2020 Archives - Page 3 of 14 - The Litmus

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The dust of an evening spent living

by Fiona Zeka, Age 17, Year 12, St Paul's Way Trust School © Copyright 2020 Fiona Zeka. All rights reserved.

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The Act of Contending

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.

by Katie-mai © Copyright 2020 Katie-mai. All rights reserved.

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A Letter to Valentin.

“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.”

by Anonymous © Copyright 2020 Anonymous. All rights reserved.

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(In)common

by Alice Garcia Kalmus, Age 16 © Copyright 2020 Alice Garcia Kalmus. All rights reserved.

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The Voices on my Shoulder

by Janhavi Gale, Age 17 © Copyright 2020 by Janhavi Gale. All rights reserved.

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DNA

by Janhavi Gale, Age 17 © Copyright 2020 by Janhavi Gale. All rights reserved.

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Growing Pains

by Eloise, Age 17, Year 12, from Abergavenny © Copyright 2020 Eloise. All rights reserved.

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The Diversity of Humanity

by Phoenix Woolnough, Age 17, from York © Copyright 2020 PhoenixWoolnough. All rights reserved.

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Being Alive

by Sukriti © Copyright 2020 Sukriti. All rights reserved.

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Lost Hope

by Aayla Qureshi, Age 17 © Copyright 2020 Aayla Qureshi. All rights reserved.