Category: creative writing
Memories
| April 6, 2013 | Posted by Jess Kadow under creative writing |
Your life is your memories. That is what you always told me, when we would go racing away in the little convertible to another exciting location, our hands pressed together whenever we didn’t need to use the gear stick. Or even when we were at home tucked up in a blanket in front of a film with a shrink wrapped pizza. Even little adventures were adventures you would say, going into the kitchen to grab a beer. I remember worrying about the wrinkles round my face because of how my cheeks threatened to burst with smiling. It seems so empty now, when all I have are those memories. Me as a young girl, sitting on the sofa in the harsh… more
Culpable dimensions (Part 1)
| March 31, 2013 | Posted by John James under creative writing |
“I hate funerals” Jason blurted out as his mother flicked his left ear across his cheeks. Jason rubbed his ear and sensed that it was his cue to be quiet. All eyes in the church turned their heads in unison to witness a beaten boy; drowning in his own tears, he treaded down the aisle, and each step he took he tried to pick up pieces of he and his brother’s shattered lives. He had approached the top of the church. Nathan made eye contact with his brother Marcus and ambled across to sit next to him. Marcus shifted from Nathan. Nathan noticing this held his head in his hands and looked down. This fatality was his entire fault, everyone… more
Amentia
| March 18, 2013 | Posted by Tim Shelley under creative writing |
Caleb hated his job. It was boring, underpaid and he always left filthy. Not to mention how he ached. He was seventeen for crying out loud, a bad back was supposed to be an old man’s problem. Half of the time he wondered what the point was. Not just the job but everything. College? He sucked at anything even remotely academic. From maths to history he just couldn’t get his head round it. Family? His parents despised him. Just another mouth to feed, and a way of claiming more benefit money that would most likely be spent on fags and booze. What prospects did he have? He wasn’t gonna get the grades to get into uni, nor was he gifted… more
In Black and White
| March 15, 2013 | Posted by Sophie Wright under creative writing |
Maybe this is what happens when you have to keep secrets. It ends up spilling out somehow, and this is how I end up staring at the blank page with a pen in my hand. It might come out eventually, but everything always does. Some days, it was clear and easy what we were. Other days, the lines blurred so much that I had to squint to see. We were best friends, together from the forgotten start. I can’t remember how we met; it was a blur of jokes and indie love songs and chipped black nail polish tapping on my hand, and before long those fingers were tugging mine around, a glorified leash. Not that I minded, because I… more
Sleepless in San Verada
| February 25, 2013 | Posted by Nathan Scatcherd under creative writing |
Hot night. Cold sweat. All out of rum and pills and cigarettes; no sleep tonight, same as last night, and the zombie sway is taking hold. Staggering, stumbling, banging legs and swearing. Black ooze in the refrigerator. Lizards commune on the porch and a car rumbles past, rattling and shaking like a bag of tin cans. Fix your engine, old man. Don’t want to have an accident. Tonight’s no night to die. And yet somewhere somebody is being murdered and suddenly there’s a chill slicing like a callous blade down my spine. Shake your head. Sit down. Focus again. Turn on the TV, flick through static. Body is tired but mind is racing. Swig some water, hold a cool flannel… more
From plot to published: NaNoWriMo is near
| October 28, 2012 | Posted by Lauren Tolley under creative writing, culture |
November can be a melancholy month, what with the horrendous weather that shows exactly how bad the winter could be and Christmas just over a month away, but for over 200,000 people worldwide, November means a lot more. November is the month when NaNoWriMo comes around. For those of you who don’t know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, in which a participant attempts to pen a 50,000 word novel in just 30 days. Yes, I am aware that it sounds insane – some would probably argue that it is. As the site says in the ‘about’ section, writing that amount of words in a month is hard if you are going to carry on going back over what you… more
Follia
| September 20, 2012 | Posted by Ellys Sugarman under creative writing |
I awoke early, to the sound of my alarm clock. I sighed; it was seven thirty on a Saturday. I wandered across my room to the window and drew the curtains, summer was rolling in and it was warm, the sun was up, but that was all. My family still slept. I sat back down on my bed and played softly on my guitar, whimpering slightly as the cold wood touched my bare stomach, but I continued – it felt good to play music, it had been the best therapy in the previous months, the scars of which stood out on my forearms, cold and sharp like the knife that caused them. As the guitar warmed I could ease my… more
Midnight
| September 1, 2012 | Posted by Samantha Seto under creative writing |
The floor was checkered black-and-white. It was past 12 o’clock on an ordinary Thursday. Scarlet couldn’t find her car keys so she decided to stop at the nearest gas station. She needed a late-night snack, perhaps, or a bag of soap. Next, she was in aisle 46, staring at toilet paper, the premium kind. With her newly sewn-in blue highlights and damp raincoat, Scarlet felt miserable. The raw pain clung to her as she walked through the aisle of the store. An aroma of fresh linen filled the air around her. Just my luck, she thought, leaving a trail of dirt from the soles of her shoes. She grabbed a shopping cart and started to put in only the things… more
Sehnsucht
| August 23, 2012 | Posted by Jackie Gu under creative writing |
This is true. I am driving alone at midnight down a cold, impassive road. It’s a street from my infancy neighborhood, one I recall in a surreal sort of way, and it is bare. No lights, no cars, no other people, just me speeding alone in the deafening emptiness. I feel strange, like I’m sleeping and floating and removed from my mind. My right foot presses down a little harder, willing sheer physical speed to bring me back, but still I am eerily blank. I am not tingling with electricity. I am not fully myself. I am vacant. I am sixteen years old – waiting for my teenhood to end, but it’s too much – and my entire life feels… more
Blue-Eyed Girl
| August 6, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under creative writing |
“They now came upon more and more of the big scarlet poppies, and fewer and fewer of the other flowers; and soon they found themselves in the midst of a great meadow of poppies. Now it is well known that when there are many of these flowers together their odour is so powerful that anyone who breathes it falls asleep, and if the sleeper is not carried away from the scent of the flowers, he sleeps on and on forever. But Dorothy did not know this, nor could she get away from the bright red flowers that were everywhere about; so presently her eyes grew heavy and she felt she must sit down to rest and to sleep.” From The… more
