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Read MoreYou slowly peel open your eyes. You blink a few times to try and expel the dust that has settled itself in them. You turn your head slowly, both to the left and to the right, to try and work out where you are. You swing your head around quickly, snapping it back, to where you remember the old woman calling out to you. A few words fall out of your mouth. It sends her away, which clears your mind and makes you feel less uncomfortable. Your arms feel like jello, but you manage to lift yourself off of the searing concrete and onto your worn, adolescent feet. As the sun bears down on your neck, you hear the familiar ‘slap, slap’ as your feet drum down on the pavement.
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Read MoreBy Anna Comet
Imagine your entire life. Picture every single detail of that life, story by story, interlinked by a rotating cast of characters that you may or may not care about. You are born. You are raised by a loving family. You don’t try very hard in high school, but you get into a ‘good enough’ university and stumble your way through that. After a few years of partying, getting drunk, staying awake in classes, meeting pretty girls, sometimes getting some, sometimes not getting any, and repeating that whole process, you graduate. You find yourself with a piece of paper that you can use to get yourself a reasonable job. Remember those pretty girls that you dated in university? They were insipid compared to the extraordinary, inspiring, elegant wife that you find yourself with. You start a family, and it’s all going well until one day. One day, one hour, one minute, one second passes and everything’s different.
Read MoreBy Tara Keshavarz
You were my sky, my moon, my sun, my star.
You were everything that mattered to me.
You smelled like cinnamon buns and cigar,
But your lips tasted like sugar and tea.
Read More“Hey! You there.”
Mill stopped and looked up from her phone. An old busker she passed by every day but never looked at beckoned to her. A pause, half a step back, then slow, wary, walking forwards.
As she approached, the scene before her became more detailed and concerning. A missing tooth; dark, thick nose hair; tattered clothing; gnarled hands and a broken guitar. Sharp, blue eyes, but the scent of alcohol reached her delicate nose.
A polite, “Sir?”
“Clother,” the man spoke in a lisp. Air hissed through the gap in his teeth.
He held up the guitar. A string was missing, the wood cracked and dented horribly.
“Look. Tell me what you thee.”
Mill frowned. This man must be insane.
Read MoreBy Conor Ammett
How weak is the mind that shifts with seasons,
How sweet a kiss between two young lovers,
The yelling, the pain, the grief, the reasons,
The bright, the giving, much to discover.
Read MorePart 1
By Shromann Majumder
There was a dull sky upon us that day and we were enjoying the humidity of Agra. My history teacher Mr. Brodie McKenzie and I were in the shadows of one of the most beautiful structures on Earth. The fort was quite exquisite. Every piece had been preserved to its finest shape and colour. It was known as a gift of love from the former king, Shah Jahan, to his seventh wife. It was made with pure white marble, which was preserved in perfect condition. While the facade of the edifice was not as clean as it was a century ago (due to the nearby petroleum factory which had stained the roof), it had its beauty maintained from every angle. Near the entrance, there was a long row of antique fountains. Fifty metres from the end of the wells, the great marble hall was surrounded by three pillars. The fourth pillar appeared as an illusion. It was none other than the Taj Mahal.
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