One Sixth form Anthology 2024

The Smoking Rose

Suffolk One Anthology 2024

Thanks

Thanks to Nova Heasman for the cover art, and the name of the anthology.

Thanks to everyone who attended any of the creative writing sessions. Every person who attended made positive contributions. Huge thanks to those who attended regularly – you all shaped the group into an incredibly supportive and fun place to be. Your enthusiasm and originality has been amazing.

Thanks to everyone who ran a session, or maybe even two! This year we have had more sessions run by students than ever before. You have inspired each other to be bold, adventurous and take risks. Special thanks to Pete for all of the occasions that he gave up his time and made the journey in just for us. Every one of his sessions brought us new ways of thinking about writing and stoked the creative fires.

Thanks to everyone who shared their work – it is always a brave thing to do.

Thanks to CJ & Izzi for Jeremy and the badges – you cemented our identity!

Home

What is home?

It isn’t that house, or the one you live in now, Or the one you lived in down by the beach all those years ago.

What is home?

It isn’t those albums or those teddies, Or the boxes in the cupboard of a life gone past.

What is home?

It isn’t those people, those neighbours, Or the “friends” you see each morning.

What is home?

Maybe it isn’t a tangible place, but a feeling, Or those rocks you’ve hiked miles to get to.

What is home?

Maybe it’s the open skies, the road, Or the cobbles that slip under your feet.

What is home?

Maybe you don’t really know.

Maybe you need to find out.

So you take your camera and you go to find out,

What is home?

Izzi Creamer

Womanhood

Women are seductive creatures, the object of man's deepest desires

Feeding the wars that men create, and they hate women

Like troy and Helen, Aphrodite, and Adonis.

Women are witches, in every smirk every dry summer

It is them who cause the storm one summers night

Rattling the windows

Burn them

Drown them

Force them to marry, to stay the silent watchful eye

Amelia Bloomfield

*Please*

Maybe one day we will have a world,

Where what you are is what you’re called,

Rather than what the next tyrant thinks you should be.

Maybe there will come a day,

When we won’t be spoken of in the same breath as abusers, When our faces won’t be shrouded in your ignorant hate, When “eight times as likely” becomes not at all.

Because we are human – just like you:

Not a monster, but your child;

Not a disgusting object, but your sibling;

Not a vile creature, but a cashier, a teacher, the person you passed yesterday who let you pet their dog.

But you don’t see us that way, do you?

You don’t think us monstrous, but we are playing it up a bit,

We’re being a bit too whiney about the world hating us,

We’re too aggressive when called what we’re not.

Just shut up and listen.

Please.

Cass Herrieven

Emily Sliwka

Away from the ocean

WhenIwasalone,Iwenttothesea

Thewaveskeptmecalmandcomfortedme

WheneverItookastrollonthesand

Thekindgentlebreezewasholdingmyhand

Thewaveswipedawaymysaltysofttears

Theykeptmesafetuckedawayfrommyfears

ForsomanyyearsIstaredattheblue

SomanyyearsuntilthenIfoundyou

I’mneveralonewithloveinmyheart

Hekeepsmewarm,fromtheseaIcanpart

Charlie Bowden Smith

Flower Bed

She looked around the living room as she began to knit, her shaking hands threading the wool together, intertwining it. It was almost unconscious, like breathing, she scarcely had to think about it, let alone look at her hands as they carried the movement out. The room was bare, she felt connected to it, in a way, to its absence of anything sentient save for herself. It was made up of furniture and the odd insignificant, nonessential item which had been left untouched for years, and now just rested while they gathered dust. She sat in the same chair day after day, the others had grown too calloused from their perpetual lack of use. As she knit, letting the wool embrace itself to create the cream cardigan she’d been working on for the past month, she found herself longing for another pair of ears and eyes, another mouth. She longed for another heart and another set of lungs. She longed for another body to soften the chair that stood opposite her, to soften her muscles, to soften her. She didn’t like to let her mind wander, to let herself walk down the mental path created over her 70 years. It was cracked and weeds seeped through and infected it. She never removed them, she’d tried on a few occasions but it only ever made them grow larger and consume her thoughts, killing all the tranquil flowers she carefully grew. The more she let herself walk down the path, the more weeds she noticed, they drew her in more than the flower beds, they were hypnotic, brainwashing her into a daydream. She thought about all the opportunities she’d had at having another half, she thought about their long silky hair, and how she caused their lipstick smiles to curl downwards into a frown. She felt guilt pool in her stomach, gnawing at its lining. She let it travel up her body, down her veins and into her fingertips, forcing her to work faster, to transfer it into her work, to make a cardigan of guilt that she could hang up on the back of her bedroom door, to retire it.

