His tacky sequined shirt clung to his arms, and he writhed in discomfort. An armful of bangle bracelets that could only be described as obnoxious clattered every time he moved. “Can’t we just skip to the killing part already?” he muttered under his breath. Vicari Nimis hated waiting. Whether it was waiting for a grocery-store check out line or waiting for his Pop-Tarts to finish tarting already, Vicari just couldn’t find the patience. (Blowtorching his Pop-Tarts, he found, was /much/ more efficient. Though, admittedly, his lack of control caused his sister’s favorite recipe book to accidentally turn into a pile of ash. Oops.) “It’s not /my/ fault the algebra teacher wouldn’t quit yapping,” twelve-year-old Vicari had whined when asked to explain why he kept chucking sticky note airplanes at the cracks in the ceiling. In his defense, factoring polynomials was /really/ boring. “If ChatGPT can do it for me, then why even bother?” Of course, that kind of logic only landed him in the detention office. When his stylist first brought out that flashy, glitzy, garish outfit, Vicari thought it was a joke. “Very funny,” he’d scoffed, leaning to look behind her. “So where’s the actual thing?” His response was a tossed faceful of sequined fabric. Fifteen minutes later, Vicari couldn’t even bear to look in the mirror. //I /sincerely/ hope this amateur gets fired,// he thought. “I know,” she’d commented shakily. //Wait, she can read minds?// For a moment, he’d worried that he’d spoken aloud. But then, she’d revealed herself to be even stupider than Vicari thought. “I was left speechless, too,” she’d whispered in an awestruck breath. Were those… tears in her eyes? Vicari had squinted in disbelief. //You’ve gotta be kidding me.// Presently, Vicari was fighting the urge to make a run for it. His chariot was next, and he hadn’t found a way out of the fashion horror he’d been gifted. He wanted to die. //Well, I guess that dream’s coming true pretty soon,// he thought bitterly. The curtains parted again, and before he knew it, he was faced with masses of cats. The colored lights bounced off of his sequined shirt, casting spots of pink and blue across the stage. He felt like a freaking disco ball. Capitol cats oohed and aahed over the dancing lights, as if he was some sort of object and not an actual person. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled. But then, Vicari’s face broke into a manic smile. //Is that…// “A hologram machine!” The excited whisper escaped him as his eyes gleamed. Buttons dotted all inches of the beloved technology. Immediately, the gears in his mind started turning. Being the troublesome brat he was, Vicari had broken into his school’s computer lab multiple times. Messing with the district’s projector backdrops, announcement systems, and fire alarms was just one way he kept occupied in the literal most lifeless building in the world. So when he spotted the hologram box just a few feet away from him, his boredom vanished in an instant. Sliding his bangle bracelets off of his wrist– //Those things needed to go anyway,// he remarked snidely– he aimed for the closest box. Its thin streams of light formed virtual foods that dotted the entire banquet table. //Here goes nothing,// he thought. Years of middle-school trashketball had trained him well. Vicari’s first bangle missed the mark by a couple of inches, and the next hit dead-on. The nondescript switch on the upper corner turned bright red. Immediately, duplicate holographic hors d'oeuvres began popping up around the audience. A cloned sandwich here, a glitched pastry there. A smattering of applause sounded from the cats who’d been watching him, and Vicari absentmindedly took a bow. His deranged grin couldn’t be wiped off his face for the rest of his evening– not even by his glittery shirt, which, miraculously, didn’t seem that bad anymore. //Guess this thing might be fun after all.//
parade
