The Litmus 2020: In Common

The inaugural cohort of Litmus writers submitted original creative works that stunned, surprised, warmed and moved us.

Each used the jumping off point “in common” and we were so impressed by the sheer scope and ingenuity of interpretations we received. Submissions touched on a vast range of themes from the coronavirus crisis to family ties to the environment.

Perhaps most notably a through-line throughout them all was the experience of living through 2020, whatever that meant for the writer.

Below, you can read through those submissions, prefaced by the letter each student received from esteemed author and Trinity artist in residence Ali Smith.

If you want to participate in this year’s Litmus Project, head to the homepage to find out more or contact [email protected].

Ali Smith’s letter to students

Are you a writer? Do you want to write? If YES: good. Continue reading this message.

Are you a student interested in writing – fiction, or non-fiction, or poetry, or maybe graphic novel writing, or blog writing, or in writing and storytelling in any shape or form you want?

If NO, then this invite isn’t for you. Pass it on to someone who wants to write and would like to be published.

If YES: Good.   Continue reading this message.

What comes into your head when you hear or read or think about these two words: IN COMMON?

Anything? Something just did. Something always happens, when words get put together. Even just two words that look like they’ve got nothing much in common, like the word in and the word common.

The Litmus is a new writing initiative for UK-wide school students. We’re looking for student writing of every sort, and this year we’re inviting submissions up to 500 words which consider, in any way you like, the phrase: in common.

Write down what happens when you hear these words. Make something of them. Send us what you write or make, we’ll publish it in our online display, and you’ll become part of a writing collective like no other, a collective that reaches all across the UK and will act as a touchstone for readers interested in what your generation is doing and writing right now – because you’re the people about to inherit the planet, make it your own, and make your own story and history happen.

Put the words together. We’ll be proud to publish you.

At the end of the school year, we’ll host a day of celebrations in the company of a host of visiting novelists, poets, and writers of every form, at the first Litmus Festival.

You’re the future. Write about what it feels like to be in the present. Write about what we have in common, the good, the bad, anything and everything the phrase brings to mind. Send what you write to us.

Be part of The Litmus.

Common-sciousness

Common-sciousness

Months of social distancing is rotting my mind, seeing the same faces every day and no others. For the first month, I was so ecstatic but over time I grew less and less fond of not having the ability to see my family see that there are other humans in the world. At least now I'm starting to develop new interests that I wouldn't have if lockdown didn't happen such as a new music range. Lockdown has made me able to go a long time without being bored. I can now use my initiative and find ways to entertain myself. Yes, lockdown was fun at the start until I started looking into all of the

Lockdown

Union Jack with differents in different sections, hand drawn: BLM, Football, Family, Gigs, Boring, Glastonbury, Euro 2020, School Closed, 2 metres, Great North Run

Coronavirus UK

“I thought we had something in common?” I said to my mother one day. “You thought we had something in common?” My mother repeated back to me. “Yes, but that man was taken away for no reason.” “Surely coming from a different race is no act of treason?” “Well where we live there are deep divisions within society.” This statement filled me with anxiety. I thought to myself, as a child would Why a world so rich with life could Justifiably ignore a sense of humanity And act with such insanity. I was abandoned by my mother for challenging the norm, She did not value a child who believed in reform. Although that made me weep, And from it I lost several nights sleep, I knew that like a bird in a cage, I could sing my song of outrage. My song was heard by others like me, To me they were drawn, like a dog with its fleas. Together we began to shout; “Change will not come unless we act out!” “We have something in common. All of us!” “We will stand together and start to make a fuss!” For now I know that I was right to question Because what makes us different should be no cause for aggression. Not one person is more important than another Each man, no matter race, is another man’s brother. Society cannot tell our generation to be quiet. The young will stand up. We will riot. “I thought we had something in common.” I told those who would listen. “We do have something in common!” But for others that connection did not matter. The message of equality is strong. But the battle for it to be won will be long. All we want is for all to belong.

I Thought We Had Something in Common

A drawing of a Venn diagram with the overlapping part shaded. The words In Common and BLM are underneath in large writing.

InCommon

A drawing of a man's face with a cross section of a skull on one side, and the word's In Common In Mind

In Common:In Mind

Collective Unconsciousness Smog slithered its way through the streets, blinding Tom as he trudged against it. He clenched his rough, netted bag crammed with corrugated metal that was slung over his shoulder. The uneven cobblestones were barely visible beneath the river of filth grasping at his feet. Amidst a hazy sea of amber light that bled upwards from the market stalls, he caught a glimpse of the stars that timidly hovered over the crooked streets which surrounded the square. As Tom emerged into the vast market square his senses were overwhelmed. Merchants swarmed him like midges on a warm dusk night. Colours danced in the flickering lamplight. A collection of exotic and oddly shaped fruits were enclosed in a cage of rusted metal. Government messages sang from radios, strategically stationed around the square. The humid air sat on the chests of the market goers. An assortment of used protective gear was tarped together to form a little canopy. Tom ducked under the draped, portiere of patchwork cloth that led into the merchant’s yurt and set his bag down on the table, removing the metal for inspection. Tom’s eyes followed the trail of the merchant’s hands as he scratched it – testing its authenticity. “Your safety and health is paramount… your government will protect you.” “I haven’t seen anyone with the virus for years,” offered Tom in an unguarded moment. The merchant nodded with a smile, gathered up the metal and filed it in cubby holes as Tom removed a rusty box from his pocket and placed it under the red light of the crypto-credit machine. His self-made device beeped to acknowledge receipt of the compulsory crypto-currency. The merchant held down a strange, green button as he took a furtive sidelong glance at Tom, before dismissing him and moving his attention to the next customer without uttering a word. Tom headed home, past one of the ubiquitous steam cafés, the smell of the rehydrated food pumped out to lure him closer. Firefly lights hovered along the narrow streets – chasms, overshadowed by worn sandstone buildings that had evolved into shanty hybrids reaching up to the sky, becoming more rickety and crude as they grew; geological strata of human development and regression. Tom felt a rush of cold air ignite goosebumps that spread all over his body. He pondered, “What did that green button do?” Tom turned and met with the faces of two tall, stocky men – government paramedics, dressed in sky-blue uniforms. “We need to take you for some routine tests.” The fog coiled up Tom’s leg like a snake about to strike. His eyes darted frantically around looking for a way out. All he saw was their ambulance which was a white van spray-painted with the caduceus symbol. They walked him round to the back doors. As they opened, the snake split apart revealing the splintered, wooden interior. They put the inhaler over his mouth and he fell asleep. The van drove away, swallowed by the smog.

Collective Unconsciousness

Be careful my dear do not look straight at the sun. It will burn your eyes and leave you blind to the world and the beauties that fill it. Be careful my love, do not yet lose hope to the world that surrounds you. Though pain and fear weave their way into our lives do not give them the power to control you. I know that you see all the anger and hate spread by those who do not think. You watch as the world you have come to love slowly teeters towards the brink. I was once like you my darling , scared of the world and the place that it occupied in my thoughts. It is easier for some to look at the sun and trade the fear that seeing the world creates and instead embrace the freedom of being blinded. Blinded from the hateful faces and painful images of the world before you. Yet my love do not lose yourself to those thoughts for they are only passing. They have no power over you unless you give it to them. Instead my flower see the world for its beauty. The never ending sky connecting us across the world. A blanket stretching and changing with each passing day. It protects us from the cold of space. Focus on the greenest grass that stretches from plains to mountains, growing and spanning miles. Look at the trees that stretch to the sky holding out their branches for you to climb. Listen to the sea call out in waves for you to dip your little toes in and feel the cold. Let it sing to you and send you off to the land of sleep. Scale the mountains of the world, giants that reach to the sky. They will tell you the tales of men and gods past. Run across the plains and feel the world stretch for miles around you. See the world for its possibility. My world you have so much to see and to learn. Talk to others and you’ll find that your fears are ones that flow through us all. It is a commonality that cannot be avoided but instead we choose to share our love for the world around us. Our differences are beauties of their own and without them we shall never grow. Our voices shall sing to the heavens as we tell of our tale. A small planet shared by trillions of creatures all connected under one blue sky. Be careful my dear, do not look straight into the sun. Though she shines bright she cannot help you hide. Instead look at those around you, faces from all continents capable of so much. Look at them and see our common love for our planet. Then my universe when you are ready to leave, fly with them to reach a place that I could only dream of. All my love, Mother N

A Mother’s Warning

In / common Common. A word that isn’t necessarily positive. Neither is it negative. Generally referring to something average. In abundance. Ordinary. An observation. To be a common person is to be poor or lowly. To have a common feature or name or eye colour is to be boring and uninteresting. If in a game you were to find something of a common value, the player wouldn’t feel anything, really. To be common is to be ignored. Dismissed. It seems then, that value is only truly rarity. To be rare is to be desired. To be desired is to be valueable. In placing a small word in front of this unimportant one then, why do we have a phrase that is used so often? This small word, that can be noun, preposition, adverb, adjective. Perhaps because, in combining the two, we have a term which allows two things to be connected, two strangers to feel familiar, two objects to relate. To have something in common with another person is the highest form of compliment. To share a link, a trait, a love, a pursuit. So how does adding this small word allow the meaning and, yes, value to completely change? Perhaps it comes down to humanity’s need to form relationships. To validate and be validated. To love and be loved. Because this term, until applied to multiple subjects, has no worth. For really, what is art without the viewer? What is music without the listener? What is literature without the reader? To know that you have something that many others also have is insignificant, but to know that you share something with another is powerful. To share a hair colour, hobby, religion, skin colour, home, interest; it brings more meaning to these things. For really, what is anything that we have, feel, or think without another to share it with.

in / common

In the Rain With my head resting upon the window of our car, I watch the tiny raindrops snake their way down, racing to the bottom of the pane, in a hurry to get to the end of their journey but failing to think of the consequences they will face when the road comes to an end. It was as I watched that it struck me, how similar each of us are to one of those raindrops, rushing about our business determined to finish first. Dashing through our childhood, desperate to arrive at our adult years before slowly coming to the realisation that we preferred it where we were, at the beginning of life, at the top of the window. On occasion, the trail we leave happens to collide with that of someone else. Frequently we travel a short way together before moving on and continuing our journey alone, however, once or twice we collide with someone who will join us on our path for the rest of our life and will remain with us until the very end. It is because of these random yet vital collisions that our paths twist and turn and constantly change as we make our way down the window. It’s funny because as we begin, we cannot wait to plunge down into the middle of our limited time of existence but the further we fall, the more we wish we could climb to the top and start again, the more we wish we could repeat what we have already done and fix all of our mistakes. But however much we wish this or will it to happen, the inevitable fate that awaits us all will eventually tighten its grip and drag us down to join the multitude of raindrops who have fallen off the window. And now imagine that it is not only your window that is full of droplets but that every window of every car is dripping with them, because that is what our planet is like, each town, city, country and continent is dripping with life so that the trails we leave behind from our life times create a web, knitting each and every person together and ensuring that we all have something in common.

