Humdrum Places - BlogFlock

🕹️ Pirates and vampires - foofaraw

2026-05-10T21:42:46.000Z

🆕 On the Shelves

🤖👧 Pragmata

Developer: CAPCOM Co., Ltd.
Publisher: CAPCOM Co., Ltd.

Pragmata is a unique, sci-fi action-adventure game from Capcom. Follow Hugh, a member of an ill-fated investigation team, and Diana, a young android, as they navigate a lunar facility taken over by rogue AI in search of a way to Earth.

Pragmata has one of the most unique battle systems where you are forced to multitask your way through fights. You, the protagonist daddy figure, have standard weapons with which to take down the enemy droids: pistol, machine gun, shotgun, etc. However, at the same time, you have Diana riding along on your back, hacking into robots to make them pop open like faulty transformers. How this plays out on screen is a kind of Nokia 3210 snake game where you guide a line to the exit, stopping along the way to pick up power-ups and inflict more damage.

The game has been making the rounds on all social networks. For a variety of reasons.

First, Capcom sold 1mil units in its first weekend, which is a fantastic result for the company. Especially considering this is a brand-new IP for them—newsworthy, of course. Generally, reviews have been favourable sitting at 86 on Metacritic, and reviews on Steam are overwhelmingly positive as of time of writing. A big success for Capcom.

But, secondly, the game has attracted attention for some other, more sinister reasons. Kotaku writer Kenneth Shepard outlines one issue, starting the piece with:

The first time I played Pragmata was at Summer Game Fest 2025. After the demo, a colleague came up to me and asked what my reading was of Diana, the android made to look like a young girl. We’d only gotten to play around 30 minutes of the game, so I was honest and told her I didn’t have much of an impression of her yet. Then, like a baseball bat to my gut, she told me she was worried the character might be “pedo bait.”

Yeah, pedo bait…

For me, I find it very hard to believe that Capcom would go out of their way to promote a game towards (checks stats in private mode…) 1.2% of the population (that’s the stat I got at least…). For me, Diana represents a lil kid that a much larger portion of the population (yes, males AND females) would want to look after. Occam’s Razor guys. Occam’s razor.

However, yes, some people did have to ruin it for gamers by posting inappropriate content related to the game on the r/Pragamata subreddit. Another Kotaku post outlines the story:

Reactions to the infantile appearance of Pragmata‘s android protagonist Diana on the r/Pragmata subreddit have prompted one of its moderators to publicly step down from their role, with them citing the overwhelming influx of “pedo shit” as the cause. Another Pragmata community has been shut down altogether by Reddit over inappropriate posts.

The Pragmata community on Reddit has splintered into three distinct subreddits: r/Pragmata, the main subreddit, r/PragmataSFW, a self-described “attempt at building up a sub that isn’t plastered with pedophile dogwhistles,” and r/Pragmata_, which was just banned on February 18 for breaking Reddit’s “Rule 4.” For context, Rule 4 explicitly forbidsthe “sharing of sexual, abusive, or suggestive content involving minors.”

Another criticism raised against the game is that it continues a line of so-called “dad games.” Games where a capable male protagonist is paired with a vulnerable companion, often a young girl, creating a dynamic centred on protection, guidance, and growth (often, the emotional growth of the male protagonist). Games like The Last of Us, God of War, and Resident Evil 4 have helped solidify this trope as both commercially viable and narratively effective.

Of course, these games are fun, and an interesting narrative concept. The problem is that comparable “mom-centred” narratives (where a mother is positioned as the primary playable protector) are far less visible, particularly in big-budget releases.

This imbalance reflects broader assumptions within the industry about target audiences and which relationships are considered marketable. The “dad and child” dynamic has become a familiar template, while alternative caregiving perspectives remain under-explored. As such, the criticism highlights not a flaw in these games themselves, but a limitation in the range of stories the industry continues to prioritize.

🏴‍☠️🌊 Windrose

Developer: Kraken Express
Publisher: Kraken Express

Embark on a PvE survival adventure in the Age of Piracy. Fight on land and sea, solo or with friends. Build, craft and explore vast open world filled with dark secrets. Master soulslite combat and take on challenging bosses, command your ship and plunder unspoken treasures!

This is the biggest indie breakout of April 2026.

A pirate survival game with oodles of charm. The big selling point is the co-op mode which sees you and friends setting up a server similar to games like Rust and Terraria (though more like the former).

It launched in early access mid-month and immediately went viral: over 1 million copies sold in under a week, with peak concurrent players pushing past 200,000 on Steam. Those numbers are AAA, not indie..!

What’s driving it is pretty straightforward:

Drop-in co-op chaos (like the game “Sea of Thieves,” but less polished and more unpredictable.
A heavy focus on emergent gameplay which means players create their own stories rather than following scripted quests, something I am a BIG fan of and is evident in games like Rust, Minecraft, and The Forest.
The kind of jank that actually works in its favor, which reminds me of the game series Just Cause.

📡 On the Radar

🔫 Saros

Sony Interactive Entertainment

Beneath the shadow of an ominous eclipse, Arjun Devraj (Rahul Kohli) is a Soltari enforcer who will stop at nothing to pursue answers on the shape-shifting Carcosa, a world of dark secrets and hostile inhabitants.

Master electrifying bullet ballet combat – intense projectile-focused gameplay with a unique, neon-infused esthetic – to overcome ferocious enemies and spectacular boss fights.

A third-person shooter that has strong roguelike elements and lots of action. From Eurogamer:

You know an action game has the magic when you come out of a sequence thinking “How the hell did I survive that?”

The roguelike element means that each time you die and are reborn, you get experience points to use to power up your protagonist. This allows you to have one more run at that boss you just couldn’t beat on a previous run.

Again, according to the Eurogamer article, Saros relies heavily on its mechanics to keep the player hooked, where the narrative part is less than perfect:

Saros’ action moves so fast that the rest of the game struggles to keep up at times.

As a fan of roguelikes, and as a PS5 Pro owner, I’m interested in this one, as I can have the full bullet hell spectacle running on my TV in 4k. No slow downs for me! 🤘

🍺 Nothing ever happens here

Developer: NoahsArkGames
Publisher: NoahsArkGames

A British life sim set in a real town, with a real Grandad at its core. Can you turn your life around, save his pub, and make something of yourself?

Having played the charming Thank goodness your here which also has a British slice of life (?!) vibe, I’m interested in this one as it offers a glimpse into my own upbringing. My dad used to play in a band—then a duo—in working men’s clubs around the county where I grew up, thus this one strikes very close to home. Though headlines write that the great British pub is in decline—the data shows that there is some stagnation—it’s not all doom and gloom. Pubs are slowly changing from “places where you go to smoke and drink” to eateries that are more open to a diverse clientele. Anyway, I’m getting a bit off-topic.

According to a Polygon article:

“The narrative will cover themes of loneliness, isolation, the plight of the working class, British subcultures in 2011, coming of age… the core of the story is redemption. Your grandad is disappointed and appears cold, but he wants the best for you,” Somers’ explained. By doing up the pub and restoring it to its former glory, you’ll have the opportunity to make your granddad proud.

🍄‍🟫 City of None

Developer: Noel & Liam Berry, Extremely OK Games, Ltd.
Publisher: Extremely OK Games, Ltd.

A metropolis crumbles into ruin as powerful Barons satisfy their greed upon souls lost in time. You are but one spirit, with a wooden body left to rot in the wild…

Coming from the team behind Celeste. Gorgeous pixel art graphics and an 8-bit soundtrack. I haven't played it yet, but it has a strong Hollow Knight aesthetic (Yet, the term "metroidvania" is nowhere to be seen).

