Madison’s World Redux: Season Two: Episode Sixty Three

This is the last Madison’s World post of the week due to Thanksgiving in America. Episode Sixty Four will post Monday at its normal time. In celebration of the 100th episode of Madison’s World Redux there is a special episode featuring Little Mart posting today as well. Safe travels to those stateside. Happy hump day to the international crowd. 

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Cindy awoke to the soft hum of the habitat’s ventilation system, a constant reminder of the artificial environment that now confined her. The bed beneath her was small but adequate, yet as she stretched out her arm, she was startled to find the space beside her empty. Greg wasn’t there. A surge of panic jolted her fully awake.

“Greg?” she whispered into the dimness, her voice barely more than a breath. There was no response.

She bolted upright, her heart pounding in her chest. Peering over the edge of the lofted bed, she scanned the lower level of the habitat. The sparse furnishings offered little concealment—a simple couch and a few scattered personal items that Madison had deemed acceptable for them to keep. There was nowhere for Greg to be hiding.

Descending the ladder swiftly, Cindy’s bare feet touched the cool floor. She moved through the space quickly, her eyes darting to every corner, but it was futile. He was nowhere to be found.

A knot of worry tightened in her stomach. Where could he be? she thought, her mind racing. He wouldn’t just leave without telling me… would he?

Approaching the glass wall that separated the habitat from Madison’s bedroom, Cindy pressed her palms against the cool surface. The transparency of the barrier was both a blessing and a curse, it allowed her to see out, but also served as a stark reminder of her captivity.

Beyond the glass, Madison lay sprawled across her bed, tangled in a sea of blankets. Her chest rose and fell in the deep, untroubled rhythm of sleep. The soft glow of early morning filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room.

“Madison!” Cindy called out, her voice muffled by the thick glass. She pounded her fists against the barrier, the impact sending a dull ache up her arms. “Madison, wake up!”

But the only response was Madison’s gentle snoring, a sound that both frustrated and saddened Cindy. The vast difference in their sizes rendered her efforts almost meaningless. To Madison, the noise was probably no more than the faint tapping of a raindrop against a windowpane.

She glanced at the digital clock on Madison’s bedside table—it was only eight in the morning. A sigh escaped her lips. Of course, she thought bitterly. Madison never wakes up before noon on weekends. Without anyone to intervene or enforce a schedule, there was little hope of her stirring anytime soon.

Cindy pressed her forehead against the glass, the coolness soothing her throbbing temples. A sense of helplessness washed over her, more profound than any she’d felt since this nightmare began. She was utterly dependent on her daughter—not just for basic needs but for information, for any semblance of control over her own life.

He must be with McKenzie, she reasoned, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety. McKenzie had mentioned that Greg might stay with her overnight, but Cindy had dismissed it as casual talk, not expecting it to actually happen. But what if… Doubt gnawed at her. Does she have a habitat for him? Is he safe? He’s smaller, weaker… more fragile.

The thought of Greg, vulnerable and alone, stirred a protective instinct within her. She longed to reach him, to ensure he was alright, but there was nothing she could do. No way to contact anyone. No way to leave. She was, in every sense, trapped.

She turned away from the glass, the realization sinking in like a stone. The habitat, though designed to mimic a comfortable living space, suddenly felt like a cage. The walls seemed closer, the air thicker. Time stretched out before her, an expanse of empty hours with nothing to fill them but her own restless thoughts.

Cindy paced the perimeter of the habitat, her footsteps echoing softly against the carpeted floor. She glanced at the few belongings they had, Madison must have finished setting up configuring her old phone as it now sat resting against the wall. She knew it would only display content Madison had pre-approved, none of which would offer any real distraction.

She attempted to busy herself, straightening the already neat couch cushions, But the actions felt hollow, offering no real solace. Her mind kept drifting back to Greg, to the uncertainty of his whereabouts, to the impotence of her current state.

Sinking onto the couch, she stared up at the ceiling. Tiny patterns in the material formed shapes that her mind tried to organize, a futile attempt to distract herself. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint sounds of Madison’s slumber and the ever-present hum of the ventilation.

