’s lying down with her back propped up against the pillow. “What about you, Andrew?”

The way she says my name unnerves me. It’s as if she knows I have my secrets. My eyes are usually a dead giveaway. I’ve never seen anyone else with yellow eyes before. It’s my own fault really, for installing them into my exterior. I only did it to match my cursed self. See, yellow stands for small, in the realm of magic. Mist probably based her incantation around that so many years ago. I’ll have honey coloured eyes as long as I’m bound to this state. 

“What do you wanna know?” I ask her uneasily, wringing out Andrew Jr.’s hands.

“Why did you come all the way over to Tassie?” She asks.

“Why did you come all the way over to Tassie?” I counter.

“I asked you first.”

I let out a sigh. “I’m travelling Australia.”

“Really?” Emily sounds genuinely interested. “Have you been to Sydney?”

“Yep.”

“Canberra?”

“Yep.”

“Brisbane?”

“I was born there.” My answer is a little shaky on that one. Being my birthplace as well as my curse’s origin mean I know quite a bit about it. For instance, it brings back memories of a life before Mist and Andrew Jr. I’ve never enjoyed discussing my past.

Particularly with people like Emily.

“I was born in Ipswich.” Emily says, rolling over onto her belly to face me.

“I’ve been there, too. It’s nice.” I tell her evenly.

“Yeah. It’s where my sister got the Andrew Lawson’s disorder.” She tells me.

I freeze from behind Andrew Jr.’s glass eyes. I remember Megan Sharpe all too well. She had luscious black hair, much like her sister’s and hazel eyes. I remember the days we spend chatting in the playground at school, and the times I spent yearning to tell her about myself.

It isn’t a good time yet. I’d tell myself firmly. I did eventually, though.

Megan was my first victim. After I’d introduced myself, she screamed, just like the rest.

The last thing I saw of her was her billowing black hair as it streaked behind her as she ran down the street, away from me.

“I’m sorry.” I say, more to Megan than her sister. 

(Emily’s P.O.V)

I watch Andrew Lawson out of the corner of my eye as he lies practically motionless on his bed, a chapter book in his right hand. His strange, honey coloured eyes skim across the pages, but I’m pretty sure his mind isn’t on the story. I wonder what’s wrong with him. I wonder why he’s so distant.

I think I know.

Andrew catches me staring and shifts amongst his bed covers awkwardly. He says nothing. I turn away, my cheeks going red and focus on the task at hand. It’s evening now, well after dinner, and I’m in need of food. My constantly aching body is getting way too thin for me to forget my nightly feeds. Head spinning, I rise from my bed and cross the room quickly to fetch my IV pole. I know Andrew is watching me now, just as intently as I’d been watching him. I try to ignore it. Living with Gastroparesis is a terrible, painful procedure. It’s embarrassing.

My fingers move expertly to the mini fridge beside me and I kneel down, grabbing a bag of my usual premade nutrient liquids. This brand is an ugly brown/green colour that smells of vomit and looks literally just as bad. I hook the bag up on the pole and connect it to my NJ tube, before flicking on the machine. I feel my stomach contract and gurgle as the liquid is forced in. It’s cold, from being in the fridge and as usual, I feel it as it runs down the pole and inside me.

My stomach has been like this since I can remember. The last time I had a proper meal and enjoyed the feeling of having a functioning stomach was three years ago. The last thing I ate was a small bowl of ice-cream last week, which was promptly sucked back out via my tube. My stomach doesn’t digest food properly, so I can’t orally eat anymore. It’s complicated to describe. Maybe I should just leave it there, for my own sake.

“Does it hurt?” Andrew asks suddenly, as I wheel the IV pole connected to my tube back to bed. I wince at the question out of habit, remembering the countless surgeries, hospitalizations and pain I’ve had.

“No.” I say. If Andrew can lie about who he is, then so can I. And I know who he is. Andrew nods once and his eyes skim back to his book. I bend down a little so I can see the cover. “Why are you reading ‘Building Robots for Dummies’?” I ask, ignoring the whirring sounds coming from my IV. Andrew rests the book on his stomach and shrugs.

“I guess I just like building things.” He says.

“Oh.”

I lie down in bed and turn to one side, using my free hand to tug my doona over my thin body. As I close my eyes I can feel my stomach protesting against the liquid it’s receiving. It can’t digest it, but what I’m getting is liquid nutrients, so it doesn’t get digested anyways. As usual, my stomach bulges out from the sudden amount of food. The feeds are all that keep me from starving to death.

“Is your sister okay now?” Andrew asks seriously, placing the book on his bedside table. I roll over so I face him as he stares up at the ceiling with both hands over his belly. His eyes don’t meet mine.

“Why do you need to know?” I counter, narrowing my eyes. Why do I get the feeling he’s the one? I mean… he looks identical to the Andrew Lawson that dated my sister… and sent her to a mental facility in Sydney. She only recently got discharged, actually. The doctors had told my family that she’d been tainted by visions of Andrew’s head coming off and a smaller version of him emerging from the larger being’s neck. They dubbed her insane for over a year, before they realised that Andrew Lawson (who’d proceeded to literally vanish from the school’s records after the incident) was in fact, a mental problem with a legitimate list of symptoms.

It’s got to be him. I think.

“It’s up to you whether you wanna tell me.” Andrew mumbles.

“Good. Because I don’t want to tell you.”

He nods and shuts his eyes, flicking off the light. The room is enveloped in darkness, the only light coming from the moon, peeking through the curtains. I lean my head back against my pillow and stare at it. My IV rumbles and whirs every so often.

Using the faint moonlight, I reach across for my duffel bag and pinch the corner of a photograph. I raise it to my face. It’s the same photo, the one I’ve only recently grown interested in. It’s why I know who Andrew Lawson really is.

The photo is of my sister and her old boyfriend, the guy, Andrew, who got her shipped off to the mental institute.

And if you look close enough, the thirteen year old in the photo is an exact replica of the older Andrew who lies still in the bed beside mine, sleeping.

Who are you, Andrew Lawson?

~

(Andrew’s P.O.V)

So many questions run through my head as Emily rolls over to sleep.

 Is it safe?

Does she know about me?

Is Megan okay?

Should I risk it?

My stomach rumbles in protest. I’m hungry. Starving, actually. Emily’s kitchen stocks nothing but her bags of IV fluid. Maybe there’s something in the lower cupboards. My cursed self can sneak inside the kitchen undetected, as I always do by night. It’s the only opportunity I get to stretch my legs and be myself… oh yeah, and actually eat something. My exterior isn’t yet able to capacitate real food. When I date a girl, I have to make sure we don’t go out for dinner or anything. Otherwise I’d be majorly screwed.

I pace back and forth across the darkened control room, the only light coming from the tiniest cracks in the windows of Andrew Jr.’s eyelids. I fold my arms and tug the sleeves of my navy sweater over my hands. Should you risk it, Andrew? I decide to wait a little while for Emily to fall asleep before leaving my exterior. I sit down glumly back into the controller’s seat and bring my legs to my chest. Stupid Emily and her stupid brain. Why can’t she make it any less obvious that she knows something? Does she know what it feels like to hide behind the body of something else? Does she know what it feels like to stay cooped up in the cockpit of a robot’s head all day, without eating, drinking or even moving from a chair?

I highly doubt that.

I undo the laces of my sneakers, wait a few seconds and then tie them back up. I force my eyes to stay open. Minutes drain by at a painfully slow rate. I can practically hear the sharp ticking of a clock in my head. Andrew Jr. has already been set to his ‘Night-time Mode’, which basically just programs him to breathe in an artificially but somewhat normal way, as you’d do normally in sleep. If I were in bed with a chick and my exterior had neither a heartbeat or the ability to even breathe, than I think the girl would be a tad suspicious. It’s why I take massive precautions.

It’s just past two at night when I finally deem it safe to leave my exterior. Emily’s breathing has become laboured and despite the constant whirring of her IV pole, I know she’s out with the fairies. By this time, my stomach no longer rumbles. Hunger has passed over quickly, replaced by a dull throb inside. I’m tired.

“Time to go, then.” I say under my breath, rubbing my hands together. I rise from my seat and mash my palm into one of the many buttons in the control room. There’s a faint hissing from below me and a bright light fills my peripheral vision. I pray to god that Emily is a heavy sleeper. The noise Andrew Jr.’s head makes when it’s removed from his body is pretty soft but it’s the light that scares people. I hope my hearing’s right and she actually is asleep…

The light fades from the level below me and I slip downstairs to exit my exterior. It’s always felt weird, after being an interior for so long to venture outside into the real world. I just wish if didn’t have to be that way. Andrew Jr.’s neck has practically detached from his body. When I step outside onto the expanse of the bed, I stare across at the exposed section of my exterior, where the neck and head are connected by thick steel clamps. Pipes and wires run down through Andrew Jr.’s body, all connected to the control room. It’s how my robot self functions.

I take a minute to study my surroundings with my own eyes, rather than the glass ones belonging to my exterior before I begin walking across the bed. My legs sink into the soft mattress with each step. Without my exterior, everything is without a doubt giant. Mist’s curse has trapped me as a three and a half inch tall teenager, so creating Andrew Jr. was really my only option. I can’t even trek across a house without him.

No one’s ever seen my true self, my tiny guy self. Apart from those second long introductions with my ‘girlfriends’, that is. It’d be a whole lot easier to have a decent conversation with someone if I was to use my own mouth for sure, but the thing is… being this size is embarrassing. It’s easier for me to pretend I’m normal and live in a robot than face the facts. It’s just how I’ve adapted.

I leap off the edge of the bed expertly, falling for at least a five storey height before landing in a crouch amongst the carpet, which comes up to my ankles. I feel it scratching irritably against my skin as I make my way across the giant proportioned room to the kitchen. I don’t really mind, though.

I’m free.

The air is clean and crisp, unlike the metal scented, smoky air I receive from inside my exterior’s carcass. I can feel the ground beneath my feet.

I can stand.

I can walk around without worrying about people seeing me, or screaming.

I can run.

Feeling giddy, I begin sprinting across the carpet, ignoring the loud whirring of Emily’s IV in the background. I relish the cool night air that brushes against my face. I spread my arms wide and tear along the ground, allowing my usually tuned in, alert mind to let go.

Freedom is my reward for the countless amount of effort I’ve put into finding love. I only get to leave Andrew Jr. at night, so I never fail to make it count. The moon silhouettes my small frame as I jog the long distance to the kitchen. Everything’s bigger and considerably further away at my interior’s scale. At my scale. Running from the base of the bed to the kitchen takes at least three or four minutes.

I can already picture food in my mind. Canned or fresh, I don’t care. As long as it fills me up and isn’t a bitch to open (like stuff that requires a can opener), I’m easy. I find myself thinking about food throughout my entire jog. I concentrate so, so hard that I don’t even notice the yawn in the background. Or the largely amplified creak of the springs on a bed. I don’t notice the shadow that passes over me, or the exclamation of shock.

But, like in every other situation, I notice the scream.

“What the heck?!?!” Emily yells.

(Andrew’s P.O.V)

I raise my head warily to stare up at the giantess of a sick girl with an equally giant pole on wheels beside her. Emily’s mouth hangs agape and her hair is a black bird’s nest. I wonder whether she can even see me properly without her glasses. She wears plain pyjamas that drape over her anorexic thin form almost scarily. There isn’t much of her, even though there’s even less of Andrew Lawson without the Jr. part on the end.

“S-s-s-sh-h-h-hit…” Emily breathes. Her bony fingers tighten around her IV pole above me. I stand awkwardly inside my glass prison. To be honest, this whole situation… I’m hardly scared. Actually, I’m just worried about what Emily will do to my exterior if she realises who I really am. All the interior, all I can do is wait for her to begin the interrogation… or call the police.

Emily doesn’t move for a long, long time. And then with a slow, exaggerated breath, she bends down, the bones in her knobbly knees cracking in protest. I wince, seeing as the amplitude is much louder at my scale. She raises a hand tentatively and extends it toward my glass. Its shadow slips over me and I back away, so I’m pressing hard against the far side of the glass. I close my eyes and look away from the giant.

“Who are you?” Emily asks, retracting her hand at my reaction. She lets it lie still in her lap. Her IV still whirs in the background. I open my eyes, ashamed at my fear and let out a huff under my breath. So she can see me without the glasses.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask her from inside the glass. “You got me. I’m the tiny guy.”

Emily frowns, her features creasing up like material due for an iron. “What? I can’t hear you.” I then realise that my voice is probably much too small for her to hear, with the glass around me muffling everything. I sigh, folding my arms and say nothing more. Emily slowly withdraws her hand from her lap and raises it directly overhead. I find myself crouching a little in shock at its size. Slowly, she raises the glass so I’m no longer trapped. Suddenly, without the usual feeling of a shield around me like Andrew Jr., I feel incredibly exposed and weak.

I back away from the giant and hold out both hands. “Please let me explain…” I can’t help but feel frightened about all of this. It’s been four years; four terrible, long years of being an interior and I’ve still got the mental capacity of a scared baby. I’m a wuss.

“Don’t tell me she…” Emily begins, eyes widening a little. “Megan wasn’t crazy… holy shit.”

Her words shock me and I wince, out of habit. I force my legs to stop walking away. Maybe I should just… “I-“

Tell her.

I take a deep breath. “I’m the tiny guy.” I say in a rush. “I’m Andrew Lawson.”

~

(Emily’s P.O.V)

He certainly looks like the Andrew Lawson from my photo; scratch the fact that he’s aged quite a bit since then… and shrunk, too. I had a hunch that he was the one. Just by looking into his golden eyes, I could tell he had a secret. What I didn’t expect was for my sister’s hallucinations of tiny guys to be…

Real.

How does he even manage to pull it all off? I mean… if Megan was right all along and the doctors misdiagnosed her, then Andrew Lawson really does live inside himself. The motionless and unmistakably headless robot that looks remarkably similar to the miniature version of Andrew before me is proof.

“Um…” Andrew pipes up, shifting on his heels. I move my head forward a little so I can see him better, particularly without my glasses. Andrew Lawson stands about three or so inches tall. I can see all the way up his tiny body down to his ankles, which sink into the carpet like he’s standing upon a bed of grass. He wears a loosely fitting navy jumper and long pants. His hair is a wavy brown. I want desperately to reach out and touch him, just out of curiosity. But judging from the way he flinches when I move, I decide against it. He may have put my sister in hospital, but I’m sure he’s got reasons.

