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The day… Tuesday!
“Tuesday,” I muttered to no one in particular as I rolled out of bed. The minimalist black and fawn clock on the far wall read nine minutes past eight. The matches would start in less than a day. A hot drop of fear settled in my stomach. In just five hours, we’d be busy inside…
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All The World’s A Stage
Drama is rather perplexing, and I’m not sure how to describe it. Simple enough is the pit, which isn’t always the theatre’s lowest surface, but still below the stage regardless. Some see its existence as derogatory to the theatre itself, a pitiful notion indeed. Without the pit, half the theatre would be devoid of footing….
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Reminisce of a Better Life
At night, I sit on the windowsill and wonder how Earth rotates and shows us stars. At night, I lie awake to realise, I’m not the sun, a moon or Jupiter as I can barely turn on my tippy toes and shine. I don’t pop pills with ballerinas and I don’t lie face down crying…
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Goosebumps: Our Useless Superpower?
You ever wonder why we get goosebumps? Well I did, once. In year 9. I had to write a speech for English and, for some reason, I chose goosebumps as my topic. So I thought, what better than to revisit old times and see if the answer to “Why do we get goosebumps?” has changed…
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Band Rehersal
Disclaimer: This piece is entirely a joke. 27/09 Hey, it’s been a while. (Is Ivory high again?) Not much has happened really. A good chunk of my older friends just had their mock exams or whatever. But honestly, I’m just having fun playing my instrument. Steven’s currently in dire death after that statistics paper—G…
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Unopened Letters
The time is 2:56 am. On a ripped piece of card that peeks out of scattered papers, there is almost illegible handwriting. Letters are squeezed together and angular, and some of the ballpoint ink is smeared, leaving a blue hue on the previously cream paper. It reads: To: Mr. Victor Hansen From: A concerned…
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Midnight Snack
CW: Disturbing Everything was dark… No– wait. There was light. Somewhere. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. My hands reached around me. The texture of cotton sheets had suddenly been replaced with rough fabric, sinking in some places. Slowly it came to me… I was on no bed, but the couch. I…
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Seagulls
When I was just a child, I’d have dreams. Dreams of the crayon-coloured beaches, Dreams of small stubs of fingers had drawn from five-dollar felts, Dreams of seagulls. Part I It was a summer’s day that day. It was one of those days when the air blurred and pulled at your eyelids. School had just…