Something else happened while I was on holiday: My short story “The Lost City of Emory Winters” has been published by The Big Click. Their wonderful noir page design really adds another level, doesn’t it?
My story was inspired by two of M. John Harrison’s tweets earlier this year (“suicide note as a greeting” / “lost in the stairwell”). In a tweet-sized review Zali Krishna called it “entropic kipple noir”. Hope you’ll enjoy it.
Now *this* town is the exact opposite of a labyrinth. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get lost there. Every single street and alleyway seems to lead down to the harbour.
3 levels. (Barred entryways.)
Trying very hard to get lost (and failing).
totalTV (and Eiffel Tower).
The way through.
Ton, Steine, Scherben (in the pavement).
Dissonance (more satellite dishes).
Leaving the well-trodden path. (Sentinels on the hill.)
Getting lost deliberately.
Definitely approaching… somewhere.
Clocktower (St Michael’s Church).
Definitely in the zone.
Time is relative.
Alleyway (2nd level of reality).
Alleyway (3rd level of reality).
The other side of that portal in Betina? (If so, what’s in the dark space in-between?)
Leaving the zone. (Dystopia.)
This village is a genuine labyrinth of alleyways. If I lived there, I’m sure I could lose any potential pursuer in under a minute.
Before the main feature: a prophecy (on the way to Betina).
Prophecy fulfilled (don’t be alarmed: I don’t drive).
The common sea slinky.
Dalí (I wish)
Just what I was looking for. (Proceed with caution.)
Enter the labyrinth.
…The world’s sexiest saint.
At the heart of the zone.
Every route from here…
The Village after all?