Have you ever made a big deal out of something really small? Have you ever written any painfully sappy poetry? Have you cried to your diary about your Crush Of The Week? Well, you’ll fit right on in to MELODRAMA SPOTLIGHT, the home of teenage angst, cheesy horror, and swooping romance. So come inside, take a handkerchief at the door, break up with your partner just to drunk text them ten hours later, and sit down for a wild ride of thrills, laughter, and tears!

Untitled
Arson Mctaggart

The house on the hill that tips to the side
With a roof of green and an itty bitty door
They say it’s haunted
That ghosts linger there
Or bugs with teeth and nails so sharp 
But how could they enter through the itty bitty door
Of the house on the hill that tips to the side 
With the roof of green and crows by the million 
The house where the ghosts do laugh 
That is what they call
The house on the hill
That never did take one scream 
But what else would they call a house on a hill
The leans to the side with an itty bitty door 
So the children run and the parents warn 
A house that simply can’t find a home 
Forgive its green and rotting wood 
No one has loved it for years 
​This name you call the ghosts of its halls 
Is nothing but your dream


​Watch the World End With Me
Yasmin Nowlan

 “What would you do if the world was ending?”
   I lean back in my chair. It’s a heavy question, but it’s 3 a.m. on a school night so what else are we supposed to do? I wonder, briefly, what you looked like when you asked me that. Were you staring at the ceiling? For some reason, I always imagined you in blue light, even though I’ve never seen you like that before. Not that I’ve seen you much at all. 
   “I think...” I think of pillow forts and faded faces, “I think I would like to see my friends. One last time.”
   “Not family?” You ask, not accusatory, just curious. 
   “My family all has someone to be with,” I say. “My friends… I would at least like to give them another option.” You hum in agreement. “I would find a park or something to meet with everyone. We could make a mountain of blankets.”
   “The sky would probably look pretty if there was a meteor.” You say, and I agree. I once watched a movie with a breathtaking opening centered around a meteor. We both aren’t big movie fans, but it would be fun to watch it again with you. Maybe one day I'll ask.
   “What would you do?” I look back to my computer screen. Your profile picture stares back at me. A raccoon, after I, half asleep, had compared you to one. There's a brief silence before you answer. (...)


​Untitled
Ella MacDonald

The snow falls silently around Abigail as she trudges through the forest. The trees are tall oaks that tower over her, covering the starry night sky above. It is newly evening—the darkness of night just setting in. The occasional dog walker appears on the trail with their dog for an evening walk. She is deep inside the forest now, the outside world completely closed off by the blanket of snowy greenery. A man walks beside her. His outline a shimmering golden light. He is only wearing a t-shirt and jeans despite the frigid chill of the air. 
   “Abigail, please,” The man says from beside her. Abigail stays silent. 
   “Please let me go,” The voice says again, pleading. 
   “I can’t, I won’t.” Abigail responds, her voice short. 
   “Please,” He says again, his voice desperate.
   “No.”
   “Abigail, you know I can’t stay here forever, I need to get across.” He says. 
   “Max, I can’t, please, I don’t want to lose you forever, you’re my only family left.” She replies, tears filling her eyes, as she stops walking and turns to look at her brother. Her big brother, her only brother, the only family she has left, or had, now. So close to being gone. She knows she needs to let him go, to let him be free of his life, but she just can’t do it, not yet.


The Figure on the Wall
Hannah Blauer

There was a wall at the end of the hall
It was big and firm looking
My eyes traced around the room, when they stopped
A figure was hanged on the wall
It was skinny and small
About five feet tall, with its spine sticking out like a saw
It was hanged from its feet
The rest of the body flopped forwards
Blood ran down its neck and hair
And the odor rising from it was so horrible- any human being would drop to their knees at the reek of this disgusting decaying body
Its hair was long and dark
I brushed it away and saw the horrible look scarred on this poor human being’s face
It was pale and its eyes had been ripped out of its sockets
The figure on the wall had ended


​A Cowboy Loved a Clown
Ella Pegan

A cowboy loved a clown
He knew how it would end
The clown would giggle when he asked
To be more than just friends