Ruby Allman

Yourembraceisforbidden

Yourtouchwarmerthanthebitingbreezeflowingthroughtheriftsofthisgrove

Thismountain,thishome

Whatwecouldhavehad

Thisdecadeoflies

Youdidn’twantit, Resignedtoalife

Ofyourdaughter’slaughter,andyourwife’scoldstare

Ofrustyfishingrods,

Andtheremainsofafeeling,ofmyhandinyourhair

Allwehavenowisthememoriesofus

Yourjacketinmine

Ourloveneverlost.

Nova Heasman

Cassie Murray

*Unfinished Business*

It was a cold June’s day when Jon had finally decided that he had-had enough. There had been something keeping him for so long, but for all that time, he couldn’t work it out. He now knew what to do.

The ground grew cold around his steps as he followed that scent of overcooked lamb to Martin’s door. The sun shone with all its might as he raised an icy hand to the doorbell. He rang it.

“One second!” Martin’s frantic voice called from inside. Jon heard something fall over – Martin was the clumsiest person he knew. Only now did he notice the smile he was wearing. Only now did a tear leave his eye.

Martin opened the door in his usual fumbling manner. He looked right through Jon, confused as to his supposedly empty porch. Jon looked into his face, taking in every detail that he didn’t want to forget. He didn’t know what would happen after he did what he went there to do, but he refused to forget Martin’s face. His eyes. His smile.

It was just when he was about to close the door that he didn’t hear Jon finally say, “I love you,” as he faded away into the dark.

Cass Herieven

The shadow in the mirror

The shadow in the mirror has gotten closer, I was filled with dread; It shifted unnaturally, as if it were distorted and clearly a danger to me, Strange language came out from it, whispers in the air, like it was contacting the dead.

It reached out to me, clawing, as if it were trying to grab its prey; The figure leaned ever closer, its long tendrils scraping at my knee, The shadow in the mirror has gotten closer, I was filled with dread.

It lunged at me, and suddenly darkness engulfed me, hiding the day; I heard them, the screaming, gunshots, and maniacal laughter, my laughter, it was me! Strange language came out from it, whispers in the air, like it was contacting the dead.

I wake up, sweat drenching from my forehead, and I got on my knees to pray; The shadow in the mirror was me. A different personality. One that killed for glee, The shadow in the mirror has gotten closer, I was filled with dread.

The shadow was connecting to me, as if it were trying to merge. It brought me to lay; The shadow made me twist with pain, as if I were being stabbed by a key, Strange language came out from it, whispers in the air, like it was contacting the dead.

We are one, we want chaos to come to the world, this is the way; We will destroy the world. It has hurt us, so we will hurt it back, no one will be free, The shadow in the mirror has arrived, we are now dread; We speak with strange language, whispers in the air, time to resurrect the dead.

Charlie Wiggins

Chump

Theconstantsilenceactsasabackgroundnoisewhichreverberatesinsidemy colleague’svacantonebedroombrain;theroomisrentedoutbrieflyfor9-5weekday functionsbecausehowelsewouldtheyknowhowtoscanandprintandcopyandfax and-

Thispatheticcreaturewillsoonbecomemybossandgainashinynewofficetokeephis collectionofcollectibleretrocarsthataretheonlythingsthatnowgivehimpleasure afterthedivorce.Iknowallaboutthedivorce,Imightaswellhavebeeninsidetheir marriage,cosiedupintheirbed.Didyouknowshecheatedonhimwithherfitness coach?Iknewthatevenbeforehedid.Alas,myjobiseverydaymonotony,takenlikea vitaminorsupplementforhumaninteraction.IhopetoescapeitbeforeI metamorphoseintoaten-bucktiewearingchump.Iprobablywon’t.

Molly Liddle

Duck honking noises

Quack. Those apes have boiled down my entire form of vocal communication to one word, “quack”. It’s not even accurate, I don’t ever say that. And the puns, they drive me up the wall, absolutely quackers- crackers even. “Oh why did the duck go to prison?”

“He was dealing quack”

AHAHAHAHAA stupid.

