Top Ten Worst Places to Live (in Fiction)

Let’s face it—finding a decent place to live these days is a nightmare. You’ve got to factor in crime rates, taxes, school systems, secret government labs, portals to hell, etc. And if you’ve got kids? Forget about it. Real estate is hard enough in the real world. In fiction? It’s practically a death sentence. Here are ten places you’ll want to steer far, far away from.

Honorable Mentions:
Raccoon City, PA; Amity Island, MA; Haven, ME; Forks, WA; New New York, NY; Hill Valley, CA; Castle Rock/Derry, ME

10. Eureka, Oregon

Type: Small Town
Crime Rates: Petty
Schools: Nationally ranked
Public Health/Safety: Dubious
Diversity: Average
Weirdness: Weekly

Eureka looks like the perfect small town—Main Street charm, friendly neighbors, cozy parks. But lift the curtain, and you’ll find a government-sanctioned science lab town founded by Truman-era physicists with names like Einstein and Oppenheimer. Today, it’s home to brilliant but absent-minded scientists who cause weekly disasters involving rogue AI, nanobots, unstable wormholes, and once, a spatial anomaly that made everyone’s pants vanish. (Okay, not really. But close.)

The town is essentially run by Global Dynamics, a tech-military megacorp with Pentagon clearance and no concept of safety protocols. Sure, the schools are excellent—if you want your child accidentally turned into a subatomic particle during Show-and-Tell.

Recommendation: Unless you enjoy the constant thrill of being liquified by sentient goo, steer clear.

9. Bayside, California (and formerly, Indiana?)

Type: Suburb
Crime Rates: Mostly teenage
Schools: Laughable
Public Health/Safety: Questionable
Diversity: Tokenism
Weirdness: Frequent

Bayside has a school system run like a sitcom. The principal is a needy man-child, the teachers are cardboard cutouts, and tests are optional if you’re charming enough. Disciplinary standards are non-existent. Fashion, on the other hand, is policed with ruthless consistency.

But beneath the poppy synth soundtrack lies a chilling truth: people vanish here. Teachers. Students. Entire families. The town once struck oil—and then forgot about it. A teen invented an AI robot—nobody cared. A pop girl group achieved national fame—poof, erased from memory. The worst offender is Zack Morris, a teenage trickster god with the ability to freeze time and gaslight an entire town into believing they live in California, not Indiana.

Recommendation: Avoid at all costs unless you're cool with being memory-wiped by a sociopathic teen in acid-washed jeans.

8. London, England

Type: City
Crime Rates: Victorian and modern levels of murder
Schools: Average
Public Health/Safety: Spotty
Diversity: British
Weirdness: Especially around Christmas

London has always had problems—crime, class struggles, Martian invasions—but the city is a minefield of magic, monsters, and mayhem. Victorian ghosts harass the wealthy at Christmas. Chimney-sweep gangs run rampant. Magical nannies gaslight children. And then there’s the time an entire school of wizards just casually blew up half the Underground.

Alien invasions are weirdly common, with most being handled by shady government agencies—or a man in a blue box with a fondness for scarves. Landmarks are often leveled. Residents don’t even flinch anymore.

Recommendation: If you must live here, avoid landmarks, stay indoors at Christmas, and never follow a woman with an umbrella into the sky.

7. Springfield, ???

Type: City
Crime Rates: Cartoonish but constant
Schools: Legally classified as “buildings”
Public Health/Safety: Toxic
Diversity: Yellow
Weirdness: Daily

Springfield exists in a paradoxical state—it borders everything and nothing. It’s plagued by natural disasters, industrial accidents, mutant fish, and a tire fire that’s been burning since the Reagan administration.

The school system is an OSHA violation with hall passes. The nuclear power plant is run by a literal cartoon villain, and the lake is so polluted it dissolves comets. The only consistently competent figure in the town is a ten-year-old girl with a saxophone.

Recommendation: Unless you’ve developed a resistance to radiation and nonsense, best to stay away—especially after season 9.

