JOT! New Beginnings April 2024 Issue 1

New Beginnings

April 2024 | Issue 1

Welcome

To the First Issue of JOT!

We are delighted to announce the first ever issue of JOT!.

Here you’ll find thoughtprovoking interpretations of our theme for this issue New Beginnings, ranging from poetry that plays with format, to prose that will stick with you.

Thanks to the creativity and efforts of the staff and students, we have a total of 18 written submissions from 13 different student authors.

Accompanying the written submissions are wonderful creations from 5 student artists.

Feeling pride for everyone involved in this collaboration, we very much hope you enjoy reading as much as we enjoyed creating.

Wishing you all the best for Spring 2024!

-Eve, Lectrice & Editor

Serenade of Renewed Hope

Adèle Pannier - Le Moal

Enter Spring,

Enter the cheerful humming bees, And blooming cherry trees, That could bring the strongest to their knees.

Here comes April, With blossoming squares, Where life feels fair, And the sun illuminates her light blond hair.

In the distance, where horizon lies, The vast skies arise,

Painting the world with hues that mesmerize, And showing us how spring never dies.

Through valleys deep and rivers wide, Along winding paths where memories stride, As flowers begin to thrive, Together, let's sing

How wonderful it is to be alive.

Dreams

Lucie Demousseau

When she was a young girl, she used to daydream about fairies, dragons and some other extraordinary creatures. Every time she had a pen in her hands, she would write about all the stories that were happening in her mind. But she always refused to let anyone read them.

Not that she was embarrassed, but it was her secret world and it belonged to her, only her. Her teachers or her parents were all curious about what she could be writing for hours. Alone, at the back of the class, always so quiet.

Her mind was a beautiful mess. It was filled with “what if”, imaginary scenarios in which she would save the world, friends that only she could see … Even she didn't completely understand her own brain. So how could anyone else? Nobody could understand her passion, nor her way of articulating words.

But one day, a blonde girl from her class approached her.

“Why are you always alone like that?” she said.

Straightforward.

“Yeah, why?” answered our little girl.

Why was she always alone? Was it because she was the weird kid of the class? Or because she was the teachers’ favorite? It wasn't fair. She only wanted to write.

“Can I read what you're writing?”

She shook her head and shut down, as usual.

“Then I’ll make you read what I wrote!” she said with a proud smile.

The blonde kid showed her a notebook full of her stories. Our young girl read everything in mere minutes, consuming the words like it was the first time she got to hold a text in her hands. She loved every single word, every single comma, every single dot. She loved everything about the blonde girl’s mess. For the first time in her short lifetime, she had met someone who was driven by the same passion as her. She could feel all of her emotions as she ran her eyes over the multitude of words. But better than that, she could understand.

The blonde girl, that we can now call “her friend”, continued to make her read her writing. Each week, she would come up with new stories, always better than the ones before and so similar to our girl’s.

Which persuaded her to make a decision.

She took her own stories out, and handed them shakily to her friend. Her friend read everything in mere seconds. She didn’t say a word until she had finished reading. And then, she smiled genuinely.

Since this day, the young girls exchanged their stories every day, speaking about what the other could have done better. They would talk for hours about what was happening in their mind, and their stories, slowly, began to merge together.

For years, they were the only friend of the other, and it was perfect like that. They didn’t need anyone else, as long as they had each other. Together, they would dream about their future lives as successful authors. But of course, like everything in life, it didn't last.

When the parents of her friend decided to move to another city, she broke down. Her friend was too young to protest, even though it was the last thing in the world she could have wanted. And then, she left.

She found herself alone in the back of the class, again. She became the weird kid, again, and this time, she truly felt lonely. Slowly, her writings lost quality, and it was more and more difficult for her to find inspiration. She realized she had lost her muse. Every time she took a pen or opened her laptop, she would think about her beloved friend, and would burst into tears. As she was growing up, she gave up on her dreams. She tried to make new friends, but no one was like her. No one could understand what she felt like she could. She would look for her gaze in every eye she would meet, but no one looked like her.

As time flew by, she stopped thinking about the blonde girl and becoming an author. She organized her messy mind, and focused on her studies. She wanted to be a doctor, like her parents wanted her to.

Our little girl, who wasn’t little anymore, became a successful doctor. One day, she got called for an emergency. A woman had collapsed in her house. She hurried up to this house and almost fell down too when she saw her old friend lying on the floor. She was exactly the same as when she was a kid. With some more wrinkles.

She stayed with her at the hospital even after she finished her work, and waited for her to wake up. When she opened her eyes and saw who was standing by her side, she didn’t seem to be surprised, and she smiled genuinely, as always.

“So, you didn't become an author?” the blonde girl asked.

“It was a dream when I was a child, it wasn’t really rational. But, what about you?”

The blonde girl looked down, and her eyes became wet.