You have never seen a duck in a human prison. We don’t follow your laws, I do whatever the duck I want. You don’t care. A car killed my uncle last week and was there a murder inspection? Noooooo

Quackpots

Charlie Bowden-Smith

Mythology

We see their faces in our day

Their wisdom

Their hatred

Their fear

Their purpose

Stretching down into generations

Seeping into our minds

Stories circulating around time like whispers in a playground

People say they are myths

Are they?

Amelia Bloomfield

Flower Bed 2

She’d never be eighteen again. She looked at herself and came to that realization, as if it were written into the marks on her skin, shouting at her. You’ll never be eighteen again, you’ll never be young again, today is the youngest you can be, until tomorrow. She repeated it like a mantra inside her head, creating a trunk which branched off in different sections of yearning. She’s never wear an over to top gown to prom again, she’d never get dressed up for anything again, unless someone else dies before her, but that’s nothing like getting ready for a party with her friends, with her bright eyes wandering to a specific person she felt more for than she understood at the time. Her eyes were dull now, almost empty. She’d never be eighteen again.

She felt like a rejection of herself, as if she was slipping away, leaking out of her body like water through fingers, pooling at her feet. Her reflection followed her around everywhere, serving as a reminder of her wrongdoings, her decades of mistreatment. Maybe if she was more mellow her skin would be smoother and not dented with experience, bruised with incident, both admirable and despicable. She lived a life of duality, or maybe she was just human, letting angel and evil bleed into each other over her lifetime, creating an ordinary person. Yet, she clung onto her mistakes and forced the guilt of them onto her shoulders like an overpacked backpack which dragged her down. It’s too late to take it off now, to unpack it and put everything back where it belongs, to let it rest. She’ll take it to her grave, she decided in an episode of insomnia at twenty-three, she’ll be buried with it, her skeleton will be wrapped with it, it’ll be the last touch she feels, and she’ll be forced to feel it for eternity, beyond the escape from her life. There won’t be an escape, she decided. Maybe that’s why she feared death as much as she craved it, maybe God would punish her worse than she’s punished herself.

Ruby Allman

Presence

I find myself to be thinking of thee, As I lay down my head for a night's rest, For once you'd crossed my mind, I'd never sleep, As though I'd been given some form of test. Thoughts of you tempt me from unconscious state, Stir me awake and stir her heart inside, Thoughts of time with you where we share embrace, Or cuddle and kiss while it rains outside.

Sometimes I just find peace in your presence, No, I always find peacefulness in you, I remind myself of the present tense, To enjoy listening to your sweet tune, And hope you find comfort in this poem, The same way that I find comfort in him.

Noah Wright

Remembrance

Wandering through the mausoleum, I read the names of everyone who built the walls around our city. I ran my hand along the engravings, feeling every scratch, every crevasse, every carving. Only one thought occupied my mind: did they know?

Did they know what would become of the walls they built? Of the city inside of them? Did they know their names would be immortalised, still to be seen centuries later? Did they care?

I recognised some of the names. Not from any history textbook, nor through wordof-mouth: rather, like a whisper through my consciousness.

Cass Herrieven

Before a bird lands it spreads its wings. To slow itself down

And if you pay attention, for a split second the bird has stopped midair. For that moment, everything slows down and the world takes a break. For that moment it seems the wind halts and the trees stop swaying. For that moment, you can take a breath.

Cassie Murray

Victim

After the seventy-eighth tale with the message of you not existing gets thrown, sharp as daggers, poisonous as a snake’s bite, into your face, you tend to start getting fed up with it all.

The last seventy-seven times today, you caught the tales in your gloves, handled them with care, and disposed of them. As your assailant stared at you, the fires of Hell burning behind their eyes (ironic, as they thought you would be the one to end up there), you would carefully select your own stories and throw them with purpose in return.

That was tiring and you have had enough. So, you become less careful, batting their attacks out of the air and responding with your own, half as venomous as theirs. Of course, now you are the one attacking. Now you are sadistic, villainous, evil. Now they are the victim.

Cass Herrieven

Faded Memories

CRACK! What!

I sat up so fast that my back made an ominous snapping sound and as blurred scenes swirled around me, I staggered up with sleepy confusion to the creaky tap in the corner where I splashed icy water over my tear-stained eyes. As I watched the rain beat down aggressively against the windowpane, I couldn’t help thinking that memories are like trying to hold water in your cupped hands, as you add more, more slip away.

