Lazytown Novels & Stories

Two days left after today. Lily woke 6 AM. "Mamma, Day 5 bodega macaron?" We promised 7 bodega macarons for 7 days. Today Day 5, white truck LILA LONG gold letters gone, now Bronx bodega truck with spray paint pink: CHUBBY QUEEN MANGO. Black bag on floor. Four evidences, not two. Need to add today? No, today no copy yet — Vanessa closed, green closed. Phone buzzed 6:30 AM. Mrs. Johnson, not Mrs. Potts. Mrs. Potts still at mansion guarding gold crib and white closet from Long first story, but Mrs. Johnson now Queen of Bronx gate.

It looked like a sheet of falling rain, but when I touched it, my hand turned into a string of text: **[ERROR: AREA NOT YET UNLOCKED. PURCHASE 'CITY EXPANSION' TO CONTINUE.]** "We're trapped in a one-block radius," I whispered, pounding my fists against the invisible barrier. "They turned the whole world into a 'Zone'." "Then we go down," Rowan said, looking at a manhole cover in the street. "Rowan, that's not a sewer," I said, pointing at the black ink still pulsing in my hand. "That's a **Loading Dock**."

84. LUTHER Jamsberry Street. When I told my mother that I've gotten a job being a tutor for a fourteen year old, she didn't mind. I'm already fine now, the doctor confirmed it, so a little hard work won't hurt me. But then she choked on her coffee and asked if I was crashing when I told her that the said kid lives on jamsberry street. "Luther, we didn't come to this town yesterday! We know that jamsberry is the bad side of Densberry, they sell the drugs!"

The doctors could never have guessed that it was my wife, Lilian Barton, who had her people brutalize Wesley like this. Until today, I had no idea that Lilian led an underworld gang in Teravon. She ordered her men to beat Wesley mercilessly. While Wesley cried out in agony, she felt nothing but irritation at the noise and disgust at the sight of his blood. "Blood on a wedding day is the worst omen. This perfect occasion has been ruined by this cursed little thing," she said. She quickly had someone drag Wesley to the hills behind the venue, then turned to clutch another man's hand tightly. "Honey, don't worry. I'll take you to the chapel later to cleanse all this bad luck."

And strays don't hide in abandoned buildings when the sky turns violet, they hide in plain sight, where the noise masks their paranoia. My tracking node locked onto his final, desperate signal ping. It didn't lead to the Depths. It led to the commercial underbelly of the Mid-District, an automated, twenty-four-hour commercial laundry facility that processed uniforms for the city’s private security firms. Tyler’s day job. His camouflage.

New York City. Queens. A Safehouse in a Basement Apartment. Two Weeks Later. Rainy Night. The neon sign of a laundromat flickered outside the grimy window. Inside, the room was small, smelling of takeout Chinese food and damp concrete. It was a far cry from the penthouses and palaces they were used to. Jack was polishing his sniper rifle on the kitchen table. He was wearing a "I Love NY" t-shirt that was two sizes too small. "I hate this city," Jack grumbled. "Too many people. No trees. And the rats here are bigger than the wolves in Alaska."

He stood behind me, his hands extended to show me two watches. "Which is better?" My brow moved up in question, as I spun to face him. I looked between the two, pointing to the solid yellow gold one. He lifted it, strapping it on. "I called to make sure the restaurant was guarded, the only thing I wasn't guaranteed is the entrance." Triston sighed, "I could get you in through the back- but what so wrong with a photo or two?" My eyes moved up to him, "Being on the news and overcasting someone's wedding is not on my plans for today." Triston rolled his eyes, "Honestly, that would be rude of me-"

Third Person's POV The bar sat in a part of downtown that tourists avoided and locals navigated with the wariness of people who understood that certain streets belonged to certain people at certain hours. Liam pulled his car into a spot three blocks away, the kind of defensive parking that came from growing up around money and understanding that expensive vehicles in poor neighborhoods were invitations for trouble. Jackson stared out the passenger window at the peeling paint and broken neon signs that marked this territory. "Mackenzie wants to meet us here? In this neighborhood?"

"No, Victoria. Just no. You won't have any hygiene until I say so." He accelerated slightly, as if my anger amused him. "And you know what? I love seeing you like this. Dirty. It's the perfect reflection of what you are on the inside. Complete trash." I swallowed the sob of rage and humiliation. I went back to staring out the window at the trees blurring past in the dark. I didn't know where we were going. I only knew each minute was another minute farther from Liam. After another hour of oppressive silence, Lucas exited the highway and entered a small town. White Plains, the sign read. A New York suburb. He pulled up in front of a roadside motel, its neon sign flickering, the air reeking of

MOSCOW, RUSSIA. ~ALZNA The thin ray of sunlight slipping through a crack in the wall was the only way I could tell night from day. The air was thick with dampness, and the scent of rusted iron mixed with the staleness of my unwashed skin. My stomach twisted painfully in protest, hollow from days without food. The iron gate groaned open, followed by the sound of shoes clicking against the cold concrete. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.