This annual contest is sponsored by St. Clair College.
Congratulations to this year’s winning entries! Winners were invited to read at BookFest Windsor this year and did a great job. Read on:
Bloodletting
You are a hoarder of animal facts,
and they’re not exactly the ones you’d expect;
Did you know butterflies are occasional cannibals?
Their brethren are easier to digest
Than the world they were born into,
Simpler to eliminate
It makes it easier to survive.
Starfish are sea stars, and
all their vital organs are located in their limbs.
They can grow back limbs. And potentially bodies.
They can regrow the important parts of themselves
To be whole again.
—
At nine years old, you read “Ruby.”
You remember when your aunt gave it to you:
She kneels down beside you in the kids section at Chapters
And tells you it is about magic and demons.
She says the summary sounds promising,
But she already had you at magic.
She didn’t realize it was in the adult section.
—
You realize, at nine, that people
Are much like butterflies and sea stars.
—
A nickname of yours when you were young was elephant.
It wasn’t particularly creative,
But it was your favourite animal,
And you had one named Ivory whose gender you now forgot
You discover later that elephants
Are pregnant for 22 months.
You discover that elephants
Mourn and sometimes bury their dead.
You can’t fathom
being depended on and
being vulnerable for so long.
You can’t fathom
being capable of such grief.
Dragons become your favourite animal.
—
You love the colour of deoxygenated blood.
It suits your brand of morbid
And it isn’t happy enough to burn your retinas.
You should probably make an effort
To be more palatable,
But you can’t bring yourself to care enough.
Plus, dragons are frequently described
with the blood of those they felled on their maw.
—
Your father and mother are among those
who successfully escaped.
You know about the war, but you don’t know enough.
You don’t know your mother’s duty to family,
You don’t know your father hiding in the riverbanks after another failed attempt,
You don’t know fear crawling up your throat,
Just to hold you close enough you think you can escape.
Your mother’s family have cut themselves in the middle,
Separated first by an ocean and now resentment,
And you don’t know what she did
To deserve you being a regrown lost part.
Your father,
Finally out but not yet in the clear,
Sits in a camp in Thailand
with knife and unsteady hand,
And begins to cut out his tongue.
He will grow back a new one that knows new words,
He will grow back the family and friends he left behind,
But in leaving in the stubs of these appendages
He leaves himself ghosts and memories.
You don’t know enough about your starfish parents and their starfish blood.
—
Male redback spiders willingly offer
their bodies to their lover while mating.
They flip their abdomens into the mouth of the female,
And you wonder what evolutionary measures it took
For masochism to become instinct.
—
At nine years old, you read a book about magic and demons and knowing.
But these are not the storybook monsters you recognize.
At nine years old, you learn about sexual abuse and pedophilia.
You learn people can be so horrific to each other.
You learn there is more than one way to kill someone.
You learn those closest to you can tear you apart,
Tear your lungs away from your heart
Bind your hands and feet together,
Their conscience no heavier than a feather
And you don’t know why
Your heart doesn’t sink with that knowledge.
You accept it as fact.
Cuttlefish are sneaky SOBs, butterflies are cannibals, and humans are cruel.
—
The next day you read a book about dragons
—
Vultures consume dead flesh
the way you consume your father’s memories,
Grabbing, grasping, ravenous,
Asking questions you didn’t bother with when you could,
Questions you probably never would’ve bothered with beforehand.
So you tear at whatever remnant you can find,
Memories not yet dead long enough
To become pungent.
You lay there,
With dead flesh in your mouth,
Hoping that swallowing will bring grief,
Hoping you deserve to remember,
Hoping no one will notice you didn’t care enough
Because he’s coming back, right?
He’ll walk through the door
and you’ll go back to
not caring—you’ve nearly perfected this art.
—
Audience, consume her.