I can only remember a shadow of my mother now, which seems to fade into the darkness when I try to find her again. I’m sure I still love her even though she died when I was a baby, but can you love someone you never knew? Why cry over someone you just knew existed?

Despite all of my wanderings, I try not to live the “what if” and instead live the “what can my life be?” scenario, but when I find myself in times of trouble and loneliness, I can almost feel her gentle arms around me, her long fingers combing through my hair and her rosy scent close to my heart and all of a sudden, I’m consumed my desperate longing again.

I let my gaze sweep over the room and the couch where I had curled up three hours previously and found the evidence of the sharp noise, which had disturbed me from my slumbers, in the form of a cracked windowpane in the back door.

As I bent down to see how serve the damage was, I saw a ghostly figure peering back at me with hollowed cheeks so white it could have been a skull. The dazzling light from the chandelier bounced off the window glass; it was strangely dark for six o’clock.

Felicity Collett

Grandpa’s story

I love going to the beach

I love the feeling and the cheer and you’d think that on the pier the most beautiful thing would be the sea but that’s where you’d be wrong in fact, what I find most intriguing are the People, their Soul and their reason for Being and in my mind, I am thinking of two people, these two I would find these two and feel the love they had they came here every other month not for the view, but for each other I heard their laughter and I saw their smiles and that’s when i felt life complete one time though, one heart was racing O, the sun that blissful afternoon was marvellous and elegant which set the perfect mood for him to ask the burning question for him to get down on one knee

I took a breath and asked a question “Will you marry me?” everyday i think. of the memories they made, how I miss those days when they did learn to take it slow life wasn't a big rush we knew we had each other and that would never Change the man went there once more. he was then as old as wine his partner though was missing and I feared the reason why a single tear rolled of his face a tear of anguish and of pain he watched as it neither raised an ocean nor did no-one care he weakly smiled and what he said shall make you think of all your woes “Only here do my tears seem unimportant but this is where they hurt the most.”

Aivaras Vildziunas

Here, now

I sit here and ponder from time to time, Whether that be next to him, Or from afar, How did I end up here?

How did I end up with him, here, now? He looks obliviously at his at phone, While I am sat, here, now, Not wanting to let go or leave, Like a dog with a bone.

And I wonder as I am sat, here, now, Does he wonder the same as me?

Just as he is right there, now. Sat with me. Here. Now.

Noah Wright

Forget me not

Genuine feelings of flames blazing.

With a pink haze cast across my sight,

A stop in time.

Lost abyss of galaxies far and swelling joy.

Entanglement of emotions,

Constant wrapping of safety within them,

Ending or endless.

Time can freeze, the heart can yearn; The heart can learn.

Eyes connect and breath hitches

A gentle interlocking of hands and minds like a forget-me-not they encase me, The purest form of love, The purest form of you.

Enya Parsons

I soar past my old friends, keeping my distance lest they see me. There was a time when my breath warmed them, melting the icy cage that kept them trapped in starvation. Now, they fear it will only burn.

If they see me, they will run in terror. If I give in to temptation, set my feet down, and tried to say hello, they will stare, confused at my archaic tongue. They will send their spears, their hounds, their might after me. Their might is nothing compared to my own, but I would be compelled to self-defence. I do not want to hurt them. This has happened before.

So, I have resigned myself to watching. Watching their children’s games on the frozen lakes. Watching the hunters return with another frostbitten corpse alongside their meal. I desperately want to help them, but now they despise me. Their blood is kept warm only by the vitriol supplied to them by their leaders’ lies about me.

I don’t understand why this has happened. What did I do wrong?

Cass Herrieven

‘The Hunters in the Snow’ by Pieter Bruegal

Thereisnorespiteinthisemptyexpanse.Itisablindingcrystalbackdropthat stretchesfurtherthanseemspossibleorevenfair.Myheadlollslikeawilting floweraswetrudgealongthehorizon,andmyfurbootsfeellikeleadweights:icy andbrittle.Weareallonourlastmomentumandetchingjustafewstepsinfeels like10hours.Butsomehow,inthebrightpassingoftime,wemakeittoabreak intheforestwheremyprayersareanswered.

Molly Liddle

Rejected

You scribbled me out as if I wasn’t good enough. Like a word you spelt wrong.

