When I came in the next day, the robes were oddly quiet.

  They were both there.

  They had just learned to shut up.

  One victory before noon.

  As I was organizing and stocking my aisle (I left a few overgrown tentacles so the store didn’t get too agitated), Stupid wandered in.

  She didn’t seem to have any particular purpose. She just sort of… floated in. Like a paper airplane someone forgot to fold right.

  “Hey Stupid?” I called.

  “Yeth Beeg?!” she chirped happily, skipping over to me, ears flapping wildly like bat wings on a sugar high.

  “Why do you go by Stupid?” I asked.

  It had been bothering me for a while—calling an obviously caring creature such a mean name.

  Even if she didn’t seem smart enough to mind.

  She stopped next to me, idly poking Workman’s Comp.

  It made a tired gurgling noise and lazily tried to bite her hand off.

  Secretly, I think she’d worn the poor thing out. It now knew the futility of fighting against Stupid.

  I don’t know why that made me smile a bit.

  “Stupid wasn’t always Stupid” she giggled, pulling her hand back just before it got chomped.

  “Stupid just doesn’t remember not being Stupid!” She turned to beam at me.

  …What.

  She giggled again, like it was the funniest thing in the world.

  Then, unexpectedly, her expression twisted—just for a second.

  “Stupid didn’t always work in amazing mageeeek store” she whispered in horror.

  I blinked.

  I got the distinct feeling she was horrified by the fact she hadn’t always worked in the store. Not that she had to work in it now.

  That was going to take a moment to digest.

  She looked down at her feet. One of her ears slowly curled in on itself.

  “But Stupid doesn’t remember before!” she said, voice suddenly light again. “She remembers… teef? And big burn-ee lights! Oh! And scary! Stupid remembers lots of scary!”

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  The hair on my arms stood up.

  I could tell she was agitated—something other than Stupid in her eyes.

  Something that didn’t bounce.

  “Eet was much scary, Beeg,” she said, more quietly now.

  Her hands were fidgeting.

  “And the burn-ee lights from the sky ate everything! And Mama Stupid was there!” She gasped.

  “Except she wasn’t Mama Stupid - because this was before Stupid was Stupid.”

  She looked at me.

  Like she wanted me to explain why she had to hurt so much.

  The lump in my throat made it impossible to swallow.

  “Mama had warm hands,” she whispered suddenly. “And…and hair like this.”

  She reached out to touch the mop on Workman’s Comp’s head. It hissed.

  She giggled.

  I just stood there, frozen.

  “Oh Beeg. And then… Stupid was all alone.”

  Her voice got small.

  “Stupid remembers being super duper sad. And scared. There was lots of scared.”

  Her ears were drooping on the floor now, dragging in old tentacle slime.

  She didn’t seem to notice.

  I felt like I was watching a child try to carry a house on her back.

  She opened her mouth again, then closed it.

  Her lip trembled.

  She choked.

  “Everything was gone.”

  I took a half step forward, but she suddenly shot upright.

  “But it eez ok!” she jumped, almost catapulting herself into a shelf.

  “Now Stupid works for store! And even if Stupid can’t remember things, or think about things like she used to—Stupid never feels scared anymore!”

  She beamed.

  Like the sun punching sadness in the face.

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

  I just looked at her.

  I reached out slowly and patted her on the head.

  She held the smile a moment longer—then gave a sharp nod.

  “Okay Beeg! Bye now!” she said, and spun on one foot, skipping off like nothing had happened.

  The quiet she left behind felt heavy.

  Almost suffocating.

  I reached out and patted Workman’s Comp.

  It didn’t try to bite me.

  I felt, more than saw, when It shambled up beside me

  He stood there a moment.

  Silently.

  As It was wont to do.

  Then, in his slow, gravely, monotone voice:

  “Maybe you aren’t the only one Boss gave a chance to, eh Beeg?”

  I tried to swallow, but the lump in my throat just wouldn’t go away.

  I almost asked him what his story was.

  I grabbed a rag and started cleaning the shelves instead.

  It stayed for another beat. Quiet. Watching.

  Then he shambled away with the slow, squelching grace of something that had seen too much and said too little.

  Even Workman’s Comp was quiet.

  “It’s ok Stupid” I whispered.

  “Beeg Ugly is here.”

  ? 2025 Thomas Joseph. All rights reserved.

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