🎮 In Rotation

🤓 Vampire Survivors

Mow down thousands of night creatures and survive until dawn! Vampire Survivors is a gothic horror casual game with rogue-lite elements, where your choices can allow you to quickly snowball against the hundreds of monsters that get thrown at you. Be the bullet hell!

Not a new game by a long shot—I’ve played it on both Steam and my phone—but I only just realized it has a co-op mode. That was enough of an excuse to pick it up again after finishing last month’s couch co-op game Reanimal.

My son and I have sunk about 20 hours into VS this month, and damn, it’s done some damage to my brain. I nearly got a migraine earlier this week, and I’m pretty sure VS was the cause. The on-screen flashing toward the end of a run is just insane.

But we can’t get enough of this “normal” game (a running joke in our house whenever my wife or daughter glance at the screen and think, “what the hell is going on?”). There’s actually a ton to do once you’ve cleared each level. The item evolutions are one of the biggest sources of that bullet-hell, dopamine-fueled chaos—taking a weapon from a rapid pea-shooter to a full-on Molotov-launching bazooka. And you can do this with four weapons each—eight beams of complete destruction.

The pacing helps a lot. Each level builds toward that 30-minute mark (and sometimes beyond 😉), with enemy waves growing larger and stronger, keeping the tension consistently high. And, the fact that each run is capped at 30 mins means that my brain and eye damage is only limited.

—James

🔭 The Monster At the End of the Essay - foofaraw

2026-05-10T17:51:28.000Z

What was that? Up there, before you scrolled down. Did that say there's a monster at the end of this essay??? Shit no! My pockets and Pokédex are at capacity!!!

We need a hero (key of A minor), cuz heroes decapitate monsters, and a decapitated monster is, well, gross, but a lot less threatening. Unless you're spiking a Hyperborean rave with Medusa's head. That's from Pindar the poet, not Pindar the wrestler—whom, coincidentally, was ceremonially beheaded. (Sic and sick.)

Noggins aside, keep an eye out for a hydra situation. Cue the Indiana Jones meme: “Why did it have to be multi-headed reptilian quasi-immortals who embody the futility of raging against the machine sans artifice?” Yada yada “Archaeological Fantasies Podcast.” I've been jonesing to shoehorn in their “Indiana Jones and Pseudoarchaeology” episode. It's just within reach… I can get it… I can almost reach it.

Not-so-idle swap: One of the co-hosts, Dr. Jeb Card, also co-hosts “In Research Of,” which boldly seeks out the facts behind the plesiosaur necks and turtlenecks of Leonard Nimoy in “In Search Of.” The whole shebang (#!) was inspired by the delightful “Rachel Watches Star Trek.” I'm catching up on both at warp speed on a used, off-brand mp3 player. (Every time you order from Amazon, a biblically accurate angel deadbeat-fathers a nephilim.)

But you don't have to take my word for it.

Wait, that's the wrong trekker-cum-presenter. I Am Not Geordi La Forge also voices “LeVar Burton Reads,” which is like “Reading Rainbow” ASMR for adults except when he accosts an Irish brogue. Just to be clear, “LeVar Burton Reads” is the actual name of the podcast, not some weird flex or graffiti tag… yet.

Speaking of which, back in March, in a massive attack on fun, Reuters unmasked Banksy, inciting worldwide rewatches of “Exit Through the Gift Shop” and “House”-Not-Holmes—hey, I just got that. The former holds up. The latter is too formulaic for escapist binging. Quick Lupus to detour for the “It's Not” YouTube supercut. (Sic and very sick.)

Let's rejoin our hero quest. “HeroQuest”! You know, that “I Can't Believe It's Not D&D” board game from the 90s. You can enjoy other people enjoying it in the second season of “Danger Things,” a sidequest of the Pathfinder-helmed “The Danger Club Podcast,” in which British actors relive Gen X and Millenial tropes via Kids on Bikes. (Your dodgy German veterinarian mobile mileage may vary.) Ross Harmston, GM for this outing, is a national treasure.

I've cut three hundred-odd words here (#!) about my own “HeroQuest” experiences. I haven't cut the song my wife sang about the Les Edwards barbarian on the box though:

Thundernuts! He has the nuts of thunder!
If you dare fight him, you've made a fatal blunder!
Your heads he will sunder! Your villages plunder!
Thundernuuuuuuts!

Fair warning, this essay ends in a few paragraphs. The furry blue draught is that this is another rickety tour de nostalgia with media recs. (Ross Harmston also hosts “Sequel Pitch,” a shark tank-style movie-lover's podcast.)

Never turn down red pills. Take all the pills, duh.

You know who's “A Real American Hero”? Rafael Concepcion. He's the lone coder David fighting the We-Make-The-Rules-And-Fighting-Fire-With-Fire-Is-Against-The-Rules Goliath of ICE with the app-fuck-Apple's-App-Store-cum-website “DEICER.” WIRED ran a profile on him in late March, though you'll need Level One copypasta skills to step over the paywall.

But a pin-pricking app can't defeat bullies unironically playing Cowboys and Indians. The real challenge is contextualizing this uncivil warfare as something bigger than partisan hackery. The Coke vs. Pepsi turf wars and Yes! We Have No Banana Republics approach to American politics is gossamer thin. Both major parties—and the companies pulling their puppet and purse strings—have already sold your freedoms. Maybe that's a baked-in feature of modern nation states. But throwing out babies with bathwater is neither moral, palatable, nor historically efficacious. (You certainly won't catch me advocating it within earshot of a cellphone.)

Remember the hydra? The monsters are due on Sesame Street.

Well look at that! This is the end of the essay and the only ones here are Jon Stone and Mike Smollin, author and illustrator of “The Monster at the End of This Book.” But their children's classic is just one in a long line of meta-fictional narratives that clue readers into the rigged game. (Thanks, Mom, for reading that book over and over again. And thanks, Mrs. Dietrich, our elementary school librarian, for pushing the similarly self-aware “The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs!” and “The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales,” both by Jon Scieszka and illustrated by Lane Smith.)

Think Plato, not Play-Doh. λόγος, not LEGOs.

Someone on r/MandelaEffect insists there's a version of “There's a Monster at the End of This Book” that ends with a foil mirror. But if the real monster is you, the real monster is me, too. All of us are complicit.

Some more than others, though.

There's a self-published satire by Jeff Whitcher called “The Monster At the End of These Files”, featuring not Grover, but our second two-timer in chief.

Whoops (#!), I'm just another libtard reactivist with Trump Derangement Syndrome. (Sic and oh so sick of this bullshit.)

Oh, I am so embarrassed…

—Nicholas De Marino

Pokopia is my post-gender utopia - The Independent Variable

2026-05-10T17:06:18.000Z

mothership.blog

Friend of the foof, Ellie Black, with a wonderful webcomic for Mothership. Highly, highly recommend!

Dirty Little Zine /// Free 8-Page Printable Zine Maker - The Independent Variable

2026-05-10T17:04:03.000Z

dirtylittlezine.com via library.dirtylittlezine.com

Make a printable 8-page folded zine from a single sheet of paper. Free browser-based editor with photo layout, captions, and 300 DPI JPG/PDF export.

Awesome little tool to help you make single-page zines. More zines please!!! Rick also made a library so folks can share the zines they make with the tool.

🎙️ Maureen Bowden - foofaraw

2026-05-08T21:57:45.000Z

Read Maureen's story, Jigsaw, now!

Are you a big fan of jigsaw puzzles?