Like a word that wasn’t good enough, you thought of a better one. Like a drawing that turned out so bad you couldn’t bear to look at it. So you deface it.

You do that to everything you don’t find good enough, or you just don’t like anymore.

But never a neat crossing out, never polite. A chaotic mess of scrawling.

Cassie Murray

Red Rain

Sirens wailed their usual song into the night. I looked up and, seeing no clouds yet, resumed my leisurely stroll through the reds and blues of the City’s streets. At one time, everyone would have been sprinting indoors around now. We quickly learned it was okay to take your time.

I rounded a corner to find one of the Reds closing the sewer grates. Something must have really gone wrong, I thought. I continued walking.

The Red gave me a glare and reached for something; I smiled at her and turned away. She was too busy to bother with me.

Feeling a drip fall on my shoulder and hearing a sizzle, I decided to walk a bit faster. I was five minutes from home and it was about that long until the rain properly started.

Cass Herrieven

Dayspassandlivestickon

Thoughtsrunroundtheheartofabrokenone

Fromlightsgonecoldandflamessnuffedout

Leavingisright,noshadowovermydoubts

Tickticktick

Theclockrunson Andthatlakeoflovehasrunglikeagong Forthepassionswrungdry Andthethoughtsspiralby Theeyesdriftpast Whatoncewasalove, Hadbeenlove.

Nova Heasman

Eternity is my being, my skeleton, my supposed home.

I’ll be inverted in my grave, like I am in the mirror.

My skull will stare back at my soul, blanky.

As if nothing’s there

Ruby Allman

• This poem was long-listed for the Tower Poetry Prize 2024

I know I should stop It's just, I can't help it,

Standing there, with my magnifying eyes.

Scars from acne I shouldn't attack

Bumps from cuts I never could count

That dip, that curve, Too round, too flat, all wrong.

But more scars I'll make, I won't fall back

More shame I'll feel, add them up, count the days it's been Pick, prod, scrunch.

I'll never feel sound in my fleshy mound.

- Alabama Edwards

The Notebook

Tears clouding their vision, they took out the notepad he had given them. The thought of him had always inspired them to write, wax poetic, spill their heart onto the page in-front of them. But not this time. Their hand shook as they picked up their pen. They quivered as they flicked through their enraptured soul’s jottings to find the next empty page. Once they had found it, they wrote:

Honestly, fuck you. I love you. You know that. Now you’ve left me and have taken everything I was with you. You were stolen away and didn’t fight back. Do you even care? Do-

They collapsed into their notebook. Of course he cared. Of course he fought. It just wasn’t enough.

Cass Herrieven

Fall, in love

Theleavesgobrown

Theskyisdim

Theyfalltotheground

Ifallforhim

Thesunsets

Myhandsarehisglove Fall,fallinginlove

Thebreezeiscalm

Thecinnamonair

Itakehisarm

Hefeelsmyhair

Thesunsets

Softshinefromabove Fall,fallinglove

Thedrinksarewarm

Thecloudsaredark

Theharshcoldstorm

Thesoftsinginglark

Thesunsets

Likethepairingdove Fall,fallinginlove

Ilovedhimbefore Ilovehimtoday

I’lllovehimsomemore

Nomattermyway

Thesunsets

Can’tsayitenough Fall,falleninlove

Charlie Bowden-Smith

Fabian

Whenhestrodeinthroughtheflappingdoorsofthepub,thejoviallunchtime atmospherealmostvisiblyshiftedtoice-thinwithtension.Allconversationsabruptly endedandthemenliftingamberpintspausedbeforetheglassesreachedtheirthirsting lips.Thenewmanwasdressedinafinelymadebutwell-worncharcoaltrenchcoat, whichskimmedtheshinytopsofhismetropolitanissuebrogues.Hewasnota particularlytallfigure,howeverheemanatedwavesofcoolassurednessthatseemedto elevatehimhigher.Mysteriously,ablackbowlerhatwaspulleddowndeepoverhis foreheadsothattheshadowsitcastuponhisfaceconcealedhisidentityfromthosewho mightknowhim.However,whenDetectiveSuperintendentRobertFabianenteredthe kingshead,anotoriousgangsterhangoutforallofLondon’sillicit,itwasobviousto thosecrooksthatthismanwasacopper.Andnotjustanycopper: Fabian of the Yard Knowntothecriminalundergroundasabloodhoundinabowlerhat,thescentof justicealwaysonhisnose.

