BITCRUSH

If there was one thing about Uda, is that she never liked to meet you in your face. For all she was, for all she talked, she would become a bumbling coward when confronted directly, snapping back in anxious ramblings and snarky comments that wavered in tone. She was, in all ways, pathetic, with weak limbs and weak beliefs- gambling was fine when she enjoyed it, and ignoring and belittling was fine when she did it. She was not a closed shell, where there was an implication of protection, but a particularly soft and malleable cactus that enjoyed pricking whatever leaned too close to it.

In its natural habitat, this cactus was found in a room of particularly messy worth. One shirt had passed a monumental three months of no washing, while pink string lights missed not one, two, but fifteen bulbs all donated to the cracked lamp on a desk salvaged from a childhood home. It was a warzone, it was a mess, and most of all, it was decorated with nothing of substance in particular.

A wall adorned with inkblotted printed photos of someone was quickly replaced and revamped with cheap unique chip bags she just happened to have a striking color. There was money on the wall, pinned, in case of an emergency. She had to often tell herself that another purchase of the first iridescent pink squishable plushie was not an emergency. It had reached such a point where there was never her emergency money but a pile of unicorn squish animals of varying sizes that she sold en masse on a resell site to win her back what little dignity she had.

Many have tried stopping her whenever she did want to go on another online shopping binge, either by hopelessly empathetic phone calls or genuine messages for her to reevaluate her life or use her money for something better. It got her attention, though; she felt like she wanted it, so she never stopped. She had a better job now and endless entertainment to pass by the effortless days and long, sleepless nights, so there hasn't been a call in a while, or at least, recently.

That long, silent, beautiful month of no contact was very recently interrupted by someone Uda knew well. A woman that she did not feel like deserved inkblotted print photos on her wall.

"Is this Uda?"

"Yeah." Uda hadn't really told this one about the whole mind-blast thing yet, so she tried keeping herself to spoken words. She hadn't spoken audibly in a while, in fact, with the last of her words being saved for those unsavory coworkers that had to audacity to schedule physical meetings.

"Hey. It's me. I was wondering how you've been doing lately since we haven't really talked in a couple of years. I heard from some friends that you got a better job, and that's great!"

Same words as usual. "Yeah. Sure you're doing great, too." Uda was curled up in her chair, arms across her knees. The chair was massive, she was not. Two monitors, bright blue, lit up her face, and with it, most of the room- it was dim most of the time, anyways. She never really complained about the window facing another building.

"I am. I actually took a trip recently."

You got on the rail for fifteen minutes.

"Saw some people, too."

The last time you talked to someone, it was an argument.

"Caught up with friends"

You got a long, multi-paragraph message from a friend about how concerned they were about you.

"Yeah. I'm doing pretty good."

"Great! I was actually wondering if we could see each other soon..."

There was something in Uda's stomach that dropped. She tightened the arms around her legs harder and leaned forward into the phone at her desk. She realized she kept it on speaker distance so she couldn't hear her crackling, squeaky voice. It was pathetic.

"I'm pretty booked, actually. For the whole month. Can we push it to the next one?"