Creative Writing

PONDERING THE MODERN WORLD... Reflections of a character from ancient Japan – Avalyn Beare

I do not get frightened. When I was a child I remember falling into the lake near the castle. The water was cold and I had not yet learnt to swim. Burning tendrils took hold of my insides and tightened. But I was rescued by a servant, and the feeling went away. When I was twelve I became a warrior. I have not felt that feeling since.

But I do feel uneasy. In Shiyoku’s world everything moves so fast. The people walk distractedly, in individual worlds. They are unconnected with each other. Everything is tense, as if on the edge of some precipice.

The trees rise out of stone, in patterns; the grass does not grow naturally anymore. Their houses are built one on top of the other, rising up to the heavens. But they do not fall.

There are lights of every colour that flash and blind me as I watch. They light up the sky and the stars become invisible. The city is unable to be navigated and is lost.

It is not only the appearance of this world that causes me unease. The people do not believe in anything. They float through life as if daydreaming. The leaders of the Nations, and there are so many, bicker and fight without the support of the people. They fight wars for no gain or either side. They are tyrants, but they appear no stronger than children. This world is on the road to downfall.

JEN – Opening paragraph from a short story – Georgie Easton

Jen has never been the type to take anything too seriously. She’s the kind of friend everyone wants at a dinner party, the kind of friend who is on the other end of the phone. Jen wears cardigans mostly, nothing overstated, nothing understated, and she always manages to look content and radiant. She works at a small computer company in Salisbury for Mr. Warren and, since last November, she goes to see her mother in hospital every Friday. Last Thursday Jen had a call from Michael; usually they see each other every two months or so, but sometimes it’s a year. They were students at Bath University when they met. Michael was Jen’s first love. When they split up she had cried bitterly in the corner of her university bedroom, next to a poster of the Manic Street Preachers, with half a bottle of wine in her hand. It wasn’t her fault she had forgotten, it wasn’t her fault they hadn’t taken appropriate measures. She hadn’t even remembered what had happened the next morning. When Jen looks back on those nine months it is as if it was someone else’s life. If it had been up to her, she would’ve named him Nicholas.

MY BROTHER – Avalyn Beare

He passes me the salt I never asked for and stares towards the window. He moves like clockwork but he’s switched off inside. I pour the sour- tasting tea down my throat and smile-dead and cold though I mean it differently. Nothing touched or swallowed on his plate. He doesn’t waste those moments on me. I pretend to care what time it is, and snatch my heart and coat to leave. He doesn’t notice the empty space in front of him, my brother alone. He wants no help from me, he gave up long ago.

EVE’S WOMAN – Georgie Easton

A photograph by Eve

Arnold shows a womanin shadow, her eyescast downwards, her hair golden blonde. Seeminglyoblivious, she is natural andserene. There sits the celebratedimage of femininity who ‘makes love to a camera’, not evenlooking at it. Modest andpensive, captured through theaperture. Half in darkness,

half in light. The elegantarc of her eyebrowframing her eye. Huestint and tone her face.

In another photographby Arnold the same woman isseducing, hiding butinviting. Somehow intimidates with her sexuality. A womandaring to say somethingdirect and fresh.

Bed sheets lie tousled around her, she looksnaked; matt-finished skinradiant and exposed on theemulsion. A flash of permanent desire. The womanwhose skirt notoriouslybillowed out while sheheld it down, laughing.