Litmus Year: 2020

Recommended for readers aged 16+ only. Contains references some may find distressing (domestic violence, abuse, self-harm) Scroll down to read.                             by Anonymous © Copyright 2020 Anonymous. All rights reserved.

Marsupial

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.
by Cameron, Age 16, Wokingham © Copyright 2020 Cameron. All rights reserved.

before anyone else

"you and i have more in common than meets the eye a figment of connection that weaves through the fibres of our skin, that is far from pervasive or de facto in nature we are an interrelation that strays from the confines of the status quo or strata or inflexibilities of human societies that forever seem to box us into a homogenous realm of expectation and reputation but no. you and i have more in common then the sensation of touch on your fingertips our commonality appears intransient opaque and redoutable in force it’s there: waiting in the tissues that lie under the cloak and drapes of your hair something the callous hands of capitals and monoliths and bureaucracies could never grasp because we embody the elixir of human good you are kind and gentle and beautiful if our raw commonality is the oracle you seek. but where we truly lie in each other’s common paths is how you and I put each other before anyone else
by Ayushmaan Sharma, Age 15, Year 11, Seven Kings School © Copyright 2020 Ayushmaan Sharma. All rights reserved.

Twins

"Twins Boys, Both of them. Born thirty minutes apart. Both similar, But different. One with brown hair, The other with auburn. Different. Eyes, both brown. Freckles adorn both their faces. Similar. A photographer; A musician. Different. But similar. Both artistic, In different ways. Twins, But not the same. Two people, Not one. Similar, Not a clone of the other."
by Emily, Age 16, from Bodmin, Cornwall © Copyright 2020 Emily. All rights reserved.

Kairos

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.
by Isabella Armour, Year 9, from Jarrow, South Tyneside © Copyright 2020 Isabella Armour. All rights reserved.