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The Pit of Despair by Brandon Mead
There’s a meme floating around about 2020 using images and dialogue from a scene in the 1987 classic The Princess Bride. A young, thin Cary Elwes wakes-up strapped to a table, prepped for what looks like torture, when he asks a ghoulishly painted figure above him, “Where am I? Like Westly, most of us are asking that same question about the unfamiliar surroundings we’ve found ourselves in, the darkness that is this year. To that question, in a strained raspy voice, 2020 has replied, “The pit of despair.” Right now, there are holes ripping through the bottom of the unicorn house slippers I used to rarely put on. The only laundry…
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In Fair the Rona, Where We Lay Our Scene by Brandon Mead
The biggest disappointment in all this is that even though I thoroughly inspect my refrigerator every twenty minutes, no portals have appeared. There are no alternate realities to hide in, no Narnias or Platforms to a wizard school to coast through this strange world we have found ourselves in. The start to this new decade could be put up against the majority of fictional dystopias and come out a real contender. But, all that said, regardless of the fact that the same carton of soy milk and half an onion greet me every time I attempt to stress-snack—that I have located no gateways to Wonderland nor 2015—I really don’t mind…
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The Worst Bathroom I Have Ever Been In by Brandon Mead
All I wanted to do was wash my hands after paging through the back issues of Bear Magazine that had been casually left on one of the tables of the dimly lit atmosphere of The Pony in downtown Seattle. The erotic fiction and personal ads had all been from 1998, and my boyfriend and I assumed the fluids on them were probably just as vintage. Feeling my way toward the back area of the bar, I was greeted by the usual line of urinals and single stall, with the only slightly unexpected addition of a well-used gloryhole. This was no ordinary gloryhole. It hadn’t been carved hastily with a pocket…