Creative Writing

14 creative writing

A Mistake

By Izzy murphy

The thing is, you were an accident. A mistake. A problem to be solved. We just didn’t get there in time. I didn’t get there in time. I had always been irregular, so I didn’t think much of it. But I should have. I really, really, should have. I should have kept track. I mean, they have apps, or calendars for things like this now. I know, I know; it was a risk. I know what everyone was thinking. ‘This is just another way to get his attention.’ But I didn’t want his attention, I didn’t crave it. I needed it, I survived off it. It kept me going. I started to feel sick when he wasn’t around. But then I started to feel sick when he was around. I started to feel sick all the time. I thought it was a bug, a cold. I thought I’d get better. The shrink said it was just nerves. Wrong.

“Nausea,” He called it. What a load of rubbish. “It’ll pass,” he concluded. Wrong, again.

Josie told me that you were a blessing. A gift. She told me over and over again. Have i told you about your auntie Josie yet?

Well, she’ll be here soon; she said she wouldn’t miss this, she wouldn’t miss meeting you.. She’s a bit mad, as you’ll see, but she’s all we’ve got. We met in university, in our third year. She had been pouring pints and waiting tables at some seedy bar, when she saw me sat alone, waiting for a date that would never show. She bought over a free pint and called the no-show a dickhead. After that, we were stuck. Neither of us had a clue what we wanted to do with our lives, or what we wanted to get out of the world. We travelled around for a few years, hoping to ‘find ourselves’. Unfortunately, all we found was that travelling is expensive, having sex with strangers in shared hostel rooms is a bad idea, and no one cares as much about your adventures even remotely as much as you do.

Maybe you’ll want to go on a gap year some day, get some adventures under the belt like we did?

Anyway, once we had spent all of our money and exhausted all of our options, Mr Oliver, Josie’s step-dad, said he had a friend looking for ‘administrative assistants’ at some insurance firm in London. Well we both jumped at the chance; any opportunity, to ditch our streaks of making exceedingly poor choices. Anything to get out of beaded necklaces and colourful baggy trousers with elephants on them. Together, we found a cheap two bedroom apartment, in a rather unsavoury part of the city, bought, somewhat acceptable, workwear, and agreed: no more foolish decisions for a while.

That lasted about three years.

Three years of good, sensible behaviour, and then I would wake up in a strange apartment, after Josie begged me to help her ‘enjoy her 20s’ by escorting her to dodgy bars in South London.

“Well, that was fun. When will I see you again?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Three years and he would be introduced as the new head of finance.

“Can I grab everyone’s attention please, just for a moment. This is Mr Harrison, he is joining us from-”

“Hey Fliss, isn’t that-”

“Shh. Yes. It’s him.”

“-so I expect you to all make him feel very welcome.”

He would flirt. I would resist. A little. Three years and we would start fooling around in his office. Three and a half years and he would take me out on dates, trips away, show me off. Three years and eight months and his wife would show up at the office, holding the hands of two young boys. Three years and eight months, and he would abandon me completely. He let me down gently, I guess, in his own way.

“We shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“It’s been months…”

“Look, I guess I just got carried away. It was never serious.”

Three years and nine months and Josie would walk into the office toilets to find me vomiting. Three years and nine months and there would be two blue lines on the test she grabbed from the corner shop. I cried. She said we would ‘sort it’. She said that we didn’t need to make it any bigger than it needed to be. We could keep you a secret, or not, whatever I wanted to do. She would help me take care of it. She was good like that.

