Blood moon against black sky.

Release Me from this Eternal Prison

For the sake of all that is good and pure in this world, do not buy a subscription to The Economist.

I used to be like you. A young, naive, second-year student. Perhaps a chip on his shoulder: ‘I’m two years into my PPE degree, and I feel like I know fuck all. Deep in my heart I know I need to engage with world events. But I don’t give a shit about anything. When I close my eyes, I see RCT matrices… I must improve… I need to be able to bring up tidbits at the dinner table. Anything! Any sort of basic analysis. Perhaps a few retrospectives on key economic events. I don’t even know where Saudi Arabia is.’

I was just like you. ‘If only there were a fortnightly pamphlet, some kind of mass-produced informational text. Glossy paged, graphs, perhaps even an infographic’, I thought. ‘Surely, this would bolster my intellect.’

The cry of their siren song – ‘12 weeks for 90 percent off’ – led me into a daze. A dozen issues for a mere 20 silvers, the fruits of a brief conversation with Papa. A good deal. Perhaps too good… I floated upwards, divorced from my middling body, observing my form take a Blood Oath ­– a Faustian pact with the Red Shirted Devil. To be enlightened, there must be sacrifice.

A free book that I would never read was thrown in to close the sale. The iPad signup form glowed a piercing green, imbued with the power of the Ancient One – my unending master. The fine print, alas, I did not read.

It was but 84 nights later that I awoke in a sweat. Not in my room, no, but trapped in a Wall Street bathroom mirror. The subscription was automatically renewed on the eve of a Blood Moon, forming the catalyst for a Soul Snare, a vile transmission of my Life Essence into an inanimate object: doomed forever to reflect on my hubris.

I am but a ghost to those checking their ties – my screams they cannot hear. If you can read this: I beg you, kill me. Smash the mirrors – smash them all. Who knows how many others have fallen victim to this hex. Avenge me.

I beg you, help me. Help.


We acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which Woroni, Woroni Radio and Woroni TV are created, edited, published, printed and distributed. We pay our respects to Elders past and present. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.