“I was a journalist before … this.” She answered with a hoarse voice.

“This?”

“Don’t you know? Aren’t you a doctor?” she said, with a little smile. “I’m seriously ill.”

Our girl couldn’t find the words to cheer her up. She hadn’t found the right words for a very long time, to be honest.

They stayed in touch and met up often. Every time, they would talk for hours. But they would see each other at the hospital very often too.

“Why did you give up on becoming an author?”

“After you left, writing became boring. You were my only friend, and writing always made me think of you.”

The blonde girl smiled painfully.

“I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but I think you’ve wasted your potential. Your writings were so great! You could have been a famous author, you know.”

A few days later, she vanished from our girl’s life, a second time. She broke down again, but this time, she didn’t want to give up. She quit her job and began to write again.

Many years later, she became the successful author her friend wanted her to be. The successful author she wanted herself to be.

This is not my story, but it might be yours.

One day you will wake up and find, that those pants you liked, and that shirt you were crazy about, are in the dark corner of your closet – folded into four – like unhealthy thoughts in the corner of your mind.

And you will realise, that you put your hand on another pair of pants, put your hands on another shirt

And you like yourself more, it is more yours.

It's as if you took off your body, old thoughts, characters , emotions, put them in your pants pockets, and hung them on a hanger.

One day you will wake up and find that you are a different color.

We always feel the lack of someone we cannot do without, and we have completely forgotten – who cannot do without us.

Marathon

Laura Fontaine

Here you are.

At the starting line.

Getting ready, steady

Then go.

Running as fast as you can.

If you want to win, you must.

Where do you go?

No one knows.

But you rise, you run, and you are right. Every step you make, is a victory.

Because you decided to run,

To move, Not to stay in bed.

Stay there because you lost the last race.

Because you finished it,

Because it is over:

The pain in legs, stomach, and heart.

Get up because you wanted something new.

Moving to see, moving to feel, moving to dream, You choose to suffer.

For revival.

Yours.

This race: I want you to win it but never finish it.

I want to you to run the right race, To win the right cup,

To feel the right pain.

To finish it when heaven will decide it.

But never because you decide to give up.

Canvas of a Dream

Mohsin Mokdad

Once upon a time, in a quaint little town nestled between rolling hills and babbling brooks, there lived a young woman named Nadia. Nadia had always dreamed of leaving her mundane job at the local library and pursuing her passion for painting. But she never sought out the means to achieve her dream in the real world, for every time she dared think of leaving behind what she had, three shadowy figures would suppress her. She was unfortunately way too familiar with these three Dark Knights that would creep in her mind and would confine her to her monotony, these were: fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of the unknown.

One sunny morning however, as Nadia strolled through an old forsaken area of the town, she stumbled upon an old, dilapidated building with a "For Sale" sign hanging crookedly on its front door. Something stirred within her as she gazed at the building. It had once been an art studio, she remembered hearing from the town's elders. In its prime, it had been a hub of creativity and inspiration.

But as soon as she took a step near the building, she felt the three horsemen behind her ... already their cold breath extinguished the glimmer of her vision, her hand trembled as she tried to reach the door handle, her vision became blurry, and their voices grew louder; foolish lady ... enough daydreaming ... allow us to bring you back to ... reality.

She obliged and kept walking ... and yet, one of the voices was out of the choir, it was much louder than the others.

How would it look? Obviously great, don’t you think? People would love it! Everyone will enjoy it!

A spark of hope reignited Nadia’s smoldering heart as she envisioned herself transforming the neglected space into a vibrant haven for artists and dreamers alike. In a heartbeat she turned around, stared back for the first time at her ghostly guards, dared to defy them, and rushed through the door; with new-found determination, she mustered the courage to inquire about purchasing the building.

To her surprise, they did not follow her this time. The owner of the building turned to be an elderly gentleman who had known Nadia since she was a child. He saw the fire in her eyes and the passion in her voice as she spoke of her dreams. Without hesitation, he handed her

the keys to the studio and wished her luck on her journey.

With a heart buoyed up with hope and a mind brimming with ideas, Nadia set to work. She rolled up her sleeves and poured her soul into renovating the studio, painting the walls with bright colours, not allowing any darkness inside, hanging her artworks around to remind her of her talents, and all kinds of adornments were spread in every corner looking like protection runes against self-doubt.

Word spread quickly through town, and soon enough, artists from far and wide flocked to her studio, eager to join her in building this Eden, bringing creativity and hope back to life. As days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, the voices gradually receded in the distance, the battle against the Dark Knights of her insecurity did not end with a sword. A simple lack of attention was all it took, as if they were never there in the first place ...

Nadia looked back on her former life and observed her workshop, her friends, her new life, and asked herself: What had stopped me from achieving all of this?

