Pixie - Another Helpless Author

Applause.

Pixie awoke with a start, gasping as she grabbed the podium in front of her instinctively for support. She stumbled slightly, not used to the disconcerting feeling of waking already standing up…

Beyond lost, she squinted and raised a hand to shield her face from the bright lights that were shining directly at her... The audience… the lights… the music… the studio… the bright pink boxes…

Oh no… no no no no no!!

The painful realisation dawned on her like she’d been dumped in ice… One minute she had been lying in bed, scrolling through stories on her phone instead of sleeping… and the next…

Oh fuck… they did this to Ali and now they’re going to do it to me?!

She glanced down at herself, cringing at her own less than flattering night wear; an old over-sized baby-blue t-shirt that hung from one bare shoulder, unflattering grey cotton shorts and black panties. The studio floor felt cool against her bare feet and Pixie was painfully aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d taken out her contacts for bed, and was grateful that whatever **** had moved her here had at least let her keep her glasses.

Her eyes adjusted to the dazzling lights and Pixie lowered her hand, looking to her side to see the slick hair and wicked grin of Jack – the host of ‘Bimbo or Billionaire’ with a stack of gameshow cue-cards in his hands, exactly as she’d imagined him.

“Pixie” The way he said it made it clear that they both knew it wasn’t her real name and she gave the host a pleading look of despair that he was clearly dangling that over her head, “Pixie here is a 27 year old resourcing assistant from the South of England! She’s a 5’4” brunette and wears a b-cup bra! She’s currently single and still lives at home with her parents!”

Pixie cringed... I moved back home to save money! I’m trying to save, but house prices…

“Now, Pixie fancies herself a budding author of some pretty **** erotica… her kinks include submissive fantasies, humiliation, objectification, clothing control…”

Mortified, Pixie’s heart leapt into her throat in abject horror as Jack theatrically unfolded the card he was reading so that it got longer and longer and longer to the amusement of the studio audience.

“… enforced nudity, corruption, betrayal, ****, pet-play, reality changes, body horror, bondage and an obsession with mermaids!”

Wait what?

“I’m not obsessed with mermaids!” Pixie blurted out, blushing as she realised it was the first thing she’d actually said... Worse, she hadn’t actively denied any of the rest of it… Jack started laughing and the audience followed suit, causing the helpless girl to shy back behind the podium further, wanting the ground to swallow her whole.

“Sounds like our researchers might know Pixie better than she does…”

“I’m not!”

“What was your favourite childhood story?” Jack pressed.

Pixie’s lips parted to protest before she looked at him and answered reluctantly, “…The Little Mermaid… but-”

“And you used to tie your legs together to try to be a mermaid? And had fantasies of being a secret mermaid caught in the rain, transforming in front of everyone?”

“I didn’t know any better…” Her blush grew darker and darker in understanding, mortified that her own psychology was being unravelled in front of a live studio audience.

“Sounds like someone got their wires crossed young… bondage, public humiliation… being considered a non-human… sound familiar?”

Pixie cringed. Why had it taken her until now to put two and two together like that… “Please… stop… I don’t want to be here… wherever here even is? … am I in a story?!”

Jack smiled, “Let’s call it a reality adjacent to reality...”

Pixie glanced anxiously towards the wings of the studio, contemplating if she could just run. Jack's answer that she wasn't in her own reality anymore sent shivers up the back of her neck. She had the very real and disquieting sense that there was nothing beyond the studio. There was just the game, and she'd seen what the producers on this network did to contestants on Harem Hotel that didn't play along...

She gulped, existential dread setting in, “And...I'm... Me?”

“You're a metaphysical representation of you... You are a you-adjacent-to-you...”

“So I’m writing this and I’m also in it?" Pixie hugged herself. Of course I'm writing this, it's exactly the sort of thing that I would write... and of course that me doesn't realise that this me is actually having to live it... great...

"I… sorry, this is making my head hurt… why would I do that?”

Jack approached her podium, leaning an elbow against it casually. He spoke like any jovial gameshow host would when making small-talk with a contestant, but his words cut Pixie to her core,

“This whole episode is a sort of monument to your own ego, don’t you think? You have a crushing sense of insecurity that leaves you desperately seeking any and all validation and praise... Forgetting for a moment that copy-catting AliC on this is just lazy, you write on CHYOA to express fantasies you can’t otherwise experience, in order to get others to give you validation that having those fantasies is ok… ultimately driving you to want to be the centre of attention even if that attention is humiliating… because at least it means you matter…”

Pixie opened and closed her mouth in stunned silence for a moment before a pained whine escaped her throat, “Ow…”

Jack tapped the podium sinisterly, his smile widening, as the energy returned to the studio, “So Pixie… You know the rules?”

“Y-yes… b-but…”

She trembled in place, looking anxiously towards the wings of the set for any escape route.

“Good because this episode we’re going to be doing something a little different…” He turned to the Audience which 'ooh'ed' in reply, “Pixie here has a pretty strong fetish for not being in control, so – we’re going to give her what she wants! We’ve convened a special mystery panel, a jury, of writers from CHYOA that Pixie knows or trusts… When she picks a box and reveals a category, each member of her jury will submit an option for our audience to vote on!”

The screen above the set switched to show five figures in silhouette, their identities completely cloaked in shadow.

“Wait… what? B-b-but… If I’m writing this… and I’m in it… shouldn’t I at least get a say in what the options are before everyone else votes?”

“Not in this episode” Jack beamed.

“D-d-do I even get to know who’s on this... 'Jury'?” Pixie pleaded, glancing up at the mysterious figures looming over her with a sense of dread.

“No!” Jack wiggled his eyebrows for the cameras, “And because we want to really make sure her experience is just that little bit more … unique… each member of Pixie’s jury is going to modify or add a rule of the game before we start!”

“What?!” she gasped, her agitation growing, “That's not fair!”

You're in a rigged game dummy...

“Now - because we're changing the rules before we begin, we're replacing the Playing Dice reward with something slightly different... instead, one of the boxes now contains a 'Veto' reward that Pixie can use to pick a category of her own!”

The audience whooped as she cringed, unsure if that was really a reward or not - even if she picked something innocent or innocuous like 'Hats' - she really didn't want to know what the 'Jury' would do with a prompt like that...

“So Pixie… are you ready to play Bimbo or Billionaire?”

“No…!” She shook her head frantically, though her protests were ignored, drowned out by the dazzling lights, theme music and rapturous audience.

“Ok, jurors! Let’s hear those rule changes!”