Is this what my life has become? she wondered, a mix of anger and despair welling up inside her. Waiting for my own daughter to wake up so I can find out if my husband is safe? Powerless to do anything on my own?

She thought back to when she was the one who orchestrated the family’s days, her schedule packed with meetings, events, and responsibilities. How she would wake early, relish the quiet morning hours before the household stirred. Now, she was confined to this artificial environment, every aspect of her existence dictated by someone else.

Time dragged on. Minutes felt like hours. She considered trying to read s book despite the difficulty on the phone or watching some little content for some background noise, but the thought of those shallow distractions only intensified her frustration.

Her stomach growled softly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten. Even that, she mused bitterly, is out of my control. She couldn’t access food without Madison’s assistance, couldn’t even follow her body’s basic needs without permission.

She returned to the glass wall, watching Madison sleep. Her daughter looked so peaceful, so unaware of the turmoil just a few feet away. Cindy’s gaze softened momentarily. She’s still so young, she reminded herself. This is hard on her too.

But empathy quickly gave way to impatience. If only she would wake up…

Cindy tapped her fingers against the glass in a rhythmic pattern, a subconscious attempt to fill the silence. She hummed a tune she used to sing to Madison when she was a child, the melody bringing a bittersweet comfort.

Finally, she sank down against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait and hope that when Madison finally awoke, she would be willing to listen, to answer questions, to maybe even show a sliver of compassion.

The hours ahead loomed long and empty. Cindy closed her eyes, taking deep, measured breaths. She needed to stay calm, to conserve her energy. This helplessness won’t last forever, she told herself, clinging to the fragile thread of optimism. I have to believe that.

But as the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, the weight of her situation pressed down heavier than ever. She was a Little now—a reality that was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. And in this moment, all she could do was wait.

Cindy moved restlessly between the small couch and the lofted bed in the habitat, her footsteps echoing softly in the confined space. Sleep had been elusive, and her mind was a whirlwind of worry about Greg’s whereabouts. She tried to distract herself, straightening the already tidy cushions, counting the faint patterns on the ceiling, but nothing could quell the gnawing anxiety within her.

When she finally heard the rustle of sheets and the soft murmur of Madison stirring awake, a surge of genuine excitement welled up inside her. She hated how desperately she craved her daughter’s attention, but the need to know if Greg was safe overpowered her pride. Maybe now I can find out what’s happened to him.

Peering through the transparent wall, she saw Madison sit up in bed, her hair tousled and eyes bleary with sleep. For a fleeting moment, Cindy felt a pang of tenderness. Madison looked so young, so vulnerable, reminding her of the little girl who used to crawl into her bed after a nightmare. But the warmth faded quickly as Madison reached for her phone, the screen casting a cold, blue light across her face.

Every few seconds, Cindy heard snippets of videos, the jarring sounds of exaggerated laughter, catchy tunes, and rapid dialogue. Occasionally, Madison’s own laugh would ring out, or the rapid tapping of her fingers would break the silence. She’s just going to sit there and watch videos? Cindy thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

An hour slipped by, each minute stretching into an eternity. Cindy’s initial excitement gave way to impatience, then simmering irritation. She paced the perimeter of the habitat, glancing repeatedly at the clock on Madison’s nightstand. Doesn’t she realize I need to talk to her?

When Madison finally swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, Cindy’s heart leaped. She rushed to the transparent wall, waving her arms frantically. “Ms. Wessen!” she called out, her voice muffled and likely inaudible through the thick glass. She pounded her fists against the barrier, the vibrations barely perceptible to someone Madison’s size.

Madison began walking toward the bedroom door, seemingly oblivious. Desperation surged within Cindy. She jumped up and down, her movements becoming more frantic. Please, look this way!

At last, Madison paused, her gaze drifting toward the habitat. A slow smile spread across her face as she observed her mother’s animated display. The sight was, admittedly, comical, Cindy, so small and agitated, like a character in a silent film desperately trying to convey urgency.

A smirk tugged at Madison’s lips. After all the times she barged into my room, waking me up at dawn, dragging me out of bed to do chores or attend some event… she mused. Now look who’s impatient.