“Okay.” I say aloud, without realising. “You’re the guy.”

He nods. “That is correct, yes.”

I wonder why Andrew is so calm about all this. Why isn’t he making a run for it while I’m weak, sick and pretty much distracted by my own thoughts? Suddenly it hits me. Andrew must be tired of running.

The Andrew Lawson Disorder is a mystery. Megan was just about the first to get it, and it became a legitimate thing a few months later, when it was reported that seven other girls went insane from an unknown source. The thing is, scientists tried to track the spread of the disorder and have, in recent months come to a conclusion. The Andrew Lawson Disorder is completely random. Every so often, whether it be a week’s time or a month, you get another girl gone mad. Every single time this happens, a boy called Andrew Lawson vanishes from the radar. Every single case of the disorder occurs only once in a town of Australia.

“You’re the reason girls scream themselves to death.” I say under my breath, not intending for the small version of Andrew Lawson to hear. He does anyway, and frowns sadly.

“I thought they loved me…” He says. “I didn’t mean for any of it.”

“Why do you do it, then?” I ask. “Why do you scare them?”

Andrew Lawson doesn’t reply for a long time. His tiny face pales and he shoves his hands under his armpits. He drops his gaze so he stares down at the ground.

“The thing is, I’m cursed.” The tiny guy says. 

Over the four years of being the tiny guy inside the body of a robot, I’ve never really considered much about the consequences. What consequences, you may ask yourself? There are quite a few. For starters, I’m the interior and only once I know I can trust someone, they can see me for who I really am, size and all. And yes, that has been an extremely shit way of approaching things in the past. But there are precautions I have to make, for my own safety. I’ve had to abandon my own family and take maturity levels to the extreme in order to become who I am today.

In this final year of my curse, I decided that it was time to let my life dictate what is to happen. I decided that I was tired of hiding, tired of running away instead of facing my problems. I was tired of crushing my girlfriends’ lives and then abandoning them completely. And more importantly, I was tired of the screaming. The constant reminder that I was three inches tall and not six foot like my exterior. I decided that it wasn’t going to get any better if I lived my life in secrets and remorse.

And now Emily knows.

She kneels before me, her eyes running up and down my smaller frame, taking me in. And for once, I let her. Maybe it’s best she knows. Maybe it’s best that I let it all out. I think Emily deserves it more than anyone, with her illness and more importantly, sister.

“I d-d-don’t understand.” She whispers now, her fast paced breathing hitting me like a gust of warm summer’s wind. I try not to show my uncertainty as she stares. “Do I have the disorder? I c-c-can’t…”

I sigh, kicking the scratchy tufts of carpet with my shoes. Well, at least she’s not screaming… No one’s ever… I straighten up a little in confusion. Why isn’t Emily screaming, like the countless other girls I’ve faced? “You don’t have the disorder.” I say softly. “I’m real.” I pause before adding in a quieter tone. “It’s real.”

A sharp intake of her breath whistles through my soft brown hair. It’s like the gentle suction of a vacuum cleaner. “Oh god… the tiny guy is real.” She repeats it, as if talking to herself. “The tiny guy’s real. How could I have guessed? I mean, it’s not like Andrew Lawson’s a robot or something. He’s too… real looking…”

“But it is real.” She counters, gesturing to me with her left hand. I stumble backwards, thinking she’s going to make a grab for me but instead, Emily answers herself again. “He’s real, the robot’s like, headless on the bed for god’s sake and his neck slides off like Megan said it did… who woulda thought?” She tugs up the bottom of her bed shirt to inspect the NJ tube protruding from her stomach. I wince as she prods it with her fingers. The slightly discoloured skin around it peels at the edges. “They slipped me something in the bloody feed.” She snaps, turning to me critically. “You know how annoying it is to have these drained out up at the hospital? I’m gonna have to either wear my glasses or…”

Suddenly Emily is on her feet, her bones creaking at the sudden movement. I back away in fright, her body about as tall as a skyscraper to me. My voice catches in my throat. Emily doesn’t make a move for me, though. She rushes across the room to her bedside and flicks on a lamp. Suddenly, the giant room is enveloped in a dimmed light. I can see my own shadow reflected across the carpet, its size contrasting scarily to Emily’s.

“Glasses, glasses, glasses… aha!” She plucks them off her desk with a clutter, her IV pole jingling about behind her. I watch a little nervously as she slides the small wire frames up to the bridge of her nose and waves a hand in front of her face to test her sight. Is this girl all there?

I don’t have time to consider the question before she’s kneeling in front of me again, this time with the light casting shadows about the room and clad with her glasses. I have a feeling she’s just confirmed that I am in fact, legitimate.

“Holy shit!”

I bite my lip and hold out both hands in protest. “It isn’t what you think, I swear.”

“Then what is it?” Emily asks, a little too loudly for my ears. Man. Why do girls always have to have miniature panic attacks when they see me? I reckon that tiny guys are cool! If they aren’t kept as pets, that is… which reminds me…

“Before I tell you, will you promise not to get all hyped up and put me in a jar or something…?” I ask, glancing wearily over at my previous glass prison, now lying forgotten under the bed. “I’m not some kind of pet…”

Emily scrutinises me for a few seconds. “Why would I put the guy in a jar? Holy crap, do you know how famous you are???!”

I shake my head.

But my suspicions are confirmed.

Emily was dropped on her head as a child.

“Can I show you how famous you are, Tiny Guy?” She asks, resting her chin on her hands and smiling. I chew on the inside of my mouth.

“Um, it’s Andrew and…” I shrug. “Alright.” This is not going well…

Emily grins wider and grips the bottom of her IV to help her back into standing, but pauses at the sight of me. “How do I ask something like this…?” She mutters. “Okay. Andrew. Can I pick you up… please?”

How did this get from a nice ‘hello’ to ‘I wanna hold you now’?

Screw it. She said please.

I try a smile of my own. “I guess, just be careful, okay? I’ve never well, done this before.”

“But you’re the guy!” Emily giggles.

“I’m Andrew. And you’re probably the first girl I’ve talked to without my exterior-“ I break off awkwardly. That was not the best thing to say. I can’t just admit to this chick that over the years, I’ve adopted the ‘interior’ ‘exterior’ nicknaming system. It just sounds like I’ve got a thing for interior designing, or something absolutely irrelevant.

Emily nods slowly and extends her hand. But without grabbing at me, like I’d expected, she places her hand flat on the carpet in front of me, with her palm up. I swallow back my nausea. Her hand is the size of a queen bed. Tentatively, I step up onto her straightened fingers and settle into the centre of her palm. My body freezes up with goose bumps. I shiver. Sitting like this, without Andrew Jr…

I’m scared.

“You’re tiny!” Emily laughs, beginning to stand up. She holds her hand steady as I sit in the centre of her palm with my legs crossed. As she rises from the ground, my stomach drops and I feel strangely lightheaded. It’s lucky I’m not scared of heights, because if I was, the drop from Emily’s hand to the ground would probably send me into shock.

“I told you. It’s a curse.” I say once the hand has stopped moving and Emily’s feet are planted firmly on the ground. “The only way I can return to normal is for someone to love me… as the tiny guy. As Andrew Lawson and not…” Andrew Jr.

“This is so weird…” Emily mutters, inspecting me from her hand. “You know that, right?” I bring my legs up to my chest, feeling exposed again.

“Of course.”

She begins a slow walk towards a desk and computer by the door to our unit. I can tell her movements are subdued due to my being with her, but Emily’s slow with her IV pole anyways. It isn’t that much of a difference.

She sits down at the desk, parks her IV beside her and places her hand gently atop the polished wood. I clamber off instantly as Emily turns on the computer monitor. She wiggles the mouse around to speed up the process. I sit down with my back propped up against the screen of the computer.

“Is that why you were with my sister?” She says softly, her eyes still focussed on the computer. “To get her to love you?”

“Yeah.” I reply. “Hasn’t worked though, has it?”

Emily bites her lip, probably recalling the cases of my so called disorder spreading across Australia. “I guess not.” She says.

“I wanted to ask you something.” I tell her, as she begins typing up ‘Andrew Lawson Disorder’ into the search browser of google.

“What’s that?”

I let out a deep breath. “Why aren’t you scared of me?” I ask. “Why aren’t you screaming?”

Emily shrugs. “You’re not exactly something I should be scared of… no offence. You’re the tiny guy! What could you do to me?” Her cheery expression fades. “Besides screw me up even more than I already am.”

Her slender fingers are like chickens feet across the keyboard, scaly and dry. Her nails are brittle. You can tell at a glance that Emily Sharpe is sick. But there’s something about her that I can relate to. If you get to know her a little, see beneath her exterior, then she’s true to herself and genuine. She isn’t afraid of me, because she knows what it’s like to be different. I don’t know what to think of it anymore.

Emily’s eyes trail from the keyboard to the screen of the computer. She purses her enormous lips. “Look at this, Andrew.” She says.

I stand up and take a few steps backwards so I can see the cinema sized screen better… and convey a yelp of shock.

My face flashes across the screen, under the heading:

‘Andrew Lawson.’

“Oh shit.” I whisper. 

(Emily’s P.O.V)

Getting the fact that Andrew Lawson is an actual human being and not some made up cartoon is hard to take in fully. Particularly since the tiny guy, the guy who was rumoured to have emerged from the neck of Andrew himself is also one hundred percent legitimate. He’s standing on my desk now, for Christ’s sake! I have to hope I’m not going mad, like my sister once was.

I try to remember the Andrew Lawson from my past. Back when he and Megan were a ‘thing’, my life practically evolved around hospital visits and operations. My sister’s love life was quite frankly the least of my worries. I wasn’t that social, back in my early teens. But there is one memory that stands out amongst the others. Megan’s fourteenth birthday party. Andrew had always been a fraction younger than my sister, but neither he nor she minded. I guess it was just another strike of teenage love.

I’d gone to that birthday party, complete with the countless medical stands, IV poles and tubes surrounding me. My body was at its worst at that point, and my life counted solely on a hospital bed, a scalpel and my last resort, which was to have a permanent, surgically implanted NJ tube woven into the pit of my stomach. At the time, my stomach was bony, malnourished and stitch free. That didn’t mean my arms weren’t. Needles of all sizes had jutted from my arms, pumping liquids into my body so that it was healthy enough to survive the surgery.  

Andrew had stood beside my sister as the cake was cut. He was much shorter then and his muscles less pronounced. He draped his arm around Megan’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear while she blew out the candles. Megan had smiled widely and threw her arms around his neck.

I wonder if Andrew truly loved her. When she kissed him, did he feel anything? My eyes wander from the screen of the computer to his tiny form. He doesn’t feel it, anyway, stupid. I think. He lives in a freaking robot. It’s on his bed, for god’s sake!

I hit enter on the keyboard, the computer’s screen instantly loading up images of the Andrew Lawson Disorder. I’ve seen these photos, drawings and quotes too often to be natural, but I have a feeling the tiny guy hasn’t.

“Oh shit.” He mutters under his breath. Andrew Lawson’s tiny face pales. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his navy hoody. His eyes skim across picture after picture, taking them in. That’s because every photo which pops up under the Andrew Lawson Disorder is a splitting image of his perfect face. “That’s me, right?” He peers at each photo, taking in the porcelain features, gleaming yellow eyes and fuzzy brown hair of his face. “How long have these photos been up?”

I shrug lightly, running the mouse over one of the pictures. It’s a photo of a capital ‘A’ drawn in curly yellow writing. Inside the ‘A’ is a second, smaller letter drawn in the centre of the triangular arch. The website reads: ‘Andrew Lawson Support Centre.’ “These have been up ever since Megan.” I say softly. Andrew lets out a small groan. He takes a step back and sits down hard onto the edge of the keyboard and buries his head in his hands.

“They know who I am.” I barely catch his words.

I find myself feeling sorry for the tiny guy. Judging from the rumours going around about his assistance, Andrew Lawson has never had a place to call home. He’s been around Australia on foot, away from his old life. He’d told a few of his girlfriends that his parents thought he’d died. Andrew Lawson has no one in his life that has been permanent. He travels to often to have that opportunity.

And now he’s here, in my dorm. Sobbing softly into his palms, his tiny frame shaking. I feel a sudden urge to reach out and… what could I do? Pat his head with my finger? Rub his back? I bunch the hand in my lap into a fist. He’d probably think I was some kind of mother figure. Taking a deep breath, I decide to try a safer approach.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Talk about ‘safer’, Emily… you probably just broke the freaking record for phenomenal comforting strategies…

Andrew wipes a few stray tears off his cheeks with his sweater sleave. He stands up slowly and turns around to face me. His bright yellow eyes shimmer a little, but he’s so small that I really can’t tell if he’s even crying at all anymore. He stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets.

“It’s two in the morning.” He says quietly, not meeting my eyes. “I should go.” I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out. My throat clogs up with unstrung sentences. Andrew hesitates, shuffling on his feet. “Um… thanks for this.” He says. “For… well, not screaming.”

“It’s a nice change.” He mutters as he begins walking towards the edge of the desk. He bends down, ready to jump.

“Holy shit- wait!!!” I yelp suddenly, the words flying from my mouth like water shooting from the cracks in a bucket. I sway forward in my seat, stretching out my hand. As Andrew jumps, I catch him shakily in the palm of my hand. The tiny guy stiffens at the last minute, landing awkwardly in a crouch. He snaps into standing instantly, balancing in the centre of my hand. If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have felt him standing there. He must be so light…

“Okay.” Andrew says suddenly, almost making me jump on the spot. He sidesteps awkwardly to his left and leaps back onto the polished wooden desk. “That was a little unexpected.”

I’m surprised at how unfazed he is to my rash movements. He retains the same calm façade as he faces me from the edge of the desk. Geeze. If I were tiny then I’d be pretty freaked out. As an afterthought I reel back, shoving my hand into my lap. My cheeks heat up almost instantly. “I-I-I’m sorry.” I say. “I thought you were going to jump.”

Andrew smiles faintly. “I was.”

I try my best in scaling up the height between the desk and the ground below. “But that’s like… a fifty or so storey drop!” I say.

“Erm yes… I’m used to heights.” He points across the room to his bed, occupied by the currently headless robot/human or whatever it is. “I’ve lived in that for the past four years.” He says.

