Read me - if you dare
I.
It was shortly after midnight, in the third day of spring, when Yana took her final breath before she lived again.
The night was still in expectation, the trees heavy with rain. Scattered across the vast blackness of the clear sky, the stars were looking down at Rila and all the life that was to be. And the life that would not be. Spring had come. White feet gently pressing against the melting ice, approaching. The woodlands had begun their transformation.
In the stillness of the woodland world, a song was carried in the air. A song of lamentation. Bruised and broken, torn clothes soaked in blood and coldness, Yana mourned, through sobs and pain, her purity and youth.
If you can hear me, dear daughter,
don’t you fret, do not give in
If you can hear me, dear daughter,
loveless you shall not remain,[1] --
Tears were rolling down both corners of her eyes as Yana’s voice grew quiet. Her final strength had left her and her lament would remain unfinished, like her life. She lay silent on her back, numb in pain, passing, but unwilling to close her eyes and let the visions of her violation be the last thing in her conscious mind. She thought of birds instead, and of beautiful brown eyes watching and marvelling at the flocks of storks and swallows flying by over the fields – her little brother. For him, she tried to whisper a final blessing, but her breath never took the shape of words. A mere sight. Then nothing. Yana’s eyes, wide open, remained looking at the stars, unblinking and no longer seeing in this world.
[1] This is a translation of a real dedication inscribed on a gravestone found in the foothills of Pirin. I have altered it slightly so that it rhymes and reads smoother in English.
I have come to the end of me. I find no interest in living anymore. No stories, no people, no purpose.
Life is boring.
I get up from the sofa and look back at my assprint on the cushion. I’ve been sitting my whole life, so now I’m ready to fly. It’s about time, too, and it’s only fair.
Walking to the kitchen, I think of the same old shit of the same old everyday; putting up with this world and its people has left me drained and numb. I’ve been doing this life sentence for too long – breathe in an out, just breathe, so that I can survive one more day, one more week, one more year, but there’s nothing to look forward to. Nothing, except death.
Time for a prison break.
Living in the past is my only place of peace. My memories are all I have and that’s okay. It’s okay … but for how long? And do I want to lead a life without a present? A life without a future? No, not anymore and it is up to me. It’s all up to me and it always has been.
A decision. And I have made it – to end my life. How exciting! Finally something to look forward to, a change. And then … who knows.
Mr. Krul was angry again. He hated when children arrived late for class, and even more so when they arrived late for class completely soaked. Now, that was an unacceptable combination.
Zathrian stood by the door in the corner of his classroom – wetter than a fish – and wished he was anywhere else but there. He was scared to look at Mr. Krul’s angry face, so, instead, he looked down at the small rainwater puddle that was forming underneath him.
All the fourteen children in the classroom were quieter than ever. In fact, it was so quiet that Zathrian could hear the water from his soggy jacket dripping onto the floor. He didn’t look up, but he could feel all those fourteen pairs of eyes were staring right at him. He knew what they were thinking: ‘Boy, is he in trouble!’
Even the round, black clock on the wall seemed like it was scolding – it ticked louder than Zathrian had ever heard it. ‘Tick-tock, tick-tock, you’re-late, tick-tock’
‘This is even worse than the last time’, Zathrian thought. He wished someone would say something. Anything.
NEW BY
TEYA Z.
DANCER
The second edition of Jason Conway's arts magazine Steel Jackdaw will feature more amazing work by artist of different creative fields, and I am honoured and excited to be one of them. The magazines' main mission is to publish 'the work of creatives that do what they can to make the world a better place.' Additionally, 10% of each purchased edition goes in support of two charities - one environmental and one social.
In Gratia Cantantes
By Teya Z. Dancer
Linden trees and sunny streets
Happy people and simple dreams
The smell of sea and watermelons.
His bright green eyes and loving smile
The winter wind with all its might
His cold, white face – a final sight.
NTU's 2020 Creative Writing Anthology includes colourful creative work by writers and poets - lecturers and MA students - who explore and question the theme of 'connections'. Cover design and illustration by Kimlee Wilson-Miller.
Being ostracised has never been easy. Not if you care about it and, let’s face it, we care about it. But why?
Why do we care when we are being ostracised by people we couldn’t care less about? The same people we know to be easily affected by the media, easily swayed the way they are wanted to point, painfully phoney and boring because they are manufactured to fit in.
Why do we care?
It should be a compliment – an honour, even – when the idiots of the world dislike us. In fact, we should start to worry if they didn’t ostracise us, if they liked us … yes, we should really worry then because it would mean we’ve lost our way.
Being disliked is good.
It means we are different. It means we are our own individual. Honest, proud, unswayable and everything that means the opposite of suggestible. And let’s not forget a wise man’s words: ‘the further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those who speak it’.
We’ll never be right in a world full of wrong. Yet, we are right.
⅏ CHAPTER ONE ⅏
Polina Gray and the ‘D’ word
In a world where everyone was pretty
And those who frowned inspired no pity
There lived a little girl who had an ugly smile
But no one wanted to admit that for a while.
They pretended that it wasn’t true –
That all smiles in their perfect world were as beautiful as dew
And that no matter what she thinks,
‘Not smiling simply stinks.’
And so, for years, she was forced to smile
Until, one day, the pretty people sent her to exile
Because her very ugly smile
Had forced the girl into a horrible lifestyle.