The Daisy Theory: A Teaser

How far can friendship truly go?

By Snarky LisaPublished 4 months ago • 4 min read

Teaser image by me.

Cheryl Sakurai

London, Ontario, is a small city. Unlike its ever traversed British counterpart, with its skyscraping buildings, bustling social scene 24 hours a day, and rich cultural heritage woven into each inch of its fast-paced neighborhoods, the London I know has always been more reserved.

Few buildings in my hometown are tall. The handful of skyscrapers and apartment complexes higher than 30 stories are relatively new developments — and messy ones at that. Much of the city still isn’t built up, either. Indeed, stretches of grassland and trees litter the landscape of a partially completed suburbia.

To call London, Ontario a tourist hub would be a ludicrous lie. There is hardly anything one could call a “nightlife,” for starters, unless you count the generic university and college student parties that sometimes spill over into town. Most touring artists with a functioning budget wouldn’t dare touch this city either.

During the daytime, a potential tourist’s main entertainment sources only lie in the monuments of obscure Canadian history scattered across town: colonial houses, low-budget collectors’ museums, the artifacts of designated heroes here and there. There are adequately tended parks, but they do not possess any notable natural wonders or festivals to distinguish them from the municipal parks of many other suburbs. No matter how much the city council tries whitewashing things, you are much better off going to see the tourist traps of Niagara Falls or the overcrowded attractions of Toronto than deciding to stumble into London, Ontario, for its name.

This is not to say I resent my hometown. Far from it. My school, Oak Ridge High, is a wonderful building with solid education — at least for university pathway students. The teachers generally do their jobs, and the textbooks and equipment are more than functional.

My two best friends — Glen and Blossom — also attend with me. We aren’t enrolled in many of the same classes, but we hang out whenever we can. They are sometimes quite the personalities with their portal fantasy obsession, but it is a fascination I mostly share as well. We might not really have any friends other than each other, but that’s fine by us. Except for a certain Jared, we get along with our classmates perfectly fine during assignments.

The shops are also sufficiently varied. There are well-stocked groceries, dollar stores, fashion vendors, woodworking suppliers, and computer fixers like in any other generic suburb. The cashiers are nice, and the guest services are reasonably helpful.

Nothing of note happens here.

I like it that way.

April 5th, 2026

Right now, our tour guide for Waterloo is taking us through the physics department. We’re in the study area, a fast food diner-like hall without the fast food. Across from us is a sleek water refill station.

“Got any questions?” the guide asks us.

“Not really,” I respond. “I’ve already been to the open house.”

“Wonderful!” he exclaims. “We’re going to the lecture hall next.”

After visiting the lecture hall, the guide decides to show us a few miscellaneous rooms due to the fact that we have extra time. Among these include the washrooms, the outside of the professor lounges, and a few doors he isn’t sure about. A messily decorated blue door piques my interest.

“Where does that go?” I ask the tour guide.

The tour guide makes a tongue click.

“Eeehhhh…” he hesitates, “nowhere good.”

Blossom raises her pale hand.

“Oooooooh,” Blossom points to what appears to be a mainframe in the room, “those solar panels look cool!”

“Yeah, they’re also made by a total psycho,” the tour guide says. “Anyways…you guys are going to Waterloo next year, right?”

“Just me,” I correct him.

The tour guide takes out a few passes from his pockets. Mixed in with three legitimate looking visitor tickets are orange striped and rather shoddy papers.

“Maybe I could change your friends’ minds for next year,” he muses to me. “I have some extra passes to get you three into the party that’s happening at the dorm tonight. Wanna go?”

Glen stares at both me and Blossom.

“Do you really think we’re getting out of there sober?” he asks us.

“We’re not going to get drugged,” I reassure him. “Also, I think it’ll be fun to experience a bit of university life before September.”

Sure enough, a few hours later — we’re in.

Later That Night

I’ve been partying for a while. God, Glen was right about it being tiring. The crowds are way too heavy, the music is comprised of mid-tier TikTok songs that can’t bother to even attempt a bridge or realistic instruments, and the amount of alcohol nearby is enough to make the vicinity have the odor of a chemistry lab. Glen and Blossom eventually grow tired too, so we decide to sneak back into the physics building after hours with the help of our tour guide.

While our tour guide is away, I start to become nauseous. Somehow, though, I don’t want to throw up either — if only because I have little in my system to throw up besides the half full glass of root beer I drank earlier. Or was it laced with something? I don’t remember.

My friends are busy admiring the mysterious lab that the tour guide wanted to keep off limits for us, but I can’t partake in their joy. Just as I’m about to call for help, I pass out.