In the Rain

Reflection

“In Common” Race is a societal invention; racism is a societal cataclysm. It has come to a general scientific consensus that people have more in common between races than within races. This is not perspective; this not subjective opinion: this is phylogenetics at its finest. Genetics has proven two things. 1. Race is not a biological phenomenon. 2. Racism is not biologically plausible. Take Thomas Nagel’s philosophical paper “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?”. The heated stabs at the reductionist, physicalist theories on consciousness are insightful. However, from a humanitarian perspective, we need to take this question at face value. In today’s dystopian society, only two words would suffice as a perfect answer. Not racist. I do not know many bats personally. However, zoological intuition serves me right by telling me that they do not engage in racism. Humans are a social species as chemically depicted by their raging levels of oxytocin. And yet, we are the sole species which have racism rife throughout all strata of our vulnerable society. Man likes to think he is above all other animals. Philosophers claim that only man emanates rationality. But if we claim that we are rational, and yet continue to live in an anti-utopia where racism is commonplace, then neurobiologists must redefine rationality. Rationality and racism are mutually exclusive events. They cannot coexist. Different races, however, can. Richard Dawkins illustrates in “The Selfish Gene” how we are survival machines: mere vehicles built through natural selection to propagate our DNA. This Darwinian distortion of our optimistic outlook on life proposes an innate individualistic view to life. And as many racists idealise their race as part of themselves, it is not too difficult to envisage how they could twist this view into racist ideology. However, Dawkins brilliantly pointed out that we can fight off the control our DNA has on us by using contraception. Thus, if we can avoid DNA controlling our lives through this simple conception, then imagine how simple it must be to prevent racism from ruling our society. Daniel Dennett discusses in his speech “Dangerous Memes” a way of dealing with detrimental ideologies. A meme is “an information packet with attitude”. A philosopher of memetics would reach common ground with a biologist with a virologist as a translator. After all, the biological equivalent of a dangerous meme would be a virus: it infiltrates the individual just as racist ideas are indoctrinated into certain people, and proliferates throughout their body destroying their somatic cells just as racism destroys all goodness with its avarice for insanity. We need to promote immunity against racism, just as vaccines promote immunity against viruses. We will never eliminate racism just as we will never eliminate pathogens from our environment. What we can do is encourage avirulence—a utopia where racism can no longer hurt us. What is our panacea to the noxious notion of racism? Again, two words. In common. Let us celebrate our similarities. Our race. The human race.

A Biological Answer to Racism

Burned by the Flames

In Common

In Common

“You’re it!” Ari shouted, she started to run, I followed her. As I was about to get her, she fell. When she reached the bottom, I ran down after her. “Ari! You need to be more careful” I shouted whilst rolling my eyes. I helped her up. ”Look what you did”, I tried wiping the dirt from her dress, it didn’t work. We started to walk, hoping to find a path. ”God forbid if it got dark, lost in the woods in the dark, my favourite” I said sarcastically. “Don’t be silly, we will find our way home. I promise” she held out her pinkie, as normal she tries to make light of our situation. But I saw through her, I guess it was twin telepathy people keep talking to us about. We had grown up in a small town , and as it is known that twins are very uncommon, we got treated like royalty. At first, the attention was amazing, but it started to become too much for us. We changed our hair, dyeing and cutting. We both used to have long, curly brown hair. I changed my hair to a lilac colour, whilst Ari changed hers to a black bob. I guess you could say we were close, we had always been there for each other. I was stronger than her, but she was kinder and could handle problems with just words, lots of people looked up to her. The night began to fall, quicker than expected. “It is getting dark, maybe we should-“ She cut herself off. I looked at her and her face lit up. “Laura! Laura, look!” she shouted and pointed her finger. There was a village. She started to run again, faster than before. As we arrived, I felt something wasn’t right. I can’t remember what it was exactly, but I know it was something to do with the obvious lack of people. Ari went ahead whilst I followed. The village was like a mirror of a section of our town, which was weird. There was a lot in common, but not exactly. Ari’s shouting woke me up from my confusion. “Laura! Are you coming?” She stopped and waited for me to catch up with her. As I was walking, I saw a dark figure come round the corner. A hand swept over my mouth. “Laura? What are you doing don’t just stand there, hurry up I want to go explore” She said. Could she not see them? Frightened, I tried to scream, nothing. I tried to shout, nothing. Then everything started to fade to black. That’s when I woke up here. “So that’s all you can remember? No idea of where your sister is?” A man asked. Laura shook her head, her eyes started to tear up. Had she lost her sister forever? “We think that someone has taken your sister, twins are rare. They might have just preferred her” He said. Laura nodded, was that the only thing she could do?

Her Lost Half

“As I walk down the street, my expression is calm, a smile printed on my face like a mask. However, my thoughts are a restless collage of fear and worry. Why can’t we just be treated the same? Why can’t we just be looked at as a human and not as a threat?” She poured her worries and thoughts out to me in a raspy voice as she fought back the urge to cry. I thought I understood. I, a white person, born into this world with an unbelievable amount of privilege. Privileges that people don’t normally consider. I can go for a jog. I can play with a toy gun. I can hold my phone at night. I can sleep in my car. I can do these ordinary things everyday without the fear of being killed by a police officer that excuses my death by saying they thought the phone I was holding was a gun “My skin colour is not my choice, My skin colour is not a weapon, my skin colour is purely just a colour caused by chemicals in my body. I am not a threat so why do they see me as one.” She left with that last comment, leaving me in a state of shock. Then I realised We don't have anything in common, though I thought we did. The activities I listed are some of the reasons why black people have been killed by the police. Killed for jogging: Ahmaud Arbery Killed for holding a toy gun: Tamir Rice Killed for holding their phone: Stephon Clark Killed for sleeping in their car: Willie Mccoy #BlackLivesmatter No freedom until we’re equal. No justice No peace. Say their names. Sign petitions. Please act.

“I’m not a threat”

In Common This world that is focused on discrimination Inequality Prejudice A world that is inherently Racist, sexist, homophobic A world that favours the rich above the poor A world of barriers not bridges Rubber coated bullets of lies and deceit A world of protectionist policies And barricades of hate That bombarded our heads And more frighteningly our hearts Building walls, closing borders, hiding in your glass towers But an airborne terror, unites us in fear A global enemy never encountered before No uniform Identification number Allegiance or leader Climbed over our manmade mountains Squeezed between the cracks in your lies and deceit Seeped through your pretences The barriers thought to be indestructible Slowly crumbled to the ground Dystopian fiction now a reality But as the world was locked down One man was knocked down Held down Forced down 8 minutes and 46 seconds Human connection reduced to a screen As we were contained inside four walls Was ignited with a spark of rage A fire burned brightly A fire so powerful it spread past borders And encompassed the world People will stay silent no longer So, for George Floyd. Breonna Taylor Tony McDade And every other life lost Because of institutionalised brutality United on the ground Chanting I can’t breathe While you bunker down Stand up, Fists raised No words needed But what is it that you fear When you perch on your capitalist thrones Or hide in your ivory towers Those who are different Or is it what you truly fear That there is far less that divides us Than what we have, In Common

In Common

Something in Common

Something in Common

The similarities between Kafka and Cervantes; the use of transmutation.

The similarities between Kafka and Cervantes; the use of transmutation.

Questions I Can't Answer...

Questions I Can’t Answer…

The dust of an evening spent living

The dust of an evening spent living

I gazed out my window, confined to my house. I thought to myself about the times I would play outside as a child with my younger sister, I reminisced about how easy life was and how pleasant life seemed. It’s sad almost to think about how deceiving, misleading and cruel children’s thoughts are. How we thought we would live for ever. I pictured the scene. I could imagine the smell; it was so clear to me. Freshly cut grass, the smell of my mum making our favourite food, the sweet scent of the nearby flowers. I could hear the giggle of my little sister as she plays with the puppy that my dad had recently bought home for us and I could feel the faint tugged on my lips as I began to smile at the thought of being as happy as I was. My phone made a faint buzz and only after a minute or two when I had finally stopped thinking about what once had been did I look at the message I had received. My stomach dropped and the breeze fell. Everything was almost peaceful for a second. Until the clock on my watch started ticking so loud that it began to feel like it was in my head. Until every noise I could ever imagine was inside of me making a desperate attempt to escape but like a blind man in an unknown environment he didn’t know where the exit was. I felt every emotion and nothing at all at the same time, my feelings whizzed around me, mocking me, laughing at me. Anger choked at my throat and my eyes burned from trying to stop the tears from falling. My vision blurred at the desperate attempt to make it seem as if I was okay. I turned around to my father, the strongest person I knew, everybody’s rock. I could sense that now, radiating out of my father was the idea that he hadn’t done enough, that he hadn’t said the things that he wanted, needed, to say. Anger, guilt, longing all hugged us tightly and it felt as if they were never going to let go. I sobbed. A single tear slid down from my father’s warm, hazel eyes, followed by another one, and another one, until soon, a steady stream of tears flowed its way down his cheek, releasing the sadness that had been held inside of him but still he did not make a sound. I hold my father’s hand as we stand at the foot of the grave. What is left of my heart fills with sorrow at the thought of never being able to say goodbye. The virus continues to consume the people dearest to us and wreak havoc among the people who have not yet been taken. It is 2020 and now we all have something in common.

The Act of Contending

“Valentin, You make me write. My stream of thought becomes more than the madman under the bridge. Everything I may dissect; all I can deconstruct and reorder with words is given a new life. Each strip of my imagination and every one of my rearranged philosophies is given a purpose, so long as you live to read them; so long as you don’t tire of the foreign thoughts. I’ve become a paradox of an author. If there’s nobody to perceive these letters, it’s as if they’ve ceased to exist, their sentiment becomes void. I feel without you, they’d wither. Perhaps it’s the nature of what I write, alone I’m confined, trapped between the four dimensions of my mind, with you it develops, multiplying with a new life no-one else could give it. I don’t know how. I don’t know why It’s been gifted a soul I couldn’t find alone, but I know it’s for the better, and I can pretend that its fate. The world takes on a new light, my eyes see from a new angle. I know now what it is to flourish, to be found and founded at once. I know what it is to fear I may feel all I'll ever feel; and to be given the promise of more by the very one who makes me fear a lack of it. To become an aesthete and know it. To have a new world shown to me, and to instinctively embrace it. The reassurance I sought after for so long finds me itself. To have found life is dangerous, to find life drives men mad, but to be gifted this and throw it away would be a betrayal of my own morals, the morals given to me by the same mind that now tells me why I live, what I live for. Though I'm plagued in darker hours by the worry of abandon, it’s the very thing you uncovered in me that would have me hold on despite losing you. I will live for life in my own perspective. I will live life for feeling, for feeling is life’s nature, and you gave it to me, so perhaps it’s natural that for you I feel more than for any other. For you I feel love.”

