Creative Writing

12 Creative Writing

Caged In

Let me tell you how it feels. To feel as if you were trapped. After a period of normalcy, it was like an aircraft dropped you in the middle of nowhere. A freight train that you know is coming, but hits you regardless. This constant wall. The worry that sticks onto you like a second skin greets you like a friend. It’s suffocating. It stops you in your tracks and the panic sets in. Your heart beats fast, the tremors almost feel electrifying, you begin to sweat, your hands and feet go numb, the taste of metal overwhelms you, and the ringing in your ears never seems to stop. Everything is too loud. Observers watch as your emotions are laid out for them to see. You try to reach out but find yourself sinking. Sinking sinking sinking. The pressure pushes against your chest, and you feel restless, heart pulsing in your throat as you forget to breathe and continue to sink. Gravity pulls you in, and it feels as though your heart is pumping lead rather than life into you. Feeling so, so small, your lungs begin to constrict. A silent scream sings out from you as a cry for help. They can’t hear you. You feel angry. Livid. For reasons unknown to you as heat begins to seep from the seams. Situational awareness is thrown out the window, and all you know is the static buzz coursing through your mind, body, and soul. Take a deep breath. But every breath seems farther and farther away. Your brain is shut off, and all you can do is feel. Feel the sweat on your hands as they shake. The feeling of your nails as they sink into your skin. This constant state of being alone but not lonely. These feelings manifest into dreams, leaving you restless. Caged in, you find yourself trapped in endless thoughts as time passes between heartbeats. Inhale. Exhale. This is anxiety.

Gabby Mawikere The Sickness

We will rise; that was the goal. Superiority and dominance in the world; that is what we wanted, or rather, what they wanted. We had just woken up, scared and weak; we didn’t even know how long we had been asleep for, could have been days, weeks, months, years even. I didn’t know where my mom was, nor my dad and when I asked they said they’re not here and no further details were given. I was scared to ask another question, they looked so, serious. They had led me and a group of others through a hallway; we had military men in front and behind us fully armed as if we were actually able to hurt them. We reached a parting hallway with different rooms, the rooms looked like the rooms you would go into if you were having a check up with a doctor. They sat me down and asked me questions like my name, age, race, and who my parents were. Once they had finished they thoroughly checked me, looking at every detail of my body as if I was an art sculptor and they were the artist.

“Okay, she qualifies. Pass me the needle please.” My doctor had said confidentially “If you have any discomfort please let us know we will begin the procedure now.”

“I’m sorry but what procedure? I didn’t agree to this sir.” I started to get up from my seat and walk when the military men from before who stood in my path to get out. Just their pure glare sent me walking back to my leather doctor bed. I sat down and looked at the doctor believing I had become their newest test subject for their experimental medication. I couldn’t have been more wrong about what they had injected into me. I started to feel light headed as I started to feel more, my senses were kicked into overdrive and I was sent a cold feeling through my body. The feeling was so overwhelming my body collapsed of exhaustion. I fell forward and the next thing I knew, I has passed out. Only time could tell when I would wake up again.

Abby Inostroza Fiction Fiction

Josefine Garcia

KNOWN

There is a war going on Between sister and brother. In a constant fight With ourselves and each other

The pain in our hearts And the hurt in our families We are the cause Of the suffering of humanity

The fighting, the struggle No words can describe The crashing of the storm Does not subside.

I am a victim, Becoming deaf and blind The darkness overpowers, Leaving me always in the night

I am a mute, for no one can hear me Yelling louder by the second Are they blind, cannot see my struggle? Or do they choose not to listen?

We as a people can’t stop for a second Too much to do, too little time To think about the state of our nation

But out of the darkness A hand reaches out Calling me His own Casting my doubt

Even as I am an outcast He still manages to hear me He doesn’t put me on blast But he understands my feelings

He shows me the light Through all I have been through I know with His love I have someone to look to To society, I am foreign But to Him, I am no stranger The rest won’t let me in But with Him, it doesn’t matter

He sees me. Through my fears and sorrows he stands Even through the rough he sticks with me

poetry

Guiding me as we go hand in hand. He knows me. He loves me through it all Through my failures and doubts And every downfall

I know I can trust Him As long as I live With Him by my side I have learned to forgive

I am important to God, He knows me, my wants, my needs, my dreams. He understands me And His love for me is bursting at the seams

“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than sparrows.”

Noah Hernandez

January

January: What a beautiful month. A time when all freezes over And every child is bitter. My salt water taffy Is stiff as ice And rose tea in the morning Sounds rather nice.

poetry

Nothing is alive in January But that is assuming That we were ever alive.

What a beautiful lie That January brings. A time where all stands still And not even children sing.