Black Lives Matter. It’s a movement, an organisation, a slogan – all centred around a clear, simple statement. From it stems all sorts of questions: do Black lives matter today? If not, how do we make Black lives matter? Three words have revived this the struggle to find the answer to these questions. The use…
Creative Writing, Venue
On The Fabric of the Human Body
I hear it whispered over cadavers, Declared in lecture halls: Our bodies are architecture, Our lives but short-lived squalls. Our genes mere family heirlooms, Or chromosomal spelling errors. Your skin, so tender and sweet, Mere defence against infectious terrors. Your almond eyes – as still as morning mist – Just photon chaos tamed by a…
Creative Writing
Sweet Plum
Truth means many things to different people. For Mr Prakash Shah, resident of Flat 7, Edgefield Gardens, the truth was that he had been duped, betrayed, stabbed in the back. He had been destined for the upper echelons of power: a seat on the Harrow Town Council. This truth led to other truths: the new…
Creative Writing, Venue
Bristled
The razors are conspiring again. Planning their death at His hands. One suggests nicking His cheek, its legacy a single scarlet bead of blood before it is cast into the dustbin below. The other scolds it for its violence, proposing instead to perform so poorly in its sole function that it leaves an uneven stubble…
Creative Writing, Venue
Granny’s in the Attic
Mum and Dad say Granny is buried in a cemetery next to Grandpa and Aunty Susan. They say she died in her sleep on Sunday night, and was buried on Wednesday morning. They say she died of old age. They’re wrong. I don’t want to say they’re lying, but they’re wrong. Granny told me this…
Creative Writing, Venue
I Remember Cruelty
“Next!” She began the slow shuffle to the counter. Her timid feet dragged beneath her. Hands clawed in silent pain, she forced a meek smile over gritted teeth. “Yes, hello dear, I’ve come to… I’m here to…I’m terribly sorry, I can’t seem to remember why I came here. I…” “This is a post office, not…
Creative Writing
Radicle
“I am the roots that grew where sari hems met England’s paved streets, Probing deeper, deeper for life, hope and, one day, belonging. I am the roots massaged with coconut oil and haldi paste by mother’s tired hands, Easing a mind knotted with sleepless nights and jobless days. I am fellow roots from distant lands…
Creative Writing, Venue
Rupa’s quick-n-easy existential crisis
I usually make this dish for my family on Sundays, but it’s honestly up to you when to cook it. Just remember that it’s not animal-friendly, so don’t go serving it to your pets or in-laws. Everything in this dish is organic, free-range, vegan, gluten-free, and still quite delicious. Please note that the ingredients list…
Creative Writing
Her
“We’ve distilled every fear into this pill. Consider it the closest you’ll get to Hell while you still have a heartbeat.” With a pitch like that, how could he resist? Perhaps it was the alpha male masculinity coursing his veins, or that dull plateau in life wedged between the racing 20s and the mellow 40s….
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