A cowboy loved a clown
So he put on his best hat
He tried to impress but it fell in the mud
And partner, that was that

A cowboy loved a clown
So he gave him lots of gifts
A rattlesnake, though long dead,
That still would twitch and shift

A cowboy loved a clown
So he practiced his best jokes
He got up in front of a crowd and 
He completely choked

A cowboy loved a clown
He fell, spurs over head
The clown never noticed him
So the cowboy simply dropped dead


​Blow Your Damn Nose
Tara Fitzgerald

The noise is too loud.
It enters my ears,
Travels to my brain.
Once inside my head
It screams,
And it does not stop.
The sound bounces around,
Hitting every wall
In my head.
Entering every nook and cranny,
Spreading throughout my brain,
Taking over.
It tortures me,
Has me on my knees,
Begging it to stop,
It doesn't.
I could roll over onto my side,
Press my fingers to my ears,
Produce screams of my own,
But it wouldn't matter,
Because the sound 
Would always be there.
Infecting every inch of my brain
Like a disease.
To me it's unbearable.
But then I look up
And realize that everyone else
Hears nothing at all.


​Attendance
Natalia Hauderowicz

My palms sweat profusely and my vision begins to tunnel; I can’t do it. The sea of bodies before me seem to be calm but it’s impossible to tell who’s breaking down inside. My turn approaches, ‘deep breaths’ I tell myself. I bite my tongue to stop my teeth from chattering and begin to count down: 3… 2… 1…
“Here”


Untitled
Alecia Winchester

She told me on the roof of an old building while we smoked one chilly night
of sitting in the fabric aisle of a craft store with her friend
and he said to her, holding two samples and looking into her eyes, "I like this light green,
the green of the trees and of the grass your dad makes sure is well taken care of.
It's the green I see when we go to a cafe and I post a picture of my matcha latte
and the green of those highlighters I know you steal from the corner store.
I think, though, that this red is gorgeous. The red of blood, the red of hearts and kisses.
The red of survival and the red, of course, of passion so bright it blinds."
She smiled the way she had to, saying to him, "Those colours are very pretty,
but I can’t get my eyes off that lighter blue, the one next to the grey.
It’s the colour of a sky sheer with clouds, with lighting that makes me feel
like I’m on the set of a movie. I know you didn’t notice it at first, but
it's some sort of freedom. The kind of freedom that you-
no, we would find while riding the bus at night
knowing that there's no one back home who will ask questions we don't want to answer."
He nodded and rubbed his hand on her shoulder.
"No, I get that perfectly."
She sighed, putting out her cigarette on the shingles.
"These things will kill us, you know," she said, getting herself another
and passing me one without having to ask.


Untitled
Wesley Massey

The night was bright with a full summer sun. It shone down rays, breaching the Earth well past the evening. It was just that time of year when the day simply refused to go out quietly. This meant that the pools of blood leaving Grey’s body dried onto the sidewalk rather quickly. 
    Between haggard breaths and limp crawling movements using the arm that still remained to him, he thanked the heat for doing its part in cleaning up the mess he was leaving behind. No one wants to go out messily, Grey thought. It was bad enough to have to do it in public, but not having the courtesy to find a clean manner in which to execute it was utterly embarrassing. Luckily, from what he could gather from painful clicking turns of his twisted body, he seemed to be the only person on the street. Which made his noisy attempt to sit up against the wall possible. With a crunch from somewhere inside him which wasn’t supposed to be making that sort of sound, he leaned his back against the general store. Before an instinctual scream had the nerve to wriggle its way out of his throat, he quickly quashed it. It was best to die in silence, of course. No point in causing too much commotion. 