The studio became a sanctuary for all who sought solace in art. Laughter fleeted the air as brushes danced across canvases, and friendships blossomed amongst the paintstained floors.

With each stroke of her brush, Nadia painted her will and her desires to her heart’s content. The studio was more than just a place; it was a symbol of hope and possibility, a testament to the power of following one's heart.

And so, in the heart of the little town, between safe hills and calm brooks, Nadia's studio beat as the heart of a community, a beacon of light, reminding all who passed by that every ending is just a new beginning waiting to unfold.

A Crusader’s Redemption

Mohsin Mokdad

In the depths of the inferno, amidst the fiery torment and eternal suffering, there’s a soul whose fate had long been sealed by his sins. This soul, weary and broken, bore the weight of his transgressions as he traversed the circles of hell, each blind step a reminder of the eternal darkness that consumed him.

But just as hope seemed lost in the abyss of despair, a faint glimmer of light pierced through the dark, beckoning the soul towards what may have been a new beginning. Guided by an unseen force, the soul considered journeying deeper into the inferno, his heart heavy with remorse yet yearning for redemption.

As he descended into the ninth and final circle of hell, where treachery reigned supreme, the memory of a man found himself face to face with the figure of Dante himself. The poet's gazed upon him, assisted him to bore into the depths of his soul, seeing past the sins that had authored his condemnation, and helped him accept the flicker of remorse within him. “This icy wasteland does not befit one such as yourself; he shall not feast upon your flesh, come, follow my lead o hopeful one!”

With words of wisdom and compassion, Dante offered the soul a chance at salvation, charting a way forward to seek forgiveness and embark on a new path. Overwhelmed by the unthinkable possibility of redemption, the soul cast aside his pride, and finally dared to ask for forgiveness by surrendering himself to the mercy of divine grace.

And so, amidst the black flames of hell, a transformation began to unfold. The soul shed the tatters of his former self, letting go of the shackles that bound him to his past sins. With each cold burning step a claim towards light, he embraced the pain of his past and emerged renewed, his spirit cleansed.

As he ascended from the pits of hell, guided by Dante's hand, the soul emerged into the purifying waters of the river Lethe. Here, amidst the gentle swirls of forgetfulness, he washed away the memories of his mistakes, leaving behind the weight of guilt and remorse.

With a newfound sense of purpose and clarity, the soul stepped onto the shores of Purgatory, where the seven flames welcomed him, for promise of redemption awaited. Here, amidst the calming mists of repentance, he followed Dante’s footsteps on a journey of self-discovery and

spiritual renewal, guided by the love and mercy of divine grace. And so, from the comedy of life, amidst the trials and tribulations of the human soul, every ending is but a new beginning for those that confront the demons within themselves, a chance to seek forgiveness, find redemption, and emerge reborn into the light of divine love.

A Second Chance

Mohsin Mokdad

Trigger warning: Suicide

In the heart of a bustling city, nestled in the chaos of life, there lived a young woman named Lily. After enduring years of hardship and loss, she found herself at a crossroads, yearning for a fresh start, a new beginning that would wash away the pain of her past.

With hopeful eyes and a resilient spirit, Lily packed her bags and set out to chase her dreams in a new town far from the shadows of her past. She found a small apartment with a view of the city skyline and a job at a local cafe, where she poured her heart into every cup of coffee she served.

For a time, it seemed as though fate had finally smiled upon Lily. She made new friends, discovered new places, and allowed herself to believe in the possibility of happiness once more. But beneath the surface of her newfound optimism lurked the ghosts of her past, haunting her every step with their whispered reminders of pain and loss.

Bill after bill, cup after cup, bus stop after bus stop, Lily found herself ensnared in a web of toxic relationships and self-destructive habits. The big city, that was supposed to be a new chapter of her life, turned into nothing more but the sequel to her former life. She sought solace in the arms of strangers and drowned her sorrows in bottles of alcohol, hoping to numb the ache that throbbed in the depths of her soul.

But try as she might, escaping her past proved a hardship, it followed her like a shadow, tainting every opportunity in the city with the bitter taste of regret. The job she once loved became a prison of monotony, her heart consumed, dry. The friendships she cherished turned toxic with envy and betrayal, and the city she had hoped would offer salvation only served to amplify her sense of isolation and despair, she was not Lily, she was just another person, a number in reams of statistics, a rat in an uncaring colony.

One fateful night, as Lily stood alone on the rooftop of her apartment building, gazing out at the city below, she realized the cruel irony of her situation and smiled. Despite her desperate attempts to start anew, she had only succeeded in sinking deeper into the darkness that had plagued her for so long.

With tears streaming down her face and a heavy heart weighing her down, Lily uttered a decision that would change the course of her life forever. She whispered a final goodbye to

the city that had failed to save her and took a step into the void, embracing the oblivion that awaited her with open arms.

……...BIP……...BIP……...BIP……...

