Flash Fiction: Steps To Happiness (Patreon)

Steps To Happiness.

You’re going down the stairs. One by one you take them down. Down, down, down, you’ll go until you’re down to your special place, your most favorite place in the world. The place where you can be little and happy and play forever and ever without a care in the world.  You count down with each step, your anticipation and your awareness growing after each step.

Ten. You hear the slight crinkle when you move. You’re wearing your diaper.  Good babies always wear their soft, crinkly, comfortable diapers.  You feel safe and secure in your soft, crinkly, comfortable diapers.

Nine. Your feet are bare.  Babies like you don’t need shoes and socks. You deserve to be comfortable.

Eight. Your lips are sealed around a pacifier. You’re suckling on it gently, controlling your breathing.  It makes you feel so calm.

Seven. You’re holding your stuffed animal, cuddling it close in the crook of your arm.  You’re never alone.

Six. Your other hand is holding your ba-ba. Your ba-ba let’s you carry around your drink without spilling.  It’s great like that.

Five.  Your diaper starts to warm up. That means you’re wetting it. You’re so proud and happy to be wearing it and being able to let go without thinking.  You can go poopy too, and barely even notice until you feel the nice warm, sticky, stinky, squishy mess, start to spread around.  You’re glad you’re not wearing Grown-Up underwear. Grown-Up underwear is so flimsy, and useless.

Four. You take a drink from your ba-ba. You’re so very thirsty from all these stairs.

Three. You’re so tired and sooooo relaxed that you sit down.  You don’t need to walk if you don’t want to.  You scoot forward onto the next step.

Two. Almost there. Only one more silly grown-up thing left to get rid of.  Your big kid words. You cast them aside.

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You wake up in your crib feeling utterly refreshed. Just like it is every day, the railing has dropped for you to get out.  You wait until one of the attendants comes into check you.

“Good morning,” they say.

“Good morning!” You beam back.  Filled with happy, bubbly energy from a good night’s sleep.

“Time to get up! You’ve got a lot of playing to get to!”  

You roll out of your crib and stand up.  All of your muscles are so wonderfully relaxed. It’s as if you sunk right down into the bottom of your crib mattress.  This recovery center is unconventional, but it is everything you ever desired.

“Will it be diapers or undies today?” The nice attendant asks.

“Diapers,” you say without hesitation.  You never thought you’d give up wearing your regular underwear, but these diapers are. You always feel so safe and secure in them. They’re so soft, crinkly, and comfortable.  By comparison, you realize, Grown-Up underwear is so flimsy, and useless.

“Thought so,” the attendants, practically sings. “I think we can throw these Grown-Up undies out.  You won’t be needing them.”

Damn straight.  If you can get away with it, you plan to wear diapers every day that you’re hear at this stress rehabilitation center.  It took a couple days, but you’ve completely bought in.  “Okay.”

You hop up and let your thoughts drift while your diaper is changed.  Being literally pampered every day since you got here has been the best thing for your stress.  You seriously hope that you’re able to take this sense of peace with you when you walk out the doors.  But you know, deep down, they’ll give you the techniques you need to cope with everyday life.  

Eventually.

The last few days have been something of a waiting period.  Acclimation.

Later on, in the playroom you’re toddling and crinkling along with your Teddy in one hand and your ba-ba in the other.   You see one of your friends. They’re crawling on their hands and knees. That’s odd. They hadn’t done that before.

“Hey,” you ask them. “What’s up?”

“Not me,” they giggle.  

“Why are you crawling?”

Lazily they flop all the way down to the floor, which honestly, isn’t that far of a drop. “I don’t know. I just feel really relaxed.  Why walk if I don’t have to?”

Something about that causes you to frown.  This all seems really familiar.

“Grown-Up underwear is so flimsy and useless.”  

You turn on your heel and see one of the newer patients.  “What did you say?”

“I said ‘Grown-Up underwear is so flimsy and useless.’”  That’s what you thought they said.  Yesterday, they were one of the patients who were throwing an absolute shit fit about the treatment program’s use of diapers and other infantile accouterments. Now, they’re saying literally the same thing you were thinking to yourself.  

Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of your diaper warming. That means you’re wetting it. You’re so proud and happy to be wearing it and being able to let go without thinking. You can go poopy too, and barely even notice until you feel the nice warm, sticky, stinky, squishy mess, start to spread around.  You’re glad you’re not wearing Grown-Up underwear. Grown-Up underwear is so flimsy, and useless.

“Did you have a dream last night?” You ask the new patient.  “About stairs?”


They blink in thought, before finally replying. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Because I had the same dream.”

“Oh.” They say. “Neat.”

They turn to go around, but you stop them. “No, no, no. Don’t you get it?  You used to hate wearing diapers. Now you don’t.”

“Diapers make me feel safe and secure.”  

It’s like you’re having your goddamn mind read! Or more accurately, both your minds are being overwritten.

You start whisper, suddenly afraid to get the attention of any of the people who work here.  “I think we’re being hypnotized”

“Oh,” they say.  “Okay.” And they try to leave.

“They’re turning us into big babies!” You hiss after them.

“So?”

“I don’t want to be a baby!” You hear the lie the second you say it and it’s infuriating.  You do want to be a baby.  You really do.  Good babies don’t lie.  “Or I do, but I know I shouldn’t.”

“But you do.”

“But I  didn’t used to!”

“But you do”

“But I shouldn’t!”

“But you do.”

One of the attendants interrupts. “Is something the matter, little ones?”  You never noticed how off putting being talked to like a child should be, until now.

You shake your head and stick your pacifier in your mouth. Your lips are sealed around it. You’re suckling on it gently, controlling your breathing.  It makes you feel so calm. You bring up your Teddy so that you feel so alone.

“They’re mad that we’re being hypnotized and turned into big babies,” the traiter levels their finger at you.  “I don’t care.  I just want to be happy.”

“That’s very good,” the attendant nods to the Benedict Arnold. They give the traitor a pat on the head “As for you,” they say.  “I think you’ll feel much better after a nap.”

They lead you out of the playroom and into the nearest nap room. The cribs there have bars on the top, and they don’t come down on their own.  

“Go ahead and finish your ba-ba” they instruct. “It’ll help you get nice and sleepy.”

Wanting to be a good baby and hating it, you spit your pacifier out and start nursing on the milk.  It helps the anxiety, but not by much. You were checked in here because of stress, and look…just when you were starting to feel good, more stress.

Your eyelids start to get heavy.  You’re terrified, but also hopeful. Maybe when you wake up, the center’s methods won’t seem so bad.

You just want to be happy.