She stood there for a moment, deliberately taking her time. The roles had reversed, and Madison felt a strange mix of satisfaction and pity. Maybe I don’t feel like talking right now, she thought. Maybe my Little needs to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around her.

It was, after all, one of the first lessons her mother had taught her about Littles, that they needed to learn patience, to understand their place. They were expected to wait until they were needed.

But as Madison watched Cindy continue her frantic gestures, a flicker of curiosity sparked within her. What could she be so desperate about? Despite herself, she felt a twinge of concern.

Her curiosity got the better of her. With a soft sigh, Madison walked over to the habitat, her footsteps causing subtle vibrations that Cindy could feel through the floor.

Cindy’s eyes widened with relief as Madison approached. She pressed her palms against the glass, her face a mixture of hope and urgency. “Ms. Wesen, please!” she mouthed, knowing her words might not carry through.

Madison knelt down to be at eye level with the habitat. “What is it, Mom?” she asked, her tone neutral but edged with mild impatience.

Cindy gestured helplessly. “I need to talk to you,” she said, hoping her voice would reach her daughter.

“Check this out mom. I installed it last night.” Madison tapped a button on the side of the habitat, activating the built-in speaker system that allowed for two-way communication. “There, now I can hear you with a push of the button. It was inconvenient having to lift the lid. What’s so important?” Madison said anxious to hear if it would work. Supposedly it would automatically shut off after 5 minutes if a person didn’t say anything or a guardian could double tap the button and it would stay on for a few hours. But she doubted she would use the latter.

Taking a deep breath, Cindy tried to steady her voice. “Where is Greg? He wasn’t here when I woke up. Is he okay?”

Madison rolled her eyes slightly. “Dad is with McKenzie. She said he might stay over in her room last night.”

Cindy frowned, a mixture of relief and frustration. “She mentioned it, but I didn’t realize she was serious. I was worried something might have happened to him.”

“He’s fine,” Madison replied, her tone dismissive. “McKenzie is taking good care of him.”

Cindy hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “Can I… can I see him? Just to make sure?”

Madison sighed, glancing at the time on her phone. “Maybe later. I have plans today. I’m going out with Brooklyn, Krysi, and Emma. ”

“Please, Ms. Wessen,” Cindy implored. “I haven’t eaten yet, and I… I was hoping we could talk. Maybe you could let me out for a bit?”

Madison raised an eyebrow. “The pellets are in the dispenser on the second floor. You know how to access them.”

Cindy swallowed hard, choosing her words carefully. “The pellets aren’t enough. I’ve been working hard, and I need real food to keep my strength up.”

Madison studied her mother for a moment, a hint of skepticism in her eyes. “You know the rules. Good behavior earns rewards. You’ve been… well, a bit impatient this morning.” Madison said knowing the pellets would plenty fill her up. Her mother was just being defiant and not eating enough of them.

Cindy felt a surge of frustration. “Impatient? Ms. Wessen, I’ve been waiting for hours just to speak with you!”

Madison’s expression hardened. “And now you’re raising your voice at me. Not exactly earning those privileges, are you?”

Realizing she’d overstepped, Cindy took a step back, her shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just… worried.”

Madison sighed, some of the rigidity leaving her posture. “Look, Mom, I get that this is hard for you. But you need to understand that things are different now. You have to be patient and follow the rules.”

Cindy nodded slowly, biting back her retort. “I understand.”

“Good,” Madison replied. “Maybe later, if I have time, we can talk more. For now, just… try to relax.”

Without waiting for a response, Madison stood up and turned away, heading toward the door. “I’ll be back later to change before I go,” she called over her shoulder.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Cindy alone once more. The brief interaction had only intensified her feelings of isolation and helplessness. She pressed her forehead against the glass, watching as Madison disappeared from view.

So this is what it’s come to, she thought bitterly. Begging for scraps of attention from my own daughter.

She turned away from the transparent wall, the artificial cheeriness of the habitat mocking her mood. The emptiness of the space echoed her own sense of loneliness. With a heavy sigh, she sank down onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest.

I have to find a way to regain some control, she resolved. I can’t go on like this.

But as the silence enveloped her, the weight of her situation pressed down heavier than ever. For now, all she could do was wait—and hope that, in time, things might change.

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