Monday
Walking through the gates is the most depressing part. That’s why I always linger, smoking whatever cigarettes I have. 9:00am. There should be a law on coming in this early.
Then again, it could be worse.
Many of my friends have either gone to another college, work or straight to the Dole Office. I couldn’t be bothered to replicate that existence; I’m not being sanctimonious, it’s just I think there has to be more out there than a simple 9-5 job.
This is why I came to Regis College. So I can go to university. And follow the timetable of getting a job, meeting a woman (getting her pregnant) and then without ‘provocation', getting married. Then getting a house. A dog. Then raising a child whose going to resent me because I’m nothing like Billy Whoever’s father down the road.
Fuck, it beats being poor.
I finished my last cigarette and walked through the gates. The same feelings of dread tightened in my stomach. Damn, I need another cigarette. College was full today; numerous students were stood around. They wore their designer clothes; laughed at their pretentious jokes. And to top it all off, gave… read more
by Zak
The golden clockwork of time and space came to a screeching halt. It was me vs. nature, man vs. wild, the way it was meant to be. In the years before, I was my collection of DVDs, my television with five hundred channels, the company’s name on the t-shirt I was wearing. But that week I was a nomad-- a wanderer of the land, and that night I would return to my abode a king, a god. All I had to do now was pull the trigger.
No, wait. Back up. Let me start earlier. It was my thirteenth birthday, instead of receiving gifts and having a party, I was on a plane headed for Colorado to visit my grandfather, Dave. You see, my family has this tradition; every time a boy in the family turns thirteen, he must venture out with his grandfather and kill one mountain lion before he can be considered a man. With an odd smelling man sitting next to me and a screaming child two rows in front of me, I didn’t regret not being hungry when I tried to eat the poached fish with curry and dal.
We landed in Colorado and… read more
by Keree
The clock strikes one, it should strike thirteen in my mind. Never mind the CCTV cameras and ‘nanny state’ that England seems to be suffering from, 1984 is in people’s minds, not on the streets. Have you ever walked down the street and just looked at someone and considered if that person is normal. Chances are that you haven’t, or if you have, then most likely you aren’t normal yourself and your looking for clues of other ‘abnormal’ people. I would fall into the latter category. Call me deep minded, call me a weirdo, call me whatever you want, but the wonderment of the normality of others has always fascinated me, and I can’t help but walk past a man in a smart suit and wonder if that clean and crease-free outfit really reflects his life, and his mental state. Compare this to the teenage boy that swears and enjoys playing truant, chances are you would think one was the symbol of normality, with a perfect mind and no issues affecting him, and the other a deviant little bastard who needs counselling to control his ‘anger’ issues. I however tend to wonder if it’s the other way round. If you… read more
by Jodamme
A wooden rainbow is touched and played with a degree of grace while nervous fingers dart between the keys. The satisfying tones of completed chords bounce from the glassy picture-frames before feeling themselves become dented and muted from the chalky-green chipped walls encasing them. An elderly man, Markus, sits alongside his student. His eyes focus three-keys away from her hands, unconsciously blinking to reflect its occasional discordance. She slows the piece, impishly shy of its working knowledge, before broadcasting a moment bookended by her indecision of the final key. Markus lifts her hand, guiding it towards the last note, and her eyes lift toward him.
Cordi picks up a small bottle of bleach, procured from his under his faded bed frame. His hands are brilliant contrasts of red and blue, alternating colours as his knuckles shift their panicked attention to grip the bottle with comfort. Above his eyebrows, he senses a beating pulse of rushing pain; he grunts and shifts his weight to deter it, while his eyes shut (and, for a moment, find rest). His eyes open again, signifying a conscious confirmation, and he gathers his belongings. He briefly scans his window for any sign of his opponent outside,… read more
by Jade2378
I’m hiding, hiding away from the world,
Wrapped in a cocoon of solidarity, one of my own making.
I live in fear of being judged, so I edit myself, only show glimpses,
To suit the image that each person wants of me.
