A Girl’s Guide To Love In The Big City

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personal stories: The Mean Reds, by Holly G.

The City is not good for me. I came here to make it, make it big—and still I am small, a speck of dust in the grime that collects on the surface of things, the grime that is a by-product of the hustle and bustle of the City, the grime in the shadows, away from the city lights.

I no longer bother to peer at my face in the mirror. I know what I will see: the City’s face, hard and unrelenting. It is the face I share with the laborer who bumps into me in the alley of small eateries between two gigantic malls; the salesgirl on break, slurping her soup; the tot that accosts me like a veteran bully, demanding a coin.

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Freeborn in the City of Fallacies

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His weary heart surfaced a question.

“Valle Paradox,” answered Freeborn.

Valle Paradox: where shamed academics live on in feudal chaos, debating their flawed theories ad naseum, casting misshapen temporalgorithms into the cubic ether and warping actuality with every barbed, non-canonical entry into the world’s spatialgebra. Valle Paradox: the anus of hypotheses, the blasphemous academy of the failed postulation, filled with polygauchos, parallellamas, and concaverines locked in tedious, eternal debate. Valle Paradox: home of the Nimble Riddles, as far from the pool of knowledge as one could get within the country of Logic, shaded by twin mountains that flanked the northern gate from the lands of Reason. When good sense falters, it enters Valle Paradox.

“And so shall we,” he said, “for La Sphinx’s implication points here. This is ‘where one and one adds up to nothing’.”

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Escape

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The last foe fell to the blows of the Whirling Lobster’s good claw, emitting a tart smell as it melted in the dappled forest floor.

“Well,” the Stickman said, breaking the heavy silence. “And that’s that.”

In the aftermath of the furious battle, the three companions stood closely together, their noses pinched and proof against the disagreeable odor, little understanding how fortunate they were to have survived the unanticipated assault.

The Whirling Lobster, whose sensitive nostrils had almost succumbed to olfactory attack, sighed. “I cannot, for the life of me, see why some hearts simply go sour.”

“Some things are simply that way, I suppose,” the Stickman said, gingerly stepping over a curdled corpse that was dissipating in the disinclined breeze. “If you keep hoping-“

“There is nothing wrong with hoping,” interrupted the Whirling Lobster. “For some, it is all they have.” Continue reading →

A Night On Antioch Lane

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It was a cold December evening in Carbuncle City. A wet coat of snow glowed neon pink and green, reflecting the lights of Antioch Lane. A trio of figures moved down the street, oblivious to the fourth figure that stalked them like an eager predator.

Fresh from foiling another invasion by the hekacthonic thralls of Doctor Demodious, Figaro, Radiant Dame and Depression Dan were ready to get high, get wasted and party through Carbuncle City’s infamous club circuit. Continue reading →

Triskaidekaturions

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Briefings

“Let me see if I get this right. My instructions are to – shut up and let you do all the talking?”

“Yes, Ms. Graham. Tommy’s words exactly.”

“I see. Did Tommy – the Director – mention anything else, Dr. Morales? Perhaps something concerning the mission?”

“Call me Richie. Here’s the mission briefing that you can read on the way to Half Moon Bay.”

“I’m fairly certain that we’re not supposed to keep any sort of paper documentation, that’s why we were assigned smartpads with AES-256 –“

“Yeah, but they tend to fail when you need them. Now, read and memorize the stuff I gave you; we have to burn them before we arrive on site.”

“Oh. You’re Richard Morales.”

“Richie.”

“The one from the Philippines.” Continue reading →