Normal

 

Every morning, Marcy woke to sunshine at precisely 7:03 a.m., the smell of toast she didn’t make, and the same cheerful voice chirping from the radio: “Good morning, Normalton! Another perfect day!”

Outside, Mr. Ellison was always trimming his hedge with blunt scissors, humming “Yankee Doodle.” Mrs. Pilcher watered her roses with a watering can shaped like a goose. A bluebird pooped on the same rusted mailbox—hers—every morning at 7:46.

No matter what she did, it happened exactly the same.

People greeted her the same way too. 

"Morning, Marcy!"

"How do you feel today?"

"Looking almost normal!"

That last one always came with a wink.

Marcy tried everything. Wore different clothes. Danced in the street. Screamed during church. Ate gravel. Set the bakery sign on fire (it still read “Fresh Pies” the next morning).

But each day reset with eerie precision. Only she remembered. Only she changed.

One morning, she looked in the mirror and her eyebrows were gone. The next, her freckles had vanished. Then her hair was the perfect shade of auburn, even though she’d always been blonde.

That’s when she found the note. Tucked in her closet, under a single neatly folded towel.

“You’re making progress. 61% Normal.”

Marcy laughed. It sounded sharp and paper-thin.

That night, unable to sleep, she climbed onto her roof and saw them. The townspeople. They were gathered in a perfect circle around the flagpole in the square, holding glowing clipboards. Faces calm. Smiling. Eyes glassy.

A voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere: “All in favor of removing the gap between her two front teeth?”

A sea of hands rose.

“Motion carried.”

Marcy backed away, heart slamming in her ribs. She whispered to herself, “I’m not crazy. This isn’t normal.”

The sky blinked.

The next morning, the tooth gap was gone. And Marcy was 72% Normal.

She doesn’t scream anymore. She wears the dress with daisies. She waves at Mr. Ellison. She eats the toast. She laughs at the right time, and doesn’t mind the bird poop.

And every night, from somewhere behind her eyes, she hears the voice: “Almost there.”

***

352 words

Groundhog Day meets the Twilight Zone.