Editorial
Descent
by R. J. Frogvarian
“But what if you disappear?”
“I will return, in an uncertain amount of time.”
I made nothing of it at the time. It seemed almost routine. You roped your waist and descended into the dark abyss. Slow, steady, sure. I should have spotted the fear in your eyes.
I stood guard every day near that wretched hole. Not a bit of light dared penetrate the darkness. The rope was still stretched and tightly wound, twitching ever so slightly with any bigger movement. I waited and the days went by. Other guards gave nods of your progress, ever so sparse. Then.
The rope went limp.
It all seemed so routine and now I was scared. I would like to say I tried to pull the rope out but I have not. I would like to say I tried to help but I did not. Only a thousand yard stare and my mouth agape.
Others have returned from the darkness. They solemnly shook their heads and said little. I know you’re not dead. They say you are not dead. I hoped you were dead. The dead do not haunt me as much as you do.
I have ventured into the darkness before, of course. We all have. There are depths into which none dare cross. Only the foolish ones have no rope and no guard. Only the truly desperate ones cut their ropes.
I still wait at the edge if the darkness. Lantern lit. The rope, limp. I await even the smallest tug, a sign of return.
I am so very, very scared.
Art of London
The Zong of the Isle
by Ultimoto, Hershel Ingram, Elias Pembleton III, and The Avid Perfectionist
Oh gather round me bully boys!
For a tale of Mutton Isle
Of RNG and devil-girls
And a mask that’s really vile!
The horse that rides a bicycle
A well that’s not (so) swell
The wheels they clack mechanical
And the wounds the zailors quell
The mayors come to celebrate!
But Virginia’s only dour
Her hat is threatened by the ‘Lloyd
And she’s done within the hour
A telling of the mayors past!
The mayor in a chair
Feducci never ever showed
And Jenny was quite fair
A vision from the men of Zee!
The Mountain, the lights, the Flukes!
Sample the feast you scallywags!
Accept your newfound dukes
Hop on, and catch a fish me lad!
The fish are sure to bite
And if they hang us out to dry
Set us up some dynamite!
We wait for the lady in the hood
The RNG is hell
The drowned man slowly, slowly stirs
We’ll join them in the well.
News of Art, Art of News
The Devils’ Circus Takes The Train Stage
It seems that with the election of Lord Mayor Virginia, there are other devils keen on showing their colours. Whether they agree with Lord Mayor’s candidacy or not, the Devils’ Circus has just arrived by the way of Moloch Street train. Their tents are now propped up around the station, a collection of twenty four small yurts spread around nearly chaotically.
There are many wonders to be found within the circus, including a mirror hall, flame jugglers, rubbery sideshow, misfortune teller, a remote refreshments and honey den, and so on. The circus has appeared overnight and quite unexpectedly. While we are quite excited to explore this newly presented novelty, we only have a rudimentary knowledge as one of our journalists is still trapped within the fabrics.
Mariam Plenty, the purveyor of Mrs Plenty’s Carnival, was unfortunately not reachable for a comment on this new occurence. Neither were any other London officials, and we are, frankly, a little freaked out by that.
Still, there is no reason for us to not recommend it – go on and explore the Devils’ Circus, London!
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
Is there no solace for the gloomy and the weary?
Diined
Dear Diined,
None know what the future holds, truly.
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