Show notes
Did you know we have a Patreon? Did you know we're doing some pretty cool things over there? Right now we're releasing LOVE, LAURA, a microfiction modern-day adaptation of Carmilla. You can also tune in to our previous patron-exclusive show, Readle the Beetle, where Tal gets psychic damage from reading a book that initially sold more copies than Dracula. We've also got ad free episodes, bonus short stories, bloopers, and more! Check it all out at patreon.com/redracula
Love, Laura E1: Stupid Audio Diary
Love, Laura is written by Jamieson Ridenhour and Wil Williams, and produced by Tal Minear. In this episode, you heard Tal Minear as Laura.
TRANSCRIPT:
Laura: Okay, here I am, doing this stupid audio diary because my stupid therapist thinks I’m having a stupid episode. I’m supposed to “vocalize” my feelings and “let it out in the open.” As if. Feelings are inside for a reason, and I don’t see how dragging them out into the light will do anything other than make me wallow in them.
But whatever. I can’t go anywhere, because of this stupid pandemic, which is just a whole lot of nothing. It’s not like this lockdown is gonna last more than a couple of weeks. People freak out over nothing. But until then, I’m here, trapped in this house with my boring father and this slow-ass wi-fi. Normally I’d just talk to Bertha, because she’s the only person who really gets me, and she would send a meme or something and I’d feel like I wasn’t alone. That’s what Dr. Hesselius doesn’t get. I’m not depressed. I’m LONELY. Why doesn’t anybody get that?
But I can’t talk to Bertha. And now I don’t get to finally meet her like we’d planned. She was coming to stay the weekend, our first irl hang-out, and now that’s not happening either. Because Bertha is dead.
And maybe it’s silly to be so upset over it, because we only knew each other online, blah blah blah, but talking to Bertha on Insta was the only connection I had to the real world, instead of this lame-ass suburban hell-hole. She was funny and pretty and she liked me. But now BigBertha2009 will not have a little green online dot by her name ever again. And they won’t even tell me what happened! “Passed away suddenly,” like that’s a thing. Sixteen-year-olds don’t “pass away suddenly.” Total, total bullshit. And I’m supposed to, what, just have pizza for dinner and watch TV? God. My life is a joke.
And if I’m being honest—and why wouldn’t I, it’s not like anybody’s gonna hear this stupid voice note—it’s really messing me up. It’s making me think about mom, even though it’s been years since she “passed away suddenly.” It’s not like I knew her, either. And they’re worried I’m going to start having nightmares again.
It was only ever the one nightmare anyway. The one when I was six. It was so real. I went into my bedroom and there was a woman in my bed. A really pretty woman, who held out her arms and smiled like she knew me. She had gorgeous dark hair and seemed so happy to see me. I crawled into bed with her, and she held me and I snuggled up to her. She held me and talked to me, and I felt so happy. I felt safe. Dr. Hesselius says this is some kind of mother-dream, and she kinda looked like what I remember of mom, or maybe she didn’t and I just remember the dream-lady better. Anyway, after a minute of snuggling, she leaned over and bit me! In my chest. Like, what the actual hell, right? It hurt so bad, like needles in my heart. I screamed, and the lady, like, scuttled over the edge of the bed and went under it, like a snake or something. And then dad was there, and I was crying and awake and everybody was freaking out. Poor little Laura, losing her mom, having weird nightmares and generally being a little dork.
But that was a long time ago. Ancient history. My problems are bigger than kid stuff like that. Dreams are just dreams. Moms die. And so does Bertha, apparently. Ugh! Fuck my life.
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