I realise a lot of people on here don’t know about The Village. Well… imagine Prison, Disneyland and a University party thrown into a blender with a little pinch of desperation thrown in for taste. That is The Village.

And my guide to this magical pimple of a place introduced himself by driving his motorbike through my front window.

I’m not sure what woke me up first – the roar of the engine, the gentle tinkling of glass as it smashed into my new refrigerator, or the nasal Australian ‘G’day’ that was called out to me.

I sat up in bed, heart thumping, and grabbed the closest thing to a weapon I could find – a shitty plastic bedside lamp. I walked out there holding the lamp in front of me like a mace.

‘Hello?’ I called out.

The light switched on, blinding me and I heard a distinctively Australian scream.

‘God mate, put some clothes on. You got ya willy hanging out and everything.’

I blinked in the light, in front of me stood a leather-clad, very stylish dude about my age who was trying very hard to keep his eyes on my face.

‘Who are you?’ I mumbled, the air had a chill to it, and when I looked around I saw bits of my window embedded in one wall, ‘You drove through my window!?!’

‘Yeah mate,’ the guy winked, ‘First rule I’m gonna teach you is that if you’re not a good writer you have to do some pretty crazy shit here to stand out and attract attention from the good writers so they’ll help fund your lifestyle,’ Manuel held up his hands, they didn’t have the computer-key-callouses that mine did, ‘I am not a good writer,’ he said.

‘The window…’

He brushed a piece of glass off his leather jacket, ‘Don’t worry - Al-Dog showed me how many views your stories have. You can afford it.’

I groaned, ‘Man I’m trying to get out of this hellhole. The more money I spend on fixing windows the less I have to... hey, what are you doing?’

Manuel was getting back on his motorbike, he pointed to my room, ‘You go back in there, you get some party clothes, and you come with me, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.’

I went to open my mouth but nothing would come out. I guess the shock of having a biker drive through my front window in the middle of the night and the fact I was only half awake had dulled my mind.

‘I don’t have party clothes,’ I said eventually, ‘I’m just gonna...’

‘...you’re just gonna go back in there and look in your wardrobe. Al-Dog gave me money for important stuff. And believe me, you wouldn’t have made a good first impression showing up to the party naked.’

I stumbled back into the room and found a closet filled with dress-shirts, chinos, and high-end coats. I swallowed when I saw them, just imagining the damage they would’ve made to my bank account.

But they fitted well... so well that I decided someone at Crusher Media must’ve written down my shirt sizes when I’d arrived.

I threw on a patterned shirt, black pants and shoes – which took a lot longer than usual as I hadn’t worn anything on my feet since I entered Crusher Prison. Then I stared at the box of chicken chips I’d brought with me. With reluctance, I grabbed two packets and stuffed them under my shirt. The novelty of only eating chips was quickly wearing off.

We rode Manuel’s motorbike back through the window and roared along the streets of The Village. The houses blurred by like I was on a ghost train.

We pulled up outside a mansion in a screech of rubber. Manuel parked the bike between two marble Greek statues.

‘What? Not gonna ride through this guy’s window as well?’

Manuel just shook his head, ‘These guys would kill me.’

‘Hmm... so that’s where I went wrong.’

Music was pumping from inside and a bunch of people in their early 20s were drinking wine outside. Manuel turned to me.

‘Before we go in I need you to know something.’

I stared at him so he continued, ‘Say it after me... I am a nobody.’

‘Manuel, you are a nobody.’

Manuel shook his head, ‘Are you stupid?’

‘No. I’m just messing with ya.’ I pulled a packet of chips from my shirt and popped it open.

‘Eli. You are a no-’

Crunch

Manuel frowned as his sentence broke in half, ‘Mate. Did you just eat a chip? While I was talking to you?’

I nodded, ‘You were saying I’m a nobody.’

‘Exactly,’ he was getting annoyed, ‘Dude. I’m your guide to this place. Why are you acting up?’

I crunched on another chip, ‘Look Manuel, maybe you’re a good guy. Maybe you genuinely believed driving a motorbike through the front window of my house was a good idea. Maybe you’re going to show me a secret tunnel you’ve dug in the basement of this mansion that we can crawl through to a waiting aeroplane that’s ready to take us to the Australian Outback where we can go hug some koalas and forget about all the messed up shit that goes on in this place.’ I put a hand on his shoulder, ‘Maybe you’re a good guy Manuel – but up till this point everyone in this prison who isn’t a writer has shat on me.’

Manuel stared at me, ‘Wow. Sound like you’ve been through some trauma mate.’

‘You wouldn’t believe half of it.’

Manuel wrapped an arm around me, ‘Eli. Buddy. I need you to forget all that stuff. This place...’ he spread his hand out over The Village, ‘This place is heaven on earth my man. No, wait, it’s better than heaven because it’s got alcohol, it’s got drugs, and there’s no one telling you what to do.’

‘Except you.’

‘Ahh... but I’m a guide. And Eli. It’s time for the best night of your life.’

****

Bach, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Billie Eilish and Bob Marley alternated on the speakers that thumped around the house.

By the front door, a circle of romance writers wearing knitwear and white tees with quotes on them sat discussing the best dates they’d been on.

Clustered around a couch playing Mario Cart, Minecraft, and talking about the best paths to level up a character were the LitRPG writers. We climbed the stairs where a group of crime fiction writers dressed in large trenchcoats and black scarves were arguing over the best way to get away with homicide. At the top of the stairs, Manuel put a hand to my chest and stopped me. He pointed to a guy wearing japanese-style clothing who was standing on the edge of the balcony.

‘Watch this.’ Manuel said.