Rip her open
She is offering herself to you
Cut out her stomach:
Here is all the dead flesh she swallowed too late,
All the grief she wishes she could feel,
Cloying and sweet and sickening—
Steal this addiction from her.
Take her dead flesh in your hands, Audience,
And excise this part of her.
Let her regrow the parts of herself
That stop her from being whole
Let me be whole.
Take me like the butterflies.
Here,
Here is my heart.
Take it from me, I don’t want it.
I’ll grow back a sweeter one,
One less suited for
(and better guarded against)
This world.
Starfish must be in my genes somewhere.
1st place prize, English 14+ Category
Nicole Bernard, Assumption College Catholic High School
Excuses
We all walked into class that morning
The sun was smiling – its rays were beaming right on me!
Nothing could go wrong on a day like this…
But then my teacher said, “Students. Take out your homework.”
The clouds rolled in. The sky became grey,
And a thunderstorm settled right above me.
I needed to think. My mind started turning. Then churning and burning
The excuses flashed through like lightning. Which one should I pick?
I dropped it in the pool. My brother brought it to preschool.
I left it at my Grandma’s house. It went in the wash with my blouse.
My teacher’s eyes began to roll. I could tell she didn’t buy it.
A tornado swept it away! A hawk took it as its prey!
A dinosaur ate it for its meal! It got crushed by a monster truck’s wheel!
My hamster used it for its nest—
“Stop!” My teacher spoke sternly.
“I don’t have time for 400 of your stories today.”
“Alright,” I confessed.
“I sent it through a time machine. It should arrive in 5000 years.”
1st place prize, English 10-13 Category
Cassia Lavoie, École St. Jean Baptiste
Fière et Francophone!
De 1615 à aujourd’hui,
il y a eu du français en Ontario.
De Samuel de Champlain à nous maintenant,
nous continuons notre culture, notre langue.
Vert et blanc, trille at fleur-de-lys
ce sont tous parties de notre culture de notre vie.
D’Haïti, d’Asie, d’Europe et ici,
toutes francophones en Ontario.
N’importe quel couleur de peau,
regardons tous notre beau drapeau.
Tenu par le vent,
hissons-le toujours plus haut!
Ca montre notre fierté, notre langue, comment on vit.
Le français, une langue ancienne,
montrant notre fierté a travers le monde.
Chansons, vêtements, poèmes,
toutes façons de montre qu’on est franco.
Livres, sites Web, journaux et dictionaires,
français en Ontario pour 400 ans!
1st place prize, French 10-13 Category
Catherine Andary, École Sainte Marguerite d’Youville
The Lost Reindeer
Once upon a time Santa was getting ready for Christmas. Santa was setting up the sleigh and the reindeers. One of the reindeers named Present was late, so she said “Santa, wait for me. I just need to put on my new sparkly pink collar.” Santa couldn’t hear Present so he left. Dan-Dan-Dan. Five minutes later Present went outside and found that Santa forgot her.
She found some tracks from the sleigh and followed them. Then Santa wondered “Hmmm… I feel like I forgot something. Maybe I should count the reindeers.” Ten minutes later Santa said “Present I can’t believe I forgot you.”
Then Santa said “Reindeers to the North Pole fast!” Eight minutes later Santa realized that Present wasn’t at the North Pole. So he decided to look everywhere.
In the meantime with Present the tracks ended so she went back to the North Pole. But it was too dark. She couldn’t see.
She decided to go straight. She kept on going straight. She walked up a hill. And because she couldn’t see she hit a tree then rolled down the hill screaming “AAAAAAHHH!” She arrived at a house with two kids. Eleanor said “Hey Parker, I see a reindeer outside.” Then Parker said “C’mon Eleanor. It’s just your imagination.” Eleanor said “Why won’t you come over here and look?” Then Parker said “Okay” in a whining way. Parker said “Oh my goodness. It’s true! There is a reindeer outside.” Eleanor said “I told you.” Parker and Eleanor walked down the stairs, opened the door, and asked her “Are you a real reindeer?”