I don’t have enough time in the day to do them now but I used to enjoy them very much. I found them a relaxing escape from the stress and anxieties of today’s troubled world and there’s something magical about the emergence of a beautiful picture.

Did you ever run away as a child?

No. I was born and raised in Liverpool and I frequently run back there. I love Anglesey, where I now live but there’s no place on Earth like ‘The Pool.’

Do you have any children of your own?

Yes. My husband and I have a biological son and daughter and an adopted daughter; nine grandchildren; and four great-grandsons. If all goes well there’ll be another great-grandchild in October. We’re all hoping for a girl this time.

If so, have they ever run away from home?

No. We’re stuck with them, but the families all have their own homes now, of course.

If you were to live in the craft centre in Laurel Tree, what do you think your “job” or contribution to the commune would be?

I’d write songs for my husband to sing for the visitors, accompanying himself on one of his many guitars.

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

None. You folk were the first to see it.

What’s a great short story you’ve read recently?

‘Tightening the Knot’ by Richard E. Schell. It’s featured in the January 2026 edition of ‘Shelter of Daylight’ available from ‘Hiraeth Books’ website. It touched a nerve with me.

What book are you reading right now?

‘Unruly’ by David Mitchell. It’s the history of Britain. It’s hysterically funny and absolutely true.

Watch out for ‘The Sound of Gematria’ by my friend Judith Field. It’s available on Amazon and it’s a super scary, sad and funny book. I’m not saying that just because she’s my friend.

Thanks so much to Maureen for chatting with us about puzzles, family, and stories on this wonderful Friday afternoon!

🧩 Jigsaw - foofaraw

2026-05-07T21:43:15.000Z

Mandy hated New Year. It left her feeling desolate, in spite of the whisky and sleeping pills that helped her to function on less harrowing days. It was two years ago, on New Year’s Eve, since her fifteen-year-old son, Charlie, ran away. After a thorough search, full media coverage, and all the usual legal procedures, the police had made no progress and Mandy had given up hope. He’d be seventeen now—no longer a child—and if he were still alive, he’d probably have no use for her.

She recalled the jigsaw puzzle in a plain cardboard box that Heather had given her last year. ‘No pieces missing’ was scribbled on the lid. Heather had said, “I thought it might take your mind off things for a while.”

The box remained under her bed unopened. Why not give it a chance to distract her from her misery? Make a New Year’s Resolution. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mandy. Do the jigsaw and try to smile. She’d forgotten how to do either. It was time to remember. It would also pass the time until she returned to work after the holiday.

She retrieved her jigsaw board from the back of the airing cupboard, placed it on the breakfast table, and emptied the box’s contents onto it. No picture was provided.

The pieces included every shade of every colour, from black as the pit of despair, to summer-sky-blue reminding her of a time when her spirits were high and life was good. She selected those with a straight side and formed the outside edge.

First step completed, she started to fit the pit of despair pieces together. Their blackness evoked memories of her childhood: her father’s death in a street-gang knife attack, her mother’s descent into alcoholism, and herself screaming, as she was taken to ‘Cornflower Meadows’, a council care home for children.

The jigsaw’s completed dark area revealed no distinguishable feature and she moved onto the red shades: scorching splinters that stabbed her consciousness, recalling the confusion and heat of desire she’d experienced with Tyler, another unwanted care home teenager—older than her—nearing his time to leave care and eager to prove his manhood. She was fifteen when she gave birth to their son. Scared and defiant, Tyler refused to take any responsibility. He left the home and vanished from their lives.

She named her baby Charlie and begged Connor, her harassed and overworked social worker, to let her keep him. He said, “I’ve discussed the situation with the management team, Mandy, and persuaded them that with support you have the makings of a good mother.” He grinned. “It gave them an easy way out. They agreed it would be simpler to leave him with you than to have another problem on our hands. We have enough aggravation already. Charlie’s yours.”

Back to the jigsaw. With the red section completed, she moved on to the multicoloured pieces: the yellows, pinks and purples that reminded her of the first time she saw ‘Buds and Blooms Florist’. It came about a few months before her eighteenth birthday when she would be too old to remain at the care home. Connor said, “The florist’s name is Janet. Her husband, Andrew, is something big with the railways. They’ve offered you the small flat above Janet’s shop. Get your coat. I’m taking you to meet them. Bring Charlie.”

She sat in Connor’s car, feeling sick with apprehension, but when they entered the shop the fragrance and colours of the flower arrangements lifted her spirits. Three-year-old Charlie pointed at them and said, “Dey’s pwitty.”

Connor introduced them. Janet and Andrew cooed and fussed over the toddler and they shook Mandy’s hand. Janet said, “I’m looking for an assistant in the shop. Our two elder children are married now and have careers of their own. Our youngest daughter, Heather, isn’t interested. She’s staying on at school and hoping to go to university.”

Mandy said, “She must be very clever. I was pretty useless at school.”

Janet laughed. “Heather’s pretty useless at flower arranging. Nobody’s good at everything, Mandy, but everyone’s good at something. The job’s yours if you want it. The upstairs flat is part of the deal.”

Mandy nodded. “Yes, please.” She pointed to a display of pink roses mingled with silver-leaved foliage. “I wish I could make something as lovely as that.”

“I’ll teach you. It’s a useful skill to have. People will always need flowers.”

She moved into the flat and made it a home for herself and Charlie. Janet taught her the art of floral design and she was happy.

She and Heather became good friends. Mandy asked her, “What do you want to study at uni?”

“Psychology. It fascinates me. So do paranormal phenomena but they won’t be on the curriculum. It’s just my hobby. Do you have one?”

“Jigsaw puzzles.”

Artwork by Tony Tran

Hobby or not, this one was more of a puzzle than most. Mandy stared at it and rubbed her eyes. She still couldn’t work out what the picture was, but she was becoming so engrossed in it she realised she’d stopped reaching for the whisky bottle. No doubt that was a good thing. It made her mind fuzzy. She should try to manage without it. That night she deliberately omitted taking her sleeping pill. She slept through until morning without it.

The next day, her head was clearer and something was nagging at her. It was connected with Heather, but she couldn’t think why. She remembered a flower arrangement she’d made with special care, but its significance evaded her. She focussed on the jigsaw. The blue and green pieces awaited attention: the colours of summer skies and green fields flashing by from the windows of a train. Charlie was five years old. In the school holiday Andrew had given her a railway pass. “You can take him travelling all over the UK for free, Mandy. Go and have fun.”

She took him to Blackpool. First stop was the fairground. They skidded down the helter-skelter, rode the roundabouts, and dodged on the dodgems. They screamed, laughed, and hugged each other. Mandy felt she was finally experiencing the childhood she’d never had.

Their next trip was to the Cheshire countryside around the Macclesfield canal. They walked hand in hand along a narrow road from the town of Bollington to the village of Laurel Tree. On the outskirts of the village, they found a large craft centre. It contained stalls and workshops in which artists, sculptors, soft toy makers, jewellery makers, and potters demonstrated their skills. A young man sat at a potter’s wheel, shaping clay into a perfect bowl. Charlie stood watching, fascinated.

The potter grinned at him and called, “What’s your name, mate?”

“Charlie.”

“Hi, Charlie. I’m Alex. How old are you?”

“My number’s five. What’s yours?”

“Twenty-three.”

Charlie gasped. “That’s even older than my mum.”

The young man turned to Mandy and gave her what she considered a rather flirty smile. She felt an unfamiliar flutter and for a moment she wondered what her life would be like if she had a partner to share it.

On the way back to the train station Charlie said, “How did the man with the wheel turn that soft stuff into a bowl?”