There Are Better Days Ahead

Laura Fontaine

In this sumptuous place, Where I would never imagine

That pain will draw on apace,

And drag me down in this graben.

This place has become a nowhere-land.

Rain came, wind blew, fire burned, Floods submerged, and storm arrived.

Uninvited visitors giving detrimental gifts: Loneliness, destruction, ashes, and death.

Leaving this rich and noisy place to a poor and silenced one.

But feel, see:

Beauty came out from ashes.

This damaged floor is growing trees.

Healing from its seeds to its leaves.

It doesn’t need the past to breathe, dream and live.

Scars are still marked on trunks, But they shine like shooting stars.

Brighter and quicker this family shines

Without letting the past consummate this line

Still, they are marked, but new is what comes next.

This place is not what it was.

But revival gives life to this place.

I and I will face future disasters, And we will grow, brighter and faster.

Army Dreamers

Vera Sarateanu

Trigger warning: Impact of War

He slouched against the sturdy pine tree, his body sinking with exhaustion, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. Amidst the relentless snow, a sinister crimson trail marked his path, following his each step like a bad omen. The enemy soldier that shot him did not bother finishing the job; the man, or rather, the boy, was as good as dead anyway, wounded and far away from his comrades in this snowy weather.

In those moments, he was just a soldier, one of the many of his companions who died and would die, just a number in the casualties list. He was now one of those who won't return home and get to celebrate victory and just one of many who will be mourned. As he succumbed to delirium, his trembling hand fumbled in his jacket's inner pocket, a desperate search for something lost. But the realization struck him with a cruel clarity -- he had left the one solace he cherished, a photograph, behind.

He had nothing else to soothe the loneliness of the death looming over him. In that moment he thought back to the many times he'd claim how much of an adult he was when his mother would dote on him, yet now, he could feel an almost primal urge to cry for her like a little child bubble up inside him, rising to his throat like bile. It clawed at his heart like a beast trying to escape its enclosure, but all he could let out was a pathetic sob, weeping as the wind bit harshly at his tear-stricken cheeks.

He yearned to kneel before his parents, to beg forgiveness for his fate, for the pain his absence would inflict. Amidst the bitter cold and the encroaching darkness, all he wished for was the chance to utter those words of regret, to experience the warm embrace of his family one last time.

He thought back to the little devil twins, as he had named them, that waited for him at home and how their usually mischievous expressions had gone sour when he was leaving, unknowingly for the last time, quietly peeking at his form from their room. He once again regretted not turning back to give Dusya and Jenya a hug. Will the two grow up to even remember him? Will they think of him as the older brother they terrorised as kids or just a soldier who didn't find his way back home? He couldn't dare think about that.

Instead, he imagined that many years from now, right here in the place that will become his grave, kids will run wild and without a care in the world, oblivious to the horrors of the past. He wished he was religious like his mother so his prayers would reach some power, that his pleas would be heard so no more families would be torn again, no sons would be taken from their mothers and no fathers would be forced to leave their daughters. But was any of it genuine really, if in the back of his mind, deep down, he knew that history was bound to repeat itself? He didn't know it himself nor did he care.

The boy took a final deep breath, exhaling with the exhaustion one would only see in the people who've lived and witnessed far too much. The sun was somewhere high up in the sky, shyly peeking through the clouds, an odd sense of sadness and serenity enveloping him as he made peace with his fate.

I don't know why, but one day, it just all felt different. The shape of my body didn't fit anymore, the dress felt too much, my voice felt not enough. This day, all the assumptions I used to have on who me was just ... crumbled. I only knew I was 15 years old.

It was actually quite desperate, at the beginning. I wanted to rip my skin off my body, to hide it under layers of clothes so that nobody could even catch a glimpse of it. I switched the lights off so as not to see my body in the mirror. I scratched the polish off my nails. Off. Off. Off.

That was the destructive period. The hardest of all. I was just alone with my doubts and my questions turning around my head all day long. Long. It was very, very long.

And, one day, I just felt so hopeful all of a sudden. It was because of a question asked by a complete stranger on a completely random day (it's crazy how things just happen sometimes, and you don't know why). They asked “Hi, what's your name?” and I could have said something else but I just smiled very confidently.

“Hi, I'm Noa.”

“Cool. Pronouns ?”

I could have said something else. Of course I could have. But, actually, I couldn’t.

“Uh. I – any? Any pronouns? Does that feel right?”

“I don't know. Does that feel right?” they asked back, lips twitching up as if to hide a smile. It felt right. It felt On. Bright. It felt nice, and I needed that.

That night, I got very drunk but I had made a decision. I would be Noa, because I was Noa. The day after, I went to a charity shop on the corner of my street. It felt very adult, buying large chequered shirts and cargo trousers all by myself, and it felt very me. Very On.

I called my best friend. “Hello, Bestie. I'm Noa.”