A Letter to Valentin.

(In)common

(In)common

The Voices on my Shoulder

The Voices on my Shoulder

DNA

DNA

Growing Pains

Growing Pains

The Diversity of Humanity

The Diversity of Humanity

Being Alive

Being Alive

Lost Hope

Lost Hope

In Common

In Common

What Path Will I Choose?

What Path Will I Choose?

how many ghosts do you keep locked up in your closet? do you take them out one by one, unpack the bleached limbs of their immortal guilt, and wonder what blood their skinless hands once bore? the worst kind is that which you cannot see, the crimson that has sunk down through the soul, burning into the marrow of these bones you turn between your palms: the blood that their hands painted globes with, the red they drew over their maps, their compasses, the heart-red, muscle-red, passion-red ink of an empire it was not the blue kind they liked to think ran in their own damned veins our blood does not run blue — nobody’s does, except maybe the dead’s — we have that in common, the way it tastes like salt and ash and iron mixed in with the sugar, the tea, the spices; when the land starved, it saw red, saw blue, saw white red skies, blue seas, white bones— the bones in your closet whisper, sometimes. they are guilty and no penance can ever gift back a history stolen, the voice of a world, choked my ghosts cannot rest in peace their voices, voices like the sea and the sky and the bones, rattling, keep their vindictive song known; do you sleep? or do you close the closet door when you grow weary of that truth and forget that some bones will never sleep beneath their own earth? tell me, how many bodies can you count, tell me, how red are the palms between which you hold the eternal weight of yourself rule britannia! my ghosts sing: rule the seas and the skies and the bones my closet is so full of ghosts

Common Ghosts

The Common Mother ________________________________________________________________________________ Peacefully grazing on the lush grass of Ranthambore, the mother deer caresses her young fawn. The infant nuzzles close to her mother’s underside and suckles joyfully. The inseparable bond between mother and child epitomised by this affectionate scene. Gentle grunts and sweet snorts echo through the herd. Shanthi! Suddenly, there is movement. Alert eyes, erect ears and tense bodies. A crunch. A cacophony of panicked hoots, fearful braying and terrified alarms sweep through the forest. The mother deer hastily guards her precious offspring. Her only aim: to protect her child. Bhaya! A flash of orange darts dangerously through the thicket. The mother and fawn weave with nimble agility around the disfigured trees. Hearts racing, blood pumping, fear coursing through the deer’s vessels. But then, a separation. A wrong turn. A pounce. A kill. Mrtyu! She weeps. Grief-stricken, the mother deer returns back to the herd. There is a void in her heart. Anguished, she mourns the death of her child. Soka! ________________________________________________________________________________ She weeps. Grief-stricken, the mother tiger returns to the back of her den. There is a void in her heart. Anguished, she mourns the death of her child. Soka! Malnourished, the feeble cub struggles to breathe. His mother gently nudges him with infinitesimal affection. The mother tiger focuses her attention on her dying son as he feigns a shaky mewl. She delicately licks his thin fur as he takes his last breath. Mrtyu! With no kill in over a week, the mother realises she must feed her cub again. Failed attempts of hunts have left her frail but her son’s weak appearance and declining health worry her. She must provide food for him or else he will die. The fear of losing her cub grows. Her only aim: to protect her child. Bhaya! Silent stalking, leery lurking and precise pouncing. A kill at last! The mother tiger drags the carcass to her den. Her young cub whines excitedly and feasts frantically on the meat. She fondles her son lovingly as he weaves between her legs. The inseparable bond between mother and child epitomised by this affectionate scene. Placid prustens and cherished chuffing echo through the den. Shanthi! ________________________________________________________________________________ Both are animals. Both are mothers. Both lose a child. Protagonist-antagonist relationships depend on perspective. To each other, they are the villains but to their infants they are the heroes. Both creatures share an overwhelming amount of affection for their offspring. Maternal love is what they have in common.

The Common Mother

The World We Live in Now Sounds collected by the students still being educated in St Bede’s Interchurch School during lockdown. Poem written by Esme, Year 9, based on the phrase ‘in common’ and partly inspired by Roger McGough’s ‘The Sound Collector’ It’s common to hear ten types of bird call, Common to giggle on the playground. It’s common to find empty plastic bottles lying around Common to know the sound, Of wind, of the clock, of footsteps and of talk. It was common to know the sound of talk more than type, It was common to hear traffic, shouting, the sound of wheels on a bike. It’s still common to hear ambulance sirens, It was always a common thing. But the old me and I don’t share something in common; She doesn’t pray for the patient that siren brings.

The World We Live In Now

Disconnected Love. Hate. Miscellaneous things Torrents of passion and words that sting Sparks that soar when meeting a gaze Quickly spiral into an air of malaise Love and lust the line is thin A constant battle we wish to win Marigold rays with an amber glow Glistering the ground once cloaked with snow Nature awakens from it's deepest slumber Spring chases fall whose days are numbered Seasons change and so do we But unlike nature we choose who to be We live in a world consumed with greed The rich get richer while we hope to be freed Not from shackles of the material kind But years of injustice we wish to rewind Creed, colour, visage or race We have more in common that should be embraced Static cities and flashing screens Models and media but what does it mean? Broken people who put on a show Were like you and I not long ago Rumours, gossip, murmurs and lies Push these people into their demise Great stone statues and art with grace Intricate detail found in every trace Time fleets past and features weather Minds stay young with skin like leather Legacies live from decisions made But eventually these memories fade

Disconnected

Reflection at 27 And every night he returns, to look at me like no other, never bothering to alter his tiredness, or to mask his painful exhaustion. So, with kind intent I guide him, as he browses the powders and puffs, to decorate an emancipated face like his own exquisite corpse. In some routine fashion he visits, slight, slightly ill - in his trading of metallics for a bitter white. Alongside me now stand four others, assistants, artists and associates, double checking he’s up to scratch, yet remain unconcerned with his newfound emptiness, impartial to his fading frame. That same night, he returns, and alone he seems so sickly. Trying to plead and reason and justify what he’s made of himself. He told me, I never wanted to be one of them I didn’t want to end up like that I don’t want to die so young and I don’t break until he leaves to find solace in his new accomplice. The next year he visits, his body a passenger of a parasitic psyche. A shell of himself, who left his soul on the two snow white rails, as he moves from station to station, alive and well only in theory. This year he doesn’t see me at all. A newfound vacancy in his eyes, enveloped in distasteful glitters, this year the assistants check him twice, So that the streams that carve his face never leave a trace, So this year he’s happy for the naked eye. There’re no more visits, it’s in my nature to assume the worst, when we sung suicide, and I guided his hand from pen to piano to pick-me-ups. Only hoping the guilt of greed wouldn’t eat us alive. Years pass, and I'm reminded now and then of our Sweet Seventy-four, and of the man whose hand I held off the cliff’s edge. Our exchanged words became a ballad over the ten o’clock news. Our death seized the radio. Perhaps without my script, death would wait. He followed my lyrics as if he had written his own lethal fate, and acted as if it were a premeditated event, that his destiny was written in melody, not stars.

Reflection at 27

Why, I'm thankful for the many lonely nights she held me In each fearful moment, enveloping me in a sweet song. With harsh noise, her eyes fixated. With soft melodies, her touch was real. In each cruel moment of distrust and misfortune, A voice of silver lining guides me, the same way her worn hand guides the needle through. Each day my appreciation grows, to the point I admire and love all that signifies your presence. Not just your voice, which bought me such comfort, but the path you’ve walked seems sacred. Though sharing your light with those who need it is a heart-warming task, basking in your great love with those who admire you as I do is an elevated joy, For you gave us all our own stories, Since we sat and heard yours.

its just been over forty years, nearly fourteen thousand nights.

Are you human? What makes humans human? How do we categorise and differentiate ourselves from all the other 6,494 species of identified mammals on the planet? The main distinction between us and the more primal fauna of the world is principally our morality, compassion and our capacity for deeper recognition of our actions and how they affect the world around us. Therefore, in order to be classified as a human being you must be endowed with some elemental level of this philosophy. But I ask of you this, how often do you look at another human being and simply appreciate them for who they are and the impact they have on your life? More often than not these days with all our busy lives leaving little time for contemplation, we overlook all the incredible people that surround us and forget what we have in common. Underneath the outer wrapping we all share fundamental similarities, not only do we all have a heart and a brain, but we all have emotions, feelings, thoughts. THIS, World is what we often fail to notice in our selfish lifestyles while we constantly strive for more: more money, more success, more stability. We forget that no matter where we come from, whether it be Pakanbaru in Indonesia or Quito in Ecuador, we all have these collective qualities that connect us, as if we are all tied together with constrictor knots. Whether we are fat, thin, tall, short, pale or tanned we are all human. This is something we all have in common, something that binds us together in the largest community on Earth. There to support us if only we seek it and guide us towards the light should we need it.

Are you Human?

We live in a world of war and death, of fear and destruction, of pain and suffering and the never ending screams echo into the universe, soundless, audible. We look at each other and we see an enemy, an Other, someone unlike us in looks or heart or nationality. We look at the world around us, and we don’t see shimmering light stretching between living things, tying them together with the golden threads of fate. We see a resource for the taking, something we want to get our hands on and squeeze the life out of, just for the pleasure of watching it die. After all, if we can’t find something in common with our own species, our own friends, our own family, then how can we see anything at all resembling us in a tiny woodlouse creeping across the bathroom floor, a verminous little cockroach, a disease carrying urban pigeon. You know we share 60 percent of our DNA with Bananas? Most people don’t realise it but it’s still there. One day, thousands and thousands and thousands of years ago, something happened. People argue about whether it was a miracle, or a gift, of an explosion purely as a result of chance. It is unknown whether we’re destined to be here, whether there’s some greater purpose written in the gleaming stars, that we, standing in our puny human structures simply fail to understand. It is unknown whether we are here by complete luck, coming into existence, slowly, over time changing and mutating and forming new shapes until here we stand. A tiny blip in the neverending sands of time. We try to leave things behind - writings on dusty archaic manuscripts, gleaming skyscrapers that pierce the clouds, a gravestone jutting out of dew filled grass, a footprint in the forest floor. But we know they too will one day be swept away into the dark abyss of nothingness, a feeble imprint on the memories of grandchildren, of great grandchildren. Fading, faded, gone. Even when we separate ourselves from each other, fighting and warring and burning and destroying, it’s still there. Whether we like it or not the fire of life burns brightly within us, within everything chattering or chirping or scurrying. Within every vine that stretches across the forest floor. Within every leaf, flower, blade of grass. You may think we have nothing in common, but we all have a life and we are all here to live it. And one day when that life does leave our fleshy temples of skin and bone, we will return to the earth once again, indistinguishable from anything else living. The trees will wave in the breeze, and life will still be in common.

