Roadkill

Drag me along the asphalt ground by my hair
Stripping my skin clean off
Muscle fibres shredded and torn
Bleached bones like marble spikes erupting
Turn behind and watch the indecisive splatters sputter to a stop
 Leaving only a broken psyche
And a clean driver’s record

Vanessa

The egg.

            ‘Boink!’

         Went the egg,

       On his bum.

      He began to bounce:

     Bumping and jumping

    Up

        and down.

 The egg went blundering all over

and around

The egg tried to run,

              to have some fun,

He did a jig or two,

and a couple of

Stunts.

The kings’ men & horses

 He managed to shun,

 They flashed their guns

  and got him stunned

   He went into a dizzy spell

     until he spun-—

      And this is the end.

        Of H.D.

          the dunce.

It was just too bad he couldn’t get away as he did in front,

For he ended up in the hospice for more than a month.

-A.B.

Mr Manipulator

There are some girls that can't be touched.
And she was one of them.
Already he could feel her gaze blazing on his back (for he was very sensitive when it came to girls), swollen with the foolish desires of a lonely teenage girl, red-hot with fantasies of love. No, no, she wouldn't do. The girl would crack like an egg in his grip.
Still, to feed his smirking ego, he turned abruptly towards her, snatching up her gaze before she ducked her head. Neil shook with contained laughter as the girl buried herself in her studies.
Then his eyes caught sight of something else.
Quickly he assumed his default look. Expertly he shook his hair into style, and flicked the neccessary locks over a blemish he got on his forehead (it was a cut, from a fall after someone's boyfriend shoved him.) Neil did not hurry as he rolled his sleeves halfway up his arms and folded the ends of his shirt - he wanted it to be be obvious to the girls that he only pretended to abide by the rules.
Neil scanned his victim. Socks down low, skirt hoisted up, hair well-conditioned...
A vain one, concluded Neil as he watched her. Her gestures were small, characterized by finger-pointing and hair-twirling. A little smile tugged at one corner of his lips. Vulnerable people excited him.
Her friend looked up at him, giggled and tapped her arm. She twisted around. Fearlessly, he looked her straight in the eyes.
The girl smiled knowingly, lowered her eyes and faced her friends once more. Neil understood. He could spot an invitation anywhere.
So she was vain... and a thrill seeker. Looks like she wouldn't know what hit her. He placed his hands lightly in his pockets and walked over, making sure to tilt his head in appreciation of her rather good looks. The girl noticed his attention and, as he had predicted, floated warmly in it. Her friends looked up and parted for him, giggling irritatingly. With as much exaggeration as he could manage, he ran his sharp eyes over her, noting the diet-tortured wrists and shins. As he looked back up at her face, he spotted a fleck of concealer.
Yes. Yes. This one was perfect.
"Hello." He hid nothing, letting his voice go as low as it could.
"Hi," fluttered the girl.
"Hi," added one of her friends before the rest of them dissolved into giggles of excitement. Neil ignored them. He was not patient and never bothered to fake it.
"I'm Neil. Heard of me?"
"Mr Manipulator," said the girl in a strongly thirsty voice.
Neil hummed in hungry response. His eyes were on her face, but he took special care to glance down every one or two seconds. "Amy."
Shock burst like stars in her eyes. 
"How'd you know my name?"
"Well... Every guy does his research."
Research his foot. Her name was hanging on a keychain from her pocket. The girl bought it, though. Of course she would. She shifted her weight to one foot and smiled wickedly at him. As if she were his equal.
"What do you want, Neil?"
This prompted an automatic, knee-jerk answer. "Honey, there's only one thing that I could ever want."
She giggled. "You're such an evil man, Neil."
"That I am." Truth is he didn't think of himself as anything past a boy, but if the girl thought herself a fine woman then he would have to play along. "Number?"
"I'm not that easy," twittered the girl.
Neil gave a shrug. "Fine, then." He bet he could find out from Facebook. Maybe after he accepts her friend request. "Shall I walk ya' home?" He imitated her and grabbed his shoulder straps, smiling boyishly at her.
"Nah." She indicated the classmates behind her with a slack finger. Neil raised his eyebrows in mocking. Playing hard-to-get was so old-school it surprised him.
"We don't mind if you walk with us," offered one of the girls.
But he did. He liked to do things one-to-one. These were his rules. Either score or don't play.
As he reached for "Amy", he was careful to spot any tension. When tension did come, he moved his hand so that it headed for her shoulder instead of her chin. With a stare engineered to appear more meaningful than it was, he watched her eyes as they darted. She was flustered at his touch.
He had cracked her.
Neil's grip became firm as he pulled her forward. He leant into her ear.
"See ya."
Brief as it was he knew she was affected by the whisper. It was not like he had kissed her, and yet...
The boy took special care not to turn back as he walked away. And because she was watching he widened his strides, faced the breeze from his right and threw a carefree smile to the open sky.
Man, he was evil.
And that was why no one would ever love him.


