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Creative Writing

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Literature

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Travel

Finding Love With Insomnia - Short Story.


The time on your malicious alarm clock alerts you that you should still be sleeping. Sadly your body seems to disagree. You lay awake, your eyes fixated on the sinister ceiling. You begin to wonder why nobody has invented ceiling posters; something to look at to help you sleep. You think that it sounds like a feasible product and you begin to devise a business plan in your head. Your mind wonders off into the world of tax and numerical figures. It stresses you out so you disregard the idea. You continue to stare at the ceiling and tell yourself that tomorrow you will wake up and do something about animating the ceiling. Secretly you know that it won’t happen but you like the satisfaction of being able to convince yourself that it will. 
1

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.  
2

Writing in the Margins.


Writing is a preservation of memories, a sea of reminiscence, a sky of shining stars that coalesce to construct beauty. Words can build and destroy, terrify and weaken, heighten and inspire. They are an amalgamation of imagination and reality, the lines having been blurred. Sometimes when I want to write, my mind disciplines my hand. The pen moves with grace and captures the fragility of moments, preserving memories and sustaining their existence in a tangible moment. The lines write me, they define the person that I am; they are the road to self-discovery, paving the path to finding myself. Words tell me secrets about myself that I do not know. They distinguish the details that the mirror does not exhibit. There are times when I write solely to fill the pages and other occasions where I must write to liberate my soul.
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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. 

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Eleanor Rigby.


She washed her hands with great concentration, as if washing away remnants of sin. Her hands gave away no signs of ageing but something about them reminded me of the nurse that had worked at my childhood doctor’s surgery, hands that were tender and comforting. She glanced at herself in the mirror, almost by accident, but something caught her attention and she began to lose her gaze in her own reflection. She stared into the teary eyes, lost behind thick lashes. I found myself intrigued by this woman. She had suffered; I could feel it in my bones. There was a sense of sadness in her aura but I knew in that moment that there was no way to comprehend the depth of her melancholy. She was covered in battle scars, manifesting in her eyes.

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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.
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The Validity of Feeling.


Emotions are an interesting thing. We spend our entire lives attempting to control and manipulate them into coinciding with the invisible instruction manual that dictates how one should feel in a given situation.

Our feelings are capricious and we feel something before we are even able to recognise what it is. We as humans attempt to defy this by analysing a specific situation, determining the appropriate emotion and then feeling it. We often experience a sense of guilt when we feel a certain way that may be deemed as unsuitable for a certain circumstance. Sometimes we may feel things that other people will call irrational. But is any emotion irrational? Is there a right way to feel?
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