“While it’s wet he can twist it into any shape he likes and when it dries it stays like that.”

“I want to be a potter’s wheel man when I grow up. Do people get made when they’re wet and stay people-shape when they dry?”

“People don’t get made by a potter’s wheel, Charlie.” She braced herself for the next question.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not the right stuff. If they were made from it they wouldn’t have a brain”

“Oh, Mrs Fitzpatrick, my teacher, told us about brains. It’s the box in our head that holds all the things we know about. She knows about everything so she must have a big brain.”

Mandy felt on safer ground; grateful to Mrs Fitzpatrick. “I’m sure she does but she can’t know everything or it would be so big it wouldn’t fit in her head. She must know more than you and me though, because she’s older than us. She’s had more time to learn.”

“What’s her number?”

“About forty.”

“Is that older than the man with the wheel?”

“Yes.”

“So she’ll pobly die soon.”

“Probably.”

“That’s what I said: pobly”

Charlie fell asleep on the train. She held him on her lap and smiled. She didn’t need a partner. Her son was enough.

The following day they took the train to North Cornwall. At Tintagel on the Atlantic coast they sat on the beach eating ice cream and then they paddled in the breakers. She was overawed and a little scared by the vast and untamed ocean governed only by the constraints of the moon. Charlie ran, laughing along the shore while Mandy chased him with a towel and his shoes and socks. Later, they explored the ruins of the castle reputed to be King Arthur’s birthplace. She told him tales of the mythical king, the Knights of the Round Table, and Merlin the Magician. Charlie listened, wide-eyed and engrossed in the magic that every child deserves before they need to confront the realities of adulthood.

On the train ride home he said, “Can I be a knight when I grow up and sit at Arfur’s big table?” The potter’s wheel was apparently forgotten.

“You can be anything you like, Charlie, but knights don’t wear armour and wave swords about anymore and they don’t kill people.” She shuddered and shook off the image of her father lying in the gutter, soaked in his own blood. In these times the killers wore hoodies and waved knives about.

The little boy looked disappointed. “Where have Arfur’s knights gone?”

“They lived a long, long time ago. They’re dead now.”

“What’s it like to be dead?”

“It’s like going to sleep and having very happy dreams.”

“What about?”

“Whatever you want them to be about.” She wasn’t sure she liked the way this conversation was developing but Charlie had cheered up.

“It must be intestin being dead.”

“Interesting.”

“That’s what I said: intestin.”

“Well, living is interesting too, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yes. I like being living.”

She hugged him. “So do I, Charlie.”

Back in the present she surveyed the jigsaw. The remaining pieces were stark white and smoky grey. The white was cold and pitiless, like Charlie when he plunged into adolescence. He sulked, snarled, and withdrew his affection. He responded with insolence and contempt to her attempts to reach him.

Janet said, “Don’t worry, Mandy. It’s his age. They turn into monsters overnight. I’ve raised three and they all had their monster moments, but it passes. Give it time. Eventually he’ll be your lovely, funny Charlie again.”

The grey clouds engulfed her life on New Year’s Eve. He’d been out all night. She searched the streets, terrified, returning home in tears. He staggered upstairs to the flat, smelling of alcohol, at 4.00 am.

She was furious. She screamed at him, “How dare you behave like this. I thought you were dead.” Losing control, she slapped his face.

He looked shocked, then angry; he screamed at her. “I hate you. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.”

Before she could stop him he stumbled back downstairs and fled. She followed and tried to find him but he’d gone.

For the last two years Mandy despised herself for not behaving as a mother should and she’d lost her son. She had to find him.

Some instinct made her persevere with the jigsaw. There were two pieces left but she could see only one more space. She inserted the piece that appeared to be the best fit. The colours blurred, swirled and rearranged themselves into a country scene. She recognised the outskirts of Bollington on the Macclesfield canal. Two figures were walking along the road that led to the village of Laurel Tree: herself and Charlie.

The last of her confusion cleared. She understood everything. Heather couldn’t have given her the jigsaw last year. She’d died from a brain tumour three years before Charlie left. After losing him she’d blotted out the memory of Heather’s death. That grief was obliterated by her greater loss. It was comforting to know that somehow her friend had found a way to show her where he’d gone.

Where did the last piece of the jigsaw belong? It didn’t matter. She knew what to do now, but weariness swept over her. She needed to sleep first.

Next morning she took the train to Bollington. Her heart pounded as she walked along the road to the craft centre.

She found her son sitting at the potter’s wheel. He saw her, ran to her, and wrapped his arms around her. Sobbing, he said, “Mum, I’m so sorry. I was a spiteful little brat. Please forgive me.”

She was sobbing too. “It should be me apologising, Charlie. It was my fault. I was the adult.”

He laughed through his tears. “Yes, but only just. We grew up together.”

Still clinging to him, she saw someone approaching them. He said, “Hello, Mandy. Charlie talks about you all the time.”

She recognised Alex and some of her anger returned. She asked him, “Why didn’t you tell the police my son was here?”

“He made us promise not to, or he would have run away and put himself in all kinds of danger, so we took care of him but we let him make his own decisions.”

Charlie said, “Don’t be angry with Alex, Mum. He’s right. I would’ve run away and I wouldn’t have been able to look after myself. I was a stupid kid back then.”

“You should have let me know you were safe.”

He nodded. “I know, but I was scared you’d hate me.”

“I couldn’t hate you, Charlie. I want you to come home.”

He shook his head. “I want to stay here. It’s great. You could stay too. Please Mum.”

“How can I? What would I do for a living?”

Alex said, “Here’s a proposition for you. Charlie’s told me you’re an expert at floral design. We don’t have a floristry section in the craft centre. It would make a great addition and provide you with a good income. People will always need flowers.”

“But where would I live?”

“We’re a commune. We have living quarters here.”

“Charlie said, “You can share mine, Mum. There’s plenty of space.”

A year later Mandy and Alex were married in the village church. Janet made Mandy’s bouquet, Andrew walked her down the aisle and Charlie was the best man. The folk from the craft centre showered them with confetti.

The following year Mandy and Alex’s daughter was born. They called her Heather. The final piece of the jigsaw slipped into place with a satisfying click.

Maureen Bowden is a Liverpudlian, living with her musician husband in North Wales. She has had 219 stories and poems accepted by paying markets including Third Flatiron, Water Dragon Publishing, The First Line and many others. She was nominated for the 2015 international Pushcart Prize and in 2019 Hiraeth Books published an anthology of her stories, ‘Whispers of Magic.’ They plan to publish an anthology of her poetry in the near future. She graduated from the Open University with a 1st class BA degree with honours. Two of the modules were Creative Writing and Advanced Creative Writing. She obtained a Distinction in both. She also writes song lyrics, mostly comic political satire, set to traditional melodies and her husband has performed them in folk music clubs throughout the UK. She loves her family and friends, rock ‘n’ roll, Shakespeare, and cats.

Ari Aster Sets Next Film ‘Scapegoat’ With Scarlett Johansson at A24 - The Independent Variable

2026-05-07T13:58:36.000Z

worldofreel.com

Aster once quipped that he couldn’t believe A24 was “stupid enough” to give him $35M to make “Beau Is Afraid.” They shelled out another $30M for “Eddington,” which also failed to ignite. Maybe that’s the end of that partnership. Bless their twisted hearts, they are back again for another dip into Aster-world.

Ari Aster is one of my favorite filmmakers working today. Beau Is Afraid is a masterpiece in my opinion and his other three movies are all terrific. I'm so glad A24 continues to roll the dice on him and hope he can make something that finds a bit more success without sacrificing his own vision.

