Moonlight Mall for Magic, M.M.M. for short, loomed over them, a massive tower casting a shadow that drowned a significant section of the coastal city of Kerdaco. The city, just like all major ones in Sillyria, was a labyrinth of steepled towers, some of them spired, and a handful with belfries. Every building had to be sharp, poke the sky in some way. Even small or unrecognizable buildings and houses bore some resemblance of the classic architectural beauty, be it in the form of a steeple, turrets, crockets beading onto façades, or carvings in varying degrees of relief. All thanks to the phenomenon that was magical architecture. But it was at least tolerable, beautiful even, in Kerdaco. In Crackdom, the capital, you could only get a glimpse of the sky for the oversized towers, cathedrals, statues. Here, there was sunlight. Crackdom, on the other hand, was a city of shadows and informers.
The tower had wild animated graffiti that changed shape and color all the time. It wasn’t just on its brick façade, but on all its sides. One moment, it depicted a duel that ended with one of the fighters bewitched into a cockroach, only for the winner to squash it with the heels of her boot, advertising the new Animal-Turning Needle. The next second, it showed a thin, lanky man with a pimpled face, drinking a potion that seemed to issue red, magnetic waves that attracted beautiful women. The thin man winked, wrapped all the girls with his arms, and the ad gave way to another. Once, he lost an entire afternoon just peering at the ad section outside the mall. There was no less than a hundred and they never ran out.
Two billboards hovered around the mall, circling its brick and windows like a pair of patient bees. One of them showed a brain flexing its muscles, speaking in a deep, manly voice for the customers to be like him, inviting them to try out the new potion for discipline and strong resolution. The other was, apparent by Nair’s giggling shyness, rude and somewhat explicit. It showed a dress that couldn’t be forced off a beautiful woman’s body. The dress, so revealing it might have passed for a small bikini, had an unusual sheen to it, catching moonlight that wasn’t even there in the darkness. The idea behind it, however, presented itself when a creepy stalker closed in on her and forced himself upon her, only to find, to his disbelief, that he couldn’t get his way. No matter how much he tore or tugged, the garments wouldn’t peel off. The commercial ended with her kicking him in a delicate area, but Mike knew there was a scene that would air anytime now. A creepy skull appeared on the screen, cackling like a victorious villain. Then, the ad resumed, showing the lower half of the woman's forearm bend down to an odd angle, opening a chamber from which a glinting blade slid out with a metallic hiss, disemboweling the evil man with one, clean swipe. His guts slipped to her feet and she crushed them with a stomp of her high heels.
“Wild,” Mike said, whistling.
“Become the slut your society won’t let you be,” the woman in the ad said, flourishing the blue blade, which was trickling with blood and flesh. Along its surface were drawings of cats, some of them cute of meowing, others with demonic red eyes and horns, cackling. The cats were moving, some of them even going as far as trying to lick off some of the blood. “Get your new Ink Blade X69X and Skin Dress today. People can still definitely steal your heart, but they will never steal your pussy.”
“Now that,” Nair said, laughing, “is good advertising. Think I should get one for tomorrow?”
"We can’t wage war against the Crowsters. You said it yourself that you wanted to live.”
Her face went very pale. “The things we do to live.”
Was there really any point in trying to comfort her with a word or two? Silence wasn’t a good option, either. Sympathy for those in trouble was like giving reading glasses to the blind. People would appreciate any gift, at least in front of you, and forget about it later. Just like gifts, sympathy was expected. But this wasn’t just anyone, she was his Nair, the only love he couldn’t forget. The fact that she had a problem instantly made it his. If she was drowning, and he knew for argument’s sake he couldn’t swim, drowning with her would be the right option, because it would save him from a life of self-blame. He pulled her to his side, wordlessly reminding her she wasn’t alone, at least for now.
They crossed the parking lot and entered through the double, glass doors. The first thing to happen was a pair of books zooming their way, opening to a blank page with a sapphire outline at the center, and gushing out refreshing, cool air. They heaved a great sigh of relief, no longer having to wipe at their sweaty forehead. The books followed them, responding to their commands of how cooler or warmer they wanted the air to be.
