Hellworld Fable
A short story about a beautiful woman who did everything right.
For the occasion of dada x dada I wrote this fable, and read it into a microphone for some lovely friends. It was really cathartic to paint the picture of this character whose ambitions are untouched by the war and degradation that has been eating the rest of us up. If you are actually like this fictional dream boat, then I stand amazed, completely unable to reach that plane of existence, and I tip my hat to you <3
A borzoi and a poodle fuck with the lights off, in respectful missionary. Then with
some turn of chance, a little bitch is born. She could be from anywhere on this
good earth, but she funnels into the city, like she’s intrinsically drawn to valuable
real estate. A full grown little bitch should be firm, but also soft. She has no
eyebrows, and wears Broken Mirror Tabi Boots by Margiela with her high waisted
jeans. Even though she’s mad that they’re so over, SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT
SHOE TO GET NEXT.
The Little Bitch we’re concerned with is a gold star metropolitan. Solid uptown
family got her into the most prestigious pre-school where she went on to eat,
sleep, and breathe ivy league. Sports made her legs strong and thick, and her
massive mommy milkers kept her humble. She’s very careful to only show them to
people from good families after all. Otherwise she watches and waits, like a Medici,
for her way in to a seat at the table. She’s calculated her approach for as long as
she could think in words. Intrinsically drawn to valuable real estate, she sat next to
the table with a treat on her nose, showing her poise and feigned disinterest. One
day the table masters noticed her, and she began the smallest talk with them.
Like a Medici, the Little Bitch got a job accounting for people with money to count.
One time a friend mentioned tax season should be run by democratically elected
members of the state, like a civilized country, not done for profit by mercenarial
interests who hide money for the wealthy while the working class is
burdened with financing unpopular wars at the expense of their local
infrastructure. And furthermore, the people should have a say in how much they
are giving to the Pentagon, or if it should even exist. Right? Well. The Little Bitch
thinks ideas like this are juvenile. Having them makes it harder to legitimize her
going through everyone’s balance sheets. She needs inside access to know who’s
able to make moves after all. And deep down she always knew that big government
was inherently evil. She actually read 1984.
This friend would remain a friend, as everyone in the world was a friend to
someone who was SO NICE, but something had to be done about their attitude. So
the Little Bitch began an information campaign. She claimed through dignified
tears while sipping $30 green juice in the drawing room that this friend had tried
to keep politics all to themself. That the friend was so aggressive as to explain
conflicts occurring in the world before the Little Bitch even had the chance to
read any correct opinions in The New York Times. And then the friend went on to
say that people at the table were profiting from the conflict. More terrible things
could never be said by uglier people. The friend only saw the back of everyone’s
head from then on as they were shuffled off from gig to gig, failing to secure
savings or health insurance.
It gave the Little Bitch no outward joy to see the friend struggle unwittingly.
Because she was such a NICE person, she was sure to compliment the friend’s
determination. She imagined that if things got really hard, the friend would fall
back on their trust fund money, like everybody else. Then they’d have time to think
about quitting that SJW talk. In reality, the friend eventually stopped coming
around. They had been diagnosed with cancer of the everything, and had to find a
way to raise a jillion dollars for treatment themselves. The Little Bitch informed
the friend of a health care raffle they could apply to, so there was no reason to be
so cunty. The world is actually full of nice people who are happy for you to submit a
merit based application requesting support. Why they needed support was another
question, like, why can’t they just put the treat on their nose and sit still? Learn to
calculate, and to become the product. Products are cherished, and archived!
But the friend would not be so lucky. Turns out the entire board that oversaw the
healthcare raffle had heard that the friend was very aggressive, and maybe even a
fake somehow. They immediately denied the grant request, leaving the friend only
one option: apply to the army where they would fix you up in exchange for a short
life of service. The Little Bitch was relieved to hear that they would be learning
some manners in a structured environment. And truthfully, it was kind of nice to
get back to concentrating on her own goals after all of that support she was
morally obliged to give. But honestly it was also SO GREAT not to hear anything
about all of this CONFLICT going on outside of the city, way far away from the
table. Like didn’t they know that talking about upsetting things just makes you
uninvited to the table? It’s ok to feel sad, or even scared, but getting angry or
assigning blame doesn’t get anything done. If you really must, then get those
feelings out at the No Kings protest where it’s our duty to make a formal,
completely uncontroversial complaint.
For many unworried days that followed, the Little Bitch worked on herself. She
really took the time to focus on her, and the gatekeepers in her mailing list were
taking note. She had picked up painting so she could express her complex
interiority, and she even went to the most competitive school to practice. Money
was no trouble as she had so many connections on the board that they welcomed
her right in. There, she made psychological views of the table from her
perspective, looking up at the dizzying craft of its massive coiling legs,
disappearing into the void of decision makers above. Critics hailed the work as an
uncanny depiction of the everyday because they too stayed camped out by the table’s
massive legs. And because she was SO NICE, the gallerists lined up to show
her work. Because she kept up with her accounting, she knew who to show with, and
even brought along her built in clients. This made everyone happy. But the Little
Bitch realized that she still felt an emptiness. It was her friend slot. She had an
empty friend slot, and this would simply not do.