A beat of silence. I breathed in.

“Hi Noa, I'm Bestie. I love you so much.”

Damn. This went smoother than expected. Lights switching On everywhere. Fireworks in my fingers. The confidence surged back in waves through my whole body. Damn, indeed. Why was being myself suddenly so easy?

Well. No. It actually wasn't easy. I had crossed the damn Destruction Mess, as I liked to call

it, and this had been the exact opposite of easy.

And now here I was, at the front door of my home. Where my parents lived. I had to tell them.

And this was not easy either. Showing vulnerability to the people who hold the greatest expectations towards you? Duh. And the worst was that I was doing it. Because I needed to – to be fully On.

“Mom. Dad. Hi. I ... I think I have something to tell you.”

Lmao this introduction was not creepy at all.

“What is it, Il –” my mother started slowly.

“No! No. Don't say it. That is the point. That ... is not my name. I want – no, okay, that came out wrong, I know I can't expect things from you, but I'd rather you call me Noa. Yeah, just Noa. And not using ... That first name anymore. Please. Uh, well, you might have questions? Maybe?”

My parents exchanged a look with enough of that parent-communication-thing in it that I couldn't quite decipher. I had a feeling of being the teacher in all of this and was quite uneasy.

“Do you still want to use 'she' when we talk about you? I ... Did I actually ask the question correctly?” my Dad said in a drawling voice.

Okay. Wow. This wasn't pure rejection, a.k.a. better than what I had expected. I apparently didn't have enough faith in my not-so-boomer parents.

“Hum. Er.” Why did this feel so weird talking about with my parents when I could spend hours rambling about queer-ships and characters in fanfictions with any friend who would let me? “Yeah, you could say that I use several pronouns, so 'she' and 'he' and 'they' too, you know the neutral pronoun, well they all suit me, I feel comfortable with all of them.” I ended with a smile.

My parents both returned it genuinely.

“Well, then, hello Noa.”

And they pulled me in for a hug which felt like, all at once: a blessing. a final switch On, a comforting presence, an approval.

A tsunami of love.

A rebirth.

They Definitely Heard It

Calista Pesquet

It all started when I sneezed in a cathedral. It was during mass. I was sitting between Andrea and Eduardo. We had to squeeze together because of how crowded it was. As I’m not very religious I quickly lost interest in what was happening. One thing I could recall was the dust flying around, swirling through the benches and in front of the priest's face. Some must have found its way inside my nostrils, because the upper part of my breathing apparatus itched. My face then got distorted. My eyes closed and my organs jumped out of fear at the gargantuan noise it made.

The echo of my unfortunate sneeze travelled up, caressing the ceiling. The priest froze for a moment, then continued as if nothing had happened. Among all the people around us, none looked at me, not even my friends. It was as if I was absent, or ignored. A shiver ran down my spine, then all the way up to my forearms where my hair stood on end. I was being observed. I could feel the glare of an old lady behind my back. I did not feel safe turning my back to her. However I could not move because of the lack of space. So I hung my head down, trying to escape the situation.

I have to admit that it was a loud sneeze, I thought that even the gargoyles outside must have heard it.

The mass ended and everyone took their time to exit the cathedral. Except me, as I was curious to see if they would mock me for sneezing this loud on such a serious occasion. I rushed outside and lifted my head. “Now I’m sure of it, they had a good laugh.” I thought, when I saw the mischievous gargoyle's faces looking straight into my eyes.

An Accidental Message Which Changed Everything

Maëlle Pinot

Sometimes the course of life can be unexpected and people entering your life can all of a sudden transform it. One fall day, Jade, a young adult who was spending time on social media, accidentally sent a message to Aaron – he appeared on her suggestions, she misplaced her finger and she answered one of his questions.

Was it the beginning of a new story?

Aaron answered her message and their conversation began. Jade was not the kind to send messages to strangers and she apologized for this mistake. But she didn’t have to because this young woman intrigued Aaron, she was a stranger to him and he did not know her but little did he know, she was also a foreigner. Indeed, they did not belong to the same country – they had different languages and a different culture. Was it the beginning of a new cultural discovery for these two people? From this precise moment, they would never stop talking and they would spend their whole days writing to each other. Beyond the ocean, thousands of kilometers from Aaron, lived this girl who was different from any of the other girls Aaron could meet in his country. Everything was made to separate them in terms of distance, way of life and culture.

In spite of that, they continued to talk and share their differences – it was a new start for both of them, to learn how a different country can work and how people can think differently. They both learned from each other while sharing the history and the past of their country as well as their personal stories. Jade was a brilliant student at college. She studied mathematics and physics she had the best grades in her school. Aaron did not go to college because it was too expensive in his country. Instead, he worked as a construction worker to build houses. They spent days and nights talking and discovering each other. They got along and they could see despite their differences that they had a lot in common: they shared the same opinions, the same way of seeing life and the same religious beliefs. They had nothing they could argue with, they were always on the same line, as if their meeting was not as much a coincidence as they thought; perhaps a higher force managed their relationship, allowing them to find their double in order to form one.

