I hold my breath as it twists its shadowed neck towards the remnants of the building I stand on. I’ve been spotted. Time to run. I scramble across the rubble as the creature’s blood-curdling laughter deafens my ears. As its limbs threaten to clutch what little is left of me, my breath quickens, heart pounding, …
A frigid winter had come to rest upon the Northern town in Canada, without sight of passing. Temperatures dropped low into the negatives as icicles assembled on every slanted rooftop and leafless tree. Snow pelted down on this night, and porcelain flakes melted on the red cheeks of a young boy; known as …
Haldir gasped awake, breathing heavy and fast. He called into his darkness, seeking out a warmth. “Alfarin?” “I’m here.” I squeezed his hand. “I’m here.” “Alfarin.” He held tightly to my hand, wrapping it in his spindly fingers like the legs of spiders, holding it to his chest as if it were his lifeline. “It’s …
I’m surrounded by screams. A cacophony of shouts, cries, and train whistles swallows me. I hear talk of England – what the weather will be like, the food, the people. A boy, younger than me by just a few years, holds onto his mother’s leg, refusing to board the train even as a dozen children …
0~ Zebulon He grabs onto her finger. He pulls. He’s testing her trustworthiness so intently she begins to doubt it herself. His little eyes are closed, slight twitch indicating blinks. His eyes are closed but they are searching within her. Is she safe? Will she provide? Is she his? She would scream to the tiny …
Barren. The only word that describes the landscape that lays forth me. The once grass that carpeted the floor of this land died long ago – leaving its mark through dust that surrounds the cracks in the ground. The once birdsong was nowhere to be heard, ever since the destruction of its home. The once …
A ruined wasteland. Scorched grass and burnt leaves. They crunch in the wind, crumbling and frail, like late Autumn leaves, as regular as the rising and setting of the sun, the heat of day and coolness at night. The word ‘regular’ is foreign to this land, though, as it is mid-March according to the old …
I cling to my mother, The train stops at the station, The guard approaches, Fear runs through me, “Welcome to England” Those words and nothing more. Twenty years later, 2014, A knock on the door and a harsh one at that, The voice behind it cries, “Leave go back to your country” These words and …