I haven’t been true to myself in years,
I don’t trust myself to be, a whole, to be open.
I just hope that I can trust myself and step out into the world, so I don’t live my life trapped in the shadow realms of insecurity, forever. read more
by Jessica2046
I have found that I am always hungry. I do not mean this in the sense that my belly is empty, though that is an emptiness I may choose. I mean that my heart seems always in need of being, and is never, filled. It has a hunger for gentle words, for caring, being cared for. It needs to feel and take from this world, to then create and chose ways to return what was taken. It is not mine alone for I have given it away, parceled it out amongst the people and things I hold dear, and will continue to do so for as long as I live. My heart is not my own, and I believe it has never been so. It aches when it is apart from me, it aches when I try to keep it too near. It is in a constant state of unrest, it will not be content, its balance is never kept long from being upset. It speaks vaguely of what it must do, what it must have, and my head is left to interpret what it hears but cannot feel. For it is my head that becomes all too cold and… read more
by Penitent
I spent the day walking with you, again. I don't know if you were really there. I kinda hope you were, and kinda hope you weren't. I don't know. Seems like a private moment should be private, but I figure you deserve to be embodied at least a little within what I do. I told myself I could feel you walking with me. I looked back a couple times, to see if your footprints were appearing inside my footprints. Follow me through the snow.
I suppose your physical absence was conspicuous, in a way. I must have looked to anyone else like just another crazy who thinks he's being followed, little they know that I wish I was. Or maybe they all do that? Every backwards glance and sidestep the loss of something unspoken. That's almost a nicer way of looking at it.
I decided to let you control me for a bit. I know, it was ridiculous. I should have just had the day to myself, saying this is kind of embarrasing. But I knew you were there, I felt you move me. For just a moment, I was in a backseat of my mind, you took a second… read more
At eternity's gate. I can hear the rush of the wind through the empty lands. It's quite disheartening to realize you have gone. Just play that song. The one where you finally express your goodbye. I will not sleep until you do.
You left so many of us behind. That picture of you smiling. It's hanging on my wall. I wake up and I see your face. It's funny. You had such an impact on our lives. Without ever meeting us. Please. Just play that one song. Before the night withers away. You are eternal now. That song shall play forever. Your words will stay with us forever. No one will take that away. I still have my journey to take. It will be lonely without you. I've never had an idol that has never let me down. You are worth more to me than sepia memories. For all that you went through. You were still the person you had always been.
Be sure to wave goodbye. One last time. The last few bars of the song fade into the night. It was good to hear your voice again. I'm not a fan of long goodbyes. So leave me here.… read more
Enter The Bride, dressed in her wedding gown, stunning and glowing with excitement. She stands alone for a few moments in the spotlight, and is then followed on stage by her mother, three bridesmaids and flower girl, who proceed to fuss around her in their own ways.
Mother: Darling you look stunning, I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride. Now sit down and let me look at you...
Bridesmaid 1: Just a touch more hairspray, we don’t want any flyaways as you’re walking up the aisle -
Bridesmaid 2: Exactly it’s your big day, everything has to be perfect!
Flower Girl: Nanny? (continues to repeat chanting this and generally making noise as the adults fuss, waving her teddy bear around importantly)
Bridesmaid 1: How are your nails holding up, do you need another coat?
Mother: Weddings always take me back...
Bridesmaid 3: The guys are on the way, I just got a text.
Bridesmaid 2: Oh don’t stress we’ve got plenty of time...
Mother: Love’s a funny thing isn’t it?
Bridesmaid 1: Which are we going for, peach blossom or ice sheen?
Mother: Did I ever tell you the story of –
Bride and Bridesmaids: Probably.
Bridesmaid 2: We’ve heard… read more
by sisterjulia
The glowing garden I walked in was full of the most impossible light, I could feel it shining through my cells into the centre of my body so that I felt as insubstantial as the air around me. The beauty of this light and the garden it illuminated, released silver tears of grief and worry from me, untying the last knots of my solid existence, followed by tears of gratitude.