Fire of Life

Marsupial We have nothing in common. We are not alike. He laughs, each tombstone tooth a city: high rise and ebony: spectacular towers: a hundred Londons in his jaws, he licks his lips. What have we in common? He will spit, and spin, and shed nuts and growths, pick roots with egregious knuckles. He runs up a tree, and spreads his plumed tail. There is no artfulness in him. Or, it is unrecognizable, because there is none in me. I return, to my mechanical house: prefabricated. I try not to spit, spin, nor shed nuts with dull fingers. I will not run up stairs, let alone a tree. Dust accumulates, horses pass: tethered to their riders, their mouths alight with bits. A firework sputters. He will smile with visionary teeth, remind me of London or New York; make a branch art, with a quick brutal ceremony; I stay at home. I am know visionary. We have, maybe, something in common. Maybe. Disease will kill him, and I too would die: the earth would lay me out beside his body. We live, and think, and perceive the pupil of an eye, or the blackness of a city. We spurn the sky because we are in live with gravity. A branch will carry us up (if you learn the art) and in the scattered glare of cars: and the humanoid trees put up their arms, and a thousand rabbits stare.

Marsupial

Fate’s Appraisal Searching for any source of mutuality between the pair was a struggle. One was the most worrisome kid ever conceived, endlessly shaking at the most minor mentions of publicity. The other was a radio’s reincarnate. Spreading false truths like a wildfire, ignoring the deforestation that it left behind in its enraged wrath. Never any feuds, barely any dialogue spoken directly. Just common courtesies of greetings if they ever spotted each other. A more common occurrence than imaginable. Their magnetism was obvious, yet unintentional. Apparently unplanned. Whenever one left their home, the other would unknowingly do so as well. They’d find themselves in the same space, ignorant of the location. Coincidental, yet expected when the soulmate label was thrown. A conspiracy that everybody excluding the two was on board with. It was a fact. Aggressive denial was ineffectual so they learned to live with it. By avoiding each other completely. Disregarding the sorrow that it brought. Their only contact was to confirm that the other wasn’t also present, leading to months without a single sighting. This time intentional. Years passed, and their personalities seemed to swap almost simultaneously. Still juxtaposing, but backwards. The harsh grip of anxiousness had blossomed into a confidence never before witnessed. Now constantly displayed through prideful performances. Becoming boastful. The gossiper lost their defining popularity. Instead, spending days hugging hoodies and desperately desiring a single online buzz. Obsessive attempts left fruitless. They had long since stopped their messages. The illusion of their foretold romance became old news. Replaced by a common distaste. Undoubtedly violent. One day, it’d be a bloody nose, gently dripping its liquid perpendicular to wet eyes. The next, a broken leg. Crutches for months. An intense hatred brewed, oozing into the spotlight. They’d never been close, but now their fists were closer than their individual hearts ever were. Combined. A short stretch from mortal enemies. Unrecognisable from their earliest interactions. Now bruised and bloodied. An unexpected future when compared to an engagement. Adulthood was reached and both left their little town, flocking to opposite sides of the country. Pursuing careers in completely different fields. Never to speak again. The ancient stereotypes were burnt to a crisp. Rotting in their own decay. The new lives became a solace for decades, but one that proved temporary. Both returning to their nest. Brand new people were born. Morphed from their foreign experiences yet gained commonality in their interests. Laughing, with animated smiles. Joined at the hip. Even the mirror never displayed one without the other. One connected unit, coded in conjunction. The Sun and Moon had finally reached their eclipse. Their deviation now complimenting. With a future set out in the very constellations that one studied and the other painted. The rocky groundwork resulting into an underbelly for a more affectionate future. Hand gently gripped in hand. Rings worn.

Fate’s Appraisal

before anyone else

Twins

The ringtone on the laptop burst into song, its melancholy tune reminding Savannah of all she had to gain, and all she had to lose. She held her breath. There was a chance. They didn’t have much in common. But she was sure it was him. Her dad. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard she feared she might break apart. It had to be him, after all she had done to track him down. It had been almost easy once she tried. She'd had to do it in secret, hiding away with her laptop. Not let the other foster kids see. Alan and Tyler had got close to catching her once, but she’d turned them away with stories of maths homework. Nadia was harder to dissuade. Nadia was eleven, older than Alan and almost double Tyler’s age. She didn’t buy homework stories, not unless there was proof. But Savannah knew things. She'd shut Nadia up. For a while, at least. It was lucky that Martin has been busy. Busy with Alan’s schoolwork and Nadia’s SATs. Busy with Jo and Harvey’s antics. Busy with all the others. No-one had time for a lonely teenager. Which, in a way, was good. If Martin had been himself, he would surely of noticed her long periods of solitude in her room, scouring the internet for a sign. Savannah looked back to the laptop screen. Still ringing. Still waiting. She thought about when she’d seen the picture, and known it was him. True, he was white, not brown like her, but her mother was black, at least in Savannah’s photo of her, so it would make sense if her dad looked like the internet said he did. Opposite of her. Nothing the same, yet everything in common. He was part of her. Her father. The empty parent figure that had been absent all her life. Her heart ached. And then the ringing stopped. Savannah looked at the screen, and into the eyes of a man. Her father? Her chest felt tight, like it couldn’t let in air for fear of bursting. Her eyes stung. Her father. Her living, breathing father. Not a featureless, nameless shadow anymore. A real person. Taking in his wide brows, his deep eyes, she realised they had so much in common. She opened her mouth. She didn’t know what she was going to say. ‘Hello'?’ Too nonchalant. ‘I’ve missed you’? She never knew him enough to miss him. A tiny, malicious voice deep inside her suggested ‘Why did you abandon me?’ Savannah pushed it away. She closed her mouth, then opened it again- an emotional goldfish. Her feelings were in exhilarated turmoil. The tiny voice poked at her confidence again, whispering ‘You don’t know why he left, do you?’ He gasped; eyes wet with tears. She reached towards the screen. It felt like a huge empty hole inside her had been filled. She didn’t care who he was, if he had other kids or not. He was her dad.

Something In Common

Kairos Moonlight coated the war stricken land in a weak blanket of phosphorescence, a poor mimic of the job intended for the sun. The moon was merely a substitute, only existing to ensure that no one is alone during the desolate nights. I was lonely, sitting there with only the moon and my gun as company. Moments like this were rare on the battlefield – you were always hyperalert, wearing worry lines and checking over your shoulder. It wasn’t until the quiet of night, or the peace earned after a long day of struggle, that I could allow myself to relax, and let my bruised emotions wrestle with my tired mind. A strangled gasp sounded next to me, ripping me out of my thoughts. A scrawny young man stood beside me, shock contorting his features into a mask of fear. He looked young, almost too young to be here. Pale blond hair was slicked back in an attempt to look older, but his youthful face betrayed him. His features were so obviously Germanic that there was no debate where he was from; my eyes narrowed at the swastika on his arm. Neither one of us knew what to do next, arms twitching by our sides. Our fates dangled in the silence, waiting to be murdered with the click of a loading gun. The click never came. After a pregnant pause, he slowly sat beside me with a shaky, kind smile; his arms raised away from his gun to convey the innocence of his actions. When I made no move to stop or harm him, he began talking to me in a flurry of incomprehensible German. His voice was unexpected - soft, with a trace of huskiness and more power than the frail body would suggest. After a while, he stopped his babbling, and as silence began to pool through the cracks in my thoughts, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while: peace. Two heartbeats could be heard, his and mine. They were different rhythms, but then they overlapped, beating as one and becoming an anthem for the bond between mankind. It wasn’t loud, but overwhelming in it’s intensity, and it said all the words the language barrier wouldn’t allow me to say. We sat there until the first rays of sun bathed us in the warm glow I’d been craving, wordlessly pouring out hopes and dreams of a war-free, peaceful future, that for some reason felt more likely to happen than it had the day prior. We parted ways with gentle smiles and a firm handshake, a few words said with our eyes. Regardless of allegiance, we are all human in the end, inhabiting the same planet and breathing the same air. A soft smile tugged on my lips as I marched back to the tents, preparing for the long day ahead, but for once, I felt ready to face it. I turned towards the sun and whispered a quiet thank you, for reminding me that I’m not alone.

Kairos

Nothing seemed different about this day to any other. All I ever did was float. I felt a tug on my tail, alerting me of the movement from below. My vision went lower as I was pulled down to the salesman’s level, focusing on the stubble as he inspected me closely. I could hear him tutting as the wind blew me again, making me bounce against his face. He pulled me even further down, forcing me to be face to face with a small girl. Her face was very strange indeed. But of course, I hadn’t seen many. The way the light shone on her made her look something more similar to an angel than a human. It seemed almost unnatural that she didn’t have white feathered wings that blanketed her small back. The more I looked at her, the more I realised. She was my destiny. “Three pounds.” The salesman grumbled. I had never heard his voice before, and when it boomed above me, everything seemed to stop. Humans were strange creatures indeed. Once the golden coins were handed over, my tail was placed into the palm of a little girl. Her fingers quickly created a tight grasp over me, ensuring that I couldn’t escape. Not that I wanted to, of course. She was all that I ever needed. Suddenly, I was upright, no longer being dragged against the strong winds. My girl had stopped in her tracks, her red shoes no longer reflecting the sun. Her sight had latched on to something in front of her, something big, bright and fluffy. It was a giant teddy hanging from a backdrop on a stall. The dad also looked. He knew what was going to happen. It had all played out before. The little girl was not an angel after all. She was more like a devil. Once she had obtained the teddy, I felt the grip on my tail loosen. I had heard from other balloons that the first hug between a child and their toy was important, making me realise that I was in the way of it. 3 2 1 She let me go. The wind picked up, sending me further into the clouds. The lights from the fair slowly died away, along with the sounds and feelings that were brought with it. The wisps of cloud brushed against my face as I continued to float. I was a lost balloon. In the distance, I saw dots of colour. Green, red, yellow and blue. Confusion drowned me as I focused on the flying objects. Suddenly, my vision came round and let me in on the secret. There was a giant bunch of balloons of many colours, floating as a family, keeping each other above the clouds. They were the children's lost balloons who had found each other and made each other happy. My destiny wasn’t the girl. All I will ever do is fly. Fly with my family. Fly as a free balloon.

