UoN’S CREATIVE WRITING

UoN’S CREATIVE WRITING

A BREATH OF LIFE

Exhale and show me your pain, that writhes beneath your skin, in your blood, in your heart and mind, and tell of the throbbing ulcer, that grew when joy was absent, and beauty made a blotchy cesspit. Then breath new air into the world, newly bathed in the privilege to enter your pool of delight, and only then might life return once more, to your cheeks that were once painted, with a red hue of vigour.

Finlay Munden

A SCHOLAR’S ODYSSEY

Amidst towering spires and ancient stone walls, a young scholar stood, his heart aflutter with the myriad of opportunities lay before him, much like a knight surveying a bustling medieval marketplace, brimming with colourful traders and potential endeavours. Beneath his feet, the cobbled paths echoed with the lively atmosphere of students and the clinking of armour, as if heralding the arrival of a dawn of new adventures. The scent of parchment, ink, and passion was intertwined by the aroma of hearty hall feasts, promising a chance to savour the rich tapestry of university life. As the sun kissed the horizon, casting a golden glow upon banners adorning the jousting grounds, the students’ eyes twinkled with excitement. Just as knights sought honour and camaraderie on tournament fields, he too sought acclaim, friendship, and meaning amidst the tapestry of societies, where bards strummed lutes and scholars debated with fervour. Within communal chambers hung woven artworks of past crusades, reminding him of the vibrant social scene that beckoned him to join. Each gathering was a chance to immerse himself in the lively court of university life, where chivalry extended beyond battles, and friendships were forged like tempered steel. His quest for enlightenment knew no boundaries, and the student embarked upon this with his new beginning.

Thomas Martin

FOR ADVERTISING PURPOSES

Rain pours. Students in open-day branded t-shirts walk. Manoeuvring down the fountain-lined concrete steps- the ones sometimes used for advertising purposes, he walks in that big white building… the one with the tower and the courtyardthe one always used for advertising purposes. Inside the toilets, he looks in the mirror. As if time has stopped, his arm now has tattoos that were once drawings, scribbled on his phone. His hair is longer. Gold glints in the LED lights, bleached blonde tries its best to overcome brown dye that now swamps it. He looks down, makes eye contact. His eyes have seen things he once said he couldn’t’, cried tears over things he once avoided. His lips move. They’ve laughed more than they did before. They’ve also quivered and scowled more. That’s what is meant to happen… time passes, eyes look…mouths smile- hair grows. Tattooed arms like memories- accumulate inside a mirror, marked with a permanence sharpies only wish to have. It’s interesting when we look at ourselves alone, when we don’t use our faces for advertising purposes. He walks out the building. It’s been three years. It’s not raining. There are no open-day branded students. Buildings once scary on pamphlets, are inconsequential after time spent with them. The buildings are just brick, stairs just concrete. Enormity has worn off. Then again, that’s what happens when you stop seeing things for advertising purposes.

Ed Farley

AN EMPTY ROOM, A FULL HEART

Sitting, tapping my shoe on this bleak wooden floor, My dad speaks after a moment, telling me “that’s all”. The car is unloaded, and I see box after box. Memories flash by with a ticking clock.

And suddenly I can see old life passing by, My sister at the beach, My uncle saying bye, My friends in a hot tub with burnt cookie pie.

My heart opens to this world I have lived in.

And one that, thank god, I have always felt loved in.

“I have to get away” I would say in the car, Ice cream in one hand, the other on my heart.

And I would cry to my mam, “I want something bigger than this”, Promising my grandad that I’m not leaving him.

“I’ll call grandma every night and we’ll talk like we do, A cup of tea, loud TV and you’ll be there too.”

I can’t help but feel guilty, Like I’m the one who ran away.

But I see photos on my wall and feel comfort in your face. I take a deep breath and rest my foot on the floor. We still love each other; this is just a new page.

Hayley Lawson