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.
Indigo
Élodie Lavictoire
Contributor
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
Contributor
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
Or
Rains of stars
Trembling, I'm thinking,
Of how weak I feel under
Your gaze.
Je pense a toi.
Inquietude
Lulu Kaufmann
Contributor
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
Contributor
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.