All I Will Ever Do Is Fly

You had nothing in common. You had nothing in common, but here I am. The product of a venture doomed from the start The only common ground that’s left to stand on. All there is. I often thought there must have been something else, Some other force that caused worlds to collide You’re adamant there was nothing, you had nothing in common. Yet here I am. I sometimes wonder how you must feel, how you feel about me, about being tied to each other for all these years. The fights, the silences. They’re all you have in common. At least while I’m still here. And no matter how hard I try, the pieces of your jigsaw just don’t fit together maybe that’s the point? But, but I just can’t believe it, I can’t believe us. So are you sure? sure you had nothing in common.

You Had Nothing in Common.

In Common Dear Diary… Today was just another one of those days; countless hours to just sit and think. Usually a soft murmur from the television fills the silence in the room all I ever hear now is how we “must all stay indoors” and how “there has been an addition to the total mortality toll”. For that exact reason, classical musical reverberates around the room and not the murmuring of the television. Life since I was diagnosed has not been the same and this virus only makes it harder. During this time of uncertainty where I perhaps feel more distant from everybody else than most, I prefer to think about all the things I have in common with teenagers my age or even just humanity as a whole and not my differences. I may have had to leave school and put my future on hold, losing all that I had achieved like the chance to go to the states for a Summer School due to symptoms such as an exasperating, unexplainable tiredness and loss of energy, abnormal bleeding and even the frequent loss of hair. I may have had to incorporate routinely visits to the hospital into my every day and even lose contact with my friends as we grew further apart, but I continue to live the same life everyone else is living. Just like those my age, I still enjoy going out, pampering myself even if it is just to admire myself in the mirror, spending hours online shopping only to decide not to purchase anything, meeting with friends, dancing around to my favourite music and most importantly spending time with my family. Just like all the similarities I share with others the same age as me, I also share many similarities with anyone of any gender, age, religion and race. We as humans seem to believe that we are the most powerful of all, that we control the way the world is run and the events that take place, but what we forget to acknowledge is God’s almighty power. Human beings have time and time again ignored the signs of nature and how we are merciless with the planet we call our home; nature is merciless on us and unforgiving independent of the life we lead. An illness may enter an ‘undeserving’ life, but humans are unable to prevent it from happening. A natural disaster may strike the poorest of humanity, but humans are unable to prevent it from happening. This helplessness felt in the bones of our species is shared by us all and there is nothing one can do about it. We may all lead different lifestyles with the smallest or the grandest of problems but at the end of the day we are simply insignificant creatures taking refuge in God’s greatest creation. We all have a blessing in common: the gift of life and we all have a goal in common: to live our lives as best as we can.

Dear Diary…

There are four things that all humans have in common. 1. All kids want to play. Living in developing nations as a seven-year-old came with its struggles, but not when I was with other kids. Even if I spoke English and they spoke Romanian, Georgian, or Lettish, we were still able to dress up dolls and play ‘tag’ in the garden. As long as we laughed, ate cookies, and had somebody to climb monkey bars with, we were living the dream. 2. Everybody is proud of their sports teams. In each of the thirty six countries I’ve visited, somebody has asked me which team I support or tried to sell me tickets to the upcoming game. Sports jerseys, noise makers, and replica uniforms coloured the streets on any given day in all of the countries to show pride, morale, and confidence. 3. We agree that weather is worth going outside for. Let’s face it - city living is not easy, so you’re used to seeing the dull, purposeful expressions on Parisienne’s faces as they race past you to get home. There is a physical lift of emotion when the first snowflake sticks to the ground and people look up from their phones to see the beauty around them. Smiles form, neighbors wave, and families join their friends in throwing snowballs. There is an instant connection as you experience this joy with others around you. No longer are you fighting for space or money, you are simply enjoying the beauty. 4. Our instinct as humans is to help in times of need. 2020 has been a crazy year, with the threat of a third World War, presidential incompetencies, an ironic declaration of ‘The International Year of Planet Health,’ and the global pandemic of COVID-19. Through the tension, hatred, and fear, people of all nationalities, ages, and orientations are stepping up and helping anyone in need. In true desperation, we are able to look past labels and see the real facts: people are suffering. Innocent children, workers, humans are dying. And people are doing their part because they can. Not because they should. If you take a closer look at these four things that all humans have in common, you see a trend: we all take the opportunity to connect, grow, and show our humanity. Underneath the tension, underneath the social injustices influencing our decisions, underneath the promises made if we do our work and stay quiet is love and humans will take every opportunity to show it. This is what we have in common: we are humans and we will do everything we can to stay like that.

Opportunities

Nature and Us The clouds, curtains of the sky, shadow us. They watch us As we continue to destroy our love, We cannot help ourselves, We are consumed by what we can’t have. The flowers, jewels and gems of our gardens, Admire the birds flying high in the sky They envy their freedom, They envy their unity, But it is what we lack. Nature observes us As we make each mistake, Watches us carefully. Like us, nature breathes So why must we destroy? We take what we want but don’t it give back. Is it in our blood? Are we wired to destroy? We have things in common Yet they have been forgotten. Nature has numerous things shared. The romantic poets taught us plenty Yet we chose to ignore what wonders they wrote. It seems as if they had morals But that’s now what we lack. Nature’s a strong force Of beauty and of vengeance We should maintain our harmony. But If we continue with no forgiveness It will be to our end. Our Imagination is common Some other things too: The air that we breathe The water we drink, Our need for love, But not all are worthy. We need to change And turn commonness into unity. It’s for our survival.

Nature and Us

Feel the rain, On your skin, Taste it, smell it, Streak your cheeks. Falling like mysterious messengers, The tears of the man in the sky. Are they tears of sorrow? Tears of joy? It doesn’t choose you in particular. Or anyone. But it reduces us to the same sodden level as the trees, Does it remind you that you aren’t in control? Don’t be afraid of it’s pulse. It’s soft touch will always find you, Don’t cower behind your umbrella, Don’t hide from it, Just let the rain in.

Rain

In Times of Crisis The Litmus, Trinity College These days, whenever we turn on our radios or televisions to consume the news, we are confronted every time by the growing death toll and the new countries that have been forced into lockdown. The word one is bound to hear multiple times when tuning in is “unprecedented”, and for good reason. Within living memory, no pandemic has reached the destructive level of coronavirus. SARS, swine flu, ebola; all of these were considered dangerous, but not even close to the extent of the dreaded COVID-19. The NHS has been overloaded by patients which they may not have room for. Schools have closed their doors, moving teaching online; meetings with those from other households have been banned; people are only allowed to leave their own houses for shopping and one form of exercise per day. Social distancing measures have been put in place, making venturing into the outdoors a time of stress and worry, trying to uphold these rules in the narrow spaces of supermarket aisles. Countries like Italy have silent streets, void of activity as people are shut up in their homes, and just when it may be needed most, key products like hand sanitiser cannot be found on the shelves. Yet, as the old adage goes: “every cloud has a silver lining” - and, in some cases, perhaps we can be glad that there are no clouds at all. In China, the biggest carbon polluter in the world, emissions have been cut by a significant 25%. In Wuhan, residents can see the sky again, and hear the birds sing. In Venice, the canals that had been blackened by the fumes of cruise ships are clear again, and dolphins have been seen swimming in southern waterways. In the UK, a staggering 700,000 volunteers have risked their lives to help key NHS workers on the front lines, far more than the health service was expecting. People may not be allowed to meet, but my mother talks to the family more now than prior to lockdown - they enter a chatroom every day at 5 without fail, as I’m sure thousands of others do too. Social distancing measures are in place, making trips outdoors stressful for everyone, especially the elderly. However, supermarkets reach out a hand of safeguarding measures, designating specific times the elderly can do their shopping in. In Italy, the streets may be empty, but residents sing to each other across balconies to lift the spirits of their neighbours. We are at war, yet this is no normal war. There are no opposing human sides, only a common enemy that exhibits itself only when afflicting others. This war is not about borders or natural resources, but simply about protecting each other and rediscovering what we, as the human race, have in common, whatever the circumstances. People from all walks of life put aside their differences to fight a foe whom nobody wants to see succeed. In the words of Aristotle, “a common danger unites even the bitterest of enemies.”

In Times of Crisis

They enter through opposing doors, a cleaner and a young aristocrat. He keeps his head down, intent on polishing the hospital floor as her heels clack over to the central cot. The woman lying in that bed is old and frail, her skin an unnatural blue. Attached to a hundred machines, she is kept alive well past her time. The cleaner dares to raise his gaze to the lady by the bedside. She won’t look at him, but still he watches; her bright clothes and haughty gaze conflict with the dark hospital room. She is rich and self-centred; she shouldn’t be here. Yet she is caring, like him, and reaches for the old woman’s hand. As her grandmother’s breathing becomes ever more ragged, the girl lowers her eyeline to his. Worlds collide as flashes of forbidden feelings awake. His eyes blaze with anger, an emotion he never lets his kindly features show. He is supposed to be selfless. His people wait hand and foot on the selfish, giving up their own safety and comfort without a asecond thought. History dictates that society was to be split into those who valued their own safety above all else and those who did everything they could do to help. He knows of the devastation that hit the planet: sickness, war, economic collapse. He knows he should not regret the way his people pieced the world back together but he rages at the oppression he has undergone because of it. He knows he will die before his time, suffering in silence with no aid. A lifetime of being taught to sacrifice will amount to nothing. He shows her this through the flame in his eyes. The flame in his eyes is met with a fire in hers. She feels grief. Years of enforced self-preservation crumble as she mourns for someone other than herself. Her people prevailed because of their unpitying exploitation, but at the back of her mind there has always been guilt. Even in childhood, she wondered at whose expense her affluence came. Her people live like lonely parasites, taking from others for their indivual gain.She is supposed to follow this lifestyle disregarding others without a second thought. But now she mourns for the person she adored most. They both stand at the bedside, united in youth and anguish, as the old woman breathes her last. They wait for a second, taking in the possibility of change. Those in power had separated humanity, crushing any chance of community; how could it be so easy to find something in common with a stranger? Breaking the fragile silence, she clears her throat and drops the dead woman’s hand. They both turn to leave, one boy and one girl questioning the shift in their clouded thoughts. Maybe for the first time in a hundred years it has become possible to be both selfish and selfless, to be whole. They leave through opposing doors.

