The buzzer on the Mii's airplane beeped irately. She ignored it and let the sound drop into the ocean below with an almost detectable plop. The buzzer's purpose was to indicate the time in which she was to turn back after a four minute aerial journey to home, Wuhu Island. It was the time limit imposed by the Mayor some time back, some forgettable law nobody much cared enough about to fight. But she refused to do so on this day, and instead pressed on, the waters below serving as the passing by clouds' hand mirror. it was a beautiful day in general; the clouds hung in the sky like puppets and the sun made an effort to rise higher than usually on this unusually warm autumn day. The buzzer beeped more urgently, as if sensing its passenger's desperation for an escape. Again she acted as if she had never heard it, and let her thoughts drift elsewhere, a dangerous practice for someone at the head of an aircraft. The topic of the day, her childhood.

Once, when she was little, she found a camera sticking out of a tree. It was small, no bigger than a plastic water bottle, but she was positive of what it was. The young Mii had actually never seen one with her own eyes: one of Wuhu's many strange rules was that no video cameras were allowed on the premises. But she had read about them in stories and heard tourists swear in colorful language when the island's police caught them with the device and had to confiscate it. In typical five year old fashion, she had dragged her mother out of the living room of their two floor house and forced her look at her discovery She remembered how her mother's rosy smile - forced, probably, she was the best actor of her grade when enrolled in Wuhu's one floor schoolhouse - had practically fallen off and shattered into a million pieces within the grass blades. Speaking of that smile, why did she wear it? Why did she always fake it? Even at the time, the young Mii knew it wasn't to benefit her child's own self joy. After a quick, forced ushering to the house, there was almost immediately a knock on their front door, met with an even more broken expression from her mother. The little girl like it. It was a genuine expression. The child was forced inside her room without so much as an explanation before her mother could even open the door, but a few urgent whispers were heard from outside, most of which belonged to Mom. They sounded desperate, and again her Mother's mask came into the girl's questioning. A day later, the camera was gone. It was never mentioned again in the household.

And what about those ridiculous acting lessons the local school had forced them to take? Every year was a new brand of theater torture, up until the senior year. It had never particularly helped her that she had terrible stage fright, and every soliloquy meant a fresh wave of embarrassment and unhelpful criticism from fellow classmates. What was worse that the material was implemented outside of the schoolhouse itself, an annoying feature that she could live without. Theater was not her calling. Children were encouraged to practice in public in much as possible by the acting teachers, pristine barbie doll physique models who looked more at home in a strip club than a school what with their too short skirts and open blouses. Her father really got into this idea, and God help the young girl if, on a brisk walk to the local market for an apple, she didn't practice her verbal irony with the fruits salesman in a battle of heated wits. She would have her father's deep affection for the stage to answer to.

She shook her head causing the plane's body to tremble. How irrelevant.

All her life she had wanted to be a pioneer. It was how she had gotten herself interested in learning the mechanics of an airplane in the first place. But after a handful of years of exploring the island in full, discovering not a single place that hadn't been touched by some archaeologist or drunken tourist's hands, the Mii was getting itchy feet. She was reaching age twenty, and her parents were already pressing her to settle down with a man - invariably one she had grown up with her entire life, the island didn't offer much variety when it came to people, and that was one of the reasons fueling the will to leave - and abandon her silly dreams about exploration. It was actually a running theme, people laughing at her heartfelt desire, and up until now she hadn't realized the irony in it. Plane trips did that to her, everything seemed so clear up here. Ever since her young age, mentioning life outside of the island had almost become a social taboo of sorts among the older folks inhabiting Wuhu. None of the older children knew why this was, despite the young one's constant bickering and questioning on the matter. Their parents never told them, and bringing up such an unpleasant conversation usually ended in a swift grounding.