creative writing 15

A memorable weekend

By melody chan

Blue skies and blue waters. That is what I remember about the first weekend when we went our separate ways again. The distinction between the sky and the sea was impossible to spot, yet I know the line between them existed. Occasionally it made itself seen from the break of waters, other times it was a blur hiding behind the blue. Just like the fragility of a relationship, the end of it seems far and unknowing yet lurks within the shadows. When a breaking point hits, the waves collapse and so does a relationship. But waves surge back, so will I. That weekend I took a train from Norwich to Cromer. There had been sunny days and I refused to feel dull at summer’s beckoning. A short 49-minute ride transported me to a petite seaside town, I remember breathing in the salty freshness of coral reef and stone. I had not been to a beach in a while, and I missed that sun-kissed feeling. It was a Saturday, so the beach was packed with families and friends. Laughter and screams filled the air in a summer melody. That was what I needed— surrounded by joy and company. The wind gently brushed my cheeks, played with my hair, and caressed me in a reassuring way. At least that was what I thought the wind was trying to do. I walked through stacks of pebbles in different shades, sometimes stumbling and losing my balance. But I finally made it to a seat and rested on an elevated platform near the shore, the waves splattering hurriedly, then slowly, then rushing back and forth. A dog threw itself into the waters, swimming into the sea by paddling his little paws at great velocity. He was reaching for something, his eyes desperately searching for it and when he finally found it, he turned and swam towards the shore. Ah, it was a ball. The dog’s jaw clenched the thing tightly, holding onto it for dear life. But the waves were cruel, swooshing him backward whenever it swam closer to the beach. He refused to drop the ball and continued fighting the waves as if it were a serpent strangling its movements.

Then a breaking wave built and pushed him forward in an unexpected force. His body submerged within the blue but resurfaced a few seconds later. Drenched and soaked with heaviness, he escaped the strong pulling of the sea and rushed up to the shore, never returned and never looked back. For a minute, I was the dog. Its struggle to break free from the waters was akin to my struggle in escaping the truth and knowing that you cannot fix everything. As if you took one step forward, but later realised it was three steps back. Yet that was the reality and all you could do was move on. At least that was what I acknowledged from my trip to Cromer. I faced the sun, closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh.

Photo: Unsplash

16 just the beginning

By bella hatch

creative writing

I become aware of my surroundings like a diver rising from the depths. Slowly, and then all at once. Light floods my vision, and for a moment, I’m completely overwhelmed. Incrementally, my eyes adjust to my surroundings, and I become aware that I am standing in a vast, vaulted chamber, everything around me white, pearl and the palest shades of gold. I blink, turning in a slow circle, searching for some clue as to my whereabouts. Nothing immediately presents itself, nor upon a second look.

“Hello.”

I jump, and turn to see a man I had not previously noticed standing behind me, garbed in diaphanous white robes, hands clasped in front of him, half hidden inside his enormous sleeves. He smiles benignly, and I incline my head by way of acknowledgement, my mouth suddenly dry.

“H-hello,” I stammer, “sorry, might you tell me where I am?” The man’s smile fades, his expression becoming grave and sombre.

“The question so quickly asked, and always the most difficult to answer,” he says, “I am afraid you are dead.”

A dull throb of confusion settles in my temples, moving to a sharp ache in my chest, and finally settling heavily in the pit of my stomach. Varying emotions wash over me in waves; grief, fear, disappointment, disbelief. It is too much to think of everything I have left behind, and I have to sink my teeth into my lip to stop myself from crying out in anguish. A muffled sob still escapes my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth.

“My...my life...it’s all over? This is the end?”

A gentle hand presses against my shoulder, and I look up, having barely managed to compose myself.

The man’s expression is tender and understanding.

“That’s one way of looking at it. But I prefer, or rather, I find it easier to think of it another way.”

I stare at him expectantly, tears brimming in my eyes, waiting for him to continue, but he simply turns away, and raises his hands in the air, the trumpeted sleeves of his gown ballooning as they fall up his arms.

At the other end of the vast chamber, an enormous set of doors I had not previously noticed swing open smoothly. A gentle breeze lifts my hair, bringing with it the scent of fresh grass, wheat, and blossom.

“What- .” My voice cracks, so I clear my throat, and begin again, “what is the other way?” The man smiles at me softly.

“Think of it as the beginning.”

This time, when I feel tears pricking my eyes, I let them fall, taking in a shuddering breath.

“The beginning of what?”

Placing a guiding hand on my back, the man begins to walk me forward. The white marble beneath my feet is cool and soothing, and as I draw closer to the enormous doors, a profound sense of tranquillity settles on my heart and mind like an embrace.

“The beginning of everything.”

Photo: Unsplash

EDITOR: Izzy murphy