May 6, 2026 - The Independent Variable

2026-05-07T05:03:22.000Z

heathercoxrichardson.substack.com

Global affairs journalist David Rothkopf wrote today in The Daily Beast: “Not since Vietnam have we seen a more systematic effort by an administration to lie about the nature, costs, consequences, and results of a war than we have seen from the White House on Iran.”

They've painted themselves into a losing corner and won't admit it so they continue to do everything they can to deflect and deny reality, extending things out further and further. And to think, if only Trump hadn't pulled out of the original Iran deal, we'd never be here. But that would just be too easy and too sane, now, wouldn't it.

I leave the US in less than three weeks - The Independent Variable

2026-05-07T04:31:04.000Z

gkeenan.co

When an opportunity like this presents itself, it feels absurd to turn it down. I've lived too much of my life trying to cling to what feels comfortable, and it's never been worth it.

Really wonderful to see Keenan and Katy make that big jump across the pond (and out of this deteriorating shithole).

Meryl Streep Calls Out “Marvel-ization” of Movies: “It’s So Boring” - The Independent Variable

2026-05-06T16:53:21.000Z

worldofreel.com

She argued that the genre has “Marvel-ized” storytelling, flattening characters into predictable heroes and villains, whereas real life — and more interesting cinema — involves morally complex, “messier” people with mixed traits.

She's absolutely right, but we have ourselves to blame. We all flocked to every Marvel movie during the first 2-3 waves, or whatever they call them. So the capitalistic overlords of Hollywood decided that's where they wanted to put their money. The stars in Hollywood realized they could grab a huge bag from these places, and we continued to go. Now we—and the actors, producers, writers, etc. who care about the art form and not just the check—have to deal with that outcome.

In some ways it feels like the death of an art form. In other ways, there are still places like Neon and, to a lesser extent at this point, A24, trying to do things differently and put out original, exciting films with a point of view that don't regurgitate the same thing over and over. But it's going to be on us as the so-called "consumers" to actually go to the theaters for those movies so they continue to get made. No matter what you say, movies are an art created by humans for humans to go and feel things. It's not just supposed to be a bunch of computer generated song and beautiful people fighting each other.

AT Kyrios /// a curious, slightly psychedelic blackletter font family - The Independent Variable

2026-05-06T16:38:13.000Z

arrowtype.com via futurefonts.com

Kyrios is a curious, slightly psychedelic blackletter family. Though it may seem like a modern idea, it is an interpretation of lettering from a grave monument carved in the late 1800s, located in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, NY.

I want to give a big shout out to Stephen over at ArrowType for officially launching Kyrios 1.0 and graduating from Future Fonts on this one. We've been using Kyrios here at TIV for almost 2 years now, and it's hard to imagine any other font replacing it at this point. We've had a ton of really cool blackletter fonts, including Casserole from OH No and Albertus Nova, but none of them can hold a candle to Kyrios.

New Banksy: Blinded by Nationalism - The Independent Variable

2026-05-06T13:50:22.000Z

kottke.org

This is top tier Banksy.

A Great Big Fuss (2025) - The Independent Variable

2026-05-06T04:54:08.000Z

foofaraw.press

The first anthology from Foofaraw Press has arrived.

A little bit of self-promo here, but over on the litmag I run, we released our first full length anthology. It's a book of 30 stories that were submitted to us based on the theme of "foofaraw: a great deal of fuss or attention given to a minor matter." You can pick it up directly from us as a limited edition hardcover, paperback or epub/pdf, or find it anywhere books are sold online. It was a huge labor of love and we are already prepping the next one to come out this fall.

GameStop Wants To Buy, Uh, eBay? [Update] - The Independent Variable

2026-05-06T04:42:56.000Z

aftermath.site

If you’re wondering why GameStop would bother, you might find the answer in the fact that CEO Ryan Cohen, who publicly claims he currently receives no compensation for his role, will be paid $35 billion if he can get the company’s value to $100 billion, a moonshot that a deal like this seems specifically tailored towards.

I can’t tell if this guy is that dumb, on something, or hiding something. Also, how does a moron like this end up being the CEO of a publicly traded company???

📺 The Media Guide S7E6 - foofaraw

2026-05-05T23:52:42.000Z

It's a bit of a rough week in new stuff with the lone exception being the exceptional Friday of new music we had. There are too many albums to even talk about and even more I want to listen to again.

But I did my best to get through a few and share a few I thought stood out above the rest. I hope you check them out. They're a lot of fun.

We also announced the winners of our inaugural annual awards for strange fiction from other small litmags. You should go check those out. We'll be putting a print collection together, but a lot of them are free to read on the various websites already, so go check them out.

A lot of really great writing in 2025 that deserves to be celebrated.

Presenting: The Foofs 2025

Please welcome to the stage... FOOFIE and THE FLOOF!!!

foofarawfoofaraw

Quick reminder our first anthology in print is available direct from us or anywhere books are sold online, including Weightless Books.

A Great Big Fuss (2025)

a foofaraw anthology—don’t go making a huge deal about it, that’s what we’re here for…

Foofaraw Press

I'm also going to be sitting down with Lit Mag News for a little interview Q&A tomorrow, which I'm both excited and nervous for—wish me luck!

The Media Guide | Foofaraw

Your weekly guide to the movies, shows, comics, and albums worth knowing about.

Foofaraw

Interactive webapp for paid subscribers

🤖 If Destruction Be Our Lot #1 — Image Comics

For anyone who's read any of these writeups in the past, you might have some familiarity with Matthew Rosenberg and my obsession with the comics that he writes. This is his newest series from Image Comics, written alongside his brother Mark with art from Amy McDonald.

This is a sci-fi adventure where humanity is extinct, robots happily roam the world without us, and we follow a robot modeled after Abraham Lincoln who feels like there must be more to life.

🦜 The Great Parrot-Ox and the Golden Egg of Empathy by The Claypool Lennon Delirium

I wasn't familiar with this project going into it, so the name of the band kind of went over my head at first. Then listening to it, I started getting vibes of Nightmare Before Christmas meets the Beatles, with some Tame Impala and King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard sprinkled in. Funnily enough, if you look at the name of the band—you'll notice the name Lennon there—that is not a coincidence.

This is a project from Sean Ono Lennon, son of John Lennon and Yoko Ono, as well as Les Claypool from Primus along with João Nogueira on keyboard and Paulo Baldi from Cake on drums. It's a really fun album that makes me want to go back and listen to their whole discography.

I think the Primus-like storytelling and quirkiness comes through, and you get a little bit of that mid to late-era Beatles psychedelia. The bass guitar on this is also stellar.

The whole package really comes together in this. I think this is something pretty special that I hope people don't sleep on.

🌞 Sunshine For Happiness by Emma Louise

Fun, soulful, deep pop album. It gives me feelings of Maggie Rogers meets Radiohead doing a soulful R&B—especially the first track, which opens up feeling like "Creep," definitely stealing a little bit of that rhythm.

🪶 MAITREYA CORSO by Maya Hawke

This is Maya Hawke's fourth studio album, and I think she's done a fine job on the previous three, bringing her unique sound and quirkiness front and center. There's a decent amount of improvement here especially in the variety of arrangements and the way she plays with vocal patterns makes for a really compelling album that shows a great deal of growth from her earlier stuff.

Paid subscribers get the full breakdown of all shows, movies, comics, and albums for this week along with access to the Foofaraw Media Guide webapp.

⏳ Dating Advice For Time Travelers - foofaraw

2026-05-03T16:00:10.000Z

Whatever he negs you on,

Go back, and make it worse.

