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Creative Writing, November 2022

A Borrowed Book, a New Memory

Aspen Crick

Staff Writer

Rough edges and

Mystical content.

Easily whisked away into the world of fantasy

Flipping through the pages,

A delighted sigh escaping past my lips.

Lamenting when it’s time to put it back in its place.

Resisting the urge to call it my precious,

Hide it under my coat and make a run for it.

That’s the emotional roller coast when you borrow someone else’s old book.

But at least while you had it,

You found comfort in between the pages,

And new fictional characters to dream about in the storyline.


Élodie Lavictoire


If only the multiverse that fills this place was real.

If only we could go to these universes and live

With the characters we fell in love with.

If only we could thank them

For helping us in our darkest times.

If only life could be one of these fairy tales.

If only they could come to life

And bring joy and excitement to our daily life,

With it not being fake.

A dream.

A hopeless wish.

If only all these

Weren’t just in our heads,

Reality wouldn’t be

So lonely, so bleak.

If only it wasn’t just

Tattooed shavings of dead trees.

But flesh and blood.

But at least in our heads

Just for a couple of minutes,

A couple of hours, they are real to us… If only…

(Screen) Save Me

Kara Fusaro

Curiosities Editor

Confirmation, I’ll see you soon

Affirmation, wait. You like me too?

Brightness up, can’t miss a thing

Volume down, can’t hear you scream.

You don’t need anyone else

I’ll take a quiz- lessen myself

Send after send I lose less

Lower and lower- bottom shelf.

How can I be so naïve?

I never saw past my screen

How you saw me

And no, not with LED

but with my sorry eyes, begging. Please.

My mind from behind my skull,

Am I really oh so dull?

Or with your ego do you feel full?

Save me from falling? With only a pull.

How can I cater myself to you?

I’ll be yours. Call you my creator

How I can bend to your will

My mountain, your ant hill.

I promise I’ll be better for us

If only one thing I bring let it be trust

I’m just sitting here, banished to dust

Filled with the idea of our past lust

Don’t leave me- I won’t be weak

My yells quiet… meek

Can only I hear when I speak ?

Mumbling nonsense as if I wore a beak.

Trapped. In a box

Fair to call me cliché,

But I leave you to mold me like clay.

My body stays as your display.

I’m still here

Full of crippling fear

Catch my mind slip, like headlights to a deer

I pray that my end is near.

After Sex, with a Cigarette

Christophe Barré-Johnson


Your face is mesmerizing

in the sun's embrace.

it becomes unrealistic

To think,

That such a beauty

Be seen again.

Under rays of sunshine


Rains of stars

Trembling, I'm thinking,

Of how weak I feel under

Your gaze.

Je pense a toi.


Lulu Kaufmann


Suspended here and there, and nowhere in between

Familiar awareness blinds reality

Borrowing thoughts from tomorrow

Silent screams swarming around my mind

Existing only to predict the unforeseen.

Blaming teenage angst or self-preservation

I remain on edge

The unknown engulfing every sense

Wondering what comes next.

Absurdity releases and casts a spell

On untamable thoughts

Questioning the purpose of reason

And the abyss of it all.

Bittersweet perceptivity

Blurs out consciousness

And submerges me into a deep sea of fright,

Drowning me without recovery.

Hesitantly brushing up against intermittent hope

And mindfully diving back into the realm of tangibility.

A Shadow of my Ghosts

Leo Hussain


A shadow of my ghosts. I stand on a bridge. The voices whisper. Come closer, come closer. A shadow of myself. Regretting the future. Looking down a bridge. A man with no closure.

The waves sing louder than the voices whisper. A man with no closure, yet at least one with composure. On a floating rock, spinning at 460 meters a second. Like a Ferris Wheel with three rockets strapped on its circumference.

A shadow of my ghosts. Far away from a bridge. With a frightening nonchalance. Tears in my eyes. A lust for life.


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