But this she did know: upon reaching twenty years old, newly christened adults would be summoned to the mayor's office. Nobody dared disobey the command. Upon their leave from the place, they would look unusually pale for the tanned skin locals they once were, and would never speak of the events in the building no matter the bribe offered. It was as if they were bound to some invisible word and almost immediately their body would be overcome by twitches: twitch to the tree, twitch to the ground, stop, normal expression, than a new batch of twitches and quirks. It was as if they were looking for something, especially in the trees, which seemed to cause them physical pain. The weaker ones would usually be found hanging by their necks via their leather belt off the cliffs the next day after their little talk with the Mayor. The stronger were no better off. Indeed, the entire island was a bout of depression, and that was masked by sports and the stench of tourism. Nobody but the locals could truly understand the vibe of suicide that surrounded the place like an aura, and nobody but locals would believe the fact that given the chance and courage about half the island's population would go spiraling off the side of a rocky cliff into sharp rocks willingly.
She wanted no part of it. It didn't matter that her summon to the political figurehead's office was today; she wasn't staying long enough to figure out what he had to say.

Riding against her leg was a green spiral notebook tucked in a leather pouch; modest in size, she had earlier today ripped out a page from it to hastily write out a goodbye note to her parents whom at the moment were out playing poolside ping ball and would only discover her disappearance later that night. The book, she decided, would be a log of sorts describing her adventures. She wondered how long it would take to fill. As she focused on it and her new life, all thoughts of her plane had left her mind. Idly tapping the wheel, she smiled dumbly. Instead of the usually mystery and stiff feeling associated with the island, a wave of freedom came over the girl. The plane's buzzer a chance to step in and make things right, finally, and its mechanics set to work.

It was a few minutes of thoughtless thinking later when she realized the plane was going in the opposite direction of the wide sea, and the island was becoming into view. Panicking, she rolled the plane's semi-circular wheel across the flat palm of her chafed hand in an attempt to turn it around, but the plane ignored her command and instead sped up its pace, charging for the island. She then noticed the buzzer, shining solid red, a sight that in all her years of flight she had never seen before. It meant no good, and she finally knew the four minute warning the planes issued was seriously business In the wild moment, she was faced with two clear paths: she could stay on the plane, let it fly back to the island - where she had a good feeling it was heading toward, to the plane docks - face the mayor and the mystery, walk out of the place a shell of what she had once been, and settle in for the rest of her life in some house with a husband and family she didn't even want but obtained for her old folk's sake. She could also jump out of the plane and swim, which was not only dangerous because of the spinning propellers on both sides of the craft that could cut the little Mii into pixels, but stupid because the nearest island was miles away and though she was a strong swimmer, she wasn't sure how long she could last out there.

She chose the jump.

It wasn't half as bad as she expected; the propellers licked at her elbows as she crashed down into the sea, which then caught her and lapped at her cheeks like an over friendly dog. Taking in the scenery around her, she noticed nothing. Sea was all that existed, except for a rather shadowy outline of the island in back of her which she pretended not to notice. She was a decent enough distance away to start off a swim and get somewhere before being caught, though she doubted anyone would find her out here. The swim began with a light butterfly, then a full fledged breast stroke, ending on a simple doggy paddle. The horizon ate up the image of the island, and night was beginning to fall over the world. Fireworks were her Northern Star as she paddled on into the night, and she almost swore that they were keeping her warm during the chilled October night.

Morning was just brewing on the corners of the earth when she hit a wall head first. Her body felt limp: not even sixteen year's worth of natural athletic training had prepared her for such a journey. Assuming the wall to be nothing but an mirage brought on by a lack of rest and willpower, she banged her head against it in defeat, waiting for her body to become whale feed. A piece of the sea in response chipped off and fell into her clumped white tee shirt.


The Mii lifted what was left of a single fingernail, its brethren victim to a compulsive nail biter, and began to scratch the sea slowly. It felt rough and crumbled off like cheap paint, leaving a shade of blue in the crest of her nail. Behind it was a wooden support, not rotted at all from the waters. Curious, she knocked on it gently, as if it were a door. Murmurs popped like ghosts from the other side, and she jolted with new found energy. Something alive was being harvested back there, and mania took a grip of her. Desperate now, she rammed the mysterious blockage with her fists, screaming at no person in particular. The curses spilling out of her mouth soon enough started to take shape to insults and tears, ballads on unsupportive parents and distasteful hymns on her life splashed freely out of her mouth, and she didn't regret a minute of it. It gave her strength. Fish nibbled at her feet below. She continued ripping the sea into shreds, taking along her final finger nail along with it. Her hair flew into a nest. Her eyes retained a bloodshot gleam. She still fought the sea, tearing the fake canvas into confetti.

