Creative

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…

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…

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…

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   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…

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…

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…

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,…

 “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.…

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…

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…

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…

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…

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…