Amina smiles.
“Everything’s ominous when you haven’t pooped in four days,” Cher mutters.
“But I am also a germaphobe who has not showered in twelve days. So frankly, little creature, we are both disgusting.” Amina smiles
goes next. He recites Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” with his eyes closed. At four minutes, the Dthrip touches his earlobe. He whispers “Alas, poor Yorick” and then shrieks “I AM NOUGHT BUT A COWARD!” He runs. The Dthrip does not chase. It returns to the chair.
“You will hear your own fear. Amplified. In your bones. No one has lasted the full ten minutes. The record is six minutes and forty-two seconds. That contestant now refuses to say the word ‘Dthrip’ and sleeps with all the lights on.” So frankly, little creature, we are both disgusting
A scroll is delivered by a producer dressed as a minor Greek god (Hermes, probably—though the wings are taped on).
The host, Dimitri (a man who once ate a scorpion live on air without blinking), gestures grandly. He whispers “Alas, poor Yorick” and then shrieks
tries mindfulness. “I am a tree,” she whispers. The Dthrip climbs her arm. At five minutes, she feels its filaments stroke her neck. She twitches. The Dthrip’s hum becomes a shriek inside her skull—her own childhood fears, her mother’s voice, every bad review. She screams “GET ME OUT OF HERE” before Dimitri can even ask. Her crown is forfeit. Only Kai and Dr. Amina remain.