Creative

  • The Top Of The Sacred Mountain

    The Top Of The Sacred Mountain

    The religious season began with pilgrims rushing up the slant of the hill with necklaces of flowers and jingling bangles; brushing shoulders, blaring songs, muttering prayers. Sweat dripped down…

  • Sleepiest Cat Alive

    Sleepiest Cat Alive

    Being a proud anti-locker student, I am forever juggling all my textbooks, exercise books, and lunch in my bag – forever, and ever. My mother tells me it causes…

  • Record 01

    Record 01

    TW: Alcohol Record of Interrogation of Witness Officer John H. Clark Start of examination: 03.02 End of examination 03.21 J: Good evening, Mr Smith. Before I ask any questions,…

  • Back To The Ocean

    Back To The Ocean

    Aside from the fact that you were raised in a landlocked country—and the fact that the only body of water you could easily access was Thunersee, a 53-minute train…

  • My Freedoms

    My Freedoms

    I climb because of the ache in my calves, because my breath puffs out in little clouds, soft and fleeting when the air bites cold. It’s not a grand…

  • Georgie

    Georgie

    Georgie has always been there for me. Waiting, sitting, lying down. He doesn’t talk much, but it’s a good kind of quiet—the kind that fills the car when it’s…

  • Second Chances

    Second Chances

    She finds him on the edge of the cliff.   “I thought you quit.” She says, through a damp haze of smoke. A note of disappointment slips into her…

  • Conscience

    Conscience

    Conscience   CWs: violence (non-graphic), mentions of death   The boy showed up at my doorstep with exactly one gun.   Not even a machine gun. Just a plain…

  • Home Is Where The Heart Is

    Home Is Where The Heart Is

    Anya sprawls over the patterned seats of the train, and all the tension in her body loosens. A small lamp is all the light she has. She cranes her…

  • The Prized

    The Prized

    It was an ordinary morning in the still autumn, a cool breeze brushed the denim carapace of a motionless farmer, eyes creaking open at a stray ray of the…

  • Under The Curtain 

    Under The Curtain 

    My mother holds me close, her voice like a lullaby, soft and familiar. She whispers something tender as her comfortingly calloused fingers draw the curtains closed, in a slow,…

  • Un-Titled 

    Un-Titled 

    To graze the moon with five-toed footsteps,  and the blood rushing to animate the muscles  as they function below the expected gravity.  Though it is our function to be…

  • Tombstone Of Human

    Tombstone Of Human

    I begin all my letters with the same phrase.  And end them the same way too.    Wishes,  A thousand and one flowers over your tombstone.   It’ll be…

  • The day… Tuesday!

    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.…

  • All The World’s A Stage

    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…

  • Reminisce of a Better Life

    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…

  • Band Rehersal

    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…

  • Unopened Letters

    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…

  • Midnight Snack

    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…

  • Seagulls

    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…