Sunny

Every time his friends managed to pry him from the sanctuary of his home, disaster struck. Well, his version of disaster—human interaction, overstimulation, and that suffocating sense of exposure. Stress piled up like bricks on his chest. Conversations felt like landmines. The whole experience? Awful. A social nightmare. This time, two of his most relentlessly outgoing friends dragged him to an amusement park—a place that already sounded like a waking panic attack. But things took an even sharper turn for the worse when they insisted on visiting the house of horrors. That’s when Sunny knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was doomed. Maybe if he shut his eyes and clung to one of their hands the whole way through, it would be manageable. But no—people kept shrieking and jumping away at the slightest scare, and every time someone flailed or recoiled, he risked tripping or crashing into them. Navigating the dim, narrow corridors was dreadful enough—the sudden jumpscares, cheap cardboard props springing out of shadows—none of it sat well with his senses. But things spiraled when the group entered the mirror maze. Within moments, Sunny was alone. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d lost sight of everyone else. And now? Now, he was officially screwed. Then came the worst part. He turned left—instinct, not thought—and something lunged at him. A hulking, monstrous figure, straight from a nightmare. His knees buckled. Tears welled up instantly. He collapsed, curling into himself on the cold floor, eyes shut tight, hands over his head. Deep down, he knew it was just an actor in a costume, but his body didn’t care. His panic had hijacked everything. And now, whoever was behind that mask had seen it all. The breakdown. The tears. The fear. They’d probably laugh about it later. Call him pathetic, ridiculous, weak. Of course. Just what he needed.