CREATIVE SUBMISSIONS

VOLUME 22 - ISSUE 7

Death in the 21st century

By Isabella Grofsorean

Everyday I look forward to crawling into bed at night, to closing my eyes and being able

to hold your hand again, to feel your smile on my cheek, but before I know it, the dream has ended and it’s morning.

St. Dunstan’s - Today

Summer is starting to fade. The air is no longer sticky and warm but crisp and flowing.

I’m walking down the cobblestone road with familiarity. My feet are blistering. I hate these fucking shoes. I need to sit down, but I may turn back if I stop now. It’s 30 minutes till the park closes, but that’ll be good, I’ll have an end point, someone to tell me to go home, to stop me from staying all night.

I’m approaching the church now- St. Dunstan’s Hill. The vines are even more beautiful than I remember them, overtaking the ruins of the church. I walk to our spot scattered with leaves. Breathing in deeply, I close my eyes. I can hear our laughter ping against the church walls.

The last time I was here we were laying on our backs desperately trying to see who could hear the fairies first. I can still remember you laughing, like a parrot in my ear, singing your little whispers. I look at you, you look at me. I breathe you in, you breathe me in. You’d turned your head to look me right in the eyes and with a mischievous smile spreading across your face said,

“I heard three fairies gossiping about your shirt, they said it was ugly,” to which I replied,

“Well I heard six and they all agreed you had the ugliest haircut they had ever seen,” cackling, you tackled me.

I laughed so hard I had to squeeze my legs together so I wouldn’t pee myself. Two older women glared at us and I felt like sticking my tongue out at them. I didn’t.

And She Lived Happily Ever After

By: Megan Hegenbarth

I wish I had the same passion for life as my grandma. My mom told me that she was someone who loved life. She would go out in her garden every morning to smell her peach tree and stroll around, with her hands folded behind her back, thanking the flowers for not wilting again. She would love how all of our family would come to her house each spring break to spend time with her, and I say mostly her because it was always a competition between my mom’s siblings. She loved having coffee and tea with my grandpa every morning, especially in the sunroom she used to have in her house in Bolivia. She used to love playing Bajo La Cama, a game of tag around the kitchen table, whenever she came over to our house in the corner of our cul de sac where I grew up. She loved playing dominoes with our family. She loved nature and loved going on walks. She loved going on the roof with us in the morning, staring off at Popocatéptl, a volcano in Puebla that could be visibly seen from where we were standing. She was someone who would brighten your day when she would laugh at your jokes or just give you a smile when you glanced at her.

My mom told me a story about her once about how she used to hide from the moon. She was around 5 years old when she would hide from it. It started when she would walk home from where she went to school. As she walked, she knew that the moon was watching her. She would hide from it, from behind trees, behind buildings, etc. When my mom told me that story, I thought it was the cutest story I have ever heard. I had never heard of someone hiding from the moon before. When I was a kid, the only thing that I would imagine from the moon was that I was secretly a werewolf/vampire. Whenever it was a full moon, I convinced myself that I would change. Later, I found out that it could not be true, but it was still fun to imagine. Hearing that story about my grandma made me understand who she was as a person. I believe she thought the moon was protecting her, a guide, as she walked home by herself because it might have been scary and she did not want to feel alone. She loved looking at the bright side of everything, whatever situation it may be. She had such a spirit that would move you when you talked to her. She knew what it was to live in this confusing world. She loved her life, and I feel that by loving her life, she learned how to love herself.

I’m jealous of my grandmother because I don’t look at the world through her heart-shaped eyes. I wake up and I go to the U. I come home from school and I sit at my table, open up my laptop, and watch Netflix. After watching Netflix, I procrastinate more and watch more Netflix. After a while, I do my homework and I go to bed. I wake up the next morning and I start all over again. Every so often, I try to change things up. I go to the coffee shop and romanticize how I’m drinking Starbucks on my way to class. I drive around in the rosy sunset, with my windows down, if it’s summer, and turn on my music with the sound all the way up. However, some days, it does not feel like enough. I feel like the world around me is dull and uninviting and I feel like I will never truly experience my life. I know that the place I am now in my life is not where I want to be, and that is okay because life does not click together whenever you want it to. I know that it takes time. So, whenever I feel like my life is going nowhere and I do not feel happy with where I am, I think about my grandma. I think about how there were perhaps times when she did not know what she was doing, yet she kept going and did not give up on her happiness. So, I think I am starting to romanticize more. I keep romanticizing my drives to class. I am starting to romanticize writing, especially poetry. I have also found myself staring at the moon, gazing at her beauty, and occasionally, smiling as I hide.

The First Time We Met - 2 Years Ago

The first time I met Emma she helped me. I was drunk coming home from a concert. My friends had gone their separate ways and I had convinced them I would be just fine on my own. I sat dazed in the corner of the train staring at this lady’s dog for far too long before realizing I had gotten on the wrong train and my phone had died. Panicked, I jumped off at the next stop and walked over to the wall map. I tried to find the word Kensington, but clearly I was too drunk to figure it out for myself. So I thought: well crap, now I have to ask a stranger for help at 1am. I scanned the station, creepy man, creepy man, creepy man, cree-- not a creepy man?? There she was sitting on the bench, headphones on, bopping her head to her music, caramel curls draped around her cheeks and a warm glow spread across her face.