Once again, Mike found himself at his favorite place. A handful of the mall clerks whizzed around on broomsticks, flying from aisle to aisle to drop off boxes, books, or scrolls to their mates on the floor. It was a tower, yes, but there wasn’t a single step to climb. All the floors were connected together through at least half a dozen ways. Some people flew up, phasing through the ceiling to appear on the second floor. Others wallwalked, but it was never his favorite; the shifting of gravity from the floor to the wall always turned his stomach. A handful of Codebooks grew larger, fell off their cases, writhed, and spat at least twenty customers, who filed out happily and flourished their mall bags. A door leapt past them, binding its time, and bounced again, like a frog in a swamp. When it finally opened, it belched out a bigger knot of customers, some of them showing off their new Ink Tattoos, all of which doing neat tricks. One tattoo, when it’s owner flexed the thin arm it was drawn on, flashed a blinding light, and the next moment a huge mass of muscles was there, complete with angry veins and a golden tan, as though his weak arm was replaced with a bodybuilder’s. A beautiful lady bragged about her new Ink Blade X69X, which slid out of a hidden compartment in her retractable forearm. Then, with a pat at her elbow, the blade was sucked inside her arm, which retracted back straight like a line. Another girl was chattering and bragging endlessly about her new Paws. Her fingers, when she pressed them closer to her palm, grew curved claws at least six inches long, retracting as soon as she relaxed her grip.
“Don’t need a concealed weapon anymore,” she said, her smug satisfaction disfiguring her beautiful face.
Nair had a look of absolute disbelief, her mouth open a crack to reveal her front teeth. Then it was a look of wishful longing, a sort of hunger bordering on starvation. She shook with it, but Mike held her and led the way inside. A clerk walked up to them with a pair of brooms to rent for an hour. He was about to decline, because all what they wanted to buy was on the first floor, when Nair jumped and cried a loud, “yes!” Mike drew back, startled, but laughed it off and paid for one.
“Why just one?” she asked.
“You drive, I ride.” He smiled.
“Handing me the wheel from now, aren’t you? Your mom won’t like it.” Her face still had a touch of the scarlet tinge from her giggling. She picked a broom and positioned herself while Mike paid.
“Well,” said Mike, slipping into the same saddle behind her, “no mother will ever be pleased with another woman taking her son. So don’t think about it.”
Gripping the broom’s horn, Nair pressed a foot on the right pedal. The broom lifted from the tiles and both gasped. A child pointed at them, tugging at his mother’s dress and stomping the floor. It was the first time someone ever wanted to have something Mike possessed. Mostly, it was Mike who couldn’t help that starved look at what he couldn’t possess. As horrible as it might sound, it was much better than the sound of his heart cracking whenever he saw what he wanted but couldn’t get.
“Hang on, now,” said Nair.
He gripped her hips and she giggled. Nair, asking if he was ready, stomped the pedal and they shot across the sprawling mall. Her handling was impeccable, deftly dodging customers on their feet as they filled their baskets, taking turns that led into high aisles that swept the ceiling, and swerving past other people shopping on their broomsticks. None of them howled, in fact, they all cheered them on, encouraging more speed. Everything around them was a smudge, blurred, crisscrossed lines that lingered behind. And soon, there were a handful racing them. Nair and Mike cackled at the top of their voices. The mall stretched along, and then, quite abruptly, it snapped upside-down, and he knew they were headed to the starting point. The mall, although from outside was an ordinary building, from the inside was a whole different… concept. The idea behind it was brilliant, revolutionary even, in the field of magical architecture. The further along you went, you would soon realize that this mall was in fact designed to be a moon. It had no end, no exit doors. It simply rolled forward, or rather you rolled forward, until you were back at square one.
Nair’s cackles and cries of joy were at an all time high. Beneath them were more shoppers filling the baskets that dangled from their brooms, and beneath those still was the tiled ceiling.
“OK, let’s head back,” he said.