William Shaw is a writer from Sheffield, currently living in the USA. His writing has appeared in Strange Horizons, Daily Science Fiction, and The Georgia Review. You can find his website at https://williamshawwriter.wordpress.com and his Bluesky at @williamshaw.bsky.social.

Presenting: The Foofs 2025 - foofaraw

2026-05-01T18:16:30.000Z

Good evening, worms and germs!

Please hold your applause until the end. We have 8 wonderful categories to run through, covering 40 different finalists recognizing some of the best short fiction that was published in the year 2025.

Our aim with The Foofs is to put a spotlight on "the little guy." With hundreds, if not thousands of litmags, out there in the world, only a few ever really get the attention and recognition they deserve. While we are just another one of those tiny mags, we've set out to do our best to recognize our friends, peers, and enemies (you know who you are), who are doing amazing work writing and publishing wonderful stories as the backbone of the literary world.

Without further ado, let's get weird...

First up, our Wisp Award for best 100-word drabble. Here are your nominees:

✨ Wisp

Basic Ghost Girly by Chris Doty-Dunn
(Rat Bag Lit)
Delete by Katie Dee
(Black Hare Press)
Green Thumb by Arvee Fantilagan
(Dragon Soul Press)
Try Luigi’s Pizza! by Rachel Henderson
(100 Foot Crow)
Secret Ingredient by Mike Range
(Rat Bag Lit)

And the winner is... 🥁

🍕 Try Luigi's Pizza! by Rachel Henderson

Next, is our Glimmer Award for best Flash Fictions story up to 1,000 words. Your final nominees are as followed:

✨ Glimmer

Darkrooms by Ali McLafferty
(Flash Frog)
Bubbe's Last Kugel by Chris Doty-Dunn
(TL;DR Press)
One Can Only Wish by Will Kelly
(Sci-fi Shorts)
Thicker Than Water by Aeryn Rudel
(Radon Journal)
We Were Never Afraid of the Spider by Timothy Fox
(The Molotov Cocktail)

And the winner is... 🥁

🕷️ We Were Never Afraid of the Spider by Timothy Fox

We now enter the Force Field of Foofaraw for the next two premier categories covering the sweet spot of what we here at Foofaraw publish. AKA these are the stories we are most jealous of not being able to publish ourselves...

First from the Force Field is the Fragment Award for best Short Story between 1,000 - 2,500 words. The nominees for Fragment are:

✨ Fragment

An Infestation Of Elliotts by Galen Gower
(Tales Of Galactic Pest Control)
Nacho Average Sun by Jennifer Peaslee
(State of Matter)
Reactor by L.N. Hunter
(InkdPub)
The Dead Man by Rachel Henderson
((s)crawl)
The Pain Artist by E. Florian Gludovacz
(WolfSinger Publications)

And the winner is... 🥁

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 An Infestation Of Elliotts by Galen Gower

Then the second from the Force Field is our Phantasm Award for best Medium-length Short Story between 2,500 - 5,000 words. And the nominees are...

✨ Phantasm

Blotter Acid by Devin James Leonard
(Dark Horses)
His Goose is Cooked by S.C. Mills
(MetaStellar)
The Truth Extraction by Carla Ward
(Tales of the Fantastic)
Trending Now, Help With Legal Fees For Reluctant Swordsman by Mitchell Shanklin
(Podcastle)
What Washes Ashore by Eric Farrell
(JayHenge)

And the winner is... 🥁

☢️ Blotter Acid by Devin James Leonard

Oh boy! How exciting was that?! Let's take a second to cool off and catch our breathe as we exit the Force Field—but stay buckled in as we are only halfway through!

Next, is our Chronicle Award for best Longer Short Story between 5,000 - 7,500 words. And your nominees:

✨ Chronicle

Alternate Timeline Fanfic by Eric Del Carlo
(Fiction on the Web)
Bone-eater Earth by Emma Burnett
(Uncharted)
I Know They Will Be Lavender by Carla Ward
(Porter House Review)
Mrs. Virginia's Big Day by Moira Richardson
(The Writer's Workout)
The Good, the Bad, and the Balloon Animals by Devin James Leonard
(Fiction on the Web)

And the winner is... 🥁

🦴 Bone-eater Earth by Emma Burnett

Our last story award is the hefty Magnum Award for best Novelette between 7,500 - 15,000 words. And here are your nominees:

✨ Magnum

Fox and Troll Bake a Cake by Jeff Reynolds
(GigaNotoSaurus)
Jillian, Formerly Known as Frog Girl by Alaina Hammond
(Home Planet News)
Margin Walker by Tony Dunnell
(Fusion Fragment)
The Clock and the Copernicus by Jay McKenzie
(JayHenge)
The Other Side of Fear by Mia Dalia
(Sky Pony Press)

And the winner is... 🥁

🐸 Jillian, Formerly Known as Frog Girl by Alaina Hammond

Next, is our Federmeister* Award for the editor that was best to work with, as nominated by authors published in 2025. And your nominees:

✨ Federmeister

Andrew Leon Hudson, Mythaxis
Anna Reser, Night Shades Magazine
JP Relph, Trash Cat Lit
Mallory McCrory, (s)crawl
Tim James, Neon & Smoke

And the winner is... 🥁

🪶 Andrew Leon Hudson, Mythaxis

And finally, the grand finale, the big shebang: the Wunderkammer** Award for the best magazine of the year, as nominated by short story authors:

✨ Wunderkammer

Astrolabe
Mythaxis Magazine
Radon Journal
Trollbreath Magazine
Uncharted

And the winner is... 🥁

🗄️ Radon Journal

Well, that's all folks! It's been an absolute pleasure. Please join us again next year at some point and time so we can do it all again—and keep your eyes peeled for The Foofs: Best of Strange Fiction (2025) anthology featuring the winners and more! Coming to a bookshop near you soon!

Until next time... FOOFIE and THE FLOOF, signing off.

*Federmeister roughly translates to the one who wields the feather; or the master of the pen
**Wunderkammer roughly translates to chamber of wonders; or cabinet of curiosities

📮 May Zine - foofaraw

2026-05-01T15:00:52.000Z

The May issue of Foofaraw Zine is here!

Of course, all stories will be published for free on the web throughout the month, but paid supporters receive a PDF/EPUB with all of the month's stories at the beginning of the month, along with a few other goodies, including the bonus Four-headed Foofaraw. And Patrons get stuff in print!

Individual issues are also available for purchase on Weightless books, where you can also subscribe.

Periodic Aggregation: Routed Carefully & Electronically Logged

This month...

Funny Page

What's Going on Between Us? by Ellie Black

Stories

Jigsaw by Maureen Bowden
No Solicitors by H.C. Ricci
Plate V by Anna Chung
Religion: The Board Game by L.N. Hunter

Poem

Dating Advice For Time Travelers by William Shaw

Observations

The Ghost Essay by Nicholas de Marino
The Xylophone Essay by Nicholas de Marino

Interviews

Maureen Bowden
H.C. Ricci
Anna Chung
L.N. Hunter

Cover art

"End of Days Bonus" by Brendan Loper

〄

On to the zines...

Jeffrey Epstein’s Possible Suicide Note Hidden From Public View - The Independent Variable

2026-05-01T03:45:15.000Z

nytimes.com

An inmate said he discovered the note after Mr. Epstein was found injured in his jail cell, weeks before his death. It’s now locked in a courthouse.