“B-b-b-but… I mean, you were going to die!” I exclaim, my eyes darting from the edge of the desk to the ground.

Andrew simply shrugs. “I wouldn’t have died. I’m pretty light, compared to a human, so gravity doesn’t really affect me.” To demonstrate, Andrew squats down a little and jumps, rising at least thirty centimetres off the desk. It’s barely a jump to me, but to someone that size… It’d be like jumping ten or so meters into the air. Andrew hits the ground again, barely making a noise. 

“That’s awesome!” I grin, causing the tiny guy to blush a little and shrug.

“It can be fun.” He says.

“So…” I say. “Are the rumours true, then?”

Andrew flinches at the question. “Which ones? I know there’ve been quite a few…”

“You know…” I say awkwardly. “The one where you date a girl and at the last minute, come out of that… robot’s head.”

It takes Andrew a while to find his voice. It’s barely a croak when he does. “Listen, I wanted to apologise for Megan. I was just freaking out about my curse and wanted to return to normal so I went to Ipswich and hooked up with the first girl I met…”

I raise a hand slowly and he clamps his mouth shut. “It’s cool.” I sigh. “Is it real though? Like, the head part?”

Andrew’s shoulders slump like a deflating balloon. “Yeah. That’s all true.” He mumbles… and lets out a long, droning yawn. I giggle a little, and he perks up slightly. “What? You’ve kept me up till two thirty in the morning! I’m tired!”

“Do you… sleep in that robot?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“Is it comfortable?”

“Nope.” He laughs. “I miss sleeping in a human bed…”

“Well.” I say, taking it slow, so that I can get my head around what I’m saying. “You don’t have to hide in that thing, if you’re sick of it…. I know your secret now…”

“That’s a long shot, Emily.” Andrew sighs, running his hand down the back of his neck. “I really hate staying outside for too long…”

“Outside?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Andrew takes a moment to realise what I’ve just asked. “Ohhh. Sorry, I meant the robot.” He says. “Although I call it Andrew Jr. these days.”

“Well that’s random.”

“I guess that’s just my personality.” He smiles.

“Well, we randoms gotta stick together then!” I declare.

“That was random.” Andrew says, yawning halfway through the statement.

“It was.” I say, standing up. I hesitate, wondering what to say or what to do. Should I just leave him here and go back to bed? Or should I… Should I do what I wanted to do… Oh god that’s an embarrassing thing to want…

“You going to bed?” Andrew asks warily from the desk. I stiffen, my thoughts shattering like glass. My inner yearnings slip away. I nod, gripping my IV pole for support as I stretch my legs. I watch the tiny guy for a minute, unsure. He seems just as awkward. At least we have one thing in common. Finally, I sigh in defeat.

“I don’t want to impose on your routine or anything, but do you want me to take you back to your… Andrew Jr.?” I ask, biting my lip to stop myself choking up air.

“That’d be nice.” Andrew smiles.

Okay, Emily. He said yes. See? That wasn’t so hard, asking if you can pick up a little dude…

Gripping my pole with one hand, I place the other palm up in front of him. Andrew stays still for a moment, before letting out a small sigh and stepping up and into my hand. His tiny feet pad across my palm, before he settles down into the centre with his legs crossed. Careful not to startle him or anything, I raise my hand up off the desk and hobble over to bed.

“Talk about Nazaree service!” Andrew says happily as I bend down so that he can step lightly back onto the mattress of his bed. Just as he’s reaching for a button on the side of his robot’s severed neck, he freezes. “Did I just say that?”

I straighten up, practically towering over the tiny guy. Andrew flinches. “What’s a Nazaree?” I ask, confused.

Andrew moves away from the robot, Andrew Jr. He plonks himself down at the edge of the bed and sighs.

“Are you tired?” He asks.

“No.” I answer, before adding. “Feeds make too much noise to let me sleep.” My IV whirs as if in approval.

“Good.” Andrew says softly. “I would lie down if I was you.”

“Why?”

I sit down in my bed, lying back against the pillow. Andrew straightens up from his own bed, his tiny body barely visible in the moonlight. “Because I’m going to tell you a story.” He says.

“About?”

The tiny guy’s shoulders slump. “About a Nazaree.”

“About me.” 

(Emily’s P.O.V)

Getting the fact that Andrew Lawson is an actual human being and not some made up cartoon is hard to take in fully. Particularly since the tiny guy, the guy who was rumoured to have emerged from the neck of Andrew himself is also one hundred percent legitimate. He’s standing on my desk now, for Christ’s sake! I have to hope I’m not going mad, like my sister once was.

I try to remember the Andrew Lawson from my past. Back when he and Megan were a ‘thing’, my life practically evolved around hospital visits and operations. My sister’s love life was quite frankly the least of my worries. I wasn’t that social, back in my early teens. But there is one memory that stands out amongst the others. Megan’s fourteenth birthday party. Andrew had always been a fraction younger than my sister, but neither he nor she minded. I guess it was just another strike of teenage love.

I’d gone to that birthday party, complete with the countless medical stands, IV poles and tubes surrounding me. My body was at its worst at that point, and my life counted solely on a hospital bed, a scalpel and my last resort, which was to have a permanent, surgically implanted NJ tube woven into the pit of my stomach. At the time, my stomach was bony, malnourished and stitch free. That didn’t mean my arms weren’t. Needles of all sizes had jutted from my arms, pumping liquids into my body so that it was healthy enough to survive the surgery.  

Andrew had stood beside my sister as the cake was cut. He was much shorter then and his muscles less pronounced. He draped his arm around Megan’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear while she blew out the candles. Megan had smiled widely and threw her arms around his neck.

I wonder if Andrew truly loved her. When she kissed him, did he feel anything? My eyes wander from the screen of the computer to his tiny form. He doesn’t feel it, anyway, stupid. I think. He lives in a freaking robot. It’s on his bed, for god’s sake!

I hit enter on the keyboard, the computer’s screen instantly loading up images of the Andrew Lawson Disorder. I’ve seen these photos, drawings and quotes too often to be natural, but I have a feeling the tiny guy hasn’t.

“Oh shit.” He mutters under his breath. Andrew Lawson’s tiny face pales. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his navy hoody. His eyes skim across picture after picture, taking them in. That’s because every photo which pops up under the Andrew Lawson Disorder is a splitting image of his perfect face. “That’s me, right?” He peers at each photo, taking in the porcelain features, gleaming yellow eyes and fuzzy brown hair of his face. “How long have these photos been up?”

I shrug lightly, running the mouse over one of the pictures. It’s a photo of a capital ‘A’ drawn in curly yellow writing. Inside the ‘A’ is a second, smaller letter drawn in the centre of the triangular arch. The website reads: ‘Andrew Lawson Support Centre.’ “These have been up ever since Megan.” I say softly. Andrew lets out a small groan. He takes a step back and sits down hard onto the edge of the keyboard and buries his head in his hands.

“They know who I am.” I barely catch his words.

I find myself feeling sorry for the tiny guy. Judging from the rumours going around about his assistance, Andrew Lawson has never had a place to call home. He’s been around Australia on foot, away from his old life. He’d told a few of his girlfriends that his parents thought he’d died. Andrew Lawson has no one in his life that has been permanent. He travels to often to have that opportunity.

And now he’s here, in my dorm. Sobbing softly into his palms, his tiny frame shaking. I feel a sudden urge to reach out and… what could I do? Pat his head with my finger? Rub his back? I bunch the hand in my lap into a fist. He’d probably think I was some kind of mother figure. Taking a deep breath, I decide to try a safer approach.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Talk about ‘safer’, Emily… you probably just broke the freaking record for phenomenal comforting strategies…

Andrew wipes a few stray tears off his cheeks with his sweater sleave. He stands up slowly and turns around to face me. His bright yellow eyes shimmer a little, but he’s so small that I really can’t tell if he’s even crying at all anymore. He stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets.

“It’s two in the morning.” He says quietly, not meeting my eyes. “I should go.” I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out. My throat clogs up with unstrung sentences. Andrew hesitates, shuffling on his feet. “Um… thanks for this.” He says. “For… well, not screaming.”

“It’s a nice change.” He mutters as he begins walking towards the edge of the desk. He bends down, ready to jump.

“Holy shit- wait!!!” I yelp suddenly, the words flying from my mouth like water shooting from the cracks in a bucket. I sway forward in my seat, stretching out my hand. As Andrew jumps, I catch him shakily in the palm of my hand. The tiny guy stiffens at the last minute, landing awkwardly in a crouch. He snaps into standing instantly, balancing in the centre of my hand. If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have felt him standing there. He must be so light…

“Okay.” Andrew says suddenly, almost making me jump on the spot. He sidesteps awkwardly to his left and leaps back onto the polished wooden desk. “That was a little unexpected.”

I’m surprised at how unfazed he is to my rash movements. He retains the same calm façade as he faces me from the edge of the desk. Geeze. If I were tiny then I’d be pretty freaked out. As an afterthought I reel back, shoving my hand into my lap. My cheeks heat up almost instantly. “I-I-I’m sorry.” I say. “I thought you were going to jump.”

Andrew smiles faintly. “I was.”

I try my best in scaling up the height between the desk and the ground below. “But that’s like… a fifty or so storey drop!” I say.

“Erm yes… I’m used to heights.” He points across the room to his bed, occupied by the currently headless robot/human or whatever it is. “I’ve lived in that for the past four years.” He says.

“B-b-b-but… I mean, you were going to die!” I exclaim, my eyes darting from the edge of the desk to the ground.

Andrew simply shrugs. “I wouldn’t have died. I’m pretty light, compared to a human, so gravity doesn’t really affect me.” To demonstrate, Andrew squats down a little and jumps, rising at least thirty centimetres off the desk. It’s barely a jump to me, but to someone that size… It’d be like jumping ten or so meters into the air. Andrew hits the ground again, barely making a noise. 

“That’s awesome!” I grin, causing the tiny guy to blush a little and shrug.

“It can be fun.” He says.

“So…” I say. “Are the rumours true, then?”

Andrew flinches at the question. “Which ones? I know there’ve been quite a few…”

“You know…” I say awkwardly. “The one where you date a girl and at the last minute, come out of that… robot’s head.”

It takes Andrew a while to find his voice. It’s barely a croak when he does. “Listen, I wanted to apologise for Megan. I was just freaking out about my curse and wanted to return to normal so I went to Ipswich and hooked up with the first girl I met…”

I raise a hand slowly and he clamps his mouth shut. “It’s cool.” I sigh. “Is it real though? Like, the head part?”

Andrew’s shoulders slump like a deflating balloon. “Yeah. That’s all true.” He mumbles… and lets out a long, droning yawn. I giggle a little, and he perks up slightly. “What? You’ve kept me up till two thirty in the morning! I’m tired!”

“Do you… sleep in that robot?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“Is it comfortable?”

“Nope.” He laughs. “I miss sleeping in a human bed…”

“Well.” I say, taking it slow, so that I can get my head around what I’m saying. “You don’t have to hide in that thing, if you’re sick of it…. I know your secret now…”

“That’s a long shot, Emily.” Andrew sighs, running his hand down the back of his neck. “I really hate staying outside for too long…”

“Outside?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Andrew takes a moment to realise what I’ve just asked. “Ohhh. Sorry, I meant the robot.” He says. “Although I call it Andrew Jr. these days.”

“Well that’s random.”

“I guess that’s just my personality.” He smiles.

“Well, we randoms gotta stick together then!” I declare.

“That was random.” Andrew says, yawning halfway through the statement.

“It was.” I say, standing up. I hesitate, wondering what to say or what to do. Should I just leave him here and go back to bed? Or should I… Should I do what I wanted to do… Oh god that’s an embarrassing thing to want…

“You going to bed?” Andrew asks warily from the desk. I stiffen, my thoughts shattering like glass. My inner yearnings slip away. I nod, gripping my IV pole for support as I stretch my legs. I watch the tiny guy for a minute, unsure. He seems just as awkward. At least we have one thing in common. Finally, I sigh in defeat.

“I don’t want to impose on your routine or anything, but do you want me to take you back to your… Andrew Jr.?” I ask, biting my lip to stop myself choking up air.

“That’d be nice.” Andrew smiles.

Okay, Emily. He said yes. See? That wasn’t so hard, asking if you can pick up a little dude…

Gripping my pole with one hand, I place the other palm up in front of him. Andrew stays still for a moment, before letting out a small sigh and stepping up and into my hand. His tiny feet pad across my palm, before he settles down into the centre with his legs crossed. Careful not to startle him or anything, I raise my hand up off the desk and hobble over to bed.

“Talk about Nazaree service!” Andrew says happily as I bend down so that he can step lightly back onto the mattress of his bed. Just as he’s reaching for a button on the side of his robot’s severed neck, he freezes. “Did I just say that?”

I straighten up, practically towering over the tiny guy. Andrew flinches. “What’s a Nazaree?” I ask, confused.

Andrew moves away from the robot, Andrew Jr. He plonks himself down at the edge of the bed and sighs.

“Are you tired?” He asks.

“No.” I answer, before adding. “Feeds make too much noise to let me sleep.” My IV whirs as if in approval.

“Good.” Andrew says softly. “I would lie down if I was you.”

“Why?”

I sit down in my bed, lying back against the pillow. Andrew straightens up from his own bed, his tiny body barely visible in the moonlight. “Because I’m going to tell you a story.” He says.

“About?”

The tiny guy’s shoulders slump. “About a Nazaree.”

“About me.” 

Witches can be cruel, their nature evolving around cursing those who commit simple crimes like mine. It was only in Mist’s best nature to curse me at such a young age. I used to blame her for my stature, but slowly, things have sorted themselves out. Now, I understand the true notions of a witch. Their powers are meant to heal, to regenerate. Cursing requires their soul and meaning. A witch can only curse once. As far as I know, Mist is unable to curse another being again. They’re like bees, really. They sting once in defence and then… die?

No, maybe they aren’t exactly like a bee.

When I was cursed, my first few nights were filled with dreams of who I had become. It’s common knowledge, for me to understand the various curses which can be cast. Mist’s curse, to make me smaller and weaker was an accident. A witch has seven different colours to choose from though, with enough training. Each colour represents a curse’s effects and this my friends, in turn is where rainbows come from.

Red symbolises a heart dedicated to blood. Anyone who is trapped under that curse will fall ill to their own and others’ source of oxygen running through their veins. In other words, they’d be vampires.