what we could have in common

Can algorithms completely determine our lives and choices with a formula for success? Should we let them? Are feelings and emotions worth listening to when making decisions? Today, an awful lot is dependent on compatibility and similarity, both intra-human relations and those of humans with other things. Using advanced technology, sites such as dating apps pair people up based on what they have “in common”, trampling on vital human behaviour such as gut instinct or the fight-or-flight response - foundations that clearly worked for our ancestors as we, homo sapiens, are still living and thriving into the twenty-first century. I hesitate when calling this technology “advanced”; technical though it is, it has its drawbacks. Though dating sites aim to bring people together through shared interests, and can sometimes achieve this, there is always the risk of us being dehumanised and turned into statistics. When we meet people for the first time, there are some people with whom we just click, without any obvious reason why. We may not have anything in common with them, we may not have the same hobbies or music taste, but we feel completely comfortable with them. Algorithms cannot, in my opinion, completely replicate the necessary human emotions to allow two people to get on like a house on fire. Because as nice as it is to have things in common, sometimes people who are too similar can get on each other’s nerves. There are only so many conversations one can have about a certain topic before it gets dull, and so it is usually more fun to hear somebody talk passionately about a topic mostly unknown to the listener. It is not, however, only dating sites that use these algorithms. Websites with built-in cookies track our searches and send us targeted adverts based on other people’s activity. Messages like “based on your recent purchase, we think you’ll like this” clutter our inboxes, and make unwanted assumptions about us as people. A site like Amazon might suggest fancy trainers to me because I bought wireless earphones, which are often used for exercising, even though I much prefer reading to sports and simply got sick of tangled cables. Clever as these technologies are, the drive to keep everyone connected to like-minded people may ultimately cause the downfall of society. The desire to meet people like us and to fit in with the crowd could be detrimental to us with obscure interests becoming ever more obscured and originality becoming overlooked or shunned. The weird, wonderful and quirky could disappear completely, leaving life to become mundane. If we’re not careful then we will become as lifeless as the algorithms perceive us to be, and this would remove the joys of being our own person and there would certainly be some people that would get lost in a system that doesn’t support them. Algorithms of commonality cannot completely determine our lives. Let humans choose their own perfect match; it may not be obvious enough for an algorithm to spot.

“Can technology be a perfect matchmaker?”

An Act of Ignorance The sharp ring of the telephone echoed throughout the businessman’s living room and pierced his ears. It couldn’t have been a more inconvenient time to receive a call. Reluctantly, his hand made its way towards the handset. The restless caller who had been dialling the same number for almost an hour, was almost certain the call would not be answered, and was becoming increasingly desperate with every second. The caller wiped the sweat off his brow for the last time, about to put his phone down when the ringing finally stopped. Putting the handset to his ear the businessman asked “Hello?

An Act of Ignorance

ust have fun kid... Baby the truth ,is everyone leaves by choice or because they have to. You can’t stop that and you can’t stop living your life because you’re scared. It doesn’t matter if someone leaves it matters how long they choose to stay how much effort they put in .Everyone leaves hun everyone I know that doesn’t make the beginning or the end any easier but you always have the middle you’ll have all the accomplishments and the fun and the good moments and the bad ones too ,and when the days get really hard even the bad memories bring you some comfort because you remember the good ones that came from them . You can’t be scared of life you just have to live it bare your Soul to the World that’s the beauty of it. You don’t know what’s going to happen and I know that’s scary but it’s also the great part .You’re going to be ok it’s all going to be alright I know it’s scary now and I know you’re afraid and it’s ok to be afraid lifes showed you that. I've always been scared of everything and everyone .I've just always fear the worst in people but one day life showed me that these things happen ,you're going to meet bad people and you're going to understand why natural disasters are named after them .They take the most beautiful places and turn them ugly because whenever you go there you think of them and you think of the hurt they cause but hun we all grow up we all get older we forgive even if we don’t notice that we are forgiving .One day you wake up and it doesn’t hurt as much yes it will always be there but it’s not the same sometimes that’s a good thing sometimes that’s the best thing that could ever happen, just know that wherever you go whatever you do or whoever you become somebody loves you it doesn’t matter if it’s now or if it’s tomorrow or if it’s a year from now ,someone loves you and or someone is waiting to love you someone is waiting to give you all they have .Maybe the situation isn’t working out for you now but maybe the next one will I know they say

Just Have Fun, Kid

Our common enemy We are at war. Protected by the walls of our houses, we forget about those unable to hide. Old routines dropped; we turn to computer screens through which our enemy inflicts fear. School work and work moved online as people risk their lives as key worker. Typed words suddenly hold so much more meaning as we reach out to our loved ones who are miles away. We long for a treasured video call that connects us and gives us hope. We are at war, defended on the front line with our armour for those fighting running out, as we civilians feel the need to use it in our daily life on the streets, unsure of where our enemy will strike next. We no longer smile at strangers; we turn away and keep our distance, constantly crossing the street at the sight of other civilisation, unable to trust those around us in these testing times. We are at war, waiting in a long queue outside a supermarket, two metres apart, wishing for some of the shelves to contain the food needed to feed a family, intimidated by disapproving looks when we take more than one of each item. We are at war. Giant graves being dug, hospitals being made from large spaces, schools shut. All events are put on hold except small funerals. We are at war, dreaming of when the battle will end, idolising the future, counting down the days until the next announcement, hoping to soon be reunited with those we miss as we think about the last time we saw them and the memories we have shared. We long for something as simple as a hug. We are at war, protected by our homes; supported by brave soldiers; waiting, pausing and dreaming. We may be at war, but we share many experiences as we fight on. These commonalities make us stronger and our faith in each other allows us to hold out hope that this war will come to an end. In the words of David Foster Wallace “nothing brings you together like a common enemy”.

Isolation in Common

A young child is on an escape journey from a war torn country

To Fly

When I hear the words ‘In Common’, the first thing that comes to mind is community. A community is a group of people living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common. Since the beginning of humankind, humans have been forming connections and making communities. These connections are powerful things, and they are easier to form if we have things in common; some sort of starting place to help guide us on the path to friendship and kinship. Having things in common has both advantages and complications, and humans have known this for hundreds of years. This is demonstrated by common sayings and proverbs. For example, the expression ‘great minds think alike but fools rarely differ’ indicates that conformity and like-mindedness isn’t always positive, although it can be sometimes, and that just because more than one person shares an idea doesn’t mean it is good. In fact, sometimes lots of people sharing the same thoughts without having contributions or opposition from someone with a differing view or understanding can be harmful. Furthermore, the proverb ‘birds of a feather flock together until the cat comes’ has existed in the English language since the 1500s. It illustrates that kindred people gravitate towards each other but when something poses a threat to an individual, the colour of feathers isn’t necessarily enough to keep people together. What may be best for the community can be overwritten by selfish desires or self-preservation. This shows that whilst having things in common is beneficial, we need diversity of both thought and character. However, if we are all different, how can we form communities, which are by definition groups of people with things in common? After all, we don’t all live in the same neighbourhood. Well the answer is quite simple. We are all humans and we all share one common trait – humanity. Humanity has two definitions – the first is human beings collectively. We are humanity. The second definition of humanity is the quality of being humane and having benevolence and compassion. We may not all possess this quality all the time, but we can and we should strive to. Many people do have this trait in common, and this is shown especially in our current time, where key workers are risking their own lives to serve others. If this isn’t kindness and compassion then I do not know what is. We should model our lives after these people who are working selflessly for others and, out of respect for them, we should all treat each other with the kindness and selflessness that these heroes are showing. They are heroes and we can be too. Because these aren’t superhumans. They have one key thing in common with us. Humanity.

In Common Essay

Wilted

Wilted

Not All Arrows Have A Target, Not All Cards Want To Deal

Not All Arrows Have A Target, Not All Cards Want To Deal

Genes

Genes

Coronavirus World

Coronavirus World

In Common The common mistake was not trusting me. The common mistake was branding me the title of a fool. The common mistake was leaving me. I became infatuated, almost insane; I grew weak from separation, the physical attraction towards you became unbearable, my anxiety grew and the discomfort that began to evolve in your eyes strengthened. The emotional attachment to you was unwanted, undeserved and uncontrollable. Our love transformed, it blossomed like a flower in the spring, yet you allowed that flower to form thorns that carried unease and pain. We met as neighbours and soon formed a stable connection, you enforced that the relationship was ‘purely platonic’ but the common misconception that you had was my intentions. Your inability to express your feelings was tiresome, the stubbornness you carried flooded our relationship, it destroyed the love. I had patiently waited for years, ready to seize my moment for when you were ready, but it never happened. Everyday I was cruelly punished by the fools gold in your eyes, tempted by its beauty. You were a facade, keeping your hostility hidden. The demanding lips you presented were misleading. Your hair was a reflection of your false persona, it was intimidating yet arousing. The skin that gripped your bones was unearthly pale, the veins pulsed through the thin layer of tissue that continued to fray over time. The love had exhausted from your body, leaving a vulgar frame of bones. The constant denying and accusations towards me became tedious, the insults were no better either, yet I was still in awe of the vastness of your being. The love I had for you was visceral yet was never reciprocated, this gradually began to affect my rational behaviour. The love inspired me, it was an involuntary state of mind and it led to an addiction. I had fallen into a paradox, I wanted you desperately, I wanted you to want me, I wanted you forever. This cyclical nature of our relationship was frustrating, it allowed me to resort to ruminative thinking. My focus was you and it continued to torment me, but my vision was always transparent. We were the same age, 32, we had the same eye colour, blue, we shared the same taste in music, Heavy metal; we were so alike it was almost fate that bound us together. But the dissimilarities that evolved as a result of your caution and refrain, insulted my intelligence. I was convinced you would remain the most beautiful thing, consume my thoughts, stay with me - but the infatuation was shattered. I was disappointed when the illusion crumbled into reality, I am still. I was in love with the idea of you, the commonalities we shared, how similar we were and the time we spent together. I can’t say you were mine, because the torturous truth is you were never there. And if it's of any consolation to you, you’re the best idea i’ve ever had.