Present responded “Of course.” Parker said “If you’re a real reindeer then what are you doing here?” Present said “Santa forgot me by accident.” Present walked into the house. Eleanor said “What’s your name?” “Present” the reindeer said. Eleanor and Parker said “Well, Present, our names are….” Present interrupted the kids and said “Eleanor and Parker.”
Eleanor said “How did you know?” Present said “I know all the kids in the world.” Parker said “So Present, how can we help you to find Santa again?” Present said, “Well, do you have a microscope, magnifying glass or telescope?” Parker said, “Oh, we do have a telescope.” Present said “Can I use it please?” Parker said “Yes.” Present looked in the telescope and found Santa looking for her and calling her name.
Then Present shouted “I can see Santa! Thank you Eleanor and Parker for helping me.” Then Eleanor and Parker said “You’re welcome.” Present said “Because of your help you will get a lot more presents this Christmas.” Parker and Eleanor said “Thank you! We will be here whenever you need us.” Then Present opened the door, left with a smile and said “Santa, I finally found you.” Santa and Present hugged each other really tight. Santa said “Present, I’m so sorry that I forgot you.” Present said “It’s okay. I forgive you.” Then they continued their deliveries.
The End.
1st place prize, English 6-9 Category
Valerie Guzman, École Monseigneur Jean-Noël
400 Ideas
I had 400 stories in my head for this poem
They were all mish mashed in my brain
Which one should I pick? Which one should I pick?
How about the story about the tiger who was pacing in the zoo at closing time?
No… that wouldn’t work. What would I say?
That he looked ferocious and hungry
And that his staring eyes said that he wanted to eat me?
Nah! What about the story about when I went snorkeling
And the waters were so clear I saw shimmering sharks. They were teeny tiny.
But what could I describe for that story?
The eels that glided in the sparkling sun? No! That would be boring.
Aarggh! Nothing’s coming to me! I can’t think of anything else.
What about the time that I met my first friend. Would that make a good story?
I could say it felt really nice, like eating a yummy cake with my favourite icing.
NO! I got nothing! Oh well. I guess poetry’s not my thing.
2nd place prize, English 6-9 Category
Keir Lavoie, École St. Jean Baptiste
Any Way You Say It!
I say maple leaf, you say feuille d’erable.
I say maple syrup, you say sirop d’erable.
I say snow, you say neige.
I say snowman, you say bonhomme de neige.
I say Quebec Winter Carnival, you say Carnival de Quebec.
I say together, you say ensemble.
3rd place prize, English 6-9 Category
Noa Runnalls, Maranatha Christian Academy
Jacques Cartier
Premier, Aventureux
Échapper, Voyager, Rechercher
Découvrir des endroits au Canada
Explorateur
1st place prize, French 6-9 Category
Ikosa Ohanmu, Maranatha Christian Academy
Theme For 2015: 400 Stories, or 400 Years of Francophone Presence in Ontario ontario400.ca
SEND YOUR ENTRIES TO:
BookFest Windsor Student Writing Contest
c/o Department of Continuing Education
St. Clair College
2000 Talbot Road West
Windsor ON N9A 6S4
or by e-mail to [email protected]
For more information, contact [email protected] or visit “BookFest Windsor Student Writing Contest” on Facebook. Good luck to all contestants!
CONTEST RULES
Eligibility: Any student currently enrolled at the Grade 1 through 12 level in Essex County and not older than 19 years of age as of the submission deadline.
ENTRIES:
• Submit either a poem or a short story. Poems may have any style or length. Short stories may be up to 500 words. Your submission must relate to the themes of 400 Stories or 400 Years of Francophone Presence in Ontario.
• Submissions must be your original work, previously unpublished.
• Submissions may be in either English or French.
• Each student may submit up to three pieces for the contest.
• Do not include your name on the same page(s) as your poem or short story.
