--The Pet: Story One--

"I wouldn’t go in there if I were you."

Daria paused, one hand poised to knock on Trent’s door. Slowly, she lowered her hand and turned to face Jane.

"Why not?"

"It’s not another girl if that’s what you’re thinking. No, wait. Actually, it is."

Daria raised an eyebrow. Jane nodded, more to herself than to Daria and leaned up against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Although, I don’t know how he can stand to have her around. I mean I would have killed her by now. Just taken my shoe and—squish!"

Daria frowned and glanced between Jane and Trent’s door. "Shoe? Squish?" Why did she have the feeling she was missing something here?

"And not to mention her little minions. They get everywhere! They’d drive me insane! I mean it—squish, squish, squish!"

"What are you talking about?"

Jane focused on Daria. "I think this is something you’ll have to see for yourself."

"You just said not to go in there."

Jane shrugged. "Darned if you do, darned if you don’t." She turned to go back to her room muttering under her breath. "I swear, though, if they get in my room, they will die. All of them. I’ll hunt them down, one by one…"

Daria watched Jane close the door behind her, still talking to herself. She stood in the hallway, wondering if asking Trent for a ride was worth whatever was behind that door.

"It can’t be that bad," she said, reaching for the doorknob. "It can’t be."

Still, it took her five minutes to get her fingers wrapped around the knob, and another five to turn it.

It was worse than she thought. There were piles of clothes everywhere. Plates with half eaten food littered the floor. Trent himself was asleep on his bed, head turned to the wall, one arm dangling over the edge, clad only in pants. The mess and Trent’s disarray had nothing to do with the nausea that twisted her stomach and nearly sent her fleeing to the bathroom. The cause of that were the ants that crawled over everything. Little red ants. Millions of them. They moved in and out and around and under and over everything. Including Trent.

Daria put a hand on her stomach. ‘Oh, god…’ she thought. Then a mole on Trent’s stomach moved. Daria focused on it. It was the queen, huge and fat and round. It crawled across Trent and down into his belly button where it made itself at home.

Trent grunted.

Daria gagged.

--The Pet: Story Two--

Quinn rummaged through the fridge, frowning in irritation.

"No diet soda? How can we have no diet soda? What are they trying to do to me?" she grumbled darkly. Huffing angrily, she gave up and settled for a glass of juice. She grumbled quietly to herself as she headed upstairs.

Quinn was certain Daria was behind this. Last week Daria had switched her favorite lipstick with a black one. The Fashion Club had nearly crucified her. The week before, she’d replaced all of Quinn’s Fashion Club low fat, low cal snacks with the most fattening food she could find. The Fashion Club had nearly crucified her.

"Stupid Daria. Stupid Sandi."

Quinn marched down the hall, determined to give Daria a piece of her mind. She only got as far as reaching for the doorknob when a strange sound caused her to freeze.

Daria was laughing. Really laughing. Laughing like someone had tied her to a chair and was tickling her. A happy kind of laughter.

Quinn swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. Something was amusing Daria on the other side of the door. Should she open it or not?

Daria continued to laugh.

Curiosity got the better of Quinn, and, steeling her nerves, she cracked open the door.

Daria was sitting at her computer, apparently playing a game from the way her mouse hand was moving. Her head obscured Quinn’s view, forcing Quinn to creep into the room. Silently, she stepped up behind Daria. She took in the scene and gasped in horror.

On the screen were rows of purple puppies with large eyes and floppy ears. They were the most adorable things Quinn had ever seen. Daria moved the mouse across the screen, another burst of laughter escaping her as their heads popped off, flying into the air, and blood spurted from the stumps that, at one point, were necks.