Orange is for those with a heart too ego-filled to capacitate such a small body. Anyone cursed as orange would grow as large as necessary, for that ego to be catered for. They’d be giants.

Yellow, like me, is for those small on the inside and vice versa with orange, you’ve got yourself a physique small enough to properly fit their body.

Green is for those who don’t deserve the right to bring physical and emotional pain to others. Witches strip them of their self control over their own pain, and from that day onwards, whenever encountered with pain both mental and physical, they’ll shrink, just like a yellow, to four inches tall. I’ve never really been able to get my head around the anatomy of a green’s life. Unable to feel pain; particularly for a nazaree, that’s pretty hard.

Blue is for ice. The person is frozen in time, unable to age or speak at all. They are mute and immortal, until their curse is broken.

Indigo symbolises a starless night. That type of curse is usually handed to the ‘party people’, those who go around picking fights and lounging in the local strip club after dark. Witches punish them into a life of eternal black, blind and haunted with nightmares.

Purple is for those too caught up in themselves to care about others. It strips them of the right to own a body. Every morning, their soul is wiped from the body of another, only to be rehomed in someone else’s.

So yeah, they’re the curses. I’ve learnt them all off by heart, naturally, being a ‘yellow’ myself. It’s why I’ve got yellow eyes. Anyone trapped under a curse has eyes the colour of the guilt they bear.

It’s what makes us Nazarees.

Before you say something like: ‘I’ve got blue eyes! I’m cursed?!’, then hear me out. Being a Nazaree is nothing to be proud of. It isn’t something which makes us better than a human. Being Nazaree is a fate, often worse than death. Nazaree comes from the word ‘Nazar’, which means: Evil Eye. Being the way I am means that I’m destined to remain this way till death.

Why?

Because no one has ever broken a witch’s curse before.

There is only one way to break a curse, and that is to get someone to love you. And with the prejudice and perfection of society today, no one can succeed. We have five years to make an attempt. Once that time has expired, we are Nazaree for life. We don’t get a second chance. It’s why breaking my curse means the world to me. It’s why I don’t give up, despite the screaming and despite the travelling. If I could break my curse and become normal again…

“That’s the point.” I tell Emily with a small sigh. “No one knows what happens when a curse is lifted, because it’s never happened before.”

Emily sits up straighter in bed. Her mattress springs creak underneath her. I smile to myself. When was the last time I was heavy enough to have that happen…? “So you’d return to normal then?” Emily asks before I can reminisce about my past life any further. “You wouldn’t be a Nazaree anymore?”  

I shake my head, sitting on edge of my own bed, my legs hanging over the side of the course blanket. It feels strange, not to have Andrew Jr. concealing me from view. I mean… you need an exterior to have an interior, right? What’s more, without my exterior, I feel the way I am, being a yellow: Small. Through my eyes, Emily is a giant. Over a hundred storeys tall with hands and feet the size of cars. The bag of fluids suspended from the IV pole beside her could serve as my mattress. I could fit in her mouth.

“Why are you telling me this?” Emily asks quietly, swallowing back a yawn. “You’ve never told anyone else, right?”

I shrug my shoulders. “You were willing to listen.” I say, without looking up at her. I glance across the bed at Andrew Jr.’s severed form. It beckons me inside like a drug. As uncomfortable as living in the head of a giant robot can seem, it’s better than sitting and chatting to a girl with a constant feeling of weakness. Unable to resist, I stand up and cross the width of the mattress to my exterior.

Emily lets out another yawn. “Are you going to… you know, go in there?”

I raise my hand and rest it on a button at the side of Andrew Jr.’s neck. “Yeah.” I say with a smile. “I’m tired.”

“Is that like your own personal hotel or something?” She asks.

“No.” I answer, mashing my palm down on the button. Andrew Jr.’s body hisses gently, the neck beginning to slide back towards the shoulders at a painfully slow rate. A faint white light brightens the room.

“Are you real, Andrew? Or just some dream?” Emily asks, as I’m about to step inside the closing gap to the control room of my exterior. I pause, my foot wavering just above the platform inside Andrew Jr.’s neck and turn back around to face her.

“Whatever you choose to think.” I say.

And then I step back inside and the world beyond my exterior disappears, replaced by the familiar darkness of Andrew Jr.’s cockpit. It’s then that my stomach growls. I walk, tired and brain-dead to the controller’s seat and shut my eyes.

I can have something to eat in the morning…

When Emily’s not around.

As I lay down in the safety of my exterior, my head resting on a velvety pillow, I’m almost too out of it to realise that she has begun her nightly flick through my memories. Mist can be pretty secretive, sometimes. I never fail in picking up her presence, though. Every night she comes and goes. Sometimes we exchange brief telepathic conversations. Sometimes I’m too tired to talk or can’t find the rights words to express my true feelings. Sometimes I forget she even exists.

But tonight, the moment I feel her, my body tenses up and I open my mouth to speak.

 “I told someone, today.”

No hello, no greetings. Mist doesn’t mind my way of making conversation. She’s put up with my boring life since a toddler, anyways. Not that she has to stay in the form of a baby, though. Witches can meddle with most things mortals and nazarees have no control over. They can speed up their age, change their appearances and tamper with time itself. If Mist’s powers had developed enough in the timespan of four years, she could be anyone, old or young. It’s unnerving, knowing that anyone black haired and female could in fact be my curser.

Mist registers my statement almost instantly, and I hear her gasp through my mind. 

“No screams?” She asks, half in shock.

“Only one.” I clarify.

“I knew you could do it!”

“But I don’t love her.” I butt in. “She found out by accident. Besides, I couldn’t just pretend I wasn’t real, Mist. She’s sick with Gastroparesis. It’d be wrong to lie to her face…….”

“What’s Gastroparesis?” Mist asks, her soft voice projecting through my mind.

“Oh… Sometimes I forget you’re only six.”

“I’m seven.”

“Sorry.”

I can feel the young witch perk up in my head, almost as if she is part of me. She is, sometimes. A nazaree and a witch are bound from the moment their wrong ends meet. As long as I’m under her spell, Mist and I are connected; weakly, but definitely there. If we saw each other on a particular occasion, I would know her identity in a heartbeat. And, well, at a glance at my eyes and stature, I’m pretty easy to spot, too.

“What’s her name?” She asks.

The word tastes weird on my tongue as I utter it out. As if it isn’t meant to be there. “Emily.” I whisper, pursing my lips. The world as I know it is swallowed by darkness, not even a crack of light seeping through the cracks in Andrew Jr.’s eyelids. Sometimes, when I squint hard enough, I can see Mist in the shadows as we talk. Only faintly, but still real. I see streaks of violet, too. Maybe it’s just a sign that she’s present.

“Emily.” She says, repeating me. “Who has Gastroparesis.”

“She saw me, you know. Did I tell you that part?”

“I kinda guessed that part, Andrew.”

“Well, I was just checking.”

I feel her roll her purple eyes. “So… was she curious?”

“Very.”

“What’d she do?”

“She freaked out a little and put a glass over me.”

“What about Andrew Jr.?”

“He’s okay.”

“Say hi to him for me, Andy.”

“You do know he can’t reply, don’t you?”

“I thought you did something that made him talk…?”

“I project my voice through a speaker and sync it with his mouth. It’s just me speaking.”

“Oh. Well, I knew that.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did!”

I pause, wondering what to say. Over the years, Mist and I have gathered up just about every little piece of information about each other, to a point where there’s really nothing neither of us don’t know. For instance, I know for a fact that her favourite colour is purple, hence her hair and that she doesn’t like strawberries because the seeds get caught in between her teeth. She knows that my least favourite colour is yellow, hence the curse and that I’m afraid of cockroaches because they always seem to want to eat me. We exchange a few comments here and then, but really, it’s just words. Well, words projected into my head.

I haven’t seen Mist since she was three. I try imagining what she’d look like sometimes, in whatever form she has chosen to take. I never picture her as an animal, which she could very well be at present, but I see her as a teenage girl. Black hair, violet eyes, thin, angular face. Pale white skin, almost like porcelain. Long, slender fingers and perfect nails. Teeth straightened to perfection. She’d have chosen to appear as someone who’d have boys drooling over her. Even as a seven year old, Mist would be into things a teenager would usually crave.

See, age doesn’t dictate one’s life in the magical world. Mist may only have the brain development of a seven year old, but it all comes down to the body. If a witch passed another witch, in the form of a newborn baby, they’d treat them with the same level of maturity as they would the elderly. Seeing as a witch can take whichever form they desire, human, plant or animal, there is no separation. They all have the powers, and that is all that matters. Besides, with her telepathy, it wouldn’t have taken Mist long, anyway, to learn the ropes of maturity. She’s already smart for her age.

Well, she was smart enough to curse someone at three.

She was smart enough to do something that can never be undone.

Okay… maybe that wasn’t such a smart thing to do to a guy like me, as much as I know I probably deserved it.

“Andrew?”

I barely register the soft voice in my head.

“You’re still there? I thought you’d be asleep by now.” I mumble, my eyelids drooping. I fumble for the scrap of material I use as a blanket and pull it over my worn body. It’s a miracle that I could see where the thing was, with the cockpit so dark.

“I just realised something…” Mist’s childlike voice is sheepish. I sigh heavily, rolling over on my side.

“What’s that?”

It takes a while for Mist to transfer the words into my head. “It’s been four years.”

“Yeah.” I say softly, through a yawn. “Four years.”

“I’m really sorr-“

“Don’t worry about it.” I cut her off. “I know you’re sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I was a stupid kid.”

“And I was a stupid toddler.”

“Yeah.”

“So… what are you gonna do about this girl knowing about… your size?” Mist asks. I can feel the tiredness ebb into her voice, through my own brain. I wonder if she’s been waiting for me to go to sleep so that she can talk.

“I don’t know…” I sigh, answering the question. “I guess I’ll just see it all through. It feels good to have someone accept me, though. I’m kinda sick of hiding.”

“You think you’ll break the curse with her?” She asks.

My forehead creases. Me? With Emily? Why is it that I can’t see this working? Then again, it’s never worked so well for me before. “I don’t know, Mist.” I mumble. “I don’t really care anymore. I mean… it’s kind of impossible to break a curse.”

“You’d be the first, Andy! I believe in you!” She says.

I wish I could take the encouragement on board. I really do. It’s just… It’s just… impossible. I’ve been thinking this through, over and over as the years tick by like a clock. Every night it crosses my mind. Every night I’m forced to face it, head on. I can’t escape from it.

The truth.

The truth that there is no end to this; Andrew Jr., the hiding, everything. There is no end to the tiny guy who has become who I am. As much as I believe in myself, as far as I go to get what I want, it’s just a waste of time. I’m doomed to this state, whether I like it or not. And soon, after the year is up, I’ll accept that. I’d answer the countless phone calls from my grieving parents and tell them I tried. And then I’d find other yellows and make some kind of living. After all, I’ve made it this far on my own.

“Goodnight, Mist.” I say.

My head is a clock. And the time is almost up. 

The alarm goes off beside me, filling my ears with piercing white noise. I smile to myself, reaching out to slap the regular sized appliance off the bedside table to silence its wailing. My hand swipes cleanly through air, whacking the alarm clock hallucination of the equally fake table. I groan, rolling around on my regular sized bed and tug the flimsy sheet over me to muffle the still ever-present alarm. Strange, how a single sound could have taken me that far back into my past, to a time where everything was okay. A time where I was five foot six instead of four inches tall.

The alarm continues to blare in my ears, although this time, it’s accompanied by a voice. Deep and rumbling, as everything has sounded since becoming a Nazaree, but still clearly female. And familiar. Yes, that too.

“Jesus Andrew Jr.! Even for a robot, you’re so goddamn unresponsive!”

My blood freezes in my veins as the memories of the previous night return. How the hell did I manage to forget all… that?

I’d talked to a human. I, Andrew James Lawson had spoken to someone for the first time in four years… without the screaming and without the humiliation.

I, Andrew James Lawson am a complete idiot.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss, barely able to hear my own voice over the constant ringing of the alarm outside. “She’s gonna call the FBI or something and I’ll become some kind of alien freak!”

Nope; not the best way to start a guy’s morning.

I tug off the not so sheet-like covers off my shaking body and rush to the controller’s seat of Andrew Jr., the amplified sound of an alarm clock penetrating even the ‘sound proof’ cockpit of my exterior. As it turns out, my super sensitive ears (which is a trait only a yellow or an animal would have) have proven too much for the machine.

Just as I’ve seated myself down before the closed windows of Andrew Jr.’s eyes, Emily’s voice sounds again, at an alarmingly close proximity to my smaller body. I shiver, my hand pausing over the ‘wake up’ switch as I listen to what she’s saying.

“Please, Andrew… I don’t want to be the insane one on this boat. It’s just… you’re the first person who’s willingly spoken to me since…”

She swallows, her voice cracking.

My hand wavers over the switch, the decision nagging at my mind already.

“Andrew.” I say sternly. “You can’t risk this…”

“Since I got here.” Emily continues, each word causing me to flinch. “I know I’m a huge klutz and you probably see me as a skinny little sick girl who deserves all your pity… but… I just wanna know, you know, that I’m not…”

You’re going to pay for this, Andrew. A dark voice in the back of my head sniggers as I succumb to her pleas and mash my fist down on the button. Instantly, light spurts from the widening cracks in Andrew Jr.’s window-like eyes, revealing the giant… and very close face of Emily Sharpe. Wielding an alarm clock in one hand had, until now been jammed up against my exterior’s ear, she looks practically…

“Insane?” I finish her sentence, the words slipping from my lips. And before I know it, they’re out of Andrew Jr.’s mouth, as if he’s the one speaking in the first place. It’s meant to be that way, I guess. Always has.

Instantly, Emily jumps up from her position… on top of me, and flicks off the alarm clock. The first thing I notice about her is that her eyes, framed by huge rectangular glasses are blinking rapidly, as if trying to convince themselves that I’m awake. Slowly, I program my exterior to sit up in bed, rubbing his own eyes; a simple gesture that makes sure particularly curious people don’t know the difference between a regular seventeen year old boy and a robotic replica.

It’s then that I notice that Emily’s IV is gone. I mean, it’s still beside her bed and everything but she’s not hooked up to it, as she had been the night before.

I also notice that she’s crying.

