Creative Writing





The Red Notebook by Paul Auster.

I picked up The Red Notebook by Paul Auster in a charity shop because the Literary Review said that it ‘bears testimony to Auster’s sense of the metaphysical elegance of life and art.’ This was enough for me. I bought the book and completed it within a few hours. I found myself wanting to go back to re-read passages; a sign that this was going to be a favourite. My version includes short essays and an interview with Paul Auster which I would wholeheartedly recommend reading.

I Think Of.

Most of my memories are repressed inside my veins; sometimes they come to the surface affecting the functionality of my organs, coercing the mind to remember.

I think of cats strolling along hospital corridors in Pakistan, being terrified each time the doctor opened the door. I remember injections, the permanent headache, riding on the back of a motorbike at midnight through dim-lit streets and the calls of elderly gentlemen alone in the dark.

Rando: a Photograph For a Stranger.

A few days ago, I downloaded an app with an interesting concept. It is called ‘Rando’ and if used correctly, could prove to be quite astounding.

You begin with taking a photograph using your phone and pressing send. This photo is then sent to a completely random person who could be anywhere in the world. There is no way of knowing who will receive the image or where it will end up. Upon receiving the picture, this stranger will then respond with their own photograph. That’s it, a momentary exchange between two strangers. There is no correspondence after this exchange or any way to find out who the receiver is. The only information that is provided is a general location that has been pinpointed on a map. The app also doesn't have any options to like or favourite pictures, it is just you and this stranger, in each other’s worlds for a transitory moment.

Home by Warsan Shire.

This breaks my heart into pieces every time.

Branches of The Same Old Tree.

It's amazing how much changes, even when we think it's all the same. It's only when you put everything together that you notice the evolution of self.


Keep Relying On Dead Stars.

The fog reminded us that purgatory was close, retinas taking nothing but our palms.

Moving our fingertips, carving names onto glass,
we disguised them with our breath, finding our way back.

I think we’re alone now,’ I said. ‘I can hear the angels.’

The Change of a Century.

I was waiting in line for my coffee.

I looked around and noticed two teenage girls at a table. One girl positioned her coffee on the table and the other took a picture of it with her phone. The angle wasn’t good enough; she instructed the other girl to move it.  

Withdrawal Symptoms (An Ode to Kafka).

You regret staying up last night talking to whatever her name was; she wasn’t worth the excruciating headache that you’re now suffering with. You need coffee; it’s all you can think about. As soon as your mind becomes aware that you’re awake, it reiterates the word 'coffee' until its desire is fulfilled. Today is no exception. 

You enter the kitchen and your heart begins to panic; there is an empty space where your coffee machine usually resides. How could a coffee machine possibly vanish? Maybe you’ve been robbed? You wonder why the burglars overlooked the supreme rapture of technology in the other rooms; in fact nothing else appears to have been taken. 


If Only I Could See - Short Story.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Melrose, attempting to identify the unfamiliar sounds around her. Rocks? Birds? Water? Where am I?

‘Stop panicking woman! I think the coach may have possibly … driven off. That’s all,’ said Travis, calmly. He felt her presence beside him; her heels clicking a soothing rhythm against the rocks. She only did this when she was nervous; it gave her something to focus on.

Night by Elie Wiesel.

I have been reading a lot about the Holocaust recently. A few weeks ago, I read Night by Elie Wiesel which is a young boy’s account of his survival in the concentration camps.

As I read through the atrocity, I found these lines that ripped my heart into morsels of flesh:

The Alchemist Conspiracy.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho is an international bestseller. Having sold more than 30 million copies, it has also been translated into over 60 languages. It has been identified as a life-changing piece of literature that moves and touches the lives of anybody that reads it. This not only heightens one’s expectations of the book but also prompts one with an urgency to read it.


Man’s Search For Meaning, by Viktor E. Frankl.

Every now and then, I come across a book that resonates deeply within my bones. A book made up of words that do not truly leave my blood, pages that turn themselves in my dreams, characters that I pass on the street, a subtext that reverberates into the universe. The echo of literature is a global phenomenon; it runs through the streams, rests amid the grass and pervades the air until everything is whole.

Man’s Search For Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl is one of the most profound pieces of work that I have ever come across. It is an amalgamation of philosophy entwined with accounts of Frankl’s survival in four different concentration camps during World War Two. It not only explicates his daily life in the horrific concentration camps, but also the way in which he found a means of coping.
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