Molly Liddle

Niobe

A lifetime spends dedicating my life to her

Loving her with every nerve in my body

Cut swiftly with a single phrase

Blood seeps deep into the worn-out floor

My children’s body lay drying out in the sun

9 days my daughters bodies rest forever

Until my grief is solidified

Water weeps from my soul

For eternity

Amelia Bloomfield

We Ran

This was our home, but we were clearly no longer welcome here. Our lives reduced to dust; I took her small, quivering hand in mine. Our memories and friends and happiness wiped from the surface of the world; we ran.

I couldn’t hold back tears as her innocent questions cut like knives through the crackle of flame: “What’s happening? Where are we?”

“I don’t know, my dear.”

“I’m scared,” she clung closer to me.

“Me too,” I gripped her hand tighter.

Another wave of heat. Another bang. Another tear of mine evaporated. Another dozen steps as we ran. How could they do this? Were we the only ones to escape?

Cass Herrieven

I caught a train that passed the town where you lived.

That’s right, passed.

I caught a train that passed the town where you lived and didn’t stop.

I kept going. Swapping familiarity for the unknown.

I didn’t get off, didn’t head down the steps, didn’t find you waiting in the ticket hall.

I thought of you just once on the journey, a fleeting reminder.

I did not think of you again. Instead I wrote as I always did, the things I wanted to tell you.

The tree in the garden has bloomed again.

I do not have much more to say. I don’t know when I will.

And I kept going, rumbling past your home and out into the countryside.

And if I thought I saw you standing on the other platform, I paid no attention to you. I caught a train that passed where you used to live.

I know I won’t see you there anymore.

Izzi Creamer

Brighter Future

you look to me, my child you ask, ‘what's the world like?’

though I love the way you think I don’t know how I can tell you tell you about the pain around the world it hurts me

and it would kill me to see the same in you, to see how their pain hurts you. So that’s not what I say. instead

I bring to your ears, a message of Hope I show you the artistry of our Earth I tell you of Great Heroes that saved countless lives

and I see the sparkle in your eye your wide grin spread across your cheerful face. but what do you know? a eutopia? a world pure and true? no... I have failed you.

You’ve now grown, and I hate it, I hate it. Your eyes sparkle replaced with a dark despairful hue

Your grin dares not show its face cheerful eyes just a memory in my heart It’s anguish to see how You’ve been battered

Your mind flooded with sights of pain, of heartbreak, of death and Your so-called heroes not coming to save the day

the message of hope now buried in countless travesties, People in Power twiddle their thumbs as people in poverty die in the streets

I know you and I know your heart this heartache, to you is indescribable misery, every day I'm worried, anxious, scared

but then I see You. and yes, the beauty is purged from Your mind but I look to what is there instead. And I see a flame. a fire ignited through this hell.

you know more than I had ever wished for you but I am not scared. Not anymore. You won't leave, You won't run That's never been who you are

You’ll work to make this the world you knew, when you were just my child

Aivaras Vildziunas

Swan

Herheadwasataslighttiltasiftobashfullyexposetheelegantcurvesofherslenderneck. Smoothmilkyskinlikethedownyfeathersofaswan.Butbehindthatpainter’smuseisnotan abstractfigureofvirtueandperfection.Thereisatensioninvisibletothepainstakingbrush strokesonthefar-offcanvas.Hernecktwitchesandstrainsathisrequestandrigamortisisa blessing.Swansglideandflextothewind’swhimsandbaretheirachingbeautyfreelyfrom theirfeatheredbosoms.Tobecomeaswanistobreakyoursoulintotwo:delicacylikesugar stringsthatmaysnapwithawarmbreath.

Molly Liddle

The Weight of the World

By Leah Godwin

Let it all out Every word, Every feeling of sadness, fear

Every thought that made you think you were worthless

Made you think you weren't beautiful or not enough Let out every ugly word somebody has ever said to you Everything that has ever made you feel broken Please

Let it all out

Blood could be running down your hands, I would still hold you Let you bleed on me Cover me in it, I do not care It could stain my clothes as you have stained my soul I care not as long as i get to hold you in my arms

The world will be cruel, yet i will be kind Until the day i stop breathing, let me be the one to hold you close, Tell you how beautiful you are Let me bear the weight of the word, not you Give me your fears, your faith and your burdens Show me the scars you wish to hide Tell me everything that has made that heart bleed I will hold you tighter, I will always love you

You are safe

Iseethoseeyesreflecttome

Likeoneofold

Likethatofmystery

Afamiliarface

Likeasongwhisperedbysea

Atwinklingspark

Thatecstasy

AheartandmindthroughthatgazeIsee

Ahushedwhisperback

Idarenotspeak

Thatfacesolikemine

Orsoitseems

Icannotseemyeyes

Myreflectionhasabandonedme.