• For each entry, include one cover page that lists your name, your age, your school (unless you are home-schooled), mailing address, telephone number, and e-mail address if applicable.
WINNERS:
• Winners will be contacted in September 2015.
• While we appreciate all contest entries, only prize winners will be contacted.
• All award-winning works will be published on our web site, www.bookfestwindsor.com. Participation in this contest equals consent to have your winning piece published online.
• The contest winners will be eligible to read their work at BookFest Windsor in October 2015.
• Each winner will receive a cash prize and other gift items.
Age Categories:
Ages 6–9, 10-13, and 14+
Contest Deadline:
Tuesday, June 30th, 2015
Envoyez vos soumissions à :
Concours d’écriture à l’intention des élèves
c/o Department of Continuing Education
St. Clair College
2000 Talbot Road West
Windsor ON N9A 6S4
ou par courriel à [email protected]
Pour d’autres renseignements, contactez [email protected] ou visitez la page Facebook, “BookFest Windsor Student Writing Contest.” Bonne chance à tous!
Réglement du Concours :
Admissibilité : Tous les élèves de la 1re à la 12e année actuellement scolarisés dans le comté d’Essex et âgés de moins de 19 ans au moment de la date de soumission.
Soumissions :
• Vous pouvez soumettre un poème ou une nouvelle.
Les poèmes n’ont pas de limite de longueur et peuvent avoir n’importe quelle forme. Les nouvelles ne peuvent pas dépasser 500 mots.
Vos textes doivent être reliés aux thèmes des 400 histoires ou 400 ans de la présence francophone en Ontario.
• Les oeuvres doivent être des productions originales, jamais publiées.
• Les textes peuvent être soumis en français ou en anglais.
• Chaque élève peut soumettre jusqu’à trois textes.
• N’indiquez pas votre nom sur la page de votre poème ou de votre nouvelle.
• Chaque texte soumis doit inclure une page couverture comprenant votre nom, votre âge, votre école (à moins que vous soyez scolarisé à la maison), une adresse postale, un numéro de téléphone, et une adresse de courriel le cas échéant.
Gagnants :
• Les gagnants seront contactés en septembre 2015.
• Nous vous remercions pour votre participation, mais seuls les gagnants seront contactés.
• Tous les textes gagnants seront publiés sur notre site Web www.bookfestwindsor.com. En participant à ce concours, les gagnants consentent à ce que leur texte
soit publié en ligne.
• Les gagnants du concours auront la chance de lire leur production lors du BookFest Windsor en octobre 2015.
• Chaque gagnant recevra un prix en argent et d’autres cadeaux.
Catégories d’âge :
6–9 ans,
10-13 ans, et 14 ans et plus
Date limite du concours :
le mardi 30 juin 2015
Thank you to all the entrants, and congratulations to the winners of the 2014 contest!
Photo credits: Sanja Frkovic
Here are the winning entries:
Keir Lavoie, École St. Jean Baptiste
1st place prize (Age 6-9 Category, French Language)
“Le Miroir Enchanté”
Parfois, j’imagine que je peux aller dans le miroir.
Et je peux aller dans un monde plein de bonbons, d’argent, etcetera.
Et la meilleure partie est qu’il y a d’autres miroirs là,
et que tu peux aller dans différents mondes.
Et des fois, ces autres mondes sont comme des parcs,
avec toutes sortes de choses pour jouer.
Et quand c’est le temps de rentrer,
tu dois trouver un miroir qui dit :
« Va à la maison. »
Keir Lavoie, École St. Jean Baptiste
3rd place prize (Age 6-9 Category, English Language)
“Mirror”
When I look into Mirror
I see myself and other people
Mirror shows everything around me.
Sometimes Mirror shows me black shadows
In myself and other people
Mirror, I’m sorry I spit on you
When I brushed my teeth.
