Student Fiction
“Gone in the Glass”
By Angelica Kaye Limchoc
With a little click and a tap
A quiet scroll, a short glance
She is gone.
She is merely a phantom
Surrounded by hundreds more.
She is gone.
In her fingers a new sensation
As if her life lacked vibration.
Where is she?
This small device
Holding her life in her fingertips
She is gone.
How many minds must die?
Will this gadget lead to demise?
Gone. Forever Gone.
Communicating? At all times.
But their fingers shall only touch glass.
They are gone.
Advances to the better
Advances for the worst
They are lost.
In a world of flashing lights
What more to turn it off?
Until they are all gone.
The Man In A Blood Red Tie
by Josh Chimenti
It’s a man of stone whose tale I tell
Who, long after the midnight bell
Was sitting upon a quarry
Hair as black as midnights glory
Eyes as black as coal
A business suit not meant for a stroll
And finally a blood red tie
For those that had to see it before they were to die
The man looked down the quarry with no emotion
His mind being drawn to the previous commotion
You see before he was at a loss of words
He was a kingpin whose vision was blurred
He started from the bottom
Climbing the ranks without a problem
All it took was a drag
Just one little bag
He lost himself in the narcotics
The effects seeming hypnotic
One night he met a dame
She knew nothing of his fame
They talked until midnight
And danced in the moonlight
All it took was one night of bliss
But years later he shall remiss
For that night he created life
He realized what he did and took the inner strife
Years passed by
Not a single night where he didn’t cry
He knew he had a daughter
He hid her from his adversaries for surely they’d slaughter
However that had come with a price
She knew nothing of him and the man's heart had frozen with ice
The pain of watching from afar
Had caused the man to become bazar
His empire fell around him
It left his sanity at the brim
It left him to ponder
How old is she today he thought
As he let his mind wonder
He has to see his daughter even though he may get caught
He used what little he had left to find her
He arrived at the door
His mind in a blur
He knocked on the door and waited
And waited
And waited
Nobody answered
Eventually the man had begun to get agitated
He pushed open the door
And saw a red liquid scattered across the floor
The liquid led to a room
He opened the door scared of the impending doom
…
There was a message in blood on the wall
You shouldn’t have crossed me
Now she takes the fall
The man peered around the bed
There she was…
Dead
‘Twas a sorrowful day to have seen his daughter die
Especially for me
The man in a blood red tie...
Spend as much time with your family and those you love for you never know how long you have before they or you are gone.
The Poet is a Madman
by Aimee Lowther
The poet is a madman,
The writer is depressed.
The artist is anxious,
The designer out of rest.
They tell you to create.
To make something different.
Then judge what you make
They’re nothing but ignorant
The poet is a madman,
The writer is depressed.
The artist is anxious,
The designer out of rest.
Your poetry is useless
Just a way to try
To crack open the feelings
You hide in your mind
The poet is a madman,
The writer is depressed.
The artist is anxious,
The designer out of rest.
Your stories are boring
From the beginning to end
The same topic over and over
Love, harm, suicide, then repeat it again
The poet is a madman,
The writer is depressed.
The artist is anxious,
The designer out of rest.
Your art shows no feeling
It's already been done
The cycle of emotions
never has a rest
The poet is a madman,
The writer is depressed.
The artist is anxious,
The designer out of rest.
Your designs show no passion
The colors are lame
You only wish they could see
The horrible ideas in your brain
The poet is a madman,
The writer is depressed.
The artist is anxious,
The designer out of rest.
And yet you still practice
You carve open your brain
As much as your skin
You pour out feelings
And let it begin