passionfru it A LABOUR OF LOVE
CONTENTS Letter from the Editor . . . . . . . . . . . . Ghoul Friends, Heidi Bird . . . . . . . . . . Bikini Dracula, Anthony Acri . . . . . . . . . Owl Poem, Kayla Bashe . . . . . . . . . . . . Autumn Adventures, James Still . . . . . . . . We Lie Behind The Night, Tom Reed . . . . . . Hipster Witch, Natalie Parker . . . . . . . . Take Me To Church, Kevin O’Connor . . . . . . Halloween Transformation, Claire Valentina . . I Wanna Be The Grim Reaper, Kenzie . . . . . . The Leaves are falling from the tree, P1lgrim The Cat in the Hat, Dairrien C . . . . . . . . Halloween Dance, Missy X. . . . . . . . . . . Revolt, Revolt, Christina K. . . . . . . . . . Haunted Mirror, Sylvia Morris . . . . . . . . The Valley, cut ribbon . . . . . . . . . . . . Dark Nights, Nishat C . . . . . . . . . . . . Leaves and Ashes, 塩の⾕谷 . . . . . . . . . . . Autumn in the Woods, Cameron Page . . . . . . On Destruction, Ali Giordani . . . . . . . . . Photos of the Dark, Turnipcore . . . . . . . . Ghost Hug, Nishat C . . . . . . . . . . . . . Howling at the Moon, Ryan Dickinson . . . . . Ghosts, Christopher Topham-Smith . . . . . . . Dark Moon, Tim O’C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grantham Hall, Ellenya . . . . . . . . . . . . All Hallow’s Eve Guardians, Michelle Norton .
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Editor’s Letter
I wonder how much I’ll have to write this time, honestly. I feel myself dying out with the coming end of year. Thank god it’s over, right? 2016 has been a mess. I don’t know how I’m going to keep going. I suppose this all sounds a little drastic, but I just found out about my exams next year and I will be perfectly prepared for them at the time, but right now I’m nervous because I haven’t sat an exam since high school. Also, being in the middle of medical stuff means I am locked in a room for four days with not a lot to do. Freaks and Geeks has been keeping me company. I know that this will be the last issue for some time. Not like a significant period, but probably for like three months, because exams and coursework and me having time to do stuff and giving myself time. I never give myself time, and I want to. I guess. It;s complicated. I’m sure it’ll work itself out. Probably the last until February, at least, though. I’d love to do a new year edition and stuff, but time. I feel like so many things are pressing on my ribs. I am sorry this isn’t a better letter. Halloween hit me. October has come and gone very quickly. It’s been real, though!
x Ishani
Ghoul Friends
Heidi Bird
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Letter from the editor
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Anthony Acri
owl poem Kayla Bashe the lurking un-now ectoplasmiccreep who is this woman? the world breaks at her shoes shedding movement of insects from green-glowing purr watch always witch-cleverness unless you would like to be owlish transformed full of unknowable songs and golden-eyed sneak to whirl into the night as dark as ice
James Still’s
Autumn Adventures
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WE LIE BEHIND THE NIGHT TOM REED
SILENT AMONGST THE DEAD LEAVES OF
ONE OF US WHEN THE DOORS ARE OPENED FOR THE CHILDREN
ONE OF US WHEN THE DOORS ARE OPENED FOR STRANGERS
ALL OF US WHEN THE DOORS ARE OPENED FOR NOTHING BUT THE WIND
WE WILL POUR SLOW OUR SHADOWS INTO YOUR GLOWING LAMPSHADES
SIBILANT, EVER ILLUMINATING YOUR SECRET FEARS
WE LIE BEHIND THE NIGHT
DANCING IN THE RITUAL CIRCLES OF SUMMONING, WE WILL FIND YOU.