The wall finally gave way to a small enough hole to crawl through.

On the other side, a man in a black shirt with a label too small to read stood shocked, watching the small sopping girl birth herself from the sea. Given his proportions and general aroma it was doubtful he ever had encountered a member of the female race. He was surrounded by about five other men, all looking to be in their early thirties and all imitating the first man in spirit, physique, and emotion. She stared at them. They stared back. No words were exchanged between the parties. Allowing her eyes to wander and ignoring the steady flow of water coming from behind her, she took in the sights. A computer screen spliced different parts of her home onto the screen. Cameras, she realized. Leaves around the edges of the screens indicated that they were stuck in trees, and they were currently watching a Frisbee tournament Wires hanging from the ceiling like fingernails waiting for prey reached for her lazily. And a sign decorated in lights, many different shaped ones that almost represented luminous pearls, spelled out these words: "Wii Sports Resort: The Live Action Television Show".
And it all came together, in a flow of sparks and salt. The ocean water had already started seeping through her shoes and into the studio, covering wires as it went. The Mii stepped carefully out of the puddle quickly, but the men weren't as agile. They stood in the water at just the wrong minute, feet soaked with water from another world, allowing a powerful electric shock to travel through their bodies and end at their skulls. They fell like a sack of potatoes to the floor, hitting their heads on the floored granite as they tumbled like obese dominoes. A disgusting crack accompanied their downfall. But the girl was not paying attention.

It all made sense now. The cameras, the constant fear of the older people, the secret. The four minute flight restraint all so no Mii could get far enough to hit the barrier. The cameras, capturing the moods of young and old for entertainment. The acting lessons, a factory for breeding little Shakespeares. The ban on cameras from tourists, in case they ruined the producers' plans somehow by letting younger folks in on the know. These people thought they could play God. And the Mii knew she could do it better. Hurrying with what seemed like a rush of adrenalin she barricaded the door with a now thoroughly soaked couch and grabbed a blunt object in case any more crew members would like to make a guest appearance on her new spin off of the show. She turned to the monitor screen, and saw her parents sitting in their house by chance. Their faces were plastered with indifference, as if they hadn't even realized their daughter was gone. Feet propped on the bamboo living room table and a bag of Cheetos accompanied the two. The TV in front of them blasted a jingle for canned tuna. Anger overcame her. Hadn't they suffered from her disappearance Did canned tuna hold a larger place in their heart than she did? Trying to ignore the new sudden stab of pain, she noticed a red button to the right of the screen labeled "command mayor" in peeling duck tape marked with dried Sharpie. Overcome with interest, she tore her eyes away from the monitor and smashed the button with glee. A voice cracked with age and poor connection came seemingly from nowhere and wrapped around her body like a boa constrictor. It was a pleasant sensation.

"Hello, Studio B. What would you like me to do with the island now?"

She spoke softly, and pretended she was in the know. "This is the new producer speaking. I would like you to summon Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy to your office. Here's the thing though, I'm not so pleased with their performance. I'd like you to..."
The Mayor interrupted. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Miss?"

"Yes. I want you to ax them from our little show."

"How am I going to do that? This is their home."

"I think you know how. I did say ax them."

"But Miss, you can't be serious!"

"Please. The bodies are easy enough to hide. I'm sure you can find a way. Unless, of course, you want me to replace you as well."

An audible gulp was heard over the line. "Will do. Before I go, what name should I adress you by?"

"God. Call me God." She hung up by hitting the button once more before waiting for a reponse from that bumbling idiot. The Mii decided to replace him next week.

Sentencing people to death was much...easier than expected.

Her face was overcome with a sickening, chestire cat worthy grin. She wanted an adventure. She was going to get one.

Maybe acting wasn't so bad after all.