- Xin

Journey of a story

By Divya 

The legs of an immortal spider skip over the canvas, each of its footsteps etching irreversible spikes of inky black on the blankness. Systematically, the spider moves all the way across the canvas in uniform, straight rows. Every time it reaches the end of its web, it springs back to the other edge of the canvas, starting anew its trek across the vast expanse of empty space.

Such is the journey; the setting being the pages of a book.

Simple blots of ink on a piece or perhaps pieces of paper, yet the thought put into each and every word - and the meaning of the passage as a whole - is profound. An author's work is irrefutably their own; the words that form the river that sweeps the reader along are crafted entirely by their own hands and wit. A book is a world within a world, the only boundaries of a world that knows almost no limits - at least until the book is closed and kept aside.

The journey does not end here, however! Stories that are stored in books come alive in a reader's mind, and continues on in their dreams long after the book has been closed. A book is full of magic, an age-old magic, a magic that stimulates the brain, that niggles at the consciousness, that presses on the hopes and fears of the reader. In a creative, imaginative person, this small idea could grow into an entirely new idea, and another story is born - a story from a story.

Hence, the cycle repeats, one story after another; the spider's journey never ends...

Clockwork

Clockwork

the rod of your absence lodges itself within
the wooden gears in my chest

an hour has spanned a life’s time
i still can’t tell time properly without you

Vanessa Chan

Restaurant

Restaurant


pop open a bottle of champagne and drink in

the mingling of emotions,
broken souls complementing.
the washing away of defenses
vulnerable souls bubbling.

she couldn’t discern back then
what kind of foodie had taken a table to himself

sipping hot soups of butterflies
and gnawing on insecurities,
draining her of all she had to offer on her menu

leaving no scraps left to salvage
on the tabletop bearing fork scratches
and raised rings from the cold condensation
droplets pooling around a tall glass

she fell ill with malnutrition
lying in the dusty corners of his mind
a translucent sack of bones,
still hoping for the rating of five stars that will never arrive

Vanessa Chan

This Ain't A Fairytale World

‘This Ain’t a Fairytale World’

- as told by Swiftseek the Bard 

T’was a fate so sad

The story of little Nessie and her Ted

‘Tis a tragic tale

(Tells) of a Love destined to fail

One which I dare not repeat

Till I’m done, you won’t leave your seat

Loving ain’t a crime

But you’ll know, when I’m done with this rhyme ;

That a loss is a loss,

Fate is something that can’t be forced

One who has died

Cannot be brought back to life

Death is a cunning soul

Not someone who will be swayed by gold

He’ll (swear to) help thine

Then stab you from behind

Poor Nessie was taken by a bout of flu

While (her) Ted managed to pull through

Stricken with grief

He called upon Death

He came and restored her breath

But-

Ted’s joy was short-lived

Death had tricked him, for the soul he did not give

She was an empty shell

Part of her was still in Hell

Ted then gave up his soul for hers

Left this world in a hearse

But his sacrifice was in vain,

For Nessie was slain

By witch-hunters eager for a hunt

Her capture fed them for months

She was burnt alive

A torture worse than any knife

Her ashes strewn over Ted’s grave

The fool who thought she could be saved

And thus, Death claimed them both

So remember:

A loss is a loss,

Fate is something that can’t be forced

One who has died

Cannot be brought back to your side

Death is a cunning soul

Not someone who will be swayed by gold

He’ll (swear to) help thine

Then stab you from behind

Eve

Witches' Brew

Witches' Brew

Eye of a fish and limb of a goat

Fresh pickled eel straight from the moat

Spiders, coackroaches, rats, all fried

Curried something once alive

Boiled pig’s brain and monkey’s too

And other exotic things right from the zoo

Crocodile for the brave at heart

And squirrel (for the not-so brave) plucked from the park

Beetles, bugs, and all things that creep

Slimy things that burp and leap

Puffer fish and porcupine-

Be careful when you dine

For all things poisonous, pray for your fate

For:

It wouldn’t do to be killed by the food on your plate!