Cassia Lavoie, École St. Jean Baptiste
1st place prize (Age 10-13 Category, French Language)
“Le Miroir Futur”
Parfois je me regarde dans le miroir,
Et je me vois comme une adulte.
Grande, fière et mature,
J’ai un calepin dans ma main.
Deux enfants courent autour de moi,
Je suis leur maman, et je suis en charge.
Un docteur, c’est mon métier, avec beaucoup de patients,
Prête à les aider.
Je suis une fonceuse, je suis une guérisseuse,
Et je suis en charge.
Swwwooooshhhh!
Je reviens dans ma chambre,
Et je réalise que mon temps d’adulte
est dans vraiment longtemps,
Pourquoi ne pas m’amuser comme un enfant?
Puise, je me regarde une autre fois
Et c’est une petite fille que je vois.
Katrina Lapensee, St. John Vianney School
2nd place prize (Age 6-9 Category, English Language)
“The Mirror”
I look in the mirror
And I put on my make-up
And blush.
And a happy face smiles at me.
Livia Nie, Sandwich West Public School
1st place prize (Age 6-9 Category, English Language)
“The Mirror”
Every day, I like to look at myself in the mirror. I like styling my hair. I can spend hours in front of the mirror to learn how to do French braids or other styles to make myself pretty.
One day, I woke up and felt strange on my left eye. I looked in the mirror and I saw a huge, ugly, hideous bump on my eye.
I went to my mom and said in a sad voice, “Mom, look at this.”
My mom jumped so high that she bumped herself on the ceiling.
“Mom, are you okay?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
I started to cry because I looked weird and scary. I couldn’t open my left eye completely. I didn’t want to go to school. What would my friends say to me if they saw my eye? I wanted to break that mirror. Actually I wanted to break all the mirrors in the world because I looked so horrible in the mirror.
My mom tried to calm me down. She said, “It doesn’t matter. Nobody’s perfect. Nobody looks perfect. As long as you have a pretty heart, you’re always a pretty girl.”
“But mom, I don’t want to have an eye like this.”
“Everything happens for a reason,” my mom said.
“What reason can it be?” I wondered, as I was looking at myself again in the mirror.
Suddenly, I got an idea. I ran to my mom. “Mom, mom,” I shouted, “remember I want to write a story for that writing contest. The title is ‘The Mirror.’ I haven’t started it because I didn’t know what to write. Now I have an idea.”
“See, I told you,” my mom smiled.
“Everything happens for a reason,” both of us repeated.
“Jinks,” I added.
I went to school with a happy face. I didn’t worry what my friends would say about my eye. Although I didn’t look wonderful in the mirror, I felt wonderful in my heart because I knew what to write for the writing contest.
Jordynn Boycott, Maranatha Christian Academy
3rd place prize (Age 10-13 Category, English Language)
“The Mirror”
My dog has a serious problem.
He likes this one mirror in our house.
He doesn’t like anyone touching it.
He bites and growls until we leave.
My dog has a serious problem.
He dances and prances in front of that mirror.
He howls and barks until he can’t,
And when he can’t, he sleeps next to that mirror.
My dog has a serious problem.
I’m pretty sure he dreams of that mirror.
He howls and dances while he sleeps.
He wakes me up every single night.
Really, seriously, my dog has a severe problem.
I wish I had picked a different dog.
My dog never plays with me,
And he doesn’t chase cats or make friends.
My dog isn’t normal.
I have no idea why he likes that mirror.
Maybe he thinks he’s handsome,
But I don’t know, I will never understand dogs.
My dog is weird but all my friends want to see him.
He throws quite a show,
Barking and dancing and howling and prancing,
Well, I guess I could accept that fact.