“Emily?” I say gently through the mouth of my exterior, flicking a few switches to up the volume of the voice projection. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Her voice is shaky when she replies at last.

“Y-y-y-you’re… the t-t-tiny guy still? It wasn’t a dream?”

I tense up, out of habit. Millions of feelings seem to gather up inside my head at the same time. Regret, pain, hope, fear, shock, sadness. I’d go on, but that’d mean I’d be dwelling over them all day. Right now it’s best that I focus on… whatever I’ve gotten myself into.

And the consequences of that.

“There don’t have to be consequences, Andrew.” I whisper, shuffling forward in my seat. “You’re… you’re…” You’re going to be tiny forever. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Shut up!” I snap at the voice in my head.

Sorry, but it’s the truth.

Emily’s timid words jolt me back into present. “P-p-p-please tell me you’re r-r-real.” She says, bowing her head.

A wave of pity clouds my ability to make conscious decisions and I stand up slowly from the creaking mattress of the bed Andrew Jr. had slept on. I cross the room in two steps flat, the tiny guy part of my brain watching in awe at my exterior’s gigantic movements. Without good old Andrew Jr. It’d take more than two steps to reach Emily. But that’s beside the point.

Feeling shaky myself, I sit down quietly beside Emily on her bed, causing the girl to inch away.

“Shhh.” I mumble through my exterior’s mouth. “I want to show you something.”

“Andrew…” Emily sighs, giving me a half smile.

“Don’t speak.” I instruct. “Just watch.”

Putting on a brave face, I flick a switch to my left and the illusion of my exterior’s giant yellow eyes fades away to reveal glass. Glass that both allows me to see straight ahead at Emily’s face from the cockpit of Andrew Jr. and her to see inside, right into the tiny room I spend my life inside.

“See?” I say loudly, so she can hear my own voice as I speak from inside the room.

“I’m real.”

It’s real.

Emily’s eyes never leave my smaller ones as she watches me from inside my exterior, in the process of downing an entire Oreo cookie, my stomach welcoming the soft chocolaty goodness like a drug. Andrew Jr. sits a little stiffly (even for a robot) at a wooden table across from the kitchen, Emily opposite him. I’ve kept the eye functions down, so that the giantess of a girl can see my lovely face as I eat. It’s unnerving, really, to watch from the windows of what could potentially be a skyscraper high building as a giant human sips at a glass of water and studies me curiously.

As I swallow a huge bite of crumbly biscuit, her thin, dry lips crack into a half smile. She’s stopped crying now; probably relieved to have proof of my existence after the mess I got myself into the previous night. And as jittery as I am with her knowing about my secrets, I almost feel the same sense of relief.

It’s a weird feeling, for someone like me. Not once has anyone stopped to accept my story, and let’s just say I’ve got together with heaps of willing people. I don’t blame them in the slightest for being frightened, but really… it all comes down to the reality of my situation. Why are people so frightened of a four inch tall guy living in a robot? If common sense was actually put into play, then I’d probably be dead by now. Someone would have thought it’d be funny to capture and enslave someone so small. I mean, I’ve come across hundreds of stories involving beautiful girlfriends eating tiny guys like me. It’s a relief in itself that reality is different from the fantasy world those… stories come from.

I guess Emily’s just… different. I almost feel like she was meant to know about me all along. Coming from a girl I only met yesterday that statement’s weird, but hey, it’s about time I opened up about myself.

And now she knows pretty much everything.

Everything about Nazarees, about the curse, about my stature…

About me.

There’s no going back now. Not after revealing myself this morning. And for once in my life, it’s okay. It’s okay that she knows.

I’m not afraid of her.

I, Andrew Lawson am not afraid of a girl capable of squeezing, enslaving, eating, trapping, hurting, torturing, squishing and potentially killing me if she desired.

Okay… maybe I’m a tad wary.

“You were hungry last night, weren’t you?” Emily says softly, breaking me from my trance. I set my half eaten Oreo beside me from inside the control room of my exterior and brush the crumbs off my lap.

“I was, actually.” I answer with a smile, not bothering to project my voice through the mouth of Andrew Jr. Judging by her reactions, Emily can hear me just fine without the help of a microphone. Not many people have that skill these days, hearing my small voice. “Thanks for the cookie, by the way.” I continue, rising from my seat and resting my elbow against one of Andrew Jr.’s glass, eye shaped windows to see Emily’s gigantic face better.

Emily smiles a little, meeting my eyes with her larger ones. “It’s okay. It’s not like I’ll be stomaching them, anyways.” She takes another sip of water and breaks the stare.

Pity washes over me and I sigh. “Well, if it helps, I don’t eat much, either.” I say, knowing full well that compared to a human sized meal, my servings are pretty dismal.

“You’re the tiny guy, though.” Emily lets out a sigh. “It’s different.”

I shrug lightly, wiping a thin layer of dust from the oval shaped window with my elbow. “I spose it is.”

We’re silent for a few minutes, as Emily finishes her water. I nibble on an Oreo crumb, my hunger fading away. I haven’t had an Oreo in… God, it’s been a while.

Finally, I break the awkwardness and clear my throat. “Hey, it’s the weekend, isn’t it?”

Emily gives one solemn nod.

“Saturday or Sunday?” I’m a real shocker with dates.

“Saturday.” She says.

“That’s great, then!” I grin widely from the control room, stepping back from the window and seating myself down before the dashboard of Andrew Jr. In an instant, I’ve readjusted the eyes so that they don’t reveal what’s behind the hollow glass ovals. I can see outside at Emily’s slightly bewildered face just fine, but to her, my eyes have now returned to their usual honey colour. Slipping my hands into the two gloves I use to control the robot’s cognitive abilities, my exterior stands up and pushes the chair back in place at the table. Andrew Jr. smiles, showing his perfect… and fake teeth. “Wanna go for a walk around town? I don’t know about you, but I’m up for some outdoors.” I ask through his giant mouth.

Emily looks up at his standing figure wearily. “But you won’t be outdoors, if you’re in that robot.” She says.

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to enjoy myself a little.”

“But it won’t be the same.”

I sigh from inside the cockpit of my exterior. “It’s never the same, Emily. But it’s still something, right?”

“If that’s how you see it…” She says, a little unsure. “You don’t have to stay in that robot, you know… you could… come with me.”

“What, in your pocket?” I roll Andrew Jr.’s eyes mockingly. “I prefer to ride in style.”

“You could sit on my shoulder…?” Emily suggests, her expression almost pleading. Geeze… she really does have a thing for yellow eyed tiny folk. And hey, as strange as that sounds, I’m not complaining. Most people prefer it when I keep my exterior on. It’s a fact.  

Not wanting to burst her bubble of hope completely, I decide on a bit of a compromise. “Why don’t I sit on your shoulder later, okay?” I say evenly. “I appreciate the offer, but really, I’ll enjoy the walk just the same while I’m in here.”

Emily’s smile fades slightly. “Oh… okay then… if it’s what you want.”

“Trust me.” I assure her. “It’d be easier if I just took the robot with me. What if someone saw it in the room, decapitated? They’d think I was dead!”

A blush creeps its way to Emily’s sallow cheeks. “Yeah, that would seem a little creepy.”

“It is. It’s happened before… more than once.”

We’re silent for a good minute, and then I hear Emily sigh under her breath. “I can’t really go, anyways.” She says, sounding disappointed. “I’m not supposed to exercise until noon.”

I frown, transferring the expression to the face of my exterior. Andrew Jr. purses his lips. “Why’s that?” He asks.

Emily’s blush returns. “It’s part of my hospital discharge notice. I need to properly digest the feeds from last night before I have a chance to burn it all off.”

I smile sadly. “Ahh… well, I spose that makes sense.” Andrew Jr. shuffles on his converse clad feet. “I guess I’ll just go for a quick walk alone then…”

“Yeah.” Emily says in a soft voice. “See you later, then.”

“Hey.” Andrew Jr. smiles gently, touching Emily’s bony shoulder. Her body freezes up almost instantly at his robotic touch. Pretending not to notice, I continue to speak. “Why don’t I bring you something from town?” I suggest. “What do you like?”

I watch Emily’s huge round eyes, framed by their chunky framed glasses. Her thin lips curve into a small smile. “You’d do that for me, Andrew?” She asks, sounding sheepish.

Andrew Jr. gives her shoulder a light squeeze. “Sure I would.” He returns the smile.

I sigh deeply from my cold metal controller’s seat, running my hand along the sleek silver surface.  

You deserve it, Emily. I think to myself.

You didn’t scream.

“Cole?”

The music fills my ears, consuming me with rhythm. I concentrate on the path ahead, clad with the headphones that became my life all those years ago. A soft hum escapes my lips as the heavy metal beats drill into my head.

“Cole?”

I blink, tugging my right earphone out to come face to face with the beautiful Ava, her forehead creased in… pain? I purse my lips for a moment, drowning out the word. No thinking about the p word, Cole. It’ll screw up everything.

“Your Monitor’s buzzing again.” Ava says softly, peering at me sadly with ruby red eyes. She’s wearing sunnies to hide their oddity, but I see right through the darkened glass either way. She’s so close that it’s hard for me not to notice their radiance. I shake my head swiftly at her comment, proceeding to tug out my other earphone. My eyes skim over the Monitor strapped to my wrist.

“Crap.” I mutter, trying not to come off as sour. I can’t afford to let my levels drop any further than… this. “It’s not my fault.” I continue in a hiss. “I hate crowds. Shouldn’t have come.”

Ava rolls her eyes, her hands stuffed in the pockets of the patched up hoodie she always wears out. “I thought we needed some time out of, you know…”  She trails off with a sigh.

“Yeah.” I say. “I get that we can’t stay underground forever, okay?” My Monitor buzzes again as my anger washes over and I exhale in annoyance. If it gets under five I’ll have to resort to an injection. “But for me, it’s easier.” I finish tersely. “At least you reds don’t have to worry about fitting in with the public.”

Ava lets out a low grumble. “That’s not true!” She says defensively. “You have no idea how much self-control it takes not to reach out and…” The grumble turns to a faint hiss, coming from the back of her throat.

“Bite someone?” I ask. “Yeah, maybe you should save that for later.”

“You do know that it’s out of my control, Cole.” She says, eyeing me sceptically.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. And so is having feelings. For instance, all I can feel is happiness. Bubbly, bubbly happiness.” And boy does it piss me off… I think dryly, earning another warning buzz from my wrist.

Ava’s sensitive ears prick, probably hearing the noise. I follow her gaze to my wrist, where my Monitor is in plain sight. Disguised as a wristwatch, it could fool anyone. It fools me, sometimes. But alas, I know why it’s there. To tell the time? I wish.

“You’re low again, Cole.” Ava says.

“What?” I say in mock sarcasm. “But I’m so bubbly and happy!”

“Cole, you’re under five.” Ava snaps, breaking me from my ‘fit of happiness’. She takes my hand and leads me carefully around the crowd of people traipsing along the main street of Hobart. A frigid wind blows through my hair as I’m tugged into a deserted side street by my friend.

“What’s the problem?” I ask innocently, knowing what’s coming. Ava tugs the glasses off her face, revealing two cold, clearly furious red eyes. She’s at least a head shorter than me and with her blonde/white hair and sallow skin, she’s hardly menacing but without the glasses…

“Is this a joke to you, Cole?” Her voice rises an octave in anger. Man, I wish I could still get angry without the inevitable happening. “You’re verging on three now, and you’re acting like you don’t care!” She snaps.

I fold my arms, focussing on my Monitor’s number as it drops. In a few minutes, I doubt I’ll be able to wear the thing anymore. Maybe then Ava will take me back underground, where it’s safer. “You bitching about it isn’t really helping, Ava.” I mutter under my breath.

“And neither is you just standing there!” She yells back, clearly pissed. Her doll’s face is twisted into a crimson eyed nightmare. It’s common knowledge that a red has a short temper, but for Ava, this just doesn’t seem right. And then it hits me. The reason why she’s been so quiet and fidgety all morning.

“You skipped your feeding time, Ava.” I mumble, the pieces all fitting together in my head. “Geeze, and here you are saying I’m careless.”

Another buzz from my wrist tells me I’m almost on the dreaded zero. And to think that back underground, I barely ever get under five.

“Cole.” Ava warns, ignoring my accusation. Her eyes are focussed on my wrist.

“Okay, okay.” I sigh, reaching into my satchel and grabbing my pack of syringes. Ava’s lips are pursed shut as she watches me fill one with a thin yellow liquid: my so called ‘happy juice’. I glance at her sceptically as I edge the prepped needle towards my lower chest. A jab to the heart is best effective as the serum gets straight into my bloodstream and eases my… well, feelings. Before I can ease the cold tip of the syringe into my chest though, Ave lets out a low growl and raises a hand for me to stop.

“You’re right.” She sighs, lowering her head. “I missed my feeding. I’m thirsty. And right now…” She swallows tightly. “You injecting yourself right in front of me isn’t the best alternative. The needle will draw blood. It always does.”

My Monitor buzzes again, the numbers verging on two now. Ava and I both know what this means. I roll my eyes. “I mays well do it.” I say evenly. “You can’t hurt me, anyway. We’re both Nazarees.”

“No, I can’t kill you.” She says. “But I can hurt you. And since you’re green, that wouldn’t be the nicest outcome, wouldn’t it?”

“Who says I’m not keen to feel a little?” I mumble, rubbing my wrist as the numbers tick down.

Ava sighs. “Please, Cole. This is the first time I’ve been out since… the last time. Don’t ruin this for me.”

I exhale in defeat. I know how much this whole outing means to Ava, or any Nazaree for that matter. Particularly a red, though. Ava’s been working on her self-control for months, now. On her nineteenth birthday, which was the time of her curse’s deadline, she knew she’d have to learn eventually, if she wanted to try for a normal human life. See, a red like her is drawn to one thing and one thing only. Blood. Ava is what humans would call a vampire. But not the Edward Cullen sparkly type. Ava is sick. What she’s got; what all Nazarees have, is meant to make our lives harder. To Ava, every drop of blood is a drug. Once she smells it, whether it’s inside or outside a body, she can’t be stopped. I know that, because I’ve witnessed who she becomes first hand.

