Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild

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The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing Charlie Peters The Astronomy of Friends and Strangers People orbit my life. Sometimes I feel their gravitational pull on my equator. Often they are as moons, faithful, but also demanding: always trying to guide the tide of my oceanic mind. Infrequently they are comets, in vast loops, beautiful regardless of the cost of their coveted tail. Yet most seem to be asteroids, with their own lunar orbits, blank pieces of rock with which I will never interact. windScript 22 Renee Dumont Relationships Pointless moments in life make you worry about every word said, paint on a face to look perfect and push earrings through the tiny holes made to hang cheap pieces of plastic which will cause infection but you will still wear anyway because he says you “look good” with them on. volume 24
The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing 23 Ceara Caton Nightmare The girl stepped out into the alley’s glow. He wouldn’t be on her trail for a while. She had time to rest. At least for a moment she would try to seize back the air that had been deprived from her as she ran. The ground beneath her feet was littered with fragments of broken glass and garbage. Mammoth cardboard boxes towered above her small outline as she curled herself in the space between the two buildings. The air around her was heavy and smelled strongly of the filth that prevailed through the city. She rocked back and forth, trying to create any warmth she could. Her elbow knocked against a brick and cursing, she put pressure on the scrape to convince it not to bleed. The last thing she needed was another injury, no matter how minor it was. She rose from her nest. Resting time was over, no matter how much her muscles ached. Footsteps echoed in the alley behind her. Spinning around, she saw nothing, but crouched back into her hiding spot just in case. She looked and her anxiety eased as she realized it was just an old drunken man, trying to find his solace in the dark. Almost like her, running from something, not even sure what it was. Well at least I’m not stumbling around drunk. The thought rang hollow inside her. A voice in her head laughed sardonically. At least no one is trying to kill him. She got up and stretched. The bruises on her arms and thighs were starting to show more clearly now. They looked black in comparison to her pale skin. She could almost make out his fingerprints where he had held back her arms, and on her legs, where he had thrust them apart. She scolded herself again for not changing clothes. Her short jean cutoffs did nothing against the cold of the alley; they did nothing to cover the marks that the last few days had left her with. Looking around, she took a survey of her surