Underserved Apologies by Liv Kelford (10)
I wish you would just stop. Stop lying the way you have been. Face me, instead of dancing around the pain.
(...)
What do you think about at night? Do you think about me? And you? And us? And the secrets you keep whispering into the ears of others?
No, you wouldn’t think. It’s more like you to sleep early, to escape the harsh reality that you have created. But what of the nights spent choking on tears?
I wonder how you do it. Sleep without nausea, sleep without fear, sleep without dread, or turmoil, or second thoughts. I wonder how you wake in the morning, and shrug off the sleep, when I am tangled in my sweat-stained sheets, with a high-running fever.
Yet we pull it together in the end, don’t we? We always do. We always will. So why must we suffer this pain, when there are so many easy ways out?
Maybe it’s because telling lies and spreading hate is easier than facing the horror you have created for yourself.
Or maybe it’s because sometimes, pain for the ones you love is worth it in the long run.
I wonder which way you see it.
(...)
What do you think about at night? Do you think about me? And you? And us? And the secrets you keep whispering into the ears of others?
No, you wouldn’t think. It’s more like you to sleep early, to escape the harsh reality that you have created. But what of the nights spent choking on tears?
I wonder how you do it. Sleep without nausea, sleep without fear, sleep without dread, or turmoil, or second thoughts. I wonder how you wake in the morning, and shrug off the sleep, when I am tangled in my sweat-stained sheets, with a high-running fever.
Yet we pull it together in the end, don’t we? We always do. We always will. So why must we suffer this pain, when there are so many easy ways out?
Maybe it’s because telling lies and spreading hate is easier than facing the horror you have created for yourself.
Or maybe it’s because sometimes, pain for the ones you love is worth it in the long run.
I wonder which way you see it.
Sonny Boy by Huntley Cronwkright (10)
In a matter of seconds, the house had been transformed; the house now glowed, filled with colour, joy, loud voices, hope, smiles, excitement, laughter, and happiness. The house was still as cluttered and as forgotten as before, but it didn’t seem to bother the boy, nor the man.
They played for seven days. Their adventures were made up of tag, hide-and-seek, board games, swimming in their backyard pool, trips to the park, walks, scooter and bike rides, often on the boy’s new dirt bike. They coloured and wrote stories. They read books, tested new toys, told tales, and the man took the boy to make new friends in the neighbourhood. But mostly, they just talked. They talked about their adventures, their favourite things, things they didn’t like, what they wanted to do next, stories they had heard, movies they had watched, or whatever they had done in the last week. The boy’s hands flew as he spoke, explaining and demonstrating this and that. His mouth moved a hundred miles a minute, as he happily raconted everything he thought of and wished to share. He brought more smiles to the house, more noise, more happiness, more light.
As always, the seven days flew by, and just as quickly as he had come, the man brought the boy over to the car. They both gloomily opened the doors, entered, and closed the doors, having memorised the routine long ago. They rushed to get out their last words, so as not to waste any more time than necessary, but their smiles were still as bright as ever, and their laughter still as loud. It only stopped once they arrived at their destination. They both exited the car, and gave each other one last, silent, but meaningful hug.
“Goodbye, Sonny Boy”.
And with that, the boy slowly walked towards his other house. They waved to one another, saying goodbye.
The boy entered his house, the man entered his car. He drove back in silence, opened the door to his house, and grabbed a beer. He then sat down on the armchair, where he would sit motionlessly for the majority of the next seven days.
Darkness. Silence. Frowns.
They played for seven days. Their adventures were made up of tag, hide-and-seek, board games, swimming in their backyard pool, trips to the park, walks, scooter and bike rides, often on the boy’s new dirt bike. They coloured and wrote stories. They read books, tested new toys, told tales, and the man took the boy to make new friends in the neighbourhood. But mostly, they just talked. They talked about their adventures, their favourite things, things they didn’t like, what they wanted to do next, stories they had heard, movies they had watched, or whatever they had done in the last week. The boy’s hands flew as he spoke, explaining and demonstrating this and that. His mouth moved a hundred miles a minute, as he happily raconted everything he thought of and wished to share. He brought more smiles to the house, more noise, more happiness, more light.
As always, the seven days flew by, and just as quickly as he had come, the man brought the boy over to the car. They both gloomily opened the doors, entered, and closed the doors, having memorised the routine long ago. They rushed to get out their last words, so as not to waste any more time than necessary, but their smiles were still as bright as ever, and their laughter still as loud. It only stopped once they arrived at their destination. They both exited the car, and gave each other one last, silent, but meaningful hug.
“Goodbye, Sonny Boy”.
And with that, the boy slowly walked towards his other house. They waved to one another, saying goodbye.
The boy entered his house, the man entered his car. He drove back in silence, opened the door to his house, and grabbed a beer. He then sat down on the armchair, where he would sit motionlessly for the majority of the next seven days.
Darkness. Silence. Frowns.
A Celestial Waltz by Niko Stevens (10)
and
Sun doesn’t speak
of the child
forced to grow up
too fast
with broken bones
and bruised cheeks
who isn’t sure
there’s a person left
behind the plaster
spinning to harmonies
no one but them can hear
the stars watch from above
as Sun and Moon bow
words still trapped behind their teeth
until the next dance
Sun doesn’t speak
of the child
forced to grow up
too fast
with broken bones
and bruised cheeks
who isn’t sure
there’s a person left
behind the plaster
spinning to harmonies
no one but them can hear
the stars watch from above
as Sun and Moon bow
words still trapped behind their teeth
until the next dance