Megan Bornais, École Ste-Marguerite d’Youville
2nd place prize (Age 10-13 Category, English Language)
“Mirror”
On the diving board I stood
Maybe I could
I would strive
I would eventually dive
When I realized, the water was like a Mirror
Perhaps even clearer
As my eyes shimmered
In the ripples of water that glimmered
I could see my reflection
My beauty and perfection
My pretty face
Wasn’t the only beauty in this place
The stars were too bright
To be scared of the night
The moon so bright
It gleamed like a light
My eyes as blue as a sea
Everything pretty including me
My eyes gleaming bright
Almost as bright as the stars at night
Peace and tranquility
The beauty surrounded me
The nice cool breeze
The leaves blowing in the trees
Ready to dive
I’ve never felt so alive
The feeling in the air
The breeze going through my hair
As I hit the water it made a splash
And instantly I see a flash
A flash of nature and the beauty outdoors
As the water embraces me and cleanses my pores
Joshua Bungay, Maranatha Christian Academy
1st place prize (Age 10-13 Category, English Language)
“Mirror”
There is a figure I cannot touch
I look at him, he looks at me.
Others say it does not mean that much,
But I want to feel what I see.
It copies every move I make.
I have never once seen him blink.
Others say that he is just a fake,
But he hangs up above my sink.
We wear the same clothes every day.
We share the exact style of hair.
Others say that he’s not all that real,
But our pants, we wear the same pair.
We share the same facial expressions.
When I reach out, he reaches back.
Others say that he’s my obsession,
But I will try to set him free!
My mind is overflowing with joy,
Now that I finally can see.
He is not just any other boy,
But I am him and he is me!
Alex Liu, Vincent Massey Secondary School
3rd place prize – tie (Age 14+ Category, English Language)
“The End”
I look at the wall,
And a strange image I see.
A man, and for my attention he called,
an unbreakable attraction between me and him.
What was it about this man staring back
that kept me rooted in my place where I stood?
A voice, a will — many things did he lack,
and yet, somehow, his message came through.
The error of my ways.
The mistakes of my past.
It was now clear as the sun’s rays,
The shortcomings of the thoughts which I used to hold fast.
I scrambled for the razor – to end it all now.
With trembling hands, towards my throat my blade crept.
I cut quickly as the sweat dripped slowly off my brow,
removing all my facial hair in a single, clean swathe.
Gillian Mayo, Sandwich Secondary School
3rd place prize – tie (Age 14+ Category, English Language)
“Leaving Home”
My neighbour was born in Newfoundland, raised in a small town named Freshwater. I’ve spent many years trying to fathom a reason for why he would leave island life behind. I know the external reasons why, love amongst other things, but I refuse to believe that’s all.
The following summer my family and I went to visit him in Newfoundland. He was there visiting old friends, his family, and was our tour guide on the island. Everyone in the town knew him from some place or another. They waved friendly hands and exchanged small talk of old memories and I was amazed because I never could understand why you would leave such compassionate people behind. How they went on about shaky fishing seasons and home cooked meals. They shared memories that I’ll never have and I wondered, why leave?
I left Newfoundland that summer thinking there wasn’t a more glorious place on earth. My neighbour had seen his parents, reminisced, and left without even a wandering eye. He never looked back. It was like a puzzle missing pieces around the edge. I could fill in the middle, but it was the corners and the sides, the reasons that lie beyond what you see in the picture, that were missing. It made me wonder if he ever missed the place he was born.
His memories of Newfoundland were all of childhood. When he guided me through foreign lands I felt like he was an older brother, showing me all the places he discovered before I could walk. I had never seen mountains up close before. I swam in the Atlantic with jellyfish and clams and I didn’t want to leave.
Now that I knew the wonders of Newfoundland, I wanted to see my neighbour. I wanted to know how he felt about leaving once again. And when I did I have to say at first I wasn’t pleased. All I could read from his expressions were bits and pieces of distaste, like your home was something you could actually grow hostile towards. I didn’t see the nostalgia or the emptiness I felt in his eyes. Years later I realized why he no longer coveted for the comfort of home.