I’m just waiting for Dr. Oz to come out as the DoJ’s handwriting expert to say “this letter that says ‘I, Jeffrey Epstein, was the sole trafficker of children and only trafficked them to myself. The wholly honest and trustworthy Donald Trump and our billionaire friends had nothing to do with the child sex trafficking ring and he should be fully exonerated from any wrongdoing.,’ is unequivocally authentic.”

🌳 Removal - foofaraw

2026-04-29T15:09:42.000Z

“Jettison Tattoo Removal, Negotiable Fee.”

The sign, old-fashioned gold script on a dark wooden plaque, hung in a window between a Black barber shop and a corner store advertising money transfers. A smaller wooden “Open” sign hung from the bigger sign.

It’s been two years since I got that tattoo, with Terry beside me on the other table getting a matching one. It was his first one and I was worried about how much it would hurt him, but he had such a high pain tolerance.

It wasn’t my first tattoo. As a matter of fact, we had a hard time finding a good spot for it. There aren’t too many women with as much ink as I have. Sometimes I thought I must be able to feel them on me, like the Illustrated Man could, but the only one I could ever feel was the one from that day, a tree of life with his name woven into the branches, matching the tree of life holding my name on his chest. I could feel it now, above my left breast, its branches pressed into me like an inlay.

I opened the door and entered. A soft bell rang.

The shop was small, with a pair of couches facing each other over a coffee table littered with magazines. There was no tattoo-removal gear in sight. The glass-fronted shelves beneath the empty wooden counter displayed an odd selection of objects: glass vials with multi-colored contents, loose gemstones, carved stone boxes. A few framed art deco prints decorated the walls. The air smelled of furniture polish.

An elderly man came through a curtain and sat on a high-backed stool behind the counter.

“Welcome,” he said. He wore a dark suit, and had a long, pale, aristocratic face, dark eyes, and a full head of improbably dark hair. Gold rings with multiple gems, red and darker red, glinted on his long-fingered hand which rested immobile on the countertop.

“Hi,” I said. “What do you mean, negotiable fee? I don’t have a lot of money.”

“I charge depending on the value to me of removing the tattoo.”

“What? How can there be any value to you?”

“If I feel like I can remove the underlying reason for getting the tattoo, I will do it for no fee, but only if the underlying reason is significant.”

This was not strange at all. “Aren’t all tattoos significant?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised. Some people get one because they think it’ll make them cool. Then they find it doesn’t work, and the tattoo now reminds them every day of their lack of cool, which they’d rather forget. They often say the removal is for professional reasons, or family reasons, or some other excuse.

“Some people still have a tattoo of someone they grew out of, a movie star or musician, and now they feel like a fool walking around with some boy-band’s logo on their shoulder. They say, ‘I’m just not that girl anymore, y’know?’

“But some people have real reasons for getting them, and for keeping them. And some have just as real reasons for losing them. I can help those people. Why’d you get it, and why do you want to lose it?”

I opened my coat, undid a couple of buttons on my work shirt, and touched a finger to the tattoo. He leaned over the counter and peered closely.

“Very nice work,” he said, sitting back. “What’s its meaning?”

“It’s a tree of life. Terry had a matching one with my name in it.”

“Had?”

“He’s dead.”

“Ah, it reminds you of your friend Terry, and that makes you sad. Sorry, Miss, that’s not my kind of thing. I can recommend a good conventional tattoo removal shop.” He turned away and opened a drawer behind his counter.

I rubbed my fingertips over the tat. “We got the tattoos together after we were released from the hospital after suicide attempts. He designed them. He was a wonderful artist.”

He stopped digging through the drawer and looked up at me with new interest.

“Ah, well, that’s different. Please sit.” He gestured to a couch off to the side. “Tea?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He went to the door and turned the lock, then reversed the sign so it told the world, “Closed,” then went into the back. The table in front of the couch was littered with the usual tattoo magazines along with amateur zines on many subjects: tattooing, witchcraft, Jungian psychology, feminist anarchism.

He came in with the tea things as I was reading a slim book of “transgressive body horror” flash fiction.

“You have quite a selection of reading material here,” I said as I cleared a spot for the tray.

“I like to keep an open mind. Sugar?”

“Just a bit. No milk, thanks.”

“Please tell me about the tattoo. Tattoos.”

“Four years ago I attempted suicide. I rode my bike at high speed into a bridge abutment. I was really high. It was four in the morning. I heard later that the paramedics had to revive me. I’d lost a lot of blood and almost lost my leg. Footpeg right through the calf muscle.”

My hand reached automatically down to my leg, but I caught it and reached for my tea instead. “They thought it was an accident until I woke up in the hospital raving about how I was was supposed to be dead. I was in that hospital for a long time. I met Terry there, in group.”

I stopped and drank some tea. “This is delicious.”

“It’s my own blend. Please go on. Terry had also attempted suicide?”

“Yes. He had been self-harming all his life and finally decided to just cut deeper. His roommate, his college roommate, found him. His parents had him committed.”

I took a deep breath. “We fell in love. They warned us about that. Trauma bonding isn’t a basis for a relationship, they said. We didn’t care. We knew how we felt, like we had a reason to live now. I was in addiction treatment and could walk again, so I was able to release myself. I got a job and rented a shitty little apartment. When Terry was released, he moved in.

“We were happy, but things were not always easy. We both knew there was a way out, more than one way, and we talked about how to promise ourselves and each other that we’d stay. I had lots of tats, but Terry didn’t have any, just a lot of scars. We thought we could get matching tattoos to remind us.”

He leaned forward. “You were afraid you wouldn’t be able to keep the promise, or that he wouldn’t. That’s why you marked it on your flesh.”

I was struck silent.

“Do you know why you attempted suicide?” he asked.

“They made us talk about that a lot in group, but I’m not sure I ever got to the bottom of it. I just felt there was no reason to keep living. Life was hard and painful. I couldn’t see a future worth making any effort for. That’s what Terry changed in me.”

I took another sip of tea, not sure why I was telling him all this. He took a sip too, watching me over the rim of his cup. “What’s your name?” I asked him. “I’m Vicki.”

“Arthur,” he said. “So you thought you could live for another person?”

“I hoped. I loved him so much. I thought it would be enough.”

“But it wasn’t, was it? Not for him.”

“I came home that day and he wasn’t there. I called him and he didn’t pick up. I called other people, but no-one had heard from him, so all I could do was wait. The next morning a cop came by and told me he’d been found dead. I went with her and saw Terry to ID him. He was very white, bloodless. He’d slashed his wrists.”

I had to stop for a minute. Arthur watched me.

I said, “He went somewhere else to do it, so I wouldn’t find him.”

“You want to follow him,” Arthur said.

I looked up, dizzy. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

His face was close, dark eyes burrowing into mine. Everything, including his face, had a halo around it.

“You drugged me,” I said. “Is that how you get off, killing suicidal people?” I tried to stand, but my bad leg wobbled out from under me, and I fell back on the couch.

“No,” he said, “and it’s not a drug, not in the way you mean. I’ll remove your tattoo. In payment, you give me what made you get it.”

“What, my love, my promise, my memories? No way.”

“I won’t take those. Or your life. But I will have to dig down for the real reason. I think I know, but I have to be sure.”

“Do you need me to consent?”

“Yes.”

Something turned over in me. “Do it.”

Artwork by Tony Tran

A memory hits me so hard I can almost see it—me going back to my empty apartment in my black dress and standing there wondering what to do next after the funeral. His parents holding a service, disappointed that he can’t be buried in hallowed ground. They have his ashes. They insist on keeping them. His tattoo of my name is now ash, mixed with what’s left of the rest of him. His blood’s gone, soaked into the ground of the overgrown empty lot behind the old gas station.