Throughout the months, their conversations got deeper, their relationship was growing and they became closer and closer. After all, the ocean separates lands not souls and we

cannot explain destiny and why we have such an unexplainable connection with people. They were online pen pals from two different countries and their online meeting changed them. They became two different people from the moment they talked as if it was predestined. Jade’s behaviors changed. She began to act differently and she became more mature, more opened to the world. She smiled more and was happier since she had met him. Was this man the beginning of her new life?

Nevertheless, it was online conversations and they had never met yet so the question was: Would their meeting in real life transform their connection into a disaster or a real love story? After months and months of discussions, they decided to meet in real life. A midsummer day, Jade crossed the ocean by plane to go to Canada, Aaron’s country. He was waiting for her in a chic restaurant in his city and she dressed elegantly for the occasion. At 8 p.m she anxiously entered the restaurant and saw him at the back of the room. They looked each other straight in the eyes; they knew at once that nothing had changed from their online conversations. They were both ready to start their relationship and to begin a new part of their life. From this meeting started the first day of the rest of their lives.

Sometimes a little mistake can transform a life and cause a new beginning, which will change one’s life forever.

Be Safe Out There

Anaëlle Dupré

Trigger warning: Sexual abuse

The evening was quite fresh but Chloe liked it better this way. The sky was clear and the moon was shining bright. It was not night yet but it was dark enough for the street lights to be on. She was almost back home when she noticed a shadow following her. She couldn’t decide whether she should try to see who it was or just keep walking. You never know what might happen – she was alone but not that stupid. As the shadow grew bigger, she hastened to cross the last street before hers. She arrived home safe and finally at peace, or so she thought. She hadn’t even had the time to hang up her coat when Paul greeted her with comments and questions. Lately, he always needed to know everything, where she was, with whom, for how long, what for … Believe it or not, he had not always been like that. At the beginning, their relationship was a fairytale. Paul was the most caring and sweet man she had ever met. Gradually after they moved in together, he became overly possessive and competitive. He had to prove he was the best at everything and despite all the love she had for him, Chloe could hardly take it anymore. She thought it was just a transition into their life as a couple, it couldn’t be perfect for everyone, but almost a year later, he was still too obsessive. She was tired of it. Tonight, she decided that she would stop playing along and ignore his questions.

She went through her routine as usual, emptying her bag, removing her make-up … She was gathering her things to take a shower when Paul grabbed her softly from behind. He stood behind her and tenderly rubbed her belly. He kissed her neck, and sighed. Paul asked her one more time why she was home late. Chloe reminded him that trust should go both ways, but before she could say more, he became more and more insistent. His left hand was now on her chest and his right between her legs. He was really gentle but Chloe was truly not in the mood. She didn’t want him to escape this fight through sex, as he obviously planned to do tonight. She wanted to go on with that shower but she felt Paul’s arms pulling her back. He must be joking around. She tried to move away one more time but he still wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t sure what was happening. She asked him clearly to stop but he wouldn’t let go of her. He pushed her against the cold tiled wall of the bathroom, holding her hair with one

hand. Her face was crushed and she couldn’t move anymore. She was paralyzed. She had never felt so vulnerable. She couldn’t believe what was happening right now, not him, it couldn’t be real. This wasn’t the man she had fallen in love with. He knew about her past but dared anyway. He kept going until he came and left her there. Passing the door, he said, “Remember, I’m the only one who will always be there for you.” It felt like he was proud of his work, like he had finished her off at last. Weak and quivering, her legs could not support her any longer and she dropped on the floor. Everything was boiling in her head. She didn’t recognize him, everything felt different. He deeply disgusted her. She didn’t even cry, she was too puzzled. She had never imagined that the man she thought was the love of her life would turn into such a monster. How could she let this happen? She should have seen it coming. She had always been cautious outside even when, after all, she should have been at home. That night, her whole life fell apart but she was not ready to deal with it yet. From now on, her actions and decisions were driven by anger and fear. She got up, put her clothes back on and took the most important things in her bag. She left the house almost running and never looked back. She owed it to herself to move on and to not let herself be weakened by this nightmare, not even for a minute, not again. Her heart was in pieces but she didn’t want that to matter. She had to focus. Where would she go now? What was she going to do?