In Common

Pedalling towards the flower field at the back of a small village. The first days of May were inundated in a fragrance of roses and I found it peculiar how that smell had something in common with yours. Your fragrance also inundated my room in the early hours of the morning. When I arrived at the field, I was encountered with your smile waiting for me. The skies transformed into a delicate splash of pastel colours yet little did it have in common with you. Lying on the grass, you painted and adorned my skies in a heavenly shade of golden. In the shade of a nearby tree, we were to be found, examining the butterflies’ distinct colours. I had one thing in common with them. They flickered as tenderly as my eyelids fluttered when I dreamed of you. You created a home for me, home, I was almost a home for you. I pedalled towards the flower field at the back of a grand village. You talked to me about your past thinking your future was undoubtedly me. The summertime sky became blue and the dandelions grew. As effortlessly as the constellation of stars oscillated, I danced at your mellifluous voice. When I arrived at the field, I was encountered with your smile, waiting for me. We ran and we ran. I felt like a feather, elegantly descending in an eternal breeze. You guided me to a nearby river. You had one thing in common with the river, the river flowed as strongly as you moved me. One July morning, I woke up to the realization that your presence tranquillized the whirlwind that ate away my thoughts at night. I couldn’t tell If I was in love with the butterflies and meadows or if I was in love with you. Beginning of Autumn, the breeze became more rampant, blowing the leaves off of the tree we sat under. They fluttered to earth like colourful rain. The next day, when I arrived at the field, your eyes glistened sceptically. You seemed much happier with her. I continuously wondered

A Small Village

Aaron had lived in Mediocrity all his life- figuratively and literally. Mediocrity acted as a purgatory for people hoping to transcend to Cloud Nine, or an area where you proved you should not be banished to The Ground. People blessed with the opportunity were treated to an induction day before choosing to take The Cloud Nine Pill and ascend. People called it a cylinder of pure euphoria. Aaron himself had been chosen for this Utopia, much to the delight of his family, and had accepted. How could he not? Aaron stepped into the unknown with his lifelong friend, Spencer, jumping out of his skin when the elevator sent them shooting upwards with immense velocity as the norms of Mediocrity were reduced to ants in seconds. Spencer paced gleefully around the glass; his emerald green eyes glistening with exhilaration, matching his radiating blond hair. Meanwhile, Aaron’s wide, mud brown eyes were cast down in horror, his home diminishing beneath his feet. “This is it Aaron.” whispered Spencer, as he tried not to spoil this perceived perfection: “Our new home!” Side by side, Aaron and Spencer followed the smooth artificial voice guiding them to the induction room. Spencer babbled, mostly to himself, about the intricate behemoth spires twisting; stabbing above them, shining, golden, in the glistening light. He marvelled at their similarity to the simple grey ones in Mediocrity, and yet their seeming different, perfect quality. Aaron gasped at the cacophonies of citizens before him: they seemed so similar to himself; yet their faces shone with vivacity and beauty, as if they’d been edited artificially. He was wrenched back to reality when the inductees, huddled like excitable penguins, cheered as they were led through a darkly lit cuboid corridor. Buzzing harmoniously, Aaron and Spencer’s district were led through a maze of corridors, being assured their ‘new life was about to begin’. Gawping, Spencer hopped in glee as a screen projected a two sided image, demonstrating the genius of the fabled Cloud Nine Pill. Spencer had been taught all his life that if he behaved well, he’d be sent to the heaven on Earth, and now here he was, tantalisingly close to fulfilling his dream. His eyes were glued to the right screen with the rest of the inductees, which depicted a joyful child hitting a pinata, giggling as sweets spewed out its colourful head. Concurrently, Aaron gaped, fixated; terrified at the dark mirror on his left, depicting a rat’s spine being splintered sickeningly by salvo-like blows. Aaron stared at the white cylinder in his palm. He couldn’t do it. All the other inductees had practically skipped out of the room after ingesting their joy- Spencer had been the first. As he trembled Aaron realised to himself that all these people had something in common: they’d been conditioned to look to the right by their superiors, and never face the reality of the left. He couldn’t do anything. Sitting, silent, Aaron could merely gaze into his palm, unsure of what to do.

Cloud Nine

‘Luca! The Last. Universal. Common. Ancestor.’ The audience, (a jumbled mix of over-keen undergrads, an assortment of teachers forced into chaperoning the event, and the poor sod from the University Paper who professed to not having the remotest interest in the Arts and Humanities wing of study), were by now hooked on every word. This Professor Guest, or whatever his name was, seemed to reach out and grab these people by their collars with his words. As if this otherwise unobtrusive character was scanning his viewership and collectively embedding LISTEN TO ME – WHAT I’M SAYING’S IMPORTANT into their frontal lobes. And so that’s what they did. ‘Now, I want you all to look at the person next to you,’ the man on stage announced. Though the spectators were unwilling, there was something about the simple command that bypassed their free will and, all at once, a ripple went out through the crowd as they each regarded the individual next to them. Being the 21st century, this crowd had been specially selected to be as varied as possible. A multitude of eyes, some deep and piercing others wide and restful, surveyed a myriad of noses, ears, styles and colours which each in turn repaid their gazes. As they studied the creatures next to them, a reaction was registered – perhaps not consciously but deep down everyone felt something at that moment. Whether it was sympathy, boredom or disgust was down to the onlooker, but the simple sight of seeing a stranger’s face affected them all differently. ‘How are you alike? How are you distinct? These answers are separate for each of you, of course, for you to independently resolve within your own heads. Except, most likely, LUCA. Every single one of you shares this lifeform. We are all descended from it. 3.5 Billion years ago a miniscule, single-celled organism came into being in some remote pond in France. A combination of circumstance and chemistry created a cell membrane, various proteins and, most importantly, a DNA loop. You have LUCA to thank for every micro-organic component within you. No matter who you are, what you believe or how you think, you are all living, breathing people, with LUCA at the bottom of each of your family trees.’ As Professor Guest looked out at his audience, he noticed something strange. For a brief second, uncharacteristic as it may seem, the attitudes of all those present had subtly shifted. The stress of that essay due next week or the teacher’s strike on Friday or even the scary editor who made Terrence Fletcher seem like a cuddly bear had been alleviated for a moment. The fear quickly snapped back, obviously, but Guest silently wondered whether the message of overarching unity he was teaching had a bigger significance than just being a fun fact. Of course, you know it does.

In Common

In common. It is a platitude that we have all heard dozens of times, whether to make a mere remark or simply to state a likeness between two or more things and/or individuals in question. A significant number of people share the same interpretation of the phrase because of its distinct meaning. You and I share an array of similarities due to the fact that we have a lot of things ‘in common.’ The main reason as to why this is the case is because we are both part of the human race therefore harbour some certain attributes. Although it is not under direct, conscious control breathing is part of our lifestyle. It is required to sustain life, so involuntary respiration occurs such as when we are asleep and thereby we are both simply living. Fortunately, we both have a home and somewhere to go every time we leave our residences. In addition, we both experience emotions such as happiness, excitement, or other feelings. Everyday we have emotions that can compel us to take action and influence the decisions we make about our lives.These qualities are shared alike by two or more people and are certainly shared by you and I. Despite our similitude of being in the human race, there are undoubtedly some unpleasant things that we have ‘in common.’ A clear example of this is the fact that we both celebrate a carnivorous lifestyle. However you may, of course, have a preferred diet such as vegetarianism or veganism. We are all flawed as human beings and therefore are prone to have bad habits as a result. Nevertheless, we also have good qualities to overcome them. The largest human influence on climate change has been through the emission of greenhouse gases such as carbon dioxide and methane which contribute to global warming. In spite of the fact there are more, these are things we have in common, the good and the bad. To be in the present feels like being aware of what is happening this very moment. It means that you are not distracted by future worries or ruminations of the past; instead centered in the here and now. Being present is having a mind that is completely engaged and appreciatively connecting with whatever the task at hand is. This can result in catharsis. Hence, when hearing such a phrase, 'in common', in the present it makes me think of what exactly are the things in question that have a resemblance in and the intent of the speaker who uttered the words ‘in common.’ The word ‘in’ has a connotation of withinness or something being inside something else. In this instance, the word ‘common’ evokes the idea of a shared similarity. Thus, when these two words are combined together the phrase produced conjures up synonymic meanings to everyone that hears it.

Uniquely the Same

In common. It is a platitude that we have all heard dozens of times, whether to make a mere remark or simply to state a likeness between two or more things and/or individuals in question. A significant number of people share the same interpretation of the phrase because of its distinct meaning. You and I share an array of similarities due to the fact that we have a lot of things ‘in common.’ The main reason as to why this is the case is because we are both part of the human race therefore harbour some certain attributes. Although it is not under direct, conscious control breathing is part of our lifestyle. It is required to sustain life, so involuntary respiration occurs such as when we are asleep and thereby we are both simply living. Fortunately, we both have a home and somewhere to go every time we leave our residences. In addition, we both experience emotions such as happiness, excitement, or other feelings. Everyday we have emotions that can compel us to take action and influence the decisions we make about our lives.These qualities are shared alike by two or more people and are certainly shared by you and I. Despite our similitude of being in the human race, there are undoubtedly some unpleasant things that we have ‘in common.’ A clear example of this is the fact that we both celebrate a carnivorous lifestyle. However you may, of course, have a preferred diet such as vegetarianism or veganism. We are all flawed as human beings and therefore are prone to have bad habits as a result. Nevertheless, we also have good qualities to overcome them. The largest human influence on climate change has been through the emission of greenhouse gases such as carbon dioxide and methane which contribute to global warming. In spite of the fact there are more, these are things we have in common, the good and the bad. To be in the present feels like being aware of what is happening this very moment. It means that you are not distracted by future worries or ruminations of the past; instead centered in the here and now. Being present is having a mind that is completely engaged and appreciatively connecting with whatever the task at hand is. This can result in catharsis. Hence, when hearing such a phrase, 'in common', in the present it makes me think of what exactly are the things in question that have a resemblance in and the intent of the speaker who uttered the words ‘in common.’ The word ‘in’ has a connotation of withinness or something being inside something else. In this instance, the word ‘common’ evokes the idea of a shared similarity. Thus, when these two words are combined together the phrase produced conjures up synonymic meanings to everyone that hears it.