Ava is a killer, not by heart but by magic. And on my third year as a Nazaree, I became her next victim. She couldn’t have killed me, and the both of us knew that, but the moment her teeth sank into my flesh and the dreaded pain flooded through me, I shrunk. I remember her blood red eyes glint in confusion as my body reduced in size before her. Once she’d snapped out of her frenzy, she realised what she’d done… and spent the next week underground throwing her guts. I mean, literally puking. Reds can only drink fresh human or animal blood. Nazaree blood like mine will screw her system over for weeks on end. It’s why she’s got designated feeding times. They keep her sane, yes, but they also protect her from feeding on things she’ll regret later.

After she tried to drink me, the underground became both my home and her prison. The manager was kind enough to heal me and give me a roof under my head and a bed to sleep in. It sealed my fate of staying cursed forever, too. Last year was the end, actually. The clock in my head just stopped ticking, I guess.

So yeah: I, Cole Smith, will never be human again.

Let’s just say I’m still working on the acceptance side of that equation. I mean, come on? Who the hell can accept being like me? An inhuman freak who can’t feel pain? Who has to stay locked away from the outside world in an underground sanctuary?

That’s right. No one. No one can accept their fate of being cursed. So basically, I’m screwed.

“What do you want me to do, then? I’ve already felt too much. Any minute now I’ll, you know…” I mutter, staring at the needle still poised before my chest.

“Just… think of your happy spot.” She says with a small sigh. “That’s easier, right?”

I roll my eyes, before letting out a long sigh and shoving the needle back in its packet. One quick jab and it’d be all over. I think. Nope, this woman wants me to use my brain…

“You should be lucky to have feelings.” I grumble, before tuning the world out and shutting my eyes. It’s something I’ve learned to do ever since becoming green. All I have to do is think up a world away from this one, where everything is okay and I’m human. In that world, I find my happy spot. And once I’ve concentrated hard enough on that spot, I can wake up as dull and unfeeling as ever. I spose I can’t stay in my happy spot forever, after all.

A cold hand touches my shoulder, informing me that I’ve made it back to up to a level five. I open my eyes to find Ava’s gentle, smiling face. I don’t return the smile, knowing it’ll only result in new, dreaded feelings and emotions. Can’t have a green feeling, eh?

“Where to now?” I ask, trying to maintain my trademark façade of total monotone. Ava’s used to it.

“We can keep exploring, I guess?” She smiles, running her fingers through her hair. I try not to notice that they’re shaking. Ava’s thirsty, and she knows it. One slip up and she won’t be Ava anymore.

“Let’s find somewhere quieter.” I suggest, with that in mind. She nods, and we re-enter the main street, bustling through the crowd. Ava grips my hand tightly in her own, and I can feel her racing heart as it fights against her will. I’ve can’t help but wonder how much adrenalin Ava can withstand before her curse overpowers who she really is.

“C-C-Cole?” She whispers, as we enter a narrower street, lined with gift shops. Careful not to let my fear for her safety affect my monitor, I lead her away from the crowds of tourists.

“I know.” I say softly. “We’ve gotta get you home.” Ava opens her mouth to protest but it’s shaking too, now. Goddamnit! Why didn’t she just feed back underground?! “Shit.” I mutter, feeling her pulse quicken further. Watching a red lose control is like staring at a stopwatch. I can’t do anything anymore. It’s too late for that. Everyone underground knows the facts. When a red is thirsty, they go through a period of transition, where their mind fights with their instinctual adrenalin. We all know who wins.

“C-C-C-C-o-o-le…” Ava murmurs, her eyes darting in every direction behind their glasses. I swear under my breath, knowing full well the damage the words are doing to my levels. My monitor buzzes in warning.

“Ava.” I say nonchalantly. “You’ve gotta hold on. You can’t-“

But it’s too late.

Ava’s body goes limp in my arms, her eyes lolling to the back of her head. And then suddenly, as if she’s been electrocuted, her body arches back, bones cracking. When I meet her eyes again, they don’t belong to anyone anymore.

“I’d drink your blood, but it’d be a waste, Nazaree.” The vampire smirks, tilting her head back to sniff the air.

“Ava, snap out of it.” I hiss desperately, touching her wrist. She rips her hand away, the slight pain dropping my levels down to a miniscule two. Her eyes trail to my own wrist, and her smile widens.

“Did I hurt you, little green?” She leans in closer. “Won’t you shrink for me?”

I shake my head, trying to remain as calm as possible. “Not unless you snap out of it. This isn’t the right place for you to act like this.”

Ava touches my chin with an ice cold finger. “Act like what, sugar? This is who I am. And since you’re too booorrrrinnnggg to shrink for me, I think I’ll go find myself a nice human meal.” She hisses.

And before I can protest, the vampire that’s taken over my best friend has sprinted away in the direction of Hobart’s inner city.

“Bloody hell!” I snap, running after the insane Nazaree.

“Cole?”

The music fills my ears, consuming me with rhythm. I concentrate on the path ahead, clad with the headphones that became my life all those years ago. A soft hum escapes my lips as the heavy metal beats drill into my head.

“Cole?”

I blink, tugging my right earphone out to come face to face with the beautiful Ava, her forehead creased in… pain? I purse my lips for a moment, drowning out the word. No thinking about the p word, Cole. It’ll screw up everything.

“Your Monitor’s buzzing again.” Ava says softly, peering at me sadly with ruby red eyes. She’s wearing sunnies to hide their oddity, but I see right through the darkened glass either way. She’s so close that it’s hard for me not to notice their radiance. I shake my head swiftly at her comment, proceeding to tug out my other earphone. My eyes skim over the Monitor strapped to my wrist.

“Crap.” I mutter, trying not to come off as sour. I can’t afford to let my levels drop any further than… this. “It’s not my fault.” I continue in a hiss. “I hate crowds. Shouldn’t have come.”

Ava rolls her eyes, her hands stuffed in the pockets of the patched up hoodie she always wears out. “I thought we needed some time out of, you know…”  She trails off with a sigh.

“Yeah.” I say. “I get that we can’t stay underground forever, okay?” My Monitor buzzes again as my anger washes over and I exhale in annoyance. If it gets under five I’ll have to resort to an injection. “But for me, it’s easier.” I finish tersely. “At least you reds don’t have to worry about fitting in with the public.”

Ava lets out a low grumble. “That’s not true!” She says defensively. “You have no idea how much self-control it takes not to reach out and…” The grumble turns to a faint hiss, coming from the back of her throat.

“Bite someone?” I ask. “Yeah, maybe you should save that for later.”

“You do know that it’s out of my control, Cole.” She says, eyeing me sceptically.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. And so is having feelings. For instance, all I can feel is happiness. Bubbly, bubbly happiness.” And boy does it piss me off… I think dryly, earning another warning buzz from my wrist.

Ava’s sensitive ears prick, probably hearing the noise. I follow her gaze to my wrist, where my Monitor is in plain sight. Disguised as a wristwatch, it could fool anyone. It fools me, sometimes. But alas, I know why it’s there. To tell the time? I wish.

“You’re low again, Cole.” Ava says.

“What?” I say in mock sarcasm. “But I’m so bubbly and happy!”

“Cole, you’re under five.” Ava snaps, breaking me from my ‘fit of happiness’. She takes my hand and leads me carefully around the crowd of people traipsing along the main street of Hobart. A frigid wind blows through my hair as I’m tugged into a deserted side street by my friend.

“What’s the problem?” I ask innocently, knowing what’s coming. Ava tugs the glasses off her face, revealing two cold, clearly furious red eyes. She’s at least a head shorter than me and with her blonde/white hair and sallow skin, she’s hardly menacing but without the glasses…

“Is this a joke to you, Cole?” Her voice rises an octave in anger. Man, I wish I could still get angry without the inevitable happening. “You’re verging on three now, and you’re acting like you don’t care!” She snaps.

I fold my arms, focussing on my Monitor’s number as it drops. In a few minutes, I doubt I’ll be able to wear the thing anymore. Maybe then Ava will take me back underground, where it’s safer. “You bitching about it isn’t really helping, Ava.” I mutter under my breath.

“And neither is you just standing there!” She yells back, clearly pissed. Her doll’s face is twisted into a crimson eyed nightmare. It’s common knowledge that a red has a short temper, but for Ava, this just doesn’t seem right. And then it hits me. The reason why she’s been so quiet and fidgety all morning.

“You skipped your feeding time, Ava.” I mumble, the pieces all fitting together in my head. “Geeze, and here you are saying I’m careless.”

Another buzz from my wrist tells me I’m almost on the dreaded zero. And to think that back underground, I barely ever get under five.

“Cole.” Ava warns, ignoring my accusation. Her eyes are focussed on my wrist.

“Okay, okay.” I sigh, reaching into my satchel and grabbing my pack of syringes. Ava’s lips are pursed shut as she watches me fill one with a thin yellow liquid: my so called ‘happy juice’. I glance at her sceptically as I edge the prepped needle towards my lower chest. A jab to the heart is best effective as the serum gets straight into my bloodstream and eases my… well, feelings. Before I can ease the cold tip of the syringe into my chest though, Ave lets out a low growl and raises a hand for me to stop.

“You’re right.” She sighs, lowering her head. “I missed my feeding. I’m thirsty. And right now…” She swallows tightly. “You injecting yourself right in front of me isn’t the best alternative. The needle will draw blood. It always does.”

My Monitor buzzes again, the numbers verging on two now. Ava and I both know what this means. I roll my eyes. “I mays well do it.” I say evenly. “You can’t hurt me, anyway. We’re both Nazarees.”

“No, I can’t kill you.” She says. “But I can hurt you. And since you’re green, that wouldn’t be the nicest outcome, wouldn’t it?”

“Who says I’m not keen to feel a little?” I mumble, rubbing my wrist as the numbers tick down.

Ava sighs. “Please, Cole. This is the first time I’ve been out since… the last time. Don’t ruin this for me.”

I exhale in defeat. I know how much this whole outing means to Ava, or any Nazaree for that matter. Particularly a red, though. Ava’s been working on her self-control for months, now. On her nineteenth birthday, which was the time of her curse’s deadline, she knew she’d have to learn eventually, if she wanted to try for a normal human life. See, a red like her is drawn to one thing and one thing only. Blood. Ava is what humans would call a vampire. But not the Edward Cullen sparkly type. Ava is sick. What she’s got; what all Nazarees have, is meant to make our lives harder. To Ava, every drop of blood is a drug. Once she smells it, whether it’s inside or outside a body, she can’t be stopped. I know that, because I’ve witnessed who she becomes first hand.

Ava is a killer, not by heart but by magic. And on my third year as a Nazaree, I became her next victim. She couldn’t have killed me, and the both of us knew that, but the moment her teeth sank into my flesh and the dreaded pain flooded through me, I shrunk. I remember her blood red eyes glint in confusion as my body reduced in size before her. Once she’d snapped out of her frenzy, she realised what she’d done… and spent the next week underground throwing her guts. I mean, literally puking. Reds can only drink fresh human or animal blood. Nazaree blood like mine will screw her system over for weeks on end. It’s why she’s got designated feeding times. They keep her sane, yes, but they also protect her from feeding on things she’ll regret later.

After she tried to drink me, the underground became both my home and her prison. The manager was kind enough to heal me and give me a roof under my head and a bed to sleep in. It sealed my fate of staying cursed forever, too. Last year was the end, actually. The clock in my head just stopped ticking, I guess.

So yeah: I, Cole Smith, will never be human again.

Let’s just say I’m still working on the acceptance side of that equation. I mean, come on? Who the hell can accept being like me? An inhuman freak who can’t feel pain? Who has to stay locked away from the outside world in an underground sanctuary?

That’s right. No one. No one can accept their fate of being cursed. So basically, I’m screwed.

“What do you want me to do, then? I’ve already felt too much. Any minute now I’ll, you know…” I mutter, staring at the needle still poised before my chest.

“Just… think of your happy spot.” She says with a small sigh. “That’s easier, right?”

I roll my eyes, before letting out a long sigh and shoving the needle back in its packet. One quick jab and it’d be all over. I think. Nope, this woman wants me to use my brain…

“You should be lucky to have feelings.” I grumble, before tuning the world out and shutting my eyes. It’s something I’ve learned to do ever since becoming green. All I have to do is think up a world away from this one, where everything is okay and I’m human. In that world, I find my happy spot. And once I’ve concentrated hard enough on that spot, I can wake up as dull and unfeeling as ever. I spose I can’t stay in my happy spot forever, after all.

A cold hand touches my shoulder, informing me that I’ve made it back to up to a level five. I open my eyes to find Ava’s gentle, smiling face. I don’t return the smile, knowing it’ll only result in new, dreaded feelings and emotions. Can’t have a green feeling, eh?

“Where to now?” I ask, trying to maintain my trademark façade of total monotone. Ava’s used to it.

“We can keep exploring, I guess?” She smiles, running her fingers through her hair. I try not to notice that they’re shaking. Ava’s thirsty, and she knows it. One slip up and she won’t be Ava anymore.

“Let’s find somewhere quieter.” I suggest, with that in mind. She nods, and we re-enter the main street, bustling through the crowd. Ava grips my hand tightly in her own, and I can feel her racing heart as it fights against her will. I’ve can’t help but wonder how much adrenalin Ava can withstand before her curse overpowers who she really is.

“C-C-Cole?” She whispers, as we enter a narrower street, lined with gift shops. Careful not to let my fear for her safety affect my monitor, I lead her away from the crowds of tourists.

“I know.” I say softly. “We’ve gotta get you home.” Ava opens her mouth to protest but it’s shaking too, now. Goddamnit! Why didn’t she just feed back underground?! “Shit.” I mutter, feeling her pulse quicken further. Watching a red lose control is like staring at a stopwatch. I can’t do anything anymore. It’s too late for that. Everyone underground knows the facts. When a red is thirsty, they go through a period of transition, where their mind fights with their instinctual adrenalin. We all know who wins.

“C-C-C-C-o-o-le…” Ava murmurs, her eyes darting in every direction behind their glasses. I swear under my breath, knowing full well the damage the words are doing to my levels. My monitor buzzes in warning.

“Ava.” I say nonchalantly. “You’ve gotta hold on. You can’t-“

But it’s too late.

Ava’s body goes limp in my arms, her eyes lolling to the back of her head. And then suddenly, as if she’s been electrocuted, her body arches back, bones cracking. When I meet her eyes again, they don’t belong to anyone anymore.

“I’d drink your blood, but it’d be a waste, Nazaree.” The vampire smirks, tilting her head back to sniff the air.