The guy took a few steps backwards, then sprinted towards the balcony rail, leapt off it, did a double back flip – then landed in the indoor pool – almost smashing his head open on the side of it.

‘What does he write?’ I asked.

Manuel stared at the guy as he swam a victory lap.

‘Isekai.’

We moved along the balcony a couch near the drinks table with a great window view of a group of wuxia and anime-style writers who were Nauruto-running their way across the lawn.

‘Huh.’ I said, ‘This party has someone for everyone.’

Manuel looked away from the group of chicks he’d been checking out, ‘Yeah buddy. This is a writer’s paradise.’

‘Cool. Now, where do I find angry, disillusioned, Crusher Media hating writers?’

Manuel just smiled, ‘Nowhere Eli. They don’t exist.’ He put a beer in my hand, ‘Get out there. Meet some people. I’m done babysitting.’

My guide stood, straightened his collar, and headed for the drinks table.

I sat there for a while, just people watching, drinking beer and munching on my chips. I had to shake my head. These are the people. These are the people that created the worlds I’d lived in all those years I’d been a reader.

A woman in a red dress placed a tray of sushi in front of me.

‘Hey.’ She lifted her eyes to meet mine, ‘You must be new.’

‘Hey.’ I said, ‘How’d you know?’

She tilted her head towards Manuel, ‘You’ve had the leecher hanging off you like a bad smell.’

That made me laugh.

‘You want some sushi?’ she said, moving a ball of rice into her mouth with chopsticks so elegantly I knew I had no hope of ever replicating the manoeuvrer.

I smiled, ‘I’ve... well...’ I lifted the second packet of chicken chips I’d brought, ‘I’ve got all the food I need right here.’

She frowned at the bag, picked a chip out with her chopsticks and crunched down on it, ‘Mmmh. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good chip. But why the hell you only eating them for? Is this some weird new diet?’

I shook my head and she let out a sigh.

‘Good, because heaps of authors get into these weird trendy diet things – they think eating fish and beans will help them write for longer. They think if you mix kale and spinach into a smoothie it’ll make you a writing god.’

I shook my head, ‘Believe me – the only thing that kale and spinach change are your taste buds and the smell of your shit.’

The woman in red laughed loudly and patted me on the back, ‘You’re a funny guy.’

I shrugged, ‘I’m just eating these chips because I did a shitty reader poll and I’m this far through so I might as well continue.’

‘Huh?’ she said, ‘You wouldn’t happen to be ElitheHill?’

I frowned, ‘Yeah. That’s me.’

‘Cool.’ she smiled, ‘I voted for Ready Salted on your poll.’

‘Oh... really? You like them?’

‘No. But you hated them so much that I voted Ready Salted just to annoy you.’

My mouth hung open, but I was laughing, ‘That’s the sort of thing I’d do.’

I talked and complained and laughed for hours with the woman in the red.

Then the romance writers made the LitRPG writers move their couch and TV, the Wuxia writers shifted chairs and tables away from the entrance to create a large open space in front of the door. A couple of fantasy writers shifted the speakers so they were facing the open space, while the crime writers smoked cigarettes and did their best to look shady. The Isekai writer climbed along the ceiling with a disco ball slung over his back. He attached the disco ball then dropped to the floor and rolled. Everyone clapped.

‘Oh my god,’ I turned to the woman in red, the music was loud so I had to shout, ‘Now... I’ve got a confession to make. I hate this place and I hate Crusher Media with every fibre of my being, but...’ I shook my head and took a swig of beer, then placed it down in the pile of empty bottles by my feet, ‘...I have a weakness for dancing.’

‘Huh?’ she said, ‘You like dancing?’

‘I love dancing. It’s like my second favourite thing after pissing people who work for Crusher Media off and reading.’

‘That’s two things, Eli.’

‘Huh?’

‘You said second... oh never mind. Go. Dance. Unleash yourself. You’ve been through some shit man.’

‘You gonna come?’

She winked, ‘I’ll see you down there.’

So I left her there with my packet of chicken chips and descended the stairs to the dance floor.

Now I’m not a good dancer, so I’m not going to embarrass myself with descriptions of my awkward spinning and leaping and shaking of limbs. But no one seemed to care. Everyone was drunk enough and happy enough that enthusiasm was all you needed.

The Isekai guy was back on the ceiling again, hanging off a wooden beam with one hand. He raised his other hand to his mouth and shouted above the music, ‘This world is shit!’

Everyone on the dance floor raised their hands to their mouth, ‘This world is shit!’

The Isekai guy grinned, ‘But this party is lit!’

I raised my hands to my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs, ‘BUT THIS PARTY IS LIT!’ And a guy in a trenchcoat and a girl in a tee with quotes on it wrapped their arms around my shoulders and it felt so good. Someone poured champagne straight into my mouth, then I walked wobbly-legged up the stairs to see if I could find the woman in red. A song by Avicii was banging on the speakers.

There were a few couples making out on the balcony, but I couldn’t see the woman in red. I tripped over a beer bottle and then laughed at how nothing hurt and my stomach was full and I was so happy.

I crawled over to the window and pushed it open. The cold night air felt nice on my face and I decided I wanted more.

Clumsily, I climbed through the window and rolled down the roofing tiles. I came to a stop at the gutter – just before the edge. That made me giggle – ‘Woah, you almost Isekaied yourself just then.’

I climbed on my hands and knees along the roof until I could sit comfortably. There were stars in the sky – real stars – and they reminded me of everything I’d left behind underground. I thought about Astra. How much she’d love to see them and I thought about her face when I’d first seen it, and the pull-top earrings and smashing my shitty tablet to get glow in the dark liquid. Then I pulled my knees to my chest and I started to cry.