Happy Birthday
Charlotte Gilbert

The smooth glass pan slips from her grasp, sliding gracefully off her fingertips. The layers of soft spongy cake glide across the room in an entrancing arc, the thick frosting desperately holding its body together. Hands reach out, bodies lunge forward, fingers spread apart in a hopeless effort to be a saviour. Breaths hitch, the perfectly smooth buttercream making a direct path for the hardwood floor. Beautifully round cherries splat against the surface, their blood red innards spraying the wood. Flaming candles whirl in beautiful pirouettes, their lively flames extinguishing on impact. Mouths hang open in panic, eyes widen in shock or squeeze shut in horror. Fingertips glaze the baby pink frosting, the cake’s final farewell before its brutal end. Gasps fill the tense room as the cake meets the floor, the frosting making a defeated splat. A moment of silence fills the room before cries of anguish escape their lips. ​


​Baby Cat
Zevida Germain

Once a cloud kitten
Afterbirth fur with milk teeth
Mewling pathetically
When the world was kind to you, white cat
Nestled at your mother's belly
The rest of time ahead of you
God looked down lovingly

Now, a stray patchy kitty
Prickly words from your soured milk mouth
a dog with a leash in its mouth
Waiting impatiently for the world too take the lead
Sitting in the shade the cross casts, white cat
When you tilt your head up to cry 
Cursing the the clouds for the evils of time
You scream like a kitten


​Pretend Everything's Fine
Heidi Elder

​She shut the dishwasher still empty-handed, and it slammed harder than she intended. For a moment, she reached out to it as if silently apologizing, before turning to the three cupboards where they kept the pots and pans. No sooner had she opened the first was she tapping it shut with her foot. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. She wondered if she had missed it somehow and leaned against the counter, staring out into the rest of the kitchen. She found it. Piled in with a mountain of other dirty dishes in the sink. It shined like treasure through the hardened grime. She tugged it out and cringed as the rest of the dishes toppled down before stopping at various precarious angles.

"HA" she cried, triumphant. Her eyes welled with tears as she held the pot up like a sword—like a star athlete would a trophy.


​Untitled
Logan, Thomas, Rowen

(Liam sits in the jail while “Your Friend” plays. When it ends, Doc and Lab enter stage left)
DOC: You there! What is going on here? It’s been three days, is there even a hero coming to pick you up?
LAB: Maybe they’re scared of your… raw power.
DOC: Mayhaps they are, after all, fear is a reasonable reaction to… DOCTOR FELONY!
LAB: …And Lab Assistant Misdemeanor!
LIAM: Naww, sorry guys. I don’t know anyone who’d rescue me.
DOC: Oh… Well, that kinda takes the wind out of our whole thing…
LIAM: Yeah, sorry. I don’t have a very interesting life. Getting kidnapped is pretty exciting, though!
DOC: But we are not to be discouraged! Lab! We must get this caged bird a savior!
LAB: Yessir! Anything! A saviour for the bird of the master!
DOC: Stop calling me master! You aren’t even getting paid! This is just for your court-ordered volunteer hours!
LIAM: Are you authorized to give those out?
DOC: Silence, bird! I must make preparations for the rest of this evil scheme!


​Unacceptance
Emma Breton

Unacceptance has been a friend for quite some time.
With her soft, presumptuous voice,
She lingers in the back of my mind,
Whispering sweet lies and telling my Courage lullabies. 

She’s consistent, unmovable, tenacious,
She knows the inner workings of my mind
My Fear, Pain, Insecurities, Sensitivities 

She is my ruination, the root of my own destruction
She leads me down into my own hell
Away from happiness, away from hope
She threatens to throw doubt into every piece of who I am

And I let her do it every time. ​


​The Exorcist
Jack Philippe

I’ve fought in wars with thousands of men and women by my side. I’ve scaled Mount Everest more than twelve times. Up and down. I’ve fought in gladiator battles bloodier than the most violent wild animal attacks. I’ve fought in wars with thousands of men and women by my side as I scaled Mount Everest, up and down, while training for an impending gladiator battle. Almost 9,000 meters in the air I’ve fought, losing my ear and forefinger in the process. Yet never before have I met such a formidable foe, a monster-filled with such a knack for evil that it makes me sick to my stomach. Most of the foes I’ve encountered have attempted to taunt me, to no avail. This monster that I’ve had the unpleasantness of crossing paths with, however, taunts me relentlessly. I’m sad to admit that it’s getting to me as well. The incessant noise it creates, it's as if it knows I only have my right ear. It’s touched my head in the middle of the night, I’m sure of it. But I’m also not. It was almost in my grasp once, but it evaded my touch by going where my forefinger used to reside on my hand. This is when I learned that it only notices I’m around when I move. This monster knows who I am and what I’ve done. I can’t have that. I need to know where it’s hiding. I’ve set cameras, motion sensors and thermal, up all around my house, the second it passes by one, I’ll know where it is. For some strange reason, the monster’s favourite area of the house was the kitchen. 