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OCTOBER
Kayla Bashe
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Kevin O’Connor
Claire Valentina’s
halloween
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The leaves are falling from the tree P1lgrim The leaves are falling from the tree, but that little leaf hanging on- that’s me. I will not fall, I’m going to stay, I want to see what happens when you’ve made us all fly away. The wind blows angrily, he’s not having that. Well, I’m clinging on, like an old man with his hat. I like this Autumn sun coming in low across the world. And no, I’m fine; my edges are just slightly curled. But I’m still a bit green, and look at my lovely spine. No, I’m staying here, thanks. I’m doing just fine.
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Howling at the Moon - The Ramones Pet Cemetery - The Ramones The Procession - Joy Division Ziggy Stardust - Bauhaus One - Metallica Skulls - Misfits Where Eagles Dare - Misfits Mommy, Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight? Misfits Die, Die, Die My Darling - Misfits Bang Bang - Greenday My War - Black Flag Untitled - Simple Plan Alice - Avril Lavigne White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane Rabbit Hole - blink-182 Jet Black Heart - 5SOS 99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger
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Christina K
Sylvia Morris
The Valley cutribbon I descend Into the autumn valley At the beginning of October The foliage has nearly all fallen And the ones that still linger Are swept up in leaf storms They swirl around and above my head As I clutch my coat closer The days are becoming colder so fast The temperatures have hit small negatives It’s another kind of place for sure When the chills have descended into my bones During this month of thanks During this month of scares When I’ll grow a year older And a year wiser The days are getting shorter And I, tired-er Alone in the valley Where the river runs to the east I descend into the winter valley As my memories falter Snow falls gently To blanket the landscape And in barely a blink It has become winter As snowflakes swirl above my head I shiver Was it a dream, Or was it always this cold? I descend Into the valley In the middle of October As it snows And the cold encapsulates me I’ve walked through two seasons To a place Where the water divides the earth Where I question my memories As time moves on
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Autumn in the Woods
Cameron Page
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on destruction: a story in five parts Al Giordani I. Destroy yourself routinely, succinctly don't shrink the pain (wipe the fog off the mirror) face it. To break, is expected, (is) well worn, (is) banal. II. As a practice, expose yourself to pain daily: hands against a hot plate, barefoot on the pavement, cold shower in the night. Make sure to feel no joy in these moments; this is not a spectator sport. III. To heal, is to draw a thick red line between pleasure and pain, point them away from each other and say, "walk leisurely but do not deviate from your path.” Repeat, "relinquish control" until the words have lost meaning, then say it a few more times just to be sure. IV. Set up camp in the terrain of regrets, missed chances, and all your friends, living and dead. Although may hear them whisper, even in the quietest moments, they cannot hear you but you must call to them anyway.
V. If you wish to love, open every window in your home, so fear can enter freely. When she crawls in, tripping over piles of clothes and knocking over the vase of flowers on your dresser, invite her under the covers. With practice, you will begin to decipher her rushed mumbling, “the second act of tragedy is about to begin,” she warns, combing the knots out of your hair. You lose your voice when she mentions the purpose of desolation, and put your hand over her mouth when she won't stop repeating, “despair is the condition, not the exception.” She’ll drag you to the kitchen, and make tea with too much honey, “We’re allowed to disagree,” she’ll say, touching your arm. “Now, let's not go to bed angry.” When you wake, (with your hand out stretched to all the lovers you’ve never had, but miss dearly) the bed will be empty and all she left is a note on the wall, “it's good to be wary of things that bloom too quickly”
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Ryan Dickinson
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Tim O’C
Grantham Hall Ellenya Grantham Hall was a haunted house That never got to scare, For the singular reason that No one was ever there. Grantham’s gothic, crypt like decor Was scary by default, Then it’s cobwebbed, red-stained hall gave The urge to burn and salt, But for all those frightful features No howling cries rang out. The grim, ghoul-laden air remained Unrent by scream or shout. The bat infested belfry with Self playing harpsichord May as well have been rainbow lane, By cotton candy floored. While it’s true no one left alive That’s ‘cos none had gone in. It’s terrifying history Never got to begin. It stands still, longing to bespook It’s threshold left unbreached, So Grantham Hall remains a tale Of potential unreached.
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Michelle Norton