Alifeofblood

Isnotwhatitseems

IsnotwhatIforesaw

WhenIgrewtallandlean

Asharpenedsmile

Ahearththatscreams

Echoesoffranticsteps

Afinalscreech

It’snotwhatIchose

WhenIwaslostIndream

Afinalcry

Ashatteringscreen

Nomoresilver

Norsunlight

Yetstill

Myportraitsmilescruellybackatme

Nova Heasman

Renew

As the sun settled on the horizon with streaks of crimson left in its wake, it seemed to be making itself comfortable for a new year as it laid down to rest just beyond the edge of the city. As the shadow of the Eifel tower lengthened, a buzz of excitement rippled from the newly formed crowds. They looked up expectantly at the sky ready to enter 2024 amidst the glow of flashing lights.

With a sense of hope that the slowly fading sun and I appeared to share, I looked around at the city that was so new to me and felt a feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the crisp evening breeze.

I had spent so long living to make others happy, satisfied and content that I had forgotten to live for myself; I had lost the building blocks of who I was and what I chose to live for. This city was my new start and where I wanted to belong.

As I gazed upon the tower, that is the most familiar attraction of France, I wondered whether I could watch the city enter this near year as if I were a bird from above.

As I ascended the steps of the tower I felt as if I were already flying; I felt freer than I had ever done before. When I reached the top, I let my eyes wonder to the thousands of lights below and it was like looking down at the sun sparkling off the dark blue sea, as they shone up at me, a mosaic of colourful lights.

At least hundreds now had gathered down below, each with their own stories to tell and their own sense of purpose as they perhaps made predictions on what this new year would bring and whether they were destined to live a life of happy contentment or uncharted chaos: thrilling adventure or constant nervousness.

Only time can tell.

I was suddenly shaken out of my reverie with the first flashing firework which was launched into the sky. I watched its unpredictable progress, still with that rare sense of wander that possessed me. It was like I was carrying around a flame that flared up inside me which provided me with warmth and hope.; something with which I was not familiar.

Without really knowing what I was doing, I started to descend the steps of the tower. The moment of fire and flashing lights, which provided a sense awe for the whole city, had faded and fallen like the fireworks.

When I had reached the last step, I let my eyes fall on a small girl, who was singing in fluent French while waiting for her mother to tie her shoelace. As I watched their steady progress through the murmuring crowds, I still tried to hear

the young girl’s sweet voice, which made me reminisce about the days when I was innocent and had little responsibility. I don’t wish to go back to my younger years however, as I have power now, power to make changes for the better and although I was going to start living for myself that doesn’t mean there will be a new me. It just means that I am going to let the old me shine through like the way the sun pierces the glass of a green house.

Felicity Collet

Ialwayshopedfortherainwhenitpoured

Firescrackandsootspurson

Butthewispofmistbringsclaritylikeneverseenbefore

Bloodwilldropandbloodwillfall

Bloodrepaidwhilebloodisboiled

Facesdroopandangersours

Vengeanceislostandmiseryispaid

Whenourdebtsaresettledwithwar

Hopefulgreenandenviousviridian

Joyouslaughsandsickbedridden

Endlesswaterflowingfromyouandabove

Whilegracefulfeathersbringyoumylove

Goldensunswillriseagain

You'llfindcomfortandmakeamends

Forevenwithalossundeserved

Timegoesonforaweepingworld

Nova Heasman

Friends in every universe

Do you think we are friends in every universe?