That was when Janela came into her life. In reality she had always been around,
but the Little Bitch just noticed her on the cover of Interview. Janela was a
household name, but being famous doesn’t necessarily mean you are also table
material. Though Janela was. She had an international background, and an
absolutely gorgeous yet classic look that was captivating enough to be fresh. Plus
she made abstract art about love and loss, a beautiful apolitical subject for the
whole family to appreciate. The Little Bitch wasted no time in ferreting out the
details for her pre-pre show viewing, and made her opening salvo - we simply must
be friends. And just like that, the two of them planned to exchange studio visits.
For what felt like a lifetime, but was more like three or four months, the two
artists could be seen swanning about town, seemingly inseparable at all the most
elitist functions. They delighted ‘scene and heard’ page readers and set style
forecaster’s hearts ablaze with their daring addition of light eyeshadows to the
clean girl aesthetic. Not a hair was out of place, and the Little Bitch was in heaven.
She could feel herself levitating to eye level with the surface of the table, like her
image was being made immortal with each photo captured. She was so taken up in
her own rise, that she didn’t notice how few were left in the it-girl competition.
She asked Janela one day where all of the other hot girls had gone, and received a
somber explanation while picking over Salade Nicoise at Lucien. The army has
resumed the draft, and it’s crazy because they are even taking hot girls. The Little
Bitch was aware that she was exempt from any draft because she had a chronic
hang nail condition, but she grew curious as to why Janela was still in the city with
no talk of deployment. Turns out she’s not a citizen so she doesn’t have to fight for
this country. Wow they were really learning a lot about each other now. It was low
key amazing, so they decided to keep talking at a new spot. The Little Bitch had a
driver on hand who took them to the Bellman’s Bar so they could order martinis to
stir. They weren’t technically drinking, but they were being so New York, and that
made them closer and closer.
It turns out, one time Janela had to flee her homeland because horrible men were
setting fire to everything, and destroying her family home. They killed her
brothers and took her sister hostage. They said the land belonged to them, and
proceeded to reshape the whole area. Where her family home once stood, there
now exists a Jimmy Buffet themed poolside resort. But she tries not to think
about it too often, choosing to alchemize these feelings into art instead. The Little
Bitch felt she could totally relate. She had been hurt by men in her life too! But
the biggest hurt in her life had to be the betrayal she felt from her friend. Like
sure they were experiencing cancer of the everything, and the army was jk about
the socialized healthcare, but that didn’t mean they had to make life awkward for
other people.
After exchanging these stories, Janela grew noticeably withdrawn for the rest of
the night. Through successive cocktail bars and dj sets you could witness her
wilting. Finally the Little Bitch asked her what was wrong, as they were walking
from an industrial rave in a newly discovered corner of south Brooklyn by the
waters edge. The dark water glistened with oil slick rainbows in the night, lapping up
along craggy rocks. Janela sighed. She watched the oil rainbows swirl, and
thought of a painting she saw earlier. Then she released her truth. Janela
explained her principled stance against all war, and how she uses innocuous themes
of love and loss to maneuver her way close enough to the table to eventually take
revenge on those who deployed the men who destroyed her home. She knew that
following the money would lead her to the masterminds in charge, and that she
could end so much suffering by taking out the table people once and for all. She
was happy to meet the Little Bitch because they were so cute together, but she
feared that maybe their life circumstances put them at odds ideologically.
Hearing this made the Little Bitch’s blood boil. She couldn’t believe it. Another
betrayal! She couldn’t restrain herself, she threw her pilates body at Janela. With
both of her fists full of Janela’s auburn hair, she could hear herself screaming like
in a dream, “I sat, and I counted, and no one knows how hard that was. To be so
generous with my time, and to hold so much space for people who don’t even have
insider trading tips. Then, some stupid war comes along, and makes everything I
worked for my whole life meaningless! Now I make a connection who I think is on
my level, and you have to be anti-table?!” Janela fought back, scratching at the
Little Bitch’s face as they both stumbled by the waterside. They fell into the
greasy water. There the Little Bitch held Janela’s head under the surface,
rhythmically pushing down while seething the words YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW
HARD IT IS TO SAY NOTHING.
It was true, Janela would have no idea of anything after that, because she was
dead. As she came down from her rage high, the Little Bitch found her way,
dripping and smudged, to where her driver was parked. She explained everything.
They had a fight, and Janela slipped and hit her head and now she’s still in the water.
The driver thought it best not to re-traumatize his mistress after such a
fright, so they went home, calling the police on the way. All of the details of this
night were then blended into a tragedy that finally belonged to the Little Bitch
alone. Now she had something sad to define her, something that she could be
interviewed about. With all of this attention, she was catapulted to solo stardom.
And she learned to make strong statements of her own like “war is bad, but not for
the reasons you might think. It actually takes away so much from the realm of the
personal, and that’s what really matters.”
The Little Bitch sits comfortably at the table now, after studying it intimately, and
defending it to the hilt. She couldn’t be more proud of her sacrifice to make it this
far, and has dedicated her life to glorifying all elements of elitism in order to
perpetuate the importance of the table. In quiet nights she thinks of how close she
came to losing her place. Sometimes she cries in relief, but not loud enough for
her diplomat husband to hear, or their beautiful children who look like they belong
in a Swiss chocolate commercial. She is too nice to burden their perfect dynamic
after all.
THE END