We grow up with good memories, old friends, and places only the local kids know about. Yet we come to realize that we must leave. We have to leave the secret hideaways and waiting stories for the next children. We leave our mark, in carved trees and on abandoned walls, but we only visit our childhoods now. I will leave my town one day, too, and I will let another child wonder why I ever left in the first place.
My neighbour left well enough alone, froze the good times in smudged picture frames with grainy photos. I see myself in him, reflected in the need for travel and adventure. I hope to one day look in the mirror, and no longer see the longing for home in my eyes.
Alyson Skidmore, Leamington District Secondary School
2nd place prize (Age 14+ Category, English Language)
“Wish Blown Away”
Like the dandelion grasps at its season’s last seed,
So she clings to the reflection that won’t satisfy her need.
And as the mourning dove cries for the wish blown away,
She cries, wrapped in shadows, for truth led astray.
An unblossomed hope shivers, cowering in dust,
One lie too many; a whisper, unjust.
She longs for security, meaning and love;
Now visions, young star gazers can only dream of.
Oh mirror of society, why do you lie?
Left is not right, nor a still lake blue sky.
Why have you barred the doors to freedom;
The path to self-worth, to gardens of Eden?
She tries to conquer the deceit and the fraud,
But your time bomb is set, and the plan is unflawed.
Though she puts on a smile, a falsified bliss,
her soul cries ‘Adieu’ and blows its last kiss.
And as the curtains fly in, a note on the sill,
let your mirror be shattered, its pieces, lie still.
Noah Berthiaume, St. Joseph’s Catholic High School
1st place prize (Age 14+ Category, English Language)
“Kind of Blue”
I ascended the staircase of the labyrinth in time to hear the last train depart the station, and the guard bolt the night gate after me. I was in some part of Harlem, god knows which, and the dead air of a July night hit me in a fashion reminiscent of a Liston knockout punch.
Sirens howled in the distance, society’s repressed gods paced the avenues and held court en mass in a pot smoke haze on the corners. Mad bop erupted from every cold water flat, upon the will of something greater, as I started down the street after a quiet place to get my head right. I was coming off a high and needed a cigarette. Walking, my head down, a bum knocked into me, sending the poems I was clutching to the ground.
I could free the divine from its sonofabitch body right here and now.
I stooped and retrieved my hand-written scriptures from the gutter, and walked on. Screams rang out from an alley as I walked past. I glanced in to see two men stomping the life out of some vaguely human creature, all the while the sirens howled and the bop crescendoed in symphonic unison. The whole thing had an air of Romanticism about it.
What a mad place, man. What a made place….
I stood, and looking around a minute, just dug the ballet of inner-city night. Finally, coming up on a park, I saw a shady looking saint standing in a tree-casted shadow, out of sight. He was too busy laboring in vain to hide the glow radiating from his halo to notice me approaching.
Shit, why come off a high when I can just as simply score an angry fix?
Welcome to the beautiful madness society deprives you of, my most sheltered reader! Welcome!
********
The moon shone a blazing white, illuminating my purgatory on earth. My gun rattled as I walked my beat. The badge on my chest shone in the streetlamp orange. My shirt stuck to my sweating body.
Four hours until I can go home and sleep off this nonsense until tomorrow night. Four hours until I can get away from these devils and their shitty music.
I was itching to make another human feel my agony. My feet ached as I plodded down the sidewalk on that blistering July night. I passed an ally in which a black body lay moaning, on the cusp of nothingness. I chuckled to myself as I walked on.
One day every mystic, philosopher, poet, writer and addict will slip from the edge anyway. Why bother?
I came to a park. A kid was hitting a glass pipe as he sat on a bench. My nightstick beat a deafening, dull rhythm against his body. I saw a pile of poems in his limp hand and dropped my cigarette on them. Looking into his face in the firelight was like looking into a mirror. An exact copy of myself, but opposite all the same.