Eve

(This is an old one. I came up with it after joking around with some of my Year 3 classmates :D)

The jittery brown bear

The jittery brown bear by Lydia Shu


Hey little teddy
Where r'ya rushing off to?
What's that red book under your arm?
I like how it looks.
It's got this rather... tasty feel.
Don't look so worried!
Come on, give me a smile.
Sorry, didn't catch that.
What was that?
You're late?
Haha hey don't get so flustered!
Calm those springy feet of yours.
I'll give you a lift.
Come, hop on up!
That's it, brown bear.
Still got your book?
Hold tight!

Mafia Morality

Mafia Morality by Emily Blackburn

They were part of a tribe, a very exclusive tribe, which many of their fellow brothers had devoted their entire lives to. Commitment was the key; service was the method of execution. Many who joined had died throughout their stay, some for good causes, others for unknown ones. But it was clear to most, that the Sicilian[1] Mafia, were certainly not a bunch of people whom you wanted to get in trouble with. Notoriously known as the “Cosa Nostra[2]”, they valued brotherhood above anything else. They were loyal and courageous, though many would have said that such noble and worthy values were put to bad use. Those who were found guilty of treason and betrayal were said to have died a horrible death, as that was the penalty for breaking the time-honored code. Life in the Cosca[3] was complex, you never knew who was above you in the system, only who was below. Information was exchanged quickly, efficiently and discreetly, allowing everything to run smoothly and objectively. However, in the event that a member had valued money over the secrecy of such operations, the consequences would have been disastrous, not only for the person himself but for the clan. Such people were a disgrace, and disgraces were eliminated immediately for the sake of the tribe as a whole…

“Explain yourself. What was your price?” he asked in a calm and composed voice. Such interrogations usually started off like this. The Consigliere[4] took his time, slowly slithering towards him, like a python waiting to constrict his prey in the split second he faltered. “The stubborn bastardo[5]”, he thought to himself. There was a burning passion in many of those who served; they just weren’t allowed to express such strong feelings. Goals and objectives had to be met and they were not prepared to let anything stand in their way from completing their missions. “I didn’t give him anything. I didn’t utter a word. He just…just…we… said that…” Giovanni’s speech drifted into a series of incoherent phrases. His muscles were tense and he felt like he was going to throw up. Wondering whether he would be able to get himself out of this mess alive, he said a prayer to the Virgin Mary, silently proclaiming that he would do anything for her if he managed to get off scot-free.

“What did, we, say?” the interrogator asked, placing a great deal of emphasis on the ‘we’. He spat it out in pure disgust, as if the mere thought of being associated with such vermin was the most undesirable thing in the world that could happen to him. He shot a menacing glance at the two other gang members who were standing in the alleyway, forbidding them to do anything that would let their friend escape from his impending death. Giovanni calculated his chances. The odds were that the boss probably had a dozen other men lined-up behind the walls; ready to attack once the order or cue was given. However, if he could distract the interrogator and stall for time, he might just be able to make a quick break for the main road or any other escape route that seemed feasible. He stared piercingly into the eyes of his interrogator and replied, “I did not accept any bribe.” He knew that this in itself was a lie, a lie as fake as the replica dragon tattoos which he had on his chest, arms and legs to make him look more overpowering than he really was. But admitting to his crime was a sure death sentence, and that was the surely the wrong move to make. He thought of his precious wife and children, who knew nothing about his underworld connections. What was he going to say to them? How would they accept it? A million thoughts and questions ran through Giovanni’s mind, but none of them as important as what he was focusing on at the moment: to survive this whole episode and start a new life. He regretted not skipping town earlier, for they would not have been able to trace him under the false identity he would have undertaken. With the money he had gained from the sale of the information, his family wouldn’t have to worry about finances for the next fifty years of their lives. He recalled the grin of satisfaction on his wife’s face when he told her that he had made a bomb from his recent business venture. “Business venture indeed”, he thought. But staring back at him were no longer his wife’s light blue irises; instead, it was the interrogator, with a twisted smile on his pudgy face.

