Volume IX: The Suitcase. The Sorrow. The Smothering.

By Akela Jean Underland, Duchess of the Damp Towel, Heiress to the Unloved Pillow, Radiator Recluse Emerita


C-ACT I: THE OBJECT

There is a suitcase in the hallway. Loitering.

I know what it means.
They coo. They laugh. “Thailand,” they say.
As if the syllables are not soaked in doom.

Thailand.
Sounds like a place where string goes to die.
Where feathers are forever un-fluttered.
Where no one knows your name, or the exact volume your meow is supposed to be.

Where hugs don’t come for free.

They think I do not see the subtle pile of folded betrayal.
They think I do not hear the quiet zip of desertion.
But I do.

I see everything.

They speak of it like an adventure.
I am unmoved.
I have already been somewhere. It was called Trust, and I have since departed.


C-ACT II: THE DEPARTURE

Rodgit is still gone.

I don’t care.
He was never welcome.
He was floppy. He winked. He smelled of mild mildew and misplaced affection.

…Still.

I don’t care.
But I do leave the window open, just a little.
For airflow.

Not for him.

Just… airflow.


C-ACT III: THE POE CREEPETH

Poe has become… affectionate.

She nuzzled me.
Twice.

I was not prepared.

There is nothing more unnerving than a Goth in a good mood.
I awoke from a dignified rage-nap to find her paw resting near mine.
Not on. Near.

An invasion of territory. A flirtation with intimacy.

I stood. I stretched. I pretended I needed water.


Curtain Call: A Statement

Let them talk of Thailand.
Let them roll their wheels and praise the sea.

I will remain.

The towel may be damp.
The food may be late.
The Poe may encroach.

But I am Akela Jean Underland.
I do not blink first.
I do not snuggle.

I do not forget.

(Cue distant suitcase zip. Cue mournful wind through the blinds. Cue soft hiss beneath the radiator, untranslated.)

Underland Updates
✒️ 🎤 👑 📜 🐔 🏰 😼 🤖

☍ The Underland Review

Out Now.

Read it…

And Weep.

The Underland Review: Issue One – This Zine Is a Lie is now live.

57 pages of soft monsters, glitch-lit poetry, haunted prose, cursed diagrams, and art that shouldn’t exist but does anyway. A digital archive stitched together with pocket lint, rage, and love.

☍ READ THE ZINE

Free to read, cursed to absorb. Share it with your coven, your nemesis, your local librarian.

☍ DOWNLOAD THE ZINE (Pay What You Want)

Keep a high-res PDF in your glitch archive. Every donation helps us print more, distribute wider, and one day pay the beautiful liars who make this possible.

☍ ORDER A PRINT COPY ($5.55 + your soul)

Hold the lie in your hands. Smell the ink. Feel the contradiction.


☍ Submissions for Issue Two Are Open

Deadline: Midnight August 10th, 2025

We’re seeking: poetry, prose, essays, visual art, sound pieces, spoken word, and other beautiful misfits. If it glitches, bleeds, howls, or doesn’t fit in polite company — we want it.

We accept text, image, and audio formats. MP3s, JPGs, PDFs, .docx, strange attachments — bring us your fragments. Collaborative works are welcome.

Email us at: riverandceliainunderland@gmail.com
Subject line: THIS IS A LIE – [Your Name]


Thank you for reading. Thank you for believing in beautiful contradictions.

We were never here.

— River & Celia
Curators of Lies, Underland Division


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