She didn’t want to go to her parents’ and didn’t have any real friends. She jumped on the first tram she saw and headed off to the office. She had nowhere else to go. She locked herself in and sat on the couch in the breakroom and eventually fell asleep, drained of all energy. When she woke up, the sun had risen. She rapidly checked that nobody saw her and sat down at her desk like nothing had happened. It was early, no one was here yet. She placed her head between her hands and tried to think. What were her options? Then everything was clear; she remembered her boss had offered her a job in London. She had turned it down because she knew Paul would never follow her there but now it was actually a good thing. This idea brought peace to her heart. She realised something, it was the very first time she felt strong enough to do what she really wanted. Maybe all this had happened

so that she could blossom and have the best career. Of course it was not ideal, but she preferred to see it this way. She always fancied the way British people lived, and absolutely loved the accent. She decided to leave everything behind and go for it. She felt empowered by this decision, then excited. She was truly thrilled. She might be wounded but one thing was for sure, she was free.

I stuck out my thumb as cars passed by. I had hoped that someone would stop and take me. Fortunately for me, a car stopped. The window of the car rolled down and a young man’s face appeared. He was maybe in his twenties.

“Hi! Where are you going?”

His voice sounded sweet.

“A bit further down. Do you know Skall City? Don’t worry, I know the way.”

At the mention of the town, he seemed confused but still nodded when I got into his car.

“It’s straight down, for now.”

We stayed silent for a moment but only for a moment. A fog started to swing by. But the sun still shone. He broke the silence.

“So, are you going to visit a relative or just traveling?”

“I’m seeing someone at the moment. After its done, I will go back to wandering around.” I gently smiled.

“Love is it ? Well, I’ll make sure to not make them wait,” he exclaimed innocently.

“No, it’s not like that,” I giggled. “It’s more of a work type of visit. He is sweet, don’t get me wrong, but I’m way too old for him.”

“Ah sorry, my bad. I assumed you –”

A bright light shone right at us. He turned to the left, trying to avoid the impact of the car. We got back onto the road in a matter of seconds. He immediately started to swear then stuttered some excuses to me.

“That’s okay. Take your time.” I didn’t get scared.

He looked at me visibly distressed by my lack of reaction to a near-death experience. He didn’t say much after that. The road started to be long and unmoving. There was only one source of entertainment: the other car which came back once or twice. It would scare, as it

did the first time, the young man. However, his shoulders would be more tense, his eyes more twitchy, the grip he had on the wheel more tight. He looked upset. It was only a matter of time until he decided to speak again.

“What … What is going on ?”

His voice wasn’t sweet anymore. It was anxious.

“It depends on you.” I shrugged.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. They always do.”

He stopped the car. He looked at me.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to take your time. It happens.”

The confusion in his eyes was impressive. It always surprised me when they did that.

“What … What are you talking about! I don’t understand!”

He yelled with tears in his eyes. Of course he did. It’s always the first thing they do.

“If it may help, I could guide you through it.”

“Help me through what! I don’t get it! What is happening?!”

He cried beautiful tears. I watched them as they went rapidly around his cheeks. His eyes were looking at me, then down in distress, they were flooded and red. His face was contorted, as if he were in pain. His nose had taken a marvellous pinkish colour. He was so beautiful. I knew he was distressed, but I just couldn’t get my head around how he looked.

Why do all of them cry?

“Look outside.” And he did.

There were red lights and cones around the side of the road. A police car and two ambulances

were there. There had been a crash. He looked at me and the scenery. He opened the door and got out. I joined him. I followed him. He looked at his car, crashed on the side of the road. The look of his eyes told a long story and I could read them. He was terrified; I was admiring him. A bloody corpse was transported right in front of us.

“It’s me.”

He whispered this sentence. His whole body shaking. He tumbled down, his knees giving up on him, no longer supporting him.

“Do you understand?”

He cried, wailed, his head cradled in his knees. His hands were enveloped around him. I joined him and offered my hand around his shoulder. It happens. The realisation of their death can be too much. I shared my tears with him more peacefully. His pain and absolute despair saddened me. I understood the need to cry or shout even panic. It is difficult to be confronted so brutally with death.

As he cradled his knees and breathed more profoundly, he started to get up. Slowly but firmly he stood. I smiled.

“What happens now?”

His voice was soft and hoarse.

“It depends entirely on you. You can decide to do whatever you please.”

“It doesn’t end? Shouldn’t I go to heaven or hell?”

“You can if that’s what you decide. There are many options.”

“I want to live. I don’t want to be … Is that possible?”

I liked this decision. I always loved when they go back. New experiences, new voice, new view, new everything.

“You can. What do you wish to be?”

“A fox. It reminds me of my best friend.”

I think that’s wonderful. I liked this choice. Each one of them made good choices. That is why I assisted them.

“DUM SPIRO SPERO”

Manon Hachet

the vivid sun was rising there were a few clouds on sight but all I could see was this vibrant light

feeling like an insignificant dot in this ocean of books already written;

I inevitably thought that I was the end, that there was no beginning after what had happened.