“A tough cookie, aye?” He said sarcastically with a smirk. “You should know better than I who you’re messing with here, big boy. The mafia isn’t exactly a confectionary store where you’re allowed to stick your filthy paws in our candy.” The Interrogator was not pleased. Most of the people whom he squeezed confessions out of were breaking down by now. Yet he still saw that questioning had no effect on Giovanni, it just made the little squirt even more determined not to admit to his crime. In a fit of anger, he shoved Giovanni up against the wall and snarled, “Just take responsibility for your crime like a man, dude!” Giovanni thought that the interrogator sounded desperate, for he just wanted to get his job over and done with. He saw this as his chance, to make a quick dash towards the stairwell, which was about ten feet away from both of them. But he first needed to get the interrogator literally off his chest, for he was nearly suffocating from the pressure his large frame put on him. He was so dangerously close to his own lean and toned body.

“You think you’ve got all the authority and control, don’t you, hotshot? You use underhand methods to get people to confess to treason and corruption, thinking that you’re always doing the right thing. Well get this straight buddy, you’re not.” The interrogator took a step back, and Giovanni felt the grip on his shoulders soften. He had twenty more seconds before he would sprint away and survive what awaited him if he continued to drag on and on. Giovanni reached out and gently placed his palm on the interrogator’s left chest. He felt a muscle tense underneath and knew that the interrogator was certainly on his guard. He decided to continue with this charade. “Look back on your moral values, your pride, and maybe, just maybe, you ought to reflect on your repulsive behavior. That might give you more apt definition of morality.”

He smirked to himself. He might actually manage to get away with this. He thought about the riches, the flamboyant and extravagant lifestyle that he could indulge in soon. The money he used to rake in was never enough. A small fry like him could never earned enough in the business to please his dear Francesca. She was the bright and vibrant moon in his dark and cloudy sky, giving him passion and drive to do the things that lead him to the farthest corners of the Earth. “She, makes everything, worthwhile.” Giovanni thought to himself. He thought about the times, he lightly caressed her at night, and she told him about her dreams. They planned to migrate to Canada, to escape from all the madness. He knew it was extremely risky but for his beautiful Francesca, he had no qualms about following through with his plans. But enough of that for now, he had to get out of this mess once and for all.

The smell of cigarette smoke lingered in his nostrils.  The interrogator was breathed over him and Giovanni made a subconscious attempt to control his pulsating heart. “Why do we even bother with people like him, Capo[6]. This dog has no pride. He is a piece of scum, with no regard for his brothers.” The unexpected comment came from one of his subordinates, Olivero, who seldom spoke up on matters like these. But then again, he was in no position to say anything, and his remarks drifted out of his head just as soon as they had come in.

Giovanni saw this as his chance and shoved the interrogator back against the wall, causing him to stumble back a few steps. He made a quick dash towards the stairwell, running as fast as his two legs would carry him. “I’m going to make it.” he thought, and But tragically, that was not fast enough. The interrogator realized that he had been tricked and in the blink of an eye, his reflexes kicked in. He drew his Beretta[7] from his coat and fired two shots. As soon as the bullets ripped through his body, Giovanni collapsed to the ground, gasping and reaching for the stairwell in his dying moments, before expiring. He had not managed to survive the final showdown.

The interrogator walked up the steps and checked him for his pulse. Zero, that was good. No confession, but his mission had been accomplished anyway. Who was Giovanni to preach about morality? This was the Mafia for Christ sakes! “Pal, you had the wrong idea the whole time. There are only two morals – Loyalty and Honor. Violate any of these and you have to go, simple as that…” he said to himself.

---

[1] An island of southern Italy in the Mediterranean Sea.

[2] Another name for the Italian Mafia, a criminal syndicate. Italian for “Our Thing”.

[3] Sicilian for clan. Derived from plants with spiny, closely folded leaves symbolizing the tightness of relationships between members of the Mafia.

[4] A leader of an organized crime syndicate

[5] Italian for bastard.

[6] A caporegime or capodecina, usually shortened to just a capo, is a term used in the Mafia for a high ranking made member of a crime family who heads a "crew" of soldiers and has major social status and influence in the organization.

[7] An Italian firearms manufacturer.