Slowly walking around the garden I could hear and feel a gentle murmur of bees humming and felt the sound of birds singing as a rising and falling sensation of happiness, connection and ecstatic love within my body.
I didn't begin flying but as I approached the mirror I was no longer walking, it and I were drawn through existence to each like rushing rays of the light to bring me face to face with its cool, smooth, glass which as I touched, I could feel the weight of and I became more solid again. Seeing became easier in the solid mirror and as soon as I saw my hair I knew I was dreaming. Looking down at my hands I was mesmerised watching them turn as I turned… read more
by Penitent
The dust which has settled slowly, over months, tells me more of you than I really like to admit. You've not just been lost by me, but now you're lost to everyone you ever knew. Five filaments of spider's silk link the cold metal bands of your bedside lamp. Somewhere in my mind I imagine myself as a object to you, so. Not without value, but without regard. It illuminated what you read, it helped make you who you are. Where you, we, laid, for so many years.
All that remains is the impulse to lay in your bed, write something. You're not here to find out. I won't justify it, you'd have done the same. Or is that justification? I realise, laying, that you've died somewhere I'll never go. An unmarked grave, somewhere. Unfindable. No epitaph to tell them who you were, buried by hands of those who never knew you, maybe. More likely buried by the birds and flies, over time. Foxes too, perhaps. I can imagine you at the roots of a tree near the base of a mountain, or on a shoreline, body resting gently, and then no more.
The person becomes the corpse. The being becomes… read more
So i took my quill and sellotaped it to the end of a holly branch... like you do... once in a while, when you succumb to the temptation. With this instrument, and a small bottle of onyx Indian ink i shimmied the pipe attached to my house (the one for all the rainwater, when it falls), I stood quite straight, with feet planted firmly. After a few dips into my shadow filled receptacle, i began lunging unceremoniously into the nights sky. Occasionally,my stab would fill in one of those holes, the ones that let that little bit of light in. I stood aloft my house for hour after hour (but not so long that the big light happened), with my peculiar bayonet and little bottle of black. Dipping and jabbing, replenishing and stabbing. Until I fixed it. I'd repaired all the damage. Now i know darkness (after I'd turned my lamp off of course) Now i know darkness.
I hope he doesn't mind, i hope i didn't make him cross. It must be terribly bright on the other side. That's why he does it... i guess. just to let a little bit out, to make it bearable.Every single night. He… read more
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Monday Walking through the gates is the most depressing part. That’s why I always linger, smoking whatever cigarettes I have. 9:00am. There shoul…
The golden clockwork of time and space came to a screeching halt. It was me vs. nature, man vs. wild, the way it was meant to be. In the years before…
The clock strikes one, it should strike thirteen in my mind. Never mind the CCTV cameras and ‘nanny state’ that England seems to be suffering…
A wooden rainbow is touched and played with a degree of grace while nervous fingers dart between the keys. The satisfying tones of completed chords bo…
I’m hiding, hiding away from the world, Wrapped in a cocoon of solidarity, one of my own making. I live in fear of being judged, so I edit m…
I have found that I am always hungry. I do not mean this in the sense that my belly is empty, though that is an emptiness I may choose. I mean that my…
I spent the day walking with you, again. I don't know if you were really there. I kinda hope you were, and kinda hope you weren't. I don't know. Seems…
At eternity's gate. I can hear the rush of the wind through the empty lands. It's quite disheartening to realize you have gone. Just play that song. T…
Enter The Bride, dressed in her wedding gown, stunning and glowing with excitement. She stands alone for a few moments in the spotlight, and i…
The glowing garden I walked in was full of the most impossible light, I could feel it shining through my cells into the centre of my body so that I…
The dust which has settled slowly, over months, tells me more of you than I really like to admit. You've not just been lost by me, but now you're lost…
So i took my quill and sellotaped it to the end of a holly branch... like you do... once in a while, when you succumb to the temptation. With this ins…
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