An interpretation of the phrase ‘In Common’

My eyes are green, dark and despairing Yours are blue; blue, bright and beautiful. What really is the point in comparing? You’re so much better, it’s indisputable. We have nothing in common. My hair is flat, boring and lifeless, Yours dances round your face in elegant beauty. My face lacks any kind of brightness. The way you tease me is almost cruelty. For we have nothing in common. When you smile the world lights up; You fill the world with goodness and joy. With you around, my tummy ties up, But stay away, all I touch I destroy And we have nothing in common. I don’t understand what you see in me I’m a failure, nothing and a mess. Your heart is sweet, calm and dreamy, My personality isn’t something nice to undress. You see, we have nothing in common. Look away. I know you don't see me You see someone living, loving, surviving But I'm damaged and broken, its dreary You create happiness by just arriving We really have nothing in common. My love for you is vast and endless And although I know it’s pointless My heart screams to be seen by you But for me, your heart hasn't a clue We’ll never have anything in common.

We Have Nothing in Common

Adelaide Browning gazed placidly over the sunset from the balcony. She studied every detail carefully, analyzing every bramble she could see poking over the distant hills. She prided herself in being an excellent observer, and was frankly hoping that the stunning view could distract her from her younger sister’s awful chatter. Suddenly, she stiffly shifted and glanced at her sister. “Don’t be ridiculous Claire.” She was becoming irritated. “But Addy…” Her sister wailed. “No.” Adelaide spoke firmly. She couldn’t stand her sibling’s petulant voice. Wearied, she flicked her copper curls over her shoulder, clutched her skirts and paced away. Claire briskly followed. When Adelaide heard her sister’s hurried steps, she abruptly shifted to face her; her piercing green eyes glaring. “Don’t be irrational Claire, man will never fly. It is 1834 for goodness’ sake: If the Lord had wanted us to fly, we would have wings by now.” She sighed. And with that, she left her dumbfounded sister in the empty corridor and headed for her chambers. “Machines to make man fly? How absurd! She muttered. Claire even had the audacity to suggest that in future, women would wear trousers. Trousers! Obscene. When Adelaide left for the gardens later that day, she noticed her sister slumped on an oak branch, sobbing long sighs. When she started for the oak-tree, intentioned to scold her sister for being incredibly foolish and improper, she suddenly felt faint, as if death was flowing through her, first from her fingertips, spreading impassively and steadily up her arms like spilled ink, diffusing up, until it veiled her eyes and her world went dark. When Dr Brookes heard stirring, he skeptically raised his eyes from his clipboard. Everything seemed in its place, the machines whirring and beeping, tubes stretching to the arms and nose of his comatose patient. Her heartbeat seemed regular, and as always, she seemed still as glass. He had been monitoring Olivia’s coma for a few months now, and although some may find this job quite dull, he found it intriguing, the way a body could be alive without a mind. He was smoothing his scrubs and resettling down when Olivia stirred again. Gradually, she woke. Gushing adrenaline overwhelmed Brookes and he began to investigate. He was well-taught, and knew that a coma was a confusing exit, so when Olivia finally spoke, he was relieved. “Who are you?” The girl spoke with attitude. Strange, thought Brookes. He imagined Olivia as a sweet girl. He was about to speak when the door erupted and people poured in. “Olivia!” A shrill shriek perforated the air as Olivia’s mother flung herself at the girl. Incomprehensible words spilled from her mouth in excitement when Olivia raised her finger causing the room to silence. “And who are you?” The mother’s smile fell. “You… You were in a coma...” She whispered. The girl’s face remained stoic, but with a trembling voice she hissed: “I am not ‘Olivia’, my name is Adelaide Browning and I demand to know where I am.”

Finally Awake

Unlikely Friends

Unlikely Friends

The Drawing Room

The Drawing Room

I have memories as a child, resting my head against the car window, feeling the bumpy vibrations of the engine running. Tapping noises smacked against the car as if aching to get inside; upon lifting my head, I saw the pouring rain outside lashing down like the heavens were mad at Earth. My eyes shifted to two particular little raindrops against the outside car window, wiggling down before they dropped into a puddle below. I imagined them racing each other - “First one to reach the puddle wins!” The adrenaline would rush through my body as I silently rooted for my favourite droplet to win. To travel back to the times where my mind was so imaginative and innocent is a wish to die for. Now, we repeat the same scenario. It’s years later, and we’ve shifted into a different perspective. My flimsy shoes squelched with every step I took, continuing to absorb every droplet of water that fell from the sky. Shaking hands that were too weak and too cold to even bother gripping onto the hood of my light coat fell droopily by my side. An expression of so much emotion, yet none at the same time was painted across my face, with a red-tipped nose from the single digit weather. My fingertips slightly shifted every now and then to grasp the hem of my skirt, having to pull it down in a fear of oversexualisation by my peers. Head hung low, I finally reached the foot of the bus, scrambling the insides of my pocket in a desperate search for my ticket. A queue forms behind me and the embarrassment flushes my rosy cheeks. I step to the side, accepting my failure and now doing a re-scramble for change. Managing to obtain the exact amount of coins, I got on with a few seconds to spare and sat myself down at a window seat right at the back of the bus, a grand sigh escaping through my lips as I slowly blinked in a form of exhaustion. My head sank onto the window panel beside me as my body rattled, the bus driving heavily along the roads. Zoning out my mind and replenishing the stress with the soothing sound of the rain seemed like the best idea for a 20 minute ride; it was proven difficult by the noise of laughing and conversing around me. Hefty rainfall striked the concrete roads outside, asserting its power and making me feel frail. I took a glance at the raindrops on the opposite side of my window, maneuvering and falling so fast. At an instant, my body began to imitate the likeness of the same drops of rain, as a small teardrop plummeted from my eye to the floor. Blurred vision, a sparkling yet sorrowful gaze as both eyes began to fill up with everything bottled inside me. Stress, panic, sadness, fear - all portrayed in the form of a tiny, crystal-like droplet. This isn’t what it was like as a child.

Rain

Sail Against the Current

Sail Against the Current

In Common

In Common

Roadtrip TV

Roadtrip TV

I Lost Something

I Lost Something

So, what is normal?

So, what is normal?

The Garden

The Garden

In Common - Raindrops

In Common – Raindrops

We have the same eyes (Esme Thomas) We have the same eyes She and I Brown Same sun, same sky Same age, same life? Small house, small bunk bed I used to have a bunk bed. And in her hand she holds a phone And when the music plays she is no more alone, than me… I say to myself. For our hips can move and our faces can smile And for she and I a photo can bring on The arrowing ache The endless grab in the dark We stretch our arm for the, The panic cord The path The trail of bread crumbs To you, to me, to her, to she. The burnt mud slips into the water It makes a whirlpool in the bucket It looks like a hurricane but instead of Dorothy, her house and her little black dog Bugs. The yellow path back is a long winding slope. The house is now dark and solemn. And the pictures corners bent and worn. I’ll make it okay You will see For we have the same eyes She and I Just not the same minds But now the plane is landing And the sky is upside down For she is not me And I am not her And my conscience is not clean Because now I see her eyes were blue.

We have the same eyes

When The Autistic Mind Perceives the Normal World

When The Autistic Mind Perceives the Normal World

The Phrase

The Phrase “In Common” Has A Deeper Meaning Than You’d Think

Imagination in Common

Imagination in Common

Writing Together

Writing Together

In Common. Hot and Cold.

In Common. Hot and Cold.

Blue

Blue

Disunited

Disunited

Divided

Divided

Yellow

Yellow

Loss

Loss

What you can do

What you can do

Like Stars in Heaven

Like Stars in Heaven

Roma Flag

Roma Flag

Doubts

Doubts

Poem

Poem

A Weird World of Imagination

A Weird World of Imagination

Disrespect p66

Disrespect p66

Writing in Common

Writing in Common

Pain

Pain

I Stan

I Stan

In Common

In Common

The Sprinkled Whale

The Sprinkled Whale

The Shadow

The Shadow

Art

Art

Losing

Losing

The Night

The Night

The Inner Body

The Inner Body

Universe

Universe

The Dancing Tree

The Dancing Tree

Powerful Trouble

Powerful Trouble

Write Me Down in History

Write Me Down in History

The Irony of Loneliness

The Irony of Loneliness

Shipwreck

Shipwreck

Those Long Standing Lines

Those Long Standing Lines

What Would The World Be

What Would The World Be

Rise

Rise

Murder

Murder

The Tyger

The Tyger

Depression

Depression

you may twist lies and tread me in the dirt but I'll still rise does my sassiness upset you? does my sexiness uspet you? I dance like I've got diamonds but I'll still rise. Im a black ocean leaping and wide bringing the gifts my ancestors gave me I am the dream and the hope of a slave but I'll still rise. You may cut me with your eyes I'll still rise like hopes springing high cause I'll smile like I've got gold minds digging in my back yard. I'll rise I'll rise I'll rise

Never Give Up

Beware of the shadows (bubble writing) walk if you dare beyond this tent they don't care your head explodes your neck snaps in half any time any were they are dead calfs. If you care please do not tear they are rising they are not glisening run but don't hide they are in the shadows (drawing of scary smily faces)

Beware of the Shadows

You and me, we're not the same every day we have to re name our laws and rules that keep us in line if you count from one to nine we are not the same in every way and I will remind you every day don't cry if I say no I'm not your sweet little dow I guess I'll have to remind you again as I hide away in my den we are not the same so don't rename (a handwitten poem)

Not In Common

from blond to brown you start to make me feel down all because I dyed my hair it was not a dare I wanted to change not turn a page why do you judge me? all because of my choose of key change is supposed to be welcomed but now I'm feeling threatened ( a handwritten poem)

Change

Being kept in a cage try and turn the page stuck in a maze or being put in a daze all I want is to be set free take the key just set me free as now I plea (handwritten poem)

Being Set Free

Two things so different It may even cause a dent both with similarities we'll always cross ties black and white they look so right as they both are colours fly few as birds an oak and a ferm soon to be burned two trees the same time to save the dame I guess it's time to realise we'll always cross ties

In Common

I travelled and spoke out loud and bold in the realms of gold (handwritten on blue page covered in birds)

The Birds

Tyger thy distant eyes burnt the distant skyes and twist immortal hand smile the fearful lamb heart beat, skies bright, in the forest or thy night Began terrors clasp! Twist thy dead grasp (a handwritten poem)

The Distance

I have not travelled across the whole pacific islands and felt the sand sink inbetween my toes, nor have I experienced the culture and diversity of the many beautiful faces as I pass the villages. But I have wathced teh sunset as I layed down on the hills of wales. The radient of the suns rays shooting down all across the empty hills. I have not been in a concert before watching and listening as my favourite artist performs, the stadium packed with millions of people dancing and singing, the lyrics already memerised in their heads But I have sung in a cathedral in oxford, the sound of my voice gracefully echoing the cathedral during candle mass

I Have Not Travelled

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