CREATIVE WRITING

We have already arrived in October! It is a season that begins with long walks to see the fall foliage, dressed in big scarves and sweaters, ends with Halloween decorations and costumes, sprinkled with anything and everything pumpkin all month long. Though the Plant is not available in pumpkin spice flavour, I hope that those of us wishing that the study break had been longer are reading these poems alongside the hot fall drink of their choice.

Creative Writing by

EMMA MAJAURY Creative Writing Editor

A Borrowed Book, a New Memory

ASPEN CRICK Staff Writer

Rough edges and Mystical content. Easily whisked away into the world of fantasy Flipping through the pages, A delighted sigh escaping past my lips. Lamenting when it’s time to put it back in its place. Resisting the urge to call it my precious, Hide it under my coat and make a run for it. That’s the emotional roller coast when you borrow someone else’s old book. But at least while you had it, You found comfort in between the pages, And new fictional characters to dream about in the storyline.

Indigo

ÉLODIE LAVICTOIRE Contributor

If only the multiverse that fills this place was real. If only we could go to these universes and live With the characters we fell in love with. If only we could thank them For helping us in our darkest times. If only life could be one of these fairy tales.

If only they could come to life And bring joy and excitement to our daily life, With it not being fake. A dream. A hopeless wish.

If only all these Weren’t just in our heads, Reality wouldn’t be So lonely, so bleak. If only it wasn’t just Tattooed shavings of dead trees. But flesh and blood.

But at least in our heads Just for a couple of minutes, A couple of hours, they are real to us… If only…

(Screen) Save Me

KARA FUSARO Curiosities Editor

Confirmation, I’ll see you soon Affirmation, wait. You like me too? Brightness up, can’t miss a thing

Volume down, can’t hear you scream.

You don’t need anyone else I’ll take a quiz- lessen myself Send after send I lose less Lower and lower- bottom shelf.

How can I be so naïve? I never saw past my screen How you saw me And no, not with LED but with my sorry eyes, begging. Please.

My mind from behind my skull, Am I really oh so dull? Or with your ego do you feel full? Save me from falling? With only a pull.

How can I cater myself to you? I’ll be yours. Call you my creator How I can bend to your will My mountain, your ant hill.

I promise I’ll be better for us If only one thing I bring let it be trust I’m just sitting here, banished to dust Filled with the idea of our past lust

Don’t leave me- I won’t be weak My yells quiet… meek Can only I hear when I speak ? Mumbling nonsense as if I wore a beak.

Trapped. In a box Fair to call me cliché, But I leave you to mold me like clay. My body stays as your display.

I’m still here Full of crippling fear Catch my mind slip, like headlights to a deer I pray that my end is near.

Doodles by

EMMA MAJAURY Creative Writing Editor

Inquietude

LULU KAUFMANN Contributor

Suspended here and there, and nowhere in between Familiar awareness blinds reality Borrowing thoughts from tomorrow Silent screams swarming around my mind Existing only to predict the unforeseen. Blaming teenage angst or self-preservation I remain on edge The unknown engulfing every sense Wondering what comes next. Absurdity releases and casts a spell On untamable thoughts Questioning the purpose of reason And the abyss of it all. Bittersweet perceptivity Blurs out consciousness And submerges me into a deep sea of fright, Drowning me without recovery. Hesitantly brushing up against intermittent hope And mindfully diving back into the realm of tangibility.

After Sex, with a Cigarette

CHRISTOPHE BARRÉ-JOHNSON Contributor

Your face is mesmerizing in the sun’s embrace.

it becomes unrealistic To think, That such a beauty Be seen again. Under rays of sunshine Or Rains of stars Trembling, I’m thinking, Of how weak I feel under Your gaze.

A Shadow of my Ghosts

LEO HUSSAIN Contributor

A shadow of my ghosts. I stand on a bridge. The voices whisper. Come closer, come closer. A shadow of myself. Regretting the future. Looking down a bridge. A man with no closure.

The waves sing louder than the voices whisper. A man with no closure, yet at least one with composure. On a floating rock, spinning at 460 meters a second. Like a Ferris Wheel with three rockets strapped on its circumference.

A shadow of my ghosts. Far away from a bridge. With a frightening nonchalance. Tears in my eyes. A lust for life.