6. South Park, Colorado

Type: Small Town
Crime Rates: Average, but surreal
Schools: Chaotic
Public Health/Safety: Uninsured
Diversity: Token, literally
Weirdness: From petty to apocalyptic

South Park is cursed with plot relevance. National crises, religious scandals, alien invasions, and war crimes all seem to pass through this sleepy mountain town—and usually end in death. One kid dies so often it’s basically a running joke. The adults are violent, panicky, and generally useless. The kids are occasionally wiser, but also sociopathic.

Reality bends to whatever’s trending. Climate change? Literal monsters. Cancel culture? Actual demons. Don’t even ask about Eric Cartman.

Recommendation: Children under 10 have a slightly lower death rate, unless they wear orange. Then you’re doomed.

5. Angel Grove, California

Type: Suburb
Crime Rates: Giant monster-related
Schools: Okay
Public Health/Safety: Mech-fight adjacent
Diversity: 90s quota-friendly
Weirdness: Kaiju-level

Angel Grove is ground zero for weekly kaiju battles. Every other Wednesday, a giant rubber-suited monster rises from the sea, wrecks a few buildings, gets vaporized, and then comes back Godzilla-sized. The local teens (with attitude) handle the situation via choreographed martial arts and combining robot dinosaurs. The result: citywide destruction and unexplained fatalities no one ever talks about.

Recommendation: Avoid. When even space colonization is a more appealing option than your commute, it's time to pack up.

4. New York, New York

Type: Megacity
Crime Rates: Supervillainic
Schools: Overcrowded
Public Health/Safety: 1980s-tier
Diversity: High
Weirdness: Mostly in Manhattan

Fictional NYC is a non-stop disaster reel. It’s been wrecked by aliens, demons, kaiju, Will Smith, and JJ Abrams. Day-to-day life involves dodging muggers, mutants, ninjas, and whatever Spider-Man accidentally destroys during his morning swing.

While the subway's usually reliable, it’s also home to sewer-dwelling turtles, radioactive slime, and the occasional ghost invasion. The city's residents have adapted by developing a thousand-yard stare and a refusal to look up during UFO attacks.

Recommendation: Only move here if you enjoy chaos and overpriced bagels.

3. Gotham City, New Jersey

Type: Urban Hellscape
Crime Rates: Arkham-level
Schools: Barely functional
Public Health/Safety: Batman-reliant
Diversity: Criminally insane
Weirdness: Psychological

Gotham is America’s leading exporter of brooding antiheroes and clown-based terrorism. The city is perpetually cloaked in shadows and crime. At one point it suffered a massive earthquake and was just… abandoned. For months. Half the population was lost, and the rest probably turned into henchmen.

Supervillains run rampant. The Joker, a known mass murderer, escapes weekly. The cops are corrupt, the mayor's a puppet, and the one billionaire trying to help spends most of his time punching mentally ill people.

Recommendation: Move to Metropolis instead. At least Superman’s destruction is accidental.

2. Sunnydale, California

Type: Small Town
Crime Rates: Demonic
Schools: Cursed
Public Health/Safety: Hellmouth-adjacent
Diversity: Eh
Weirdness: Nightly

Sunnydale has all the signs of a normal town—except for the 12 cemeteries, frequent student deaths, and a booming magic shop economy. Built atop a literal Hellmouth, Sunnydale is a vortex of vampires, witches, and weekly apocalypses.

Between '97 and '02, the town lost over 5,000 residents. And this wasn’t to gentrification. High school is a blood sport. The mayor turned into a demon snake. The principal was eaten. Twice.

Recommendation: Do not rebuild. Let it sink into the Earth like it always wanted to.

1. Cabot Cove, Maine

Type: Quaint Fishing Village
Crime Rates: Statistically impossible
Schools: Average
Public Health/Safety: Actively homicidal
Diversity: White as chowder
Weirdness: Low-key murder cult

Cabot Cove has a murder rate that would make cartel bosses blush. In just over a decade, 8% of the town’s population was murdered—by other residents. Not drifters. Not cults. Regular folks. The police are so incompetent they routinely jail the wrong person, only to be corrected by a crime novelist. That’s right—Jessica Fletcher is the only functioning law enforcement in town.

