Free Blimpo: The Third Circle of Heck by Dale E. Basye Page A

confusion, slipped her arm through the magazine’s tube. The magazine began to hum. Marlo could feel a faint tingle on her forearm and a freaky …
tightening
.
    “Now, you just sort of clear your mind, and it turns on.”
    Marlo closed her eyes and thought of her interest inGirl Scouts, which was the closest thing to absolute nothing she could think of. The magazine sprang to life, like a startled, electric porcupine with pages for quills. Marlo opened her eyes.
    Each page of
Statusphere
was a thin, flexible LCD screen displaying a series of gorgeous, glamorous, moving images. It wasn’t just a magazine; it was like wearing a carousel of constantly updated fashion movies.
It’s creepy
, Marlo thought as the tube constricted around her arm.
It’s like
I’m
the battery that powers it
.
    “But why?” Marlo asked. “It’s really cool and all, but why not just a regular magazine?”
    Farzana eyed the magazine on Marlo’s forearm with unease.
    “Madame Pompadour says that a fashion magazine is
out
of fashion as soon as it hits the stands.
Statusphere
actually keeps up with every fad and trend in
real time.”
    “Hmm,” Marlo murmured as she walked back to her desk, transfixed by the constant parade of bored, skinny women in size-triple-zero dresses, with the occasional hot, sullen guy in the latest suit thrown in for good measure.
    “The format,” Farzana continued as she slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and carefully sliced open a smoking letter, “also allows for some …
interactive
elements.”
    Farzana shot Marlo a quick, nervous look before returning to her duties.
    “She probably won’t need you until lunch,” she continued. “You should check it out.”
    Marlo flipped the pages and stopped at one with the flashing headline: IS MARLO FAUSTER A HIDEOUS TROLL? A
STATUSPHERE
QUIZ !
    The page was divided in two, with the quiz on one side and—to Marlo’s surprise—a picture of Marlo on the other.
    “But how?” she mumbled before her mind grew fuzzy, and, suddenly, all she could think about was how she’d give anything to be like the girls in the magazine: conventionally yet impossibly pretty.

9 • A D i SGUST i NG D i SGUISE
    “THEY’RE PURE APPETITE,” Moondog said as he faced the pit of creatures, taking them in with his mind. “I’m not registering any intelligence whatsoever. We’re talking sack-of-hammers, box-of-hair, twelve-shy-of-a-dozen-scale ignorance. They’re basically just animated suits of skin, looking for something to eat.”
    Milton, still quaking from his brush with being a flea-tick’s snack, stared into the chasm as the creatures blindly crawled and slipped over one another, flailing for food.
    “How come they don’t just eat each other?” he wondered aloud.
    “Well,” Moondog said, trying to wave the air clear, “apparently there’s nothing in those blubbering beasties but a whole lot of bad, bad gas. Guess that keepsthem from going all cannibalistic, you know: not wanting to have a fart-to-fart nosh on one another.”
    Jack walked over to Milton and bundled him up with a bewilderbeast skin.
    “Here’s some primitive drape for you, Popsicle,” he said. “To keep the shivers from delivering.”
    Milton gawked at the strange, shimmering pelt. He stroked the peculiar fur of the rugged bewilderbeast hide.
    “Hmmm,” Milton pondered, gazing into the pit. “Those things are empty on the inside but hungry all over. Maybe I could use them as some kind of … disguise.”
    He studied the golden gate near the cluster of edgy PODs. It was separated from Blimpo by the moat of creatures.
    “A
way to walk into Blimpo undetected.”
    Milton, filled with the energy that arrives with a dangerous new idea, bounded toward Cody’s shopping cart. Inside, tucked among vintage comic books and camping supplies, were bungee cords and coat hangers.
    “Do you mind?” Milton asked as he rifled through the cart.
    Cody shrugged his shoulders.
“Mi junko es tu junko.”
    Milton