Serial — Midiculous

The final episode of the definitive Midiculous Serial has not yet been made. But we can imagine it. The protagonist wakes up. They brush their teeth. They go to work. They come home. They eat dinner. They go to sleep. The credits roll. There is no music. There is no final twist. There is only the sound of a refrigerator humming—that ancient, mechanical sigh—and the quiet, unbearable knowledge that tomorrow, it will happen again.

We are living through an epidemic of low-grade dread . The Midiculous Serial is the only art form that has successfully metabolized this condition. It validates our suspicion that the small things are not small. That the passive-aggressive note on the refrigerator is, in fact, a declaration of war. That the friend who takes three days to reply to a text is engaged in a calculated act of psychological violence. midiculous serial

By J. H. Vale