Out of necessity I walked up to her and said, “Hi...do you think you could help me? I don’t know how to get home.”

She removed her headphones, stared up at me with her green eyes, smiled, and said,“Of course, where is home?”

“Aldgate.”

“Well that's perfect, that’s where I’m heading now! You can follow me.”

I was so relieved. My body felt so heavy, each step taking more energy than I had. The ride was 30 minutes. We talked the whole time.

When we arrived at Aldgate, she offered to bring me to her apartment to smoke weed. I accepted without hesitation. Thinking back, that probably wasn’t the best idea- going into a stranger’s apartment in the middle of the night- but you didn’t feel like a stranger...and I like weed.

Suddenly, it was almost 2:00 am and our bodies were both spread on her carpet, giddy and smiling at the ceiling.

Apartment 23 - Today

I'm walking through your apartment for the first time since you passed, and it's like I'm losing you all over again. Your mom left the keys under your mat and said to stop by anytime today. It’s quiet in your apartment. I trace my fingers over the magnets suffocating your fridge.

There are still crumbs on your kitchen table

...fuck.

Eventually I spread out on the carpet, my stomach churning,

I don’t get it

I don’t get it,

I don’t get it, the absence of you.

My head aches. I never want to leave, never want to get up from this carpet. It smells like you in here. Even the purple paint on the walls heaves with the distant smell of your perfume.

I can’t handle knowing that your scent will fade, that the crumbs you left on the table will soon be swept away.

What do I do when the scent leaves your clothes and when the locks to your apartment are changed?

Trip To the Ocean - 8 Months Ago

Everything in her van was bouncing as we sped down the dirt road just 20 minutes out from the beach. Emma was committed to dodging every pot hole, which was great for her tires but not great for my stomach. She swerved from right to left like a maniac while Taylor Swift blasted through the speaker. Thankfully no one else was driving on this road. After a terrifying 20 minutes, we pulled into a grassy driveway. I practically leapt out of the car and laid face down in the grass waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Emma plopped down beside me, smirking, and handed me a coke, “Sip on this, drama queen,” she said, “it’ll ease your stomach,” she grinned widely. It did.

Eventually I pulled myself up and took a deep breath of air. It was sweet and salty and a gust of wind swirled around my legs lifting my skirt. Emma had begun to unload the car, so I ran over to help her drag the suitcases to the door. The house was small but intimate, and painted red. As soon as we stepped in, Emma was already tearing off her shoes. She ran for the shore which was only a short jog away. I dropped my things and chased after her, pushing her into the water as soon as I could. We spent the afternoon there, engulfed by the warmth of the saltwater.

We ended our trip the same way we started it: on the beach. The sun was setting, it was the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen- predominantly orange and pink with a streak of purple seeping between the melting clouds. It was breathtaking. Emma and I sat in silence taking it in for a long time. Too much time. I began to look at her face, the lines. I remember wishing to myself that I could lean over and trace my finger from the top of her forehead to the bottom of her chin.

Maybe I could have.

I didn’t.

After awhile I decided to break the silence,

“What are you thinking about?”

She replied softly, “I don’t know a lot of things...I don’t want to leave this place, this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I feel so happy I feel sad. Do you ever feel sad when you’re happy?”

I thought for a moment,

“I’m not sure but I think I know what you mean. Maybe it’s because you’ve reached your emotional high so now the only place left to go is down?”

“Maybe, yeah, that makes sense.”

Suddenly she turned away and began to cry.

Again I paused. I remember feeling confused before I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards me,

“Emma what’s happened, did I do something?”

Her huge green eyes met mine,

“I wish we could stay here forever, I don’t want you to leave tomorrow, I don’t want to be alone again.”

Without hesitation, I pulled her in and kissed her.

We froze.

“I am so sorry I don’t know why I just did th--.”

Before I could finish, she pulled me in, her lips were salty from the ocean. My face was on fire.

We never spoke about that again.

The drive home the following morning was quiet except for the soft sound of the radio and empty conversation. When we arrived home, Emma shook my arm gently to wake me. Silently, we pulled my luggage out and walked to my door. We embraced nervously, stringing our arms together for a few moments before I slipped into my door and gently smiled up at her,

“See you when I get back?” I ask.

“Of course,” she smiles.

The plane ride to Berlin was quiet. All I could think about was the faint taste of salt on my lips.

The End - Today

I watched you die on Facetime. What a modern way to go.

I never used to believe in the afterlife. But since losing you, I must. I’ve even found myself talking to things. For instance, today I went for a walk and sat by the river. I had become lost in thought staring at the ripples when a fly landed on my hand. At first it startled me, but as I began to stare at it, without hesitation, I decided to say, “Hello Mr. Fly.” I thought maybe it was you...but then I thought there is no way someone as brilliant and beautiful as you could come back as a fly.

Maybe that’s the joke of it all. No matter how good you are, no matter how absolutely tender you are in life, you will still return as a fly. I hope not, because I want you to come back as a fairy.