The word fills my skull as I imagine the ways we would find each other

Maybe,

We are characters in someone's favourite book, making them laugh beautifully

Until tears stream down their face with joy

Or the comedic group in a tv show

Maybe,

We knew one another when we were young

Childhood memories collectively shared, lives stretched across minds

Maybe,

We were co-workers destined to find one another

Filling the job with joy

In every time, every day

Till the world gives out on us, we will find each other in every way possible

And even then, we will remain the stars in the sky

Amelia Bloomfield

*Extract from a Vampire’s Journal*

My inspiration having run drier than the veins of my cattle, I discarded my pen and closed my notepad. I had been a vampire for more than two centuries, yet I couldn’t come up with a single useful lesson to write in my guidebook. Well, the one about making sure the victim’s blood runs directly to their carotid artery wasn’t too bad. I don’t know how many young vampires would have the patience to hang their food upside down for five minutes. After all, in my first decade I was so eager that I accidentally made a Frenchman draw the ire of all of Europe with who I chose to feed on.

Ah! There’s something to add: beware the geopolitical consequences of feeding in public.

Cass Herrieven

Felicity Collett

Shadows

Isitstiffontheedgeofthecrimsonmetalandsteelseats,andIlistentoalltheechoesof thehospital:thesoundofshoesolesscuffingthesmoothspeckledfloor;anxiousfamily membersmutteringinhushedtonestooneanother,theirfeaturesareinkblotted scarletfromsoftweeping;thedroningandwhirringbuzzofthevendingmachines;the wretchedspluttersandhacksfromhunchedshadows,wearilyslumpedoverontheir chairs,reverberateredundantlyoffthewalls.NeverhadIseensuchaplacesodrained ofjoyandlife,itseemedtooozesufferingandmiserylikesomerancidwound.

Molly Liddle

Mother

Oh,dearMotheroftheMoon, letthatlightextinguishitself. Stompedon, smallblackfoamoutthebedroomwindownow, ventswebbed,smalltissueencasedinwettar,phlegm,dust. Amixture.

Istillrememberthathollowbone,andthemarrowspewedonthecarpet. Stickingtothewood. Irememberwhereithappened, asIrememberwhereIsleep. Thatsilverbreathmintturnsyoumetallicnow,Mother. Thatpennyrolloffthecounterasittrembled. It’sover.

DearMooncarver

Irememberthebedtimealibis, therehearsals.

Thisiswhatyou'lltellthenicemaninblue. Thegentleman,anactofsureservice. Irememberthesweetcaressonmymattecheek, let'sgooveritinthemorning.

Thisgrapejuicecannotsoothemysoftstiffness,mother. Thosecandysticks,sugarandplayingintheleaves. Rollingtheleavesnow,mother, kissingmyfingertips. it'llbeokay. it'llbeokay. oneday,it'llallbeokay. i'llbeokay,Mother.

Rean Klansek

Iwanttoscrubmyfacewithdisinfectantbecauseit’snevercleanenough Iwanttoscrubtillbloodthedrossthatfillsmybraintaintedwithbadstuff Iwanttoscrubawaytheinvisiblegrimethatclingstomyever-taintedsoul Iwanttoscrubawaythefilthofthisworldtofinallyfeelagainwhole

Nova Heasman

Fingersscrapeagainstbareskin

Scratchandscrapetogetwithin Timechokingandcuttingoffmysupply

Youthandhappinessafargonecry

Flitterbythesedaysofmine

They'llneverreturn,noreasonwhy AndevermoreI'munablestill Tobreakthroughthesethoughtsofmyownfreewill

Nova Heasman

Eclipse

Letmeholdyou.Onlyjusttobeonyourarms,wouldsaveme.Vastaretheplanesofthe fabricsofmyheart,thatIwouldwrapyouupinandkeepyouwarm.Evenaftera lifetimeofus,ourlovewillblazeon:immortal.Languageislimiting,forwordspallor againstyourbeautyandmypassion.Oh,howyourglancesandgazessustainme. VirtuousDeity.Eclipsemybeingwithyourlight.

Molly Liddle

Trapped

Please let me go home

Let me feel the warmth over my marble body

Let me feel my sisters' smiles

Room 19, not the Patheon

Pieces of my history stretched across the room

Display their thievery, their lies

You are holding me captive, let me go home

Amelia Bloomfield

And the next season welcomes me, like the brush of lips against my skin. It’s bittersweet, watching the sun rise through an old window and melt the white frost clung to the grass when there’s skeletons strewn out behind me, hollow-eyed and silent beyond what I can bear

I can’t let them rest or shove them in a wardrobe, under a pile of old, untouched clothes.

I’m made up of my past, Their fingers sewed my limbs together and struck lightning straight into my heart. So, I keep them behind me, I can afford to turn around every once in a while, maybe take a step or two back.

Ruby Allman