Some theorize the town has developed a murder-based culture where every dispute ends in stabbing. It’s like Midsommar meets Golden Girls.

Recommendation: Avoid Maine entirely, but especially Cabot Cove. If Jessica Fletcher ever dies, the murder rate will go exponential.

A Gate to Momentary Mortality

Morii n. A desire to capture the feeling of a moment or experience—a snapshot of a moment, like a vibrant acknowledgement that something has changed, and yet is almost impossible to convey to another in photos or through recollection. From 'memento mori,' a small reminder of your mortality and ‘torii,’ the traditional Japanese gates that mark the threshold between the profane and the sacred.

The above definition is drawn from the site: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows—a personal favorite of mine—and it is a feeling I think we all experience as we start a new year, a new decade. Morii is like a fleeting awareness that the moment we are standing in is different, and special, and yet there is a frustration there because we know that we will be the only one to ever experience that moment, in that way. To me it is a feeling that paradoxically profound and frustrating, as if we are both connected with something deeper and profoundly alone.

So often in our world are we quick to grab our cameras, those devices that are so ubiquitous in our lives that they hang around us like albatrosses. How often do people live their lives through the lens of their digital devices, capturing moments so as to construct an identity that can be shared and envied by others. Yet how often do we put the cameras aside and enjoy the moments of Morii, and accept that the images and experiences we are witness to are wholly our own, and will always be that. Marriage proposals have become Instagram moments, instead of intimate moments. Vacations become Facebook memories instead of memories among friends. We have this urge to capture and contain our lives, not just for our enjoyment but for the observation of others, as if to say “this is me, now love me/hate me/envy me.”

Unfortunately, Morii shows us that those moments cannot ever be fully captured, at least not as we wish. Our pictures may remind of the scene, but can they ever really help us revisit what it was to stand in that place and at that time, with love, with awe, with friendship, with pity, with majesty, or so many other unspoken and ill defined emotions that no picture or moving image on a phone will ever do your own experience justice. Perhaps that is why it is easier to mindlessly grab for our phones and capture an image. Perhaps living through the lens is preferable to having a sense or Morii, an understanding that you are—for the briefest of moments— standing in a place, in a time, in a version of you that will never come again.

A torii is a traditional Japanese gate—the exact kind you are picturing when I say “Japanese gate.” They are usually located at the entrance to Shinto shrines, and mark a point of transition from the mundane to the divine. Momento mori, literaly translates from Latin as “'remember that you must die.” In a way, everyday we pass through gates of change, gates that mark our experiences as moving from the mundane to the divine, and yet we may let them go by unacknowledged. Additionally, everyday we die in many different ways, or at least versions of us die, experiences we have die. These things never come again, and we if stop too long to consider that then we are reminded of the fleeting nature of life. After all, we are mortal, and in that mortality we find beauty and awe and excitement and an understanding of ourselves and the world around us that can be both profoundly terrifying and deeply connective.

So, maybe for this year, try putting down your phone once in a while and relish the idea that this moment will never come again.

A Matter of Time

Did you ever feel like there was something missing in your life? I have, but more to the point, I think I am beginning to understand what that something is: Time Travelers.

Let me talk about how all this started. So the other day I was watching reruns of Smallville, (judge me accordingly for admitting that), and the episode I was watching was 8x11 Legion. It takes place much later in the Smallville mythos (Once Clark is through his angsty high school years and Michael Rosenbaum has left the series for promises of a mediocre film career.) The episode revolves around a time-traveling trio from the future, (Cosmic Boy, Lightning Lad, and Saturn Girl.) If you know anything about DC Comics you will recognize the names from the 31st century's Legion of Superheroes. They arrive in the Kent family barn to save the pre-Superman and to help him stop Brainiac in order to ensure the continued existence of a mediocre franchise.