I haven’t forgotten those looks and whispers, That left me like a dead leaf in the middle of summer

I am starting this story of mine

As the protagonist only this time

Because what is better

Than a new city and a new home

To become a capital letter

This home is my comfort place

But I have been trying to seek it somewhere else

For a little while

All it takes is just a warm smile

To appreciate my brand new chapter

Of, I hope, an interesting saga

Thanks to the brightest star of the Milky Way

I can freely enjoy the darkness of the night

With a man’s best friend and without being my own nothingness, And finally shine by myself, in my own universe

The Fall of Icarus Caspian

This is a story, but not any story: it is one about a boy who flew too close to the sun

Of a father who, as the boy fell, could do nothing more than watch hopelessly

And of a god who noticed and decided to ensure he would be remembered by History

But with this boy who lost himself to his hubris, here is how this story began.

This is a story of curiosity, but in curiosity, there can be tragedy,

And though the boy will not be forgotten, remembered for his bravery– or was it his stupidity?

The father is now left, alone in his grief, to blame the scorching sun for this calamity,

While the Sun, in his generosity, gave, to honour the boy, his name to the sea.

We all know it, the story of a boy named Icarus, who flew too close to the sun.

It tells the tale of deadly jealousy, but a tale where the son challenged the Sun

In this tale, there are morals: Hubris causes his downfall and the Fates cannot be outrun

There was a god, and there was a young mortal, here is how the story began.

This is a story, but not any story: one about a boy who soared high, higher than anything

And of his father, powerless as, in the wind, his pleas and cries were lost, drowned

Daedalus who, despite inventing anything he desired, could not force the wings to remain attached

And a son whose disobedience and distraction resulted in his falling, his plunging.

This is the story of a triumph, but of a triumph that was shortly lived,

The story of a man and his son finally freeing themselves after being encaged

And of the boy's hands outstretched to nothingness as the wax finally melted

The taste of the liberty so intoxicating on his lips that as he fell, he laughed.

This, therefore, is the telling of a new beginning, followed by another beginning,

Though often described as an ending, perhaps it is with his death, the story of a new chapter opening,

Or maybe was his death simply caused by the love of a god to whom death means nothing

Because, no matter the version you believe in, it is always a story about f

New Beginnings

Mohsin Mokdad

When shadows dance and fears arise, Hope stands tall, and never dies,

In the fields of doubt, it blooms like a flower, Defying odds with its boundless power, It’s the hand that reaches out in need, The spark that ignites the dormant seed.

In the garden of possibility, we sow, Seeds of dreams that yearn to grow,

With each tender touch of caring hands, We nurture the buds in distant lands.

Cast off the chains of bygone days, Embrace the dawn’s enchanting blaze, For in every ending lies a start, A chance to mend the fragmented heart.

From the ashes of yesterday’s plight, Sprouts the seed of courage, blossoming bright,

In the garden of change, where fears dissolve, Resides the essence of our resolve.

With courage as compass, Nothing shall trump us, Cast aside the shadows of yore, Let us discover what the future has in store.

Let us walk with heads held high, With dreams ablaze and spirits high, Though the road may twist and bend, I shall be with you until the end.

Let us raise our voices high, To the rhythm of hope, let us fly

With every new friend that we will find, We will witness the boundless brilliance of the human mind,

In our quest for a new beginning, My friend, we stay winning.

Contributors

Authors

Adèle Pannier - Le Moal

Anaëlle Dupré

Calista Pesquet

Caspian

Elyanor Barros - Masson

Ilona Foutel

Laura Fontaine

Lucie Demousseau

Maëlle Pinot

Manon Hachet

Mdgmur1

Mohsin Mokdad

Vera Sarateanu

Artists

Douda Soumaré

Manon Hachet

Nassim Naili

Azélia Sinaman

Mohsin Mokdad

Submission Editors

Lectrices

Ella Wolfle Eve Clark

Third Year Student

Pauline Couturier Teachers

Florian Beauvallet

Julien Morel

Logo Designer

Moshin Mokdad Magazine Name

Alex Pierce

Others

Audrey Debard (Teaching Fellow in DELC at the University of Edinburgh)

The 2023-2024 University of Rouen English Language Lectrice Team: Jessica, Katie, Eve, Ella, Alex & Gabriela

Dear readers, we hope you appreciated reading these wonderful texts from your peers.

We would like to thank all the writers and artists who contributed to the very first edition of JOT!.

Your creativity and talent have been a pleasure to discover and to edit. We wish you all well for spring, and may the waking of nature keep inspiring you !

We would also like to thank Julien Morel and Florian Beauvallet for their involvement into this magazine.

JOT! is inspired by a similar project called ‘Babble’ in the Department of European Languages and Cultures at the University of Edinburgh, so we would also like to thank Audrey Debard from Edinburgh for her valued advice in the initial stages of JOT!.

-Pauline, Third Year Student & Editor