First Fix
At first it felt like someone slapped a wad of gum across their eyes. The smell even hit their noses—sweet, rubbery, unmistakably bubblegum. Something lumpy and sticky clung to their vision.
They clawed at it, jumping and squealing, but it wouldn't come off. Panicked, they bumped heads, then froze and clung to each other.
—Yuki, what now? We're prisoners of the Gum Monster. Next step, it seals us into its wrapper like trading cards!
—Don't be ridiculous!—Yuki snapped. —It'll come off. Probably… Please, bubblegum, go away! We don't like you!
Apparently offended, the gum vanished at once, clearing their sight—though now everything shimmered green.
—Because it is green! We're inside some kind of green hall!—Lil C. shouted, poking the soft walls and ceiling, all made of thick green curtains.
—Whoa, so squishy!—He rubbed his hand across the fabric, ignoring Yuki's cry of, -Don't touch it! He was fine, of course. Instead, he darted around, yanking curtains down only to find… more curtains behind them.
Meanwhile Yuki studied the floor. It bounced under her feet, springy but never giving way. She hopped higher and higher, the surface tossing her back gently.
—What even is this place? Why does it never end?—her brother panted. —And where are we?
—Sit down. We need to think,—Yuki ordered. He actually obeyed, plopping down beside her. She sat cross-legged; he sprawled out like always.
—Family council?—he asked.
—Exactly. You do realize we've been yanked out of Earth, right?
—What?—He sat up, excitement buzzing in his voice. No fear, just joy. At last—a real adventure!
—I mean it. One second we're in our backyard, next we're in some place made of curtains. And no matter how many layers we pull, there are always more. That doesn't happen on Earth.
—No way!—Lil C. protested, though he scratched his chin, thinking. —Unless… maybe some rich trickster built this whole thing, filled it with hidden cameras just to prank us?
They both looked around warily, scanning up, down, and all around, until Yuki swatted away her brother's theory.
—That makes no sense. How could he transport us into this place in an instant? Did you even think about that?
—He invented teleportation…—Lil C. suggested, sounding even less convinced. Then he added, —Not that I'd mind getting dumped into Narnia or wherever bored kids go! But this place isn't exactly fun either.
—Yeah, it's like we're stuck inside a giant green screen where they shoot movies,—Yuki muttered, scratching her chin.
—We're in a blockbuster?—her brother perked up. —Then I'm the star, and I get the biggest paycheck—because I'm the only one who needs all the money in the world!
—And what for?—Yuki raised an eyebrow. —To buy a dozen inflatable castles so you can bounce all day?
—No way! I'd buy every single grain of buckwheat in existence, hide it forever, and make sure Dad never forces me to eat that gross stuff again!—Lil C. clenched his fists dramatically.
—A noble dream,—Yuki said with sarcasm. —But before you conquer the world's supply of grains, let's remember how we even got into this -movie.
—Easy. We put on the glasses.
—Exactly! Where are they?!
The glasses were gone. Their eyes were once again just… eyes. Plain, boring eyes.
—Our eyes are lame,—Lil C. complained, rubbing his eyelids. —If the glasses could do all that, I'd rather look through them forever than with these dull things.
And how could Yuki argue? He said what she secretly felt too, though she'd never admit it. She always tried to look -grown-up, serious, never silly. She wanted people to see her as smart, not a know-it-all. Which, ironically, usually backfired.
Feeling a pang of frustration at not being fully herself, Yuki turned—and froze. There on the ground lay a melted pile of material.
Grabbing her brother's sleeve, she dragged him closer. Something told her to put her hand over her heart, as if she were about to sing a national anthem. Maybe silly—but for such an important object in their lives, it felt like the right kind of respect.
—Don't say goodbye to them yet,—Lil C. crouched down and nudged the mess with his foot. —We could take them to some master, get them fixed.
—If we ever get out of here…
—Of course you'll get out. Because now you've got the one and only Prima Donna, the Greatest Creator in All the World, the Bohemian of Bohemia herself!—a booming voice rang out of nowhere.
The kids stumbled back as fragments began to rise out of the pile, snapping together one by one. In seconds, towering over the soft green floor, stood their mother's glasses—only now they were half as tall as Yuki.
They still had the same cracked frame, chipped lenses, and worn-out look. But now they sported long painted eyelashes fluttering above the rims, and inside the lenses glowed a pair of beautiful green eyes that blinked constantly. No mouth, no hands, no feet. Instead, the Glasses perched casually on a hoverboard, steering it with perfect balance.
Rolling up to the stunned kids, the character boomed:
—And who are you, little but unbroken travelers?
—We… we…—the kids stammered.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, grand and theatrical.
—Oh, blast it, I slipped into character again. Yuki, Lil C., of course I know who you are. You are the children of my bearer—and now my responsibility. Mischief-makers I must watch over, thanks to the conscience integrated into me by the Great Oculist himself. (Yes, I like to think there is such a person watching out for me.)
So tell me—are you already employed? Lil C., how's your wife doing? Or… wait. What year is it? Am I a bit ahead of schedule? Bring me up to speed, and we can piece this puzzle together.
The kids' jaws dropped so far it became a contest who could stretch theirs closer to the ground. Both won—at least according to the Glasses, who measured the distance instantly.
—Note, children. I didn't even need a ruler. Perfect depth perception and advanced scientific knowledge. —The Glasses bragged.
Trying to collect herself, Yuki finally managed to ask:
—Um… honored Glasses, first of all, what's your name? And where are we supposed to go?
The object shifted nervously on its hoverboard, flashing multicolored lights underneath. After a theatrical cough—echoing across the entire chamber—it replied with importance:
—To those questions I must add a far more pressing one: why don't I have a mouth? Couldn't you have asked your father to give me one?