“Ava, snap out of it.” I hiss desperately, touching her wrist. She rips her hand away, the slight pain dropping my levels down to a miniscule two. Her eyes trail to my own wrist, and her smile widens.

“Did I hurt you, little green?” She leans in closer. “Won’t you shrink for me?”

I shake my head, trying to remain as calm as possible. “Not unless you snap out of it. This isn’t the right place for you to act like this.”

Ava touches my chin with an ice cold finger. “Act like what, sugar? This is who I am. And since you’re too booorrrrinnnggg to shrink for me, I think I’ll go find myself a nice human meal.” She hisses.

And before I can protest, the vampire that’s taken over my best friend has sprinted away in the direction of Hobart’s inner city.

“Bloody hell!” I snap, running after the insane Nazaree.

Andrew’s P.O.V

“That comes to twenty dollars.” The man behind the counter says in a gruff voice. He scans me over warily, before grabbing a carry bag. “You’re not gonna rob me, are ya, son?”

I bite my lip from within my exterior. “What?” I ask.

The man shrugs, handing me the bag and a receipt. “Just wondering.” He sighs. “Most people wearing hoodies and sunglasses do.”

Andrew Jr. opens his mouth to speak but I can’t muster the courage to speak. Hurriedly, I clamp it shut again and nod once, before making for the gift shop’s exit. Before I can swallow myself into the waiting crowd of bustling tourists though, a warm hand touches my exterior’s shoulder. With practiced movements, I swivel Andrew Jr. around to face the shopkeeper. He withdraws his hand immediately, looking sheepish.

“Sorry, it’s just that you forgot your bag, son.” He smiles, handing me my purchases. I slip them into my shoulder bag, which is draped across Andrew. Jr.’s broad shoulders.

“Thanks.” I say tightly, before slipping out onto the street.

The man was right- of course I look like a robber. After realising that I was now an apparent Mental Disorder, I decided to take precautions. And that meant going all out; gloves, hoodie, sunnies that shield my odd coloured eyes. It’s a temporary disguise, while I try and find the materials necessary to give good old Andrew Jr. a new look. I could dye his brunette hair blonde, make him fatter or thinner. Give him nerdy glasses, a different eye colour….

Or give it up. The voice from earlier says in its chilling voice. Pursing my lips, I focus on the world through the eyes of my exterior. It’s harder to see where I’m going, with thick frames of darkened plastic over his eyes. But I can easily make out the crowd accumulating around me. I’d never anticipated for Hobart, such a small city, to be so, well, busy. I brush past a few Asian tourists, making an effort to keep Andrew Jr.’s head low and his hands shoved inside his pockets. No one gives me a second glance.

Maybe it’s better to just cover up his face. I think to myself as I set my exterior on ‘walking mode’. As I make my way into the heart of the city, the crowd begins to wane and I sigh in relief. It’s much quieter here, away from the harbour and busy main streets. I program my exterior to turn into an alleyway and sit down on the cold, wet concrete, his back propped up against the brick wall of an abandoned building. The only sounds come from a busted air-conditioning system, which drips puddles of water into a waiting bucket.

This is what I love about the city. Complete and utter silence, with the faint sounds of traffic in the distance. I guess it soothes me, having grown up in an apartment block in Brisbane with my parents. Most times though, being surrounded by next to nothing with only me for company is nice. It gives me a chance to think. About my future as a Nazaree.

After a minute or so to collect my thoughts, I program Andrew Jr. to fish my purchase from his satchel. I raise the item to his eye level. It’s a midnight blue dream catcher, woven with miniscule strips of yellow thread. On any other day the gift shop wouldn’t have been captured my attention but seeing the dream catcher in the window…

It was one of those moments where you see an object and know it belongs to someone.

I just wish Emily would understand how grateful I am to her.

Tucking the dream catcher back into my exterior’s satchel, I let out a sigh and lean back into the cold, metal controller’s seat, struggling to find comfort. It’s lonely, cooped up in here all day, every day. And after speaking openly to a human like Emily without Andrew Jr., it made me realise how much I’ve missed over the past four years. I’ve missed the feeling of weightlessness, not having to worry about synching my voice with a robot’s I’ve missed the clean air that fills my lungs as I pause to take a breath between sentences.

I’ve missed normality. The ability to just… be in one place without hiding behind something else.

I’ve missed being human; feeling rich, human blood in my veins and seeing my naturally blue eyes in the mirror.

Basically, living the Nazaree way sucks.

I just wish I could have known that before I decided to rob a witch.

“What are you thinking about, sugar?” A voice coos suddenly. I snap out of my daze, leaning forward and squinting so I can see through the eyes of Andrew Jr. Standing calmly before me is a woman, or more accurately, a girl. She wears a scruffy looking black hoodie and shorts, which show off reed thin, ghostly white legs. Her feet are covered by dark, leather boots which are laced tightly to her knees. Sunglasses similar to my own frame her eyes. Instantly, I rise from my seat, Andrew Jr. easily mimicking me.

“Pardon?” I ask, the words projected through my exterior. Andrew Jr. shoots her his best confused expression.

The woman’s form is blurred by the double layers of glass and plastic I stare through, but from what I gather, she’s not all there. Her body is almost shuddering, the muscles in her arms, legs and neck tensed. Who is she?

“No need to stand, human.” She hisses, a low growl erupting from the back of her throat. Her thin fingers curl into fists. “It’ll be over very soon.”

And before I know what’s happening, she’s lunged at Andrew Jr., slamming him into the far wall of the alleyway with inhuman strength… 

My world tilts in all directions as Andrew Jr.’s body slams into the thick wall behind him. I’m whipped from the controller’s seat like a ragdoll, and find myself slamming into the robot’s left temple. Before I can register the pain properly, Andrew Jr. is gripped tightly around the neck by an unseen hand and lifted upright from his crumpled position on the concrete ground. I lie panting in the far corner of the control room, a nasty bruise already forming over my left eye. Warm blood trickles down the side of my face.

 I feel my exterior’s broken form straighten underneath me, as it’s raised higher into the air by my attacker. Pain racking at my brain, I clamber to my feet, my legs swaying as the floor beneath me is shifted. Through the eyes of Andrew Jr., still shaded by the sunglasses, I see the petite face of the girl, her thin red lips twisted into a gruesome smile. And as she holds my exterior upright against the wall with untold strength, I realise something.

She’s not human.

“Why aren’t you struggling?” She asks innocently, peering into Andrew Jr.’s covered eyes. I groan softly in pain, the sound automatically projecting through his robotic mouth. Staggering back to the controller’s seat, I force myself to take a breath. The left side of my face is covered in blood from the onslaught it took to the far wall of the cockpit. Shakily, I shove my hands back into the gloves before me that control my exterior’s physical motions and bite my lip.

“You can’t hurt me.” I say through the mouth of Andrew Jr., wincing as my head throbs in pain. A thick red line oozes down my cheek, staining my sweatshirt. “Please…”

The girl raises her free hand to her lips. Her covered eyes twinkle. “Shhh… It’ll all be over soon…” She says, grinning widely. The colour drains from both Andrew Jr. and my faces as her front canines lengthen into glistening white fangs.

Shit… not a red! I think wildly, beginning to thrash my exterior’s body around to loosen her grip. The hand around his neck only tightens. From my position, it’s like the girl is scrunching a giant coke can. My exterior’s insides rattle in protest at the pressure in his neck.

“Don’t fight it, human…” She whispers, extending her incisors towards my exterior’s neck. Jesus… this is gonna be so hard to fix! I think, my mechanic addict brain instantly envisioning the process of covering the two bite marks with the latex material I use for Andrew Jr.’s skin. I gasp in fright as the giant vampire moves closer in…

“AVA!” A voice booms suddenly, followed by a loud ‘pop’, like someone’s just uncorked a bottle of champagne at a wedding. The red’s body freezes up and she releases Andrew. Jr. instantly, as if he’s just electrocuted her. I lean forward in my seat in confusion, trying to get a better look at the events unfolding outside.

The red girl stumbles backwards, her perfect face a mask of shock. After a few seconds she drops to one knee, her hand rising to the back of her neck. I program Andrew Jr. to bend down in attempt to help her (yes, despite the fact that she almost killed poor Andrew Jr.’s circuits) but the girl only slumps forward, apparently knocked out. I gasp through my exterior’s mouth, noticing a small red tipped dart wedged crudely into her neck. Slowly, I extend Andrew Jr.’s hand to tug it out…

“I wouldn’t do that, if I was you.” The same voice from before says sternly.

****

“I wouldn’t do that, if I was you.” I call out, shoving the tranq gun back into my backpack and jogging over to the human as he kneels beside Ava’s limp body. He looks up, startled by my presence, although I can’t get a good read of his expression, since he’s covered up in a hoodie and sunglasses. It bothers me a little, as to why he’s hiding his face, or at least eyes behind the glasses. What does a human have to cover up, anyway? Is this guy blind? I try to keep my voice at its usual calm monotone as I address him. “This is my sister.” I explain, thinking up a decent excuse for Ava attacking the guy. “She’s schizophrenic. Sometimes she has these… episodes… I’m sorry that she attacked you like that…”

“Is that what you tell everyone?” The human asks, his lips curling into a knowing smile. I don’t frown, as it’d drop my levels down into the lower numbers, but questions linger in my mind. This guy knows something. I can feel it.

“Yeah.” I mutter, slinging Ava’s arm around my shoulder and getting to my feet. “That’s because it’s true.” I scrutinise the human as he remains kneeling on the slippery pavement. “You okay?”

He recovers instantly, rising to standing like nothing has happened. I narrow my eyes at the… abruptness in his movements.

“Are you hurt?” I press on, feeling a little agitated. I toss the emotion away as soon as it comes, almost like a reflex. Not now, Cole. Bubbly, bubbly happy, remember?

“N-no.” The human says, his voice catching slightly. “I’m alright.” Then in a softer voice, he adds. “You got her before she could bite me.”

“It’s her condition.” I explain calmly. “She thinks she’s a vampire sometimes and goes around on a ‘hunting spree’.”

“Riigghhhttt.” The human says, flashing the same, knowing smile. I flinch, feeling uneasiness wash over me. My monitor buzzes, bordering on a two. Automatically, I fill my head with rainbows and unicorns, hoping they’ll distract me from my emotions.

“If you’re alright, I should go.” I say tightly, taking a step back from the strange human.

“Don’t go.” He whispers, the words barely audible. I tense up, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Ava lets out a low moan from beside me. I prop her up against my shoulder, her lolling head nuzzling the side of my face.

“What?” I ask, the words tasting funny on my tongue. The monitor at my wrist buzzes, my levels verging on one. Control it, Cole. I urge my brain. Think of your happy spot…

“It’s just…” The human’s timid words break my band of concentration and I bite my lip, barely having managed to reach a somewhat stable level three. What is he trying to say?

The human opens his mouth again, as if to force himself to speak. His voice carries the same, pained tinge. Is this guy hurt or something?

“It’s just…” He whispers.

“Please say what you’ve gotta say.” I say with as much tightness as I can muster without dropping my levels. “My sister needs to get back to the… erm… mental hospital.”

At that comment, the human flashes another of his famous knowing smiles. And then finally, he sighs. “Okay… I’ll say it.” He says, before uttering the six words I thought would never leave his mouth.

“When did you become a Nazaree?” The human… guy asks.

I purse my lips, sweat beginning to trickle down the back of my neck. I shiver, despite the warm summer’s air. “What’s that?” I ask, wincing as my voice breaks. The fear of being ‘found out’ drops my levels back down, my monitor sending a frenzy of spine tingling buzzes through my body.

The human snorts, unfazed by my reaction. “Come on…?” He breaks off, as if searching for something…

My name. He wants my name… I think to myself with another shiver.

“It’s Cole.” I say through my teeth.” Happy spot… happy spot…

“Right… well, you don’t have to hide your identity from me.” The human says, his voice almost reassuring, despite the pained edge it carries. It still sounds as though the guy is hurt in some way, despite his unscathed body.

“What do you mean?” I ask, actually considering what this guy truly is. I mean… it makes sense, in a way. Who else besides some criminal would cover their eyes? Okay Cole… he can’t be a red since he couldn’t fight off Ava, clearly too small for an orange and big for a yellow, too snarky for a green, he’d have to be mute if he were blue… I doubt he’s blind like an indigo… he’s not a purple…? Before I can begin my mental assumption of what colour he is though, he answers my question.

“Because I’m Nazaree too.” And before I can prepare myself for what’s to come, the boy raises his hoodie and flicks the glasses off his face.

Impossible. I think.

His face is just as I’d have imagined it in real life: angular, sharp featured with mousy brown hair and glinting eyes. The eyes of a yellow.

“Andrew Lawson?” I breathe.

The boy seems puzzled that I know his name, but nods all the same.

And in that wild moment of shock, fear and relief, I forget all about my levels. Suddenly, my monitor beeps loudly, the band around my wrist tightening. I can feel the four needles that attach it permanently to my skin pumping in happy juices, but it’s too late.

“T-t-too m-m-much… e-m-m-motion…” I stutter out, before my body convulses in a series of strenuous fits.

Ava slumps off me, landing in a crumpled heap on the pavement as I begin to shrink…

Too much emotion…

I haven’t lost control and shrunk in almost a month. The last time it happened, I was back underground where nothing mattered. So naturally, I made the trek to the ‘yellow sector’ and let my pain and suffering out there, where being four inches tall and quite frankly pissed off was the norm. The yellows never mind us greens spending some time in their sector to cool off.

 Yellows and greens are connected, in a way. We’re both vulnerable to the outside world, and that’s what connects us. In fact, Andrew James Lawson himself has been the only yellow in history to brave it all and make a living amongst the humans. It’s why he’s one of the most famous Nazarees in existence: He’s done something no yellow has ever risked doing before, and that is fitting in. Faking normality. A feat that only an indigo could do without freaking the world out, really.

And naturally, it’s the Nazaree race’s role model himself who will witness my mental breakdown… from the height and power of a human.

Lucky me…

It’s been a long time since I’ve shrunken in public. I know the warning signs, as expected. The frantic buzzing and pulsing coming from my left wrist, where the monitor has been surgically inserted. As I said, it’s disguised as a wristwatch, but honestly, who does it fool? The shrinking doesn’t hurt, either. It’s sort of relieving, actually, like someone’s popped the fragile balloon of my human-sized self and let my feelings out into the world. My body erupts in its usual tingles, like pins and needles, actually, before it simply… contracts.

