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Colton Karpman (Founding Editor)
Editor’s Note
Once upon a time, a Big, Mean Sorceress was terrorising England. She was setting fire to all of our villages and frightening children and poisoning our water supplies and performing decidedly unChristian rituals and suggesting the establishment of several new national administrative agencies and proselytising for Wicca or some other pagan religion which prays to creatures of myth. Her reign of terror started on the Sussex coast, and she was now, on the evening of the release of New Papers 6, within two miles of the Rose Lipman Building in London.
Your name is Rapunzel. You, once a very hungry caterpillar, have truly emerged from the chrysalis as a most beautiful butterfly: one that will at first set the boys’ hearts atwitter, but will later plunge you into a pit of depression and sickness when your youth inevitably disappears. Tempus edax rerum. However, you are, for now, untouchable. Your hair is fine as spun gold and as yellow as straw and as long as the day. You are young, sound of mind and limb, and possessed of an overconfident credulity that you can escape from predators even in the direst of circumstances. Therefore, you proceed with your plan to attend the recital with your two best friends in the world, Margaret and Beto, despite the viable threat of death posed by the Sorceress. What fun! The adrenaline rush of risk-taking produces a high the likes of which you’ve never experienced before. But, ultimately, it leads to nowhere but death, disintegration, dismemberment, and the crucifixion of your heart.
As you approach the Rose Lipman Building, you notice the air begins to thin. You don’t remember the site being at altitude, but you do recognise the unmistakable rectilinear silhouette of the Rose Lipman Building on what appears to be the evil tip of a craggy precipice a few thousand metres above sea level, but that’s likely just an—no, the building is definitely on the evil tip of a craggy precipice. Curious. You begin to feel pangs of nervousness as a medieval string ballad that you cannot quite place begins to play. As you approach the building, you are intercepted by a gimpy old woman with the face of a mid-level Mafia operative. She is babbling incomprehensible nonsense.
“Is she, uh, alright?” asks Beto with his hand on his bear-mace holster.
“No. She obviously has major mental issues,” says Margaret. “Maybe we ought to call the police.” At this point, the Sorceress is slowly beginning to grow in stature. You and your friends might – but do not necessarily – notice this yet.
Beto, who doesn’t want the police involved in his personal affairs, says, “I don’t want the police involved in my personal affairs.” He turns to the woman. “Listen, ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any change on me.”
“You shouldn’t be giving these people money anyways, Beto,” Margaret remarks. “If you really want to help her, donate.”
The woman is still growing larger. It is definitely noticeable now, but the change still isn’t complete yet. Beto and Margaret are too involved in the discussion about how one ought to respond to unhoused people to spot what’s going on. All the while, the woman is now, beyond all doubt, a gigantic Sorceress: a disgusting, disease-gorged, universally-loathed, gigantic Sorceress. The very one that several push notifications had warned you about! Suddenly, storm clouds materialise. Your friends, frightened, scurry backwards. Your fight-or-flight responses have been neutralised: you can only freeze and let whatever dark force you have inadvertently summoned have her way with you.
The gigantic Sorceress eyes you for a couple of moments before she nonchalantly grabs you by the wrist and pops you into a tall, dark tower that has neither stairs nor door – just as one might pop a semi-large malted milk ball into a waiting mouth. Your only interface with the outside world is now through a narrow little window. Your friends Margaret and Beto try to comfort you and establish some means of helping you escape from your false imprisonment.
“Maybe we can call the fire brigade,” suggests Margaret.
“Not a chance,” replies Beto. “It’s May Day, for land’s sake! They’ve got their hands full with revellers doing recreational drugs, dancing around big maypoles, and genuflecting in front of Foucault posters.”
“Hmm…What about the Rhine Water Elves then?” asks Margaret. “Surely they can get Rapunzel out of this dilemma.”
“They’re busy. Tonight’s a full moon. It’s no use!” answers Beto, tears streaming out of his eyes (and, weirdly, from his chest). Just as they are mourning Rapunzel’s fate, the Sorceress transforms all of Margaret and Beto’s muscle tissue into dental floss. They crumple to the floor.
If you are going to get yourself out of this situation, you’re going to have to do it alone. Alone, but not entirely. You’ll also have the help of all the contributors to New Papers 6. New Papers 6 contains six pieces. The first is a story called ‘The History of the World’ by Robert Lopez. The second is a story called ‘The So-Called Thing’ by Rachel Fleminger-Hudson. The third is a packet of three poems by Henry Woodland. The fourth is a story called ‘No Easy Task’ by Jaya Twill. The fifth is a story called ‘Into the Mud’ by Riley Scott. The sixth is a story called ‘Safari’ by T.C. Hell.
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