Of course, this also gives the writers license to play with the characters and leads to all the obvious cliches and plot points you would expect in an episode about time-traveling superheroes who land in a late 90’s WB TV show. Among other things the three time travelers ask the questions that most fanboys were asking for eight years (Where is his cape? Where are the horn-rimmed glasses? Why can't he fly?), but most importantly they mention to Clark a hint of his future. They talk of a man who will not only inspire the world but the destiny of humanity for centuries to come.

This leads to me to a very important question of my own, Where is my time traveler? Clark Kent gets three (albeit stupidly named) visitors, John Connor had the Terminator, and even Bill and Ted had George Carlin. So where is my future-man who will come back to save my life so that I can one day go on to be a man that will inspire millions of people and save the human race from annihilation? I mean shouldn't that have happened by now? I'm 35 years old and according to my research most time travel experiences happen in a person's early to late teens, certainly no later than 22 or 23.

You would think even if I am not destined to save the world, the least the time traveling community could do for me is to send my future son back in time to ensure that I meet the woman of my dreams. I mean its 2019, Emmett Brown invented the time traveling Delorean back in 1985 and the time traveling steam-powered engine (for some reason) in 1885... so where is my future progeny? The only explanation I have is that maybe my son is just too busy being a famous novelist/starship captain.

Or, it could be something else, entirely... I mean I could wait around for someone like the Doctor and his TARDIS to come and whisk me away through time and space (it would have to be David Tennant) or maybe we all can't wait for our time traveling children to do all the work for us. After all whenever you look at anyone who has a had time traveling experience, Clark Kent, James T. Kirk, Marty McFly, any of the Doctor's companions, I think it is implied that these people already had something special about them even before their eponymous journeys.

Thus, the Time Traveler trope becomes almost circular. the aforementioned protagonists are special, because they were already special in the future. Bill and Ted are literally destined to change humanity, because George Carlin told them that they were, and for not other reason. the future says this person is someone who is important, so they send a Arnold Schwarzenegger back to kill him, and thus he becomes the important person they already said he was.

So maybe the solution to what lies ahead is not in a traveler from our future, but from our belief in our own futures. Also who really wants to put up with all the rigors of time travel and paradoxes, and possibilities of making out with your teenage mother. So maybe its not so much about what we are destined to be so long as we understand who we are today.

After all, Doc Brown and Natasha Bedingfield said it best, The future is unwritten.

Meta-Audience

Friedrich Nietzsche, a 19th century philosopher, often talked of the idea of non-standard perspective. In other words, its the idea that two objects cannot experience the world in the exact same way. If a dog sees the world through black and white and a Predator sees the world through rainbow-like infrared vision than neither will look at something as simple as a flower and truly understand, or even perceive it, in the same way.

It makes a lot of sense, and Fredrick Nietzsche was a damn smart man. In fact, if he were alive today, CBS would have given him an afternoon talk show by now. He is famous for -among other things- proclaiming that God is Dead, he is credited for indirectly inspiring the idea of Superman (the ubermensch), and starting a serious opposition to conventional morality in his book, Daybreak, which I am pretty sure was the fouth novel in a series of books that starred an angsty emo teen girl who was in love with an immoral vampire.

All of this really just leads to my point: There is no right or even normal way to experience the world around us. Like the dog and the Predator we all see things and understand things differently. This is especially true for people who have grown up with different experiences, different thoughts, and with different ways of processing the world.

I like to think that I try to write for people who see the world a bit differently than most. I try to write for anyone who has ever caught the last snippet of a conversation and equated it to quote from a Matt Groening cartoon; or who has looked up into the skies of New York City and hoped that maybe (for a moment) they might catch sight of a webslinging wallcrawler; or who have given serious thought to making an emergency bag in case of a zombie outbreak.

Perhaps more importantly, I want to write for anyone who has ever wanted to follow their dreams; or for anyone who has ever looked out the window and wondered where their place was in this world. As Nietzsche would agree sometimes the world is literally what you make of it.

Let’s make it a good one, together.