I MARRIED A GHOST?!?! (emotional) (gone wrong)
​Abigail McGhie

She’s standing at the end of his bed. 
    “What are you doing here?” He asks. 
    She smiles, like this is normal. Like she isn’t standing at the end of his bed. 
    “This is my room too, isn’t it?” 
    “Not anymore.”
    “Come on, James. Has it really been that long? Have we really grown that far apart?” 
    “It doesn’t matter how far apart we’ve grown. It’s the middle of the night! Why in God’s name are you here?” 
    “Why are you here, silly?” She says, head tilting like she’s confused. “I live here.” 
    “No, you don’t. You haven’t lived here for a long time now.” James sighs, running a hand down his face. 
    “It’s only been five years. We were married for ten. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” 
    “You’re dead, Amy! You died, and it means everything to me!” He says, pressing his fists into his eyes. No matter how hard he presses, she won’t go away. She never goes away. 
    She’s quiet for a moment. “That’s rude.”
    “What, calling you dead?”
    “Yes. I don’t think of myself as dead, you know.”
    “Yeah, clearly.”
    “Stop it with the snark, James! I’m here now! Can’t we just… look past the rest and accept that?” She huffs, crossing her arms. He can’t believe that she has shown up at the end of his bed and yet somehow he is the one getting scolded. At least not everything has changed. 
    “You’re dead, Amelia. For five years. And now you show up in my bedroom and you want to… what? Pick up where we left off? I don’t think you understand how hard this is for me! You’re dead.”


​End of the World
Hinata Derouin

Bella trudged home, the rain pelting rapidly in liquid pellets on her back. Thunder and lightning crackled and sparked overhead, thrusting rigidity into the air. As her house tramped into view, Bella’s hand wavered on the knob of her front door, the rain melding with the sweat trailing down her forehead and trickling like snails into her eyes. 
   Her throat tickled, her body concocting the sensation of prickling twigs. Her hands raised towards the stretched skin of her throat and she attempted to swallow, the pointy sticks only poking her more. A droplet of salt drizzled from the corner of her eye, the tangy fluid burning the rain and sweat still drifting down her face.
   Her back slammed against the hardwood of her door and she slipped to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. Sobs wracked through her tiny frame, the flame of disappointment fueled by the gasoline rain pouring from the clouds. 
   Bella’s lungs eventually protested, her mouth opening and closing in turn as she struggled to catch a breath. 
   How could they no longer carry her favourite ice cream at the store? 
   She may never have a good day ever again.


Egotistical Hysteria
Li Awad

Sitting in this mostly empty courtroom with arguments flying and clacking of a keyboard going off; It’s honestly confusing to be here. This accursed sight seething into my beautiful blue eyes. I can’t stop seeing it all and it drives me mad. It makes me beyond it all because I should not be here. I am perfection; the embodiment of all that makes this feeble species worth existing.
​   To see the clowns’ tomfoolery and their destructive touch that seems to burn everything. Their painted faces with that eerie red clown smile and their ridiculous constructs they call “the legal system” and “charter of rights and freedoms”. What even are they? 
   Bickering and uttering sound nobody as divine as I deserve to hear coming from the meat flaps that they call lips. This so-called judge is talking and hitting their tiny hammer on the wooden table and talking even more as some middle-aged people in tasteless suits won’t stop arguing with each other over me. Their suits are so drab and the beige brings out the boring in them.
   “Defendant! Defendant! Step on the podium. This court and jury wish to know why you grotesquely murdered the Davidsons,” the judge said.