The memory track skips backwards, and I’m standing in the coroner’s lab, looking at his face, blue-shadowed under the fluorescent lights, and the tattoo on his chest, standing out like a special effect against the pale skin. The scars on his vacant body are finally complete.

Another jump-cut, and I’m opening the apartment door, seeing the cop there, knowing why she’s there, not wanting to know.

Then, seeing Terry alive for the last time. I kiss him in bed and go off to work. He would usually get up around noon and work until late at his desk, that desk we’d schlepped home from down the street where it had been left for the taking. When I get home, he isn’t there.

Then, a vivid memory that makes me catch my breath, of Terry and me making love, me on top, his beautiful eyes wide, watching me. The tattoo with my name on it is fresh on his chest. The window is open and it’s raining. I cry out and then—

Terry showing me the tattoo designs. He looks away, afraid I won’t like them. I take his face in my hands and kiss him hard.

The way I feel when when he sees the apartment for the first time. He grew up with money, and I’m sure he’ll hate the place. He hugs me, and we walk around all two rooms of it. He says, “All ours.” Oh, my heart.

Walking around the courtyard at the hospital, me limping with a cane, him bandaged up. We talk about art and music and food. I tell him I’m a good cook. He smiles, waggles his eyebrows, and says “I like to eat.”

Seeing him for the first time in group, those improbable eyes that hardly ever look up, that voice so low and reluctant, those mummy-wrapped wrists.

Waking up in the hospital, flailing around, crying, “Why aren’t I dead?” Nurses holding me down, saying, “You’re all right now, you’re safe.”

Flying down the highway on my bike. No job, no place to live, no money. The only thing I own is the bike. The only option I have is to go back to my family. You know what they say: Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

But I don’t have to go there. I have somewhere else I can go, somewhere where I don’t have to hear the droning voice of criticism like a drill hitting the bone, the constant stabbing fear of failure, the fury, the pain, all clenched in my brain like a fistful of poison. There’s only one way to let the poison out. I aim for the abutment, put my head down, and go full throttle. I’m ready for you.

I was lying on a couch. An old man knelt on the floor beside me.

The room spun as I sat up and looked around, not knowing where I was. Memories trickled back, confused and tangled.

The man said, “Take your time. You’re all right. It’ll take a few minutes for it all to settle.”

I looked around the room. Tattoo removal. I looked down. The tattoo was gone. I put my hand to my chest and whispered, “What did you take?” I tried to remember everything. Terry, I remember Terry. My God, he was so beautiful. The memory of his suicide was a sword through me—guilt, anger, and a loss deeper than anything I could’ve believed possible.

The man, Arthur, held up a small vial, the contents twisting in it like a nest of snakes. Beautiful eyes glittered in the eddies, calling me to join them, telling me how peaceful it would be to be embraced by the swirling beauty forever.

Arthur put the vial away inside his jacket and said, “I took your death wish. I can use that.”

The next day, the shop was gone, with a “For Lease” sign in the window. I asked at the barbershop what had happened to it. The barber shrugged and said it had closed after being open for only a few weeks.. The clerk at the corner store said the same. “It was usually closed. The dude hardly ever had any customers. You can’t run a business that way.”

I went to the window and cupped my hands to see through the glass. The counter and couches were still there, but the shelves were all empty. Whatever he’d taken from me was gone.

It was up to me to learn how to live without it.

After retiring from a lifetime of wrangling Unix systems, Rae Patterson (she/they) has turned her hand to writing the Horror and SFF literature that she has always loved so much. She has a blog at https://raepatterson.ca. She currently lives in Montreal, Canada, alone with her books, computers, and video games.

Humdrum Places - BlogFlock

🕹️ Pirates and vampires - foofaraw

🆕 On the Shelves

🤖👧 Pragmata

Developer: CAPCOM Co., Ltd.Publisher: CAPCOM Co., Ltd.

🏴‍☠️🌊 Windrose

Developer: Kraken ExpressPublisher: Kraken Express

📡 On the Radar

🔫 Saros

Sony Interactive Entertainment

🍺 Nothing ever happens here

Developer: NoahsArkGamesPublisher: NoahsArkGames

🍄‍🟫 City of None

Developer: Noel & Liam Berry, Extremely OK Games, Ltd.Publisher: Extremely OK Games, Ltd.

🎮 In Rotation

🤓 Vampire Survivors

🔭 The Monster At the End of the Essay - foofaraw

Pokopia is my post-gender utopia - The Independent Variable

Dirty Little Zine /// Free 8-Page Printable Zine Maker - The Independent Variable

🎙️ Maureen Bowden - foofaraw

Are you a big fan of jigsaw puzzles?

Did you ever run away as a child?

Do you have any children of your own?

If so, have they ever run away from home?

If you were to live in the craft centre in Laurel Tree, what do you think your “job” or contribution to the commune would be?

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

What’s a great short story you’ve read recently?

What book are you reading right now?

Do you have anything else you’d like to share?

Thanks so much to Maureen for chatting with us about puzzles, family, and stories on this wonderful Friday afternoon!

🧩 Jigsaw - foofaraw

Ari Aster Sets Next Film ‘Scapegoat’ With Scarlett Johansson at A24 - The Independent Variable

May 6, 2026 - The Independent Variable

I leave the US in less than three weeks - The Independent Variable

Meryl Streep Calls Out “Marvel-ization” of Movies: “It’s So Boring” - The Independent Variable

AT Kyrios /// a curious, slightly psychedelic blackletter font family - The Independent Variable

New Banksy: Blinded by Nationalism - The Independent Variable

A Great Big Fuss (2025) - The Independent Variable

GameStop Wants To Buy, Uh, eBay? [Update] - The Independent Variable

📺 The Media Guide S7E6 - foofaraw

🤖 If Destruction Be Our Lot #1 — Image Comics

🦜 The Great Parrot-Ox and the Golden Egg of Empathy by The Claypool Lennon Delirium

🌞 Sunshine For Happiness by Emma Louise

🪶 MAITREYA CORSO by Maya Hawke

⏳ Dating Advice For Time Travelers - foofaraw

Presenting: The Foofs 2025 - foofaraw

✨ Wisp

And the winner is... 🥁

🍕 Try Luigi's Pizza! by Rachel Henderson

✨ Glimmer

And the winner is... 🥁

🕷️ We Were Never Afraid of the Spider by Timothy Fox

✨ Fragment

And the winner is... 🥁

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 An Infestation Of Elliotts by Galen Gower

✨ Phantasm

And the winner is... 🥁

☢️ Blotter Acid by Devin James Leonard

✨ Chronicle

And the winner is... 🥁

🦴 Bone-eater Earth by Emma Burnett

✨ Magnum

And the winner is... 🥁

🐸 Jillian, Formerly Known as Frog Girl by Alaina Hammond

✨ Federmeister

And the winner is... 🥁

🪶 Andrew Leon Hudson, Mythaxis

✨ Wunderkammer

And the winner is... 🥁

🗄️ Radon Journal

📮 May Zine - foofaraw

This month...

Funny Page

Stories

Poem

Observations

Interviews

Cover art

Jeffrey Epstein’s Possible Suicide Note Hidden From Public View - The Independent Variable

🌳 Removal - foofaraw

Developer: CAPCOM Co., Ltd.
Publisher: CAPCOM Co., Ltd.

Developer: Kraken Express
Publisher: Kraken Express

Developer: NoahsArkGames
Publisher: NoahsArkGames

Developer: Noel & Liam Berry, Extremely OK Games, Ltd.
Publisher: Extremely OK Games, Ltd.