Clothes don’t come with the deal, to say the least. When I shrink, they simply flop to the ground, no longer filled out by a body. But it’s not so bad: the naked part of the shrinking is actually one of the few green trademarks I’ve managed to thwarter. Well… technically it was a witch who fixed that dilemma for me. My witch, to be exact. Dana Evernight. I was lucky enough to earn her sympathy, a few months after being cursed, and was offered a gift that would not only make life easier, but it would mean that I’d know exactly when I would shrink, and give me enough time to prevent an episode.

That’s right. The Monitor.

Dana invented it two years ago, for my sixteenth birthday. She visited me in my room underground and told me what it could do to improve my situation. Now, technically, a witch is prohibited from helping their Nazaree adjust, or in my case stay sane, however since the monitor was only designed to keep tabs on the ‘level’ of my emotions, it was passed. In other words, neither I nor Dana would be blasted to smithereens if caught.

So basically, on my sixteenth birthday, the Monitor became a part of me, quite literally. The only way for it to function right, according to Dana, was to have it permanently attached to a part of my body, via four thin needles, which would both keep tabs on my emotions through the nerve cells, and pump happy juices into my body if necessary. And you’d probably ask yourself at this point: But wouldn’t the physical pain from the needles trigger a shrinking episode? Well, not really. Because for two years now, I haven’t had any feeling in my left arm, up to my elbow. One of the programs of my monitor is actually to suppress pain receptors, and that meant permanently cutting off all nerve cells within its vicinity, to avoid the needles causing any physical pain. I can move and operate my hand just fine, but if someone were to touch me, or even stab me there, I wouldn’t even register.

And again, you’d ask yourselves: Why not just get all your nerve cells destroyed, so physical pain wouldn’t be an issue anymore? It’s a totally fair statement, and I’m happy to accept anyone’s opinion there, but the truth is, I enjoy pain. Without it, it would be like taking away the one part of me that is still somewhat human. Yes, I’m a green and am afraid of feeling pain, but it has become part of who I am. And while most of my green friends have opted to remove their pain receptors, it seems wrong to me.

The monitor is an exception to that.

But anyway, on the topic of clothing me while shrunk, that’s the final thing it does. As my body retracts in size before my very eyes, it lets off a greenish glow (yep, the colour was programmed to my own taste) which spreads across my entire body, before disappearing and leaving a slick, black bodysuit in place. Not the most fashionable item on the market but who’s complaining?

And that’s exactly what happens with Andrew Lawson. I shrink, get lost in a sea of my own human sized clothes and flick a switch on the side of my monitor which activates the suit. Each movement is fluid and practiced… and hardly something I ever wanted to demonstrate to Andrew Lawson himself. As my shrinking comes to a halt, I bite my lip to avoid swearing and rub my temples in embarrassment. My world is a faint orange colour, from the light seeping through the human clothes my shrunken self is concealed within. I can hear Ava’s now rumbling snores from close by. I hope she wasn’t hurt, being dropped like that during my episode.

I don’t think that’s something you should be worrying about, Cole. I think dryly.

Meanwhile from the world of humans, I hear Andrew Lawson muttering to himself, and despite my situation, stifle a laugh.

“Holy crap… I just pissed off a green… What do I do now? He’s shrunken down on me… well, at least he can meet me in person now…” And then in a quieter voice: “Cole?”

Cussing under my breath, I scramble around for a moment in the torrent of thick material in search of an opening. After a few seconds of awkwardness, I break through the sleeve of my hoodie and step out into the open, only to have a chilling wind course through me. Man… it wasn’t this cold before… I think. That’s because you were six foot tall instead of four inches, dumbass.

“Cole?” Andrew Lawson booms, and I wonder for a brief moment how he can project his tiny yellow’s voice through the mouth of a giant robot with such amplitude. Does he realise how intimidating it is for me to stand before a giant/human sized being/robot? Of course he does, Cole. He’s a yellow.

Sighing under my breath at my logic, I crane my neck to stare up at the colossal, skyscraper high figure of Andrew Lawson. “Yeah…” I say, a little louder than normally so that he can hear my voice. “Shit, this is a bad time…”

Andrew’s robot lips creep into a smile. “It’s cool.” He says, gaze fixed not on me but on the unconscious form of Ava, now lying motionless on the damp pavement. “I doubt your ‘sister’ would agree with me, though.” He adds. I force myself to chuckle a little at the comment. My neck is already sore from staring up at the yellow’s face (something I never thought I’d do, let me tell you!).

“She’s not really my sister, you know.” I call up to him.

His trademark knowing smile returns in an instant. “Figured. You know, that sort of cover story only works on humans.” He says.

I roll my eyes. “Well, if I’d have known you were Andrew Lawson beforehand, maybe the scenario would have been different.”

The giant version of my role model lets out an awkward sigh. “I knew those sunnies were a bad idea.” He mutters.

“Why’d you have them on, anyways?” I ask, looking down for a moment to relieve my neck.

Andrew’s giant shoulders shrug lightly. “To hide my face, mostly. I figured out just yesterday that I was a mental disorder. Not the nicest feeling to go to sleep with.”  He says.

“You didn’t know about the Andrew Lawson Disorder?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Nope. And by the way, how do you know my name?” He replies, frowning a little.

I feel myself blushing a little at the question. “It’s a long story…” I say quietly.

We’re silent for a minute, and then Andrew clears his throat. “Well… that’s not a problem.” He says slowly. “We do have all day, after all.”

And before I can let out a cry of protest, his tree trunk sized fingers wrap around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides and silencing me. With swift movements, the giant yellow lifts my struggling form to the height of a skyscraper, to hover right before his open mouth. “Just hold still for a moment…” Andrew says, and I realise with a jolt that his lips are no longer moving with his voice. Pursing my lips, I force myself to stop writhing around in the hand that holds me still.

“Thanks.” Andrew Lawson’s voice says, before dropping me into the robot’s open mouth…

I let out a faint yelp as I’m dropped helplessly into Andrew Lawson’s robotic mouth. I land smack bang in the middle of a strangely dry, pillow-like tongue that’s clearly not real. The walls around it look almost like drapes of pink flesh coloured towel. And rather than staring down into a gaping throat that drips with hot saliva, all I see is a jumble of random wires, seemingly connected to the robot’s tongue. Intrigued, I forget the fact that I’ve just been dropped into a yellow’s mouth and crawl over to the end of the spongy tongue, the roof of the mouth far too low for me to stand upright in.

Squinting, I realise that the walls of the robot’s mouth around me are actually moist with some kind of saliva-like substance that shines as beads of it roll down the pale pink material. Wondering how the hell Andrew Lawson has pulled this off, I raise my hand to touch the slimy surface.

“It’s detergent.” A voice calls out from above me. All at once, the twin rows of gleaming white teeth clamp down from behind, enveloping the cavern I’m kneeling in in a sudden darkness. There’s a faint flicking sound, like someone’s just pressed a button and the roof of the mouth lets out a faint hiss. An eerie fog seeps from a crack down the centre and I watch in awe as the roof shifts away from both sides, revealing a dimly lit room above… with a familiar figure peering down at me.

Andrew Lawson… the yellow.

“Sorry… for eating you.” He says, wearing a sheepish green. “But yeah, the walls of the mouth are just detergent, so no real saliva down there.”

I rise to my feet on the spongy tongue, my head now popping through the hole Andrew created in the roof. From here, I catch a glimpse of a whole other room, almost as cramped as the mouth. Andrew bends down further, as if trying to follow my gaze. I can’t help but sigh in wonder at how similar he looks in person to the robot he lives in. Maybe a little paler and skinnier, but otherwise identical.

Andrew’s honey coloured eyes twinkle in amusement. “I suppose you’d like to come out of there?” He asks, stepping aside so I can haul myself up through the hatch. Slowly, I get my footing on the metal floor now beneath me and let out a gasp. I’m standing inside Andrew Lawson’s cockpit. The control room for his robot.

“Wow…” I say, mouth wide in awe once again. Andrew smiles and backs up a little in the cramped space so I can take it all in.

“Um… this is my place… sorry it’s so clustered and dark…” His voice trails off, realising my attention is elsewhere. Slowly, I rotate on the spot as I take in the mass of wires and panels, flashing green and red lights, joysticks, buttons and gadgets that are cluttered around the space. In the centre of the room is a metal chair, drilled into the ground which overlooks what reminds me of a car’s dashboard. It’s divided into sections, labelled with various parts of the body. Instead of a steering wheel though, two black rubber gloves descend from the roof, attached with gleaming silver cords. They hover just above the metal chair, which is positioned so that the driver can stare straight outside through the two oval windows, that I presume are the robot’s eyes. In the far corner of the room is a ratty looking tissue that, at a yellow’s size, would serve as a blanket, as well as a notebook and full sized pencil that’s propped up against the wall.

“Y-y-you built this?” I gasp, eyes wide in wonder.

“I did, yeah.” Andrew says. It’s then that he steps into the faint light coming from the windows of the robot’s eyes. I inhale sharply, noticing the deep red line dappled with purple bruising, which expands across the left side of his face. Most of the blood has dried to crust around his hairline, and his shoulder and navy sweater are saturated.

“Holy shit! What happened?” I exclaim, my emotions running free now that I’m tiny. No buzzing comes from the monitor at my wrist, which has now settled to a low whir.

“I hit my head… I think.” Andrew replies, his smile wavering. “It looks worse than it is.”

I crease my forehead, surprised at how well he’s taking the pain. Maybe it’s just my green’s jealousy shining through at this point, but still. It’s not like Andrew can shrink any more than he already has, without being cursed yellow for the second time. Which is impossible, since a Nazaree is immune to witchcraft after their cursing.

“Don’t you want something to bandage it?” I ask softly, not knowing what to say. The initial shock of being shrunk and getting eaten by Andrew Lawson has passed now, and all that’s left in me is my worry wart, borderline emotionless nature. Well, not so much the last part, since my levels don’t matter right now, but still. I could grow again soon, seeing as it was only emotional shock that drove my levels haywire, but as usual, the cage in my brain which binds the feelings in has unlocked itself.

And after three and a half weeks of living without hate, jealousy, sadness, pain and fear, when I let it all out, it’s twice as hard to find the strength to renter reality and trap it all away again.

“That might help, actually.” Andrew Lawson responds suddenly, looking sheepish. I blink, the jumble of thoughts pushed from my head. I watch in stunned silence as my four inch tall companion crosses the room to the tissue blanket, only to rip a small strip from the end and wrap it around his forehead. At the size of a yellow, it serves as the perfect bandage. “I’ll have to clean it up a little back at Emily’s.” He mutters under his breath as he turns to face me again.

“How did you do it?” I ask. “Hit your head, I mean?”

Andrew winces a little in pain at the thought and shrugs. “Your red friend grabbed my robot by the neck and I slammed into the side of the room… not the nicest way to spend my morning, you know.”

“Ughh.” I groan, remembering the previous events involving Ava showing off her psychopathic side. “I’m sorry about that.”

Andrew lets out a soft snort. “A yellow wasn’t made to be bulletproof, I spose.” He says. “And it’s fine. It’ll heal up soon enough.”

I nod, trying to shake off the awful feeling that came with Ava causing Andrew so much pain. The emotions are amplified, after being discarded for so long, and it’s amazing that I don’t break down into tears, like I’d usually end up doing. It’s one of the perks of being a green, I guess. Sucks to be me.

“Hey!” Andrew says, cracking another smile. “Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself: I’m Andrew Lawson.”

I can’t help but smile in return. “I know. And yeah, I’m Cole… Um… Cole Smith.”

“A green, I’m guessing?”

I laugh quietly. “Yep.”

Andrew takes a moment to look me up and down, before he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweater and meets my eyes again. “What’re you wearing?” He asks.

Instantly, a blush creeps up my cheeks. I’m still wearing my bodysuit, which had moulded to my skin as soon as I’d shrunk. Sometimes I forget about its presence, being so light and warm.

“It’s a suit.” I say, pointing out the obvious. “It… erm, keeps me warm when I’m, you know…”

“Yellow sized?” Andrew offers with a small smile.

“Yeah.” I mumble.

“It’s a cool design.” Andrew says, reaching out to touch the smooth material covering my arm. Only my fingers are exposed, the back of my hands covered in the same insulating fabric. “How did you put it on so fast?”

“Oh…” I smile, realising how weird it would seem to Andrew; how one moment I’d shrunk without my clothes on and the next I was well covered by the suit. “It’s my monitor… erm… the thing on my wrist.”

“Ahh. So it comes out of the watch…” He eyes it curiously. “How?”

“My witch made it for me. It’s not really a human device.” I explain, breaking his gaze and continuing to stare around the room. Near the tissue blanket which I presume is Andrew’s bed is a small map of Australia, pinned to the wall. Surrounding it are a million or so etchings of tally marks, covering the wall. I feel a pang of guilt, almost certain that these count down his time left with a chance to break his curse. And judging by how many tally marks there are, Andrew’s time is running out. It’s not the map or tally marks that meet my eyes though. It’s a small photo, pinned to the wall adjacent. I lean in to get a better look at the two figures smiling and hugging each other for the camera, and  my brow furrows in confusion.

“Craig and Janet???” I ask, wondering why Andrew has their familiar faces on display in the otherwise bare space. Are they… his idols or something?

Andrew’s body freezes up as soon as the words have left my mouth and his face pales. For a moment, it’s as if he doesn’t understand who I’m talking about. He looks like a lost child, unsure of how to find their way home. “Craig and Janet.” He whispers, mouth wavering.

“I’m sorry.” I say quickly, turning away from the picture. “Do you… know them, at all?”

Andrew nods, still looking dazed. “I do. They are… they were my parents. Why?”

My mouth drops open, a million thoughts instantly making themselves at home in my already jam packed mind.

How?

How didn’t I know?

When?

When did they leave him?

“Do you know them, Cole?” Andrew asks sternly, the friendliness draining from his voice.

Who?

Who have they told?

“Do you know where they are?” Andrew continues.

Where?

Where did they leave him?

“Please tell me.”

Why?

Why didn’t they tell me?

“Andrew.” I whisper, not knowing how or what I could do to comfort him at this point.

“Yes?” He asks.

Just tell him!

“Your parents are Nazarees.” I blurt out, silencing everything.