All Who Sonder Are Lost

Sonder n. The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

The above definition comes from the site: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, and I think it might be my favorite site. Sonder is a realization, an epiphany that comes when you see that the guy who sells you coffee every morning has a picture of his family, or when that homeless man on the corner tells you that he graduated from Yale and served as an Army Ranger. We tend to break the people in our lives (especially those on our peripheral) down to unchanging and small boxes that allow us to view them in one light and then forget that they existed the moment they are gone. Sonder comes when those people surprise us and break out of the roles we assigned for them. Before that, they were just background characters, extras in the movie that is your life, your story.

It is interesting how stories, movies, plays, etc give us the language to talk about this phenomenon. We are the main characters. Our story is about us, we see antagonists and challenges and plot twists wherever we look. We all see a cast of supporting characters, (our friends and family.) We understand that they are complex, but maybe not as complex of characters as we are. Then there are the extras, little more than set dressing to the happenings of our lives, but to them, we're the dressing. We become that guy standing on the subway, wearing the black jacket, or that girl walking down the street in uncomfortable shoes. More to the point that is all we will ever be in their stories, one-dimensional creatures. A few pixels in the background of a picture they took once. A voiceless body on the streets at night. All our problems, our thoughts, our wishes, our hopes, and fears, and loves, are nothing to them. Even celebrities are just faces on a screen. Yes, we may know their names and facts about their lives, but they still aren't the heroes of our stories.

This leads to a wrong-headed understanding that we are somehow important. We never imagine it will be us who dies, who has the accident, who gets the heart attack. How could it be us? We are the hero? But statistically, in a zombie uprising you are more likely to wind up as Shambling Corpse #43 than a survivor. Sonder is a state of understanding that we are not significant, at least not any more so than anyone else around us.

"Everyone driving faster than me is a maniac, and everyone driving slower than me is a moron." Realizing that that is not true is sonder.

Ever since I was a kid sitting in the back seat watching the passing cars I have wondered about the people in them. Where were they going? What did they do? Were they happy? Sad? Maybe that is just part of being a writer, a storyteller. I try to find the story in everyone I meet, but sometimes I also try not to. When you see everyone in the world as a potential diamond, than you realize that you are no different, no more special, than anyone else. We strive to be the Waldo, but sometimes we can't be. And sometimes we have to acknowledge that it's okay not to be.

And where is Waldo? He is hidden amongst a multitude of people and crowds, but we ignore all those people. All we want to do is find this one man in a weirdly striped shirt. Hell, it's the name of the game. It's become a cultural expression. We look for the needle in the haystack while ignoring the hay, but have you ever stopped to look at the other people occupying Waldo's world? They are alive, they have their own problems and triumphs. There are firemen putting out a fire started by three incompetent chefs. There’s a car accident, a man in scuba gear in the fountain, kids crossing the street, a janitor being attacked by birds, and two LARPers making their own amusement on a rooftop. All those people have lives, and maybe even animated spouses and children and pet parakeets waiting for them at home.

They are all completely oblivious to the idiot in the red and white hat and hiking gear. In fact, of all the people on the page, I would argue Waldo is one of the more boring ones. Sure he is seeing the world, but is he living in it? Whenever we see him he's alone, never engaged with another person or doing something wacky or fun. He just stands there. So, yes, he is the main character, but is that always the best thing?

A state of sonder does not mean to imply that we are not unique, just not as unique as we sometimes think. You are not a diamond among the rough, just a diamond among many others. Still, a diamond is a diamond, and if more people thought like like this, if more people experienced sonder, than maybe the world would be a better place. After all, there is a benefit to not being Waldo, to being the guy standing above it all, looking down on the world and its all beauty and fountain scuba diving. When you stop thinking of yourself as something different you get to see how truly alike we all are.

There will never be another you, but there will also never be another person like your mailman or that taxi driver that ran those two red lights or your baby niece in her crib. When you understand sonder, you understand how precious the world is, and how truly lucky we are to spend a few years passing through it.