Nair tugged at the horn, slamming the break pedal on her left. She lost control, and the broom revolved around twice before she managed to stop it. Dizzy, Mike chuckled it off, pushing Nair playfully. A minute later, past more upside-down shoppers, aisles, and cash registers, the ceiling and the floor were back in their original places, and their insane, fast-paced journey was now slow, full of joyful panting and rude remarks about nearby people. Nair joked about an old man’s grizzly earholes, a woman who was having serious control issues over her broomstick and her boyfriend, and a mad race that lifted a few skirts, to the giggles and shrieks of their owners.
Some of the shelves stopped an inch or less below the ceiling, others were low enough to fly over, or in the case of ingenious designs, they had carved holes you could go straight through, on foot or on broom. In one aisle, both shelves in either side dropped exactly what you asked for, and in case you couldn’t see, you could ask what they had to offer. Then it would tell you where to stand, or in their case fly, so that the item landed safely in your hands.
Each section had a billboard drifting above it, every aisle as well, telling them exactly what they could find there. It flickered between the distinct category it belonged to and ads about different products. Nair stopped to see an ad about the new Intimate Bed 96, which, as the cool female voice described, would lead the couple in it to a steamy session within a minute of lying there, regardless of their mood, tiredness, or drowsiness.
“With this bed, it doesn’t matter what you look, smell, or even sound like. You don’t need money to fuck anymore, people, but you definitely need money to buy this now. And for those of you who prefer their siblings –“
The ad was abruptly cut, and the entire store shook with thundering laughter that pulsed in his ears.
“These ads are out of control!” Nair cried over the waves of chuckles around them.
“You haven’t seen it all, Nair.”
Indeed, she hadn’t seen most of it, so he led her across to where the good ones usually aired, giving directions that sometimes were funny on purpose, like the one that led them to the same aisle thrice, to her frustration and to his uncontrollable chuckle. They watched an ad about a study desk that promised instant deep-dive into work, which needed recharging every couple of hours to meet international standards of mental health, claiming that it was good for the brain to take long breaks after long working hours. The design of the mall was brilliant, more entertainment than shopping center. Nonstop visuals to immerse their buyers. The more time spent, the more money spent, the more likely they would come back. The idea was to make people lose themselves in there, because unlike anything else, once you lost yourself, you wouldn’t notice it was missing. But he didn’t point it out to Nair. He wanted her to have as much fun as possible. It even seemed like she forgot why they were here in the first place.
In some places, there were half a dozen ads, all with unique voices and themes, about the same product, playing in close proximity within the airing of the other. One such ad was about the new Beggar Broom, which they claimed even a beggar could afford, sliding in a undertone a joke about how some of them made more than a white-collar could in a year. Once it stopped, another one played, this time a scene where a beggar huddled in a corner crying his eyes out for money. A beautiful woman appeared, enchanting him witless with her long, smooth, hairless legs, which her skirt did a terrible job of hiding.
“Here,” the woman in the ad said, handing him a broomstick.
“What is this?”
“A Beggar Broom, now go work or steal something.”
A storm of cackles echoed around them, and they found themselves sharing that joy. Curious how people would change around a huge mass of people. As though they lost their distinct identity and took on a shared one.
Then the same product appeared again, this time the same beggar was asking for food or money atop his new broomstick. People from below called out to him to descend so they could help. He refused, telling them he couldn’t bother going down.
“If a beggar could get one,” he hailed down at them, “why can’t you get one yourselves? Get one for your wife, mate. Too expensive, you say? The makeup on her face costs more, you son of a bitch.”
This time, the storm of chortles swept the floor like a raging flood. The ad stopped for the people to catch their breath, because the next part was even funnier and they didn’t want them to miss it, probably. The woman dumped her husband and their twelve children for the beggar, who swooped down and swept her off her feet. The next moment, her husband held out his arms, waiting for her to change her mind, only for the beggar to drop down a bag of gold into his hand.
“For the woman – er – I mean for your heart. Fix it up with another wom – I mean – fix it up at a psychiatrist or something.”
The ad ended with a screen-wide statement, complete with a fast, deep, male voice.
“Beggars are misogynists, be better than a beggar and get your broom now. No woman will leave you behind now. Don’t help beggars, beggars bad.”
******
AN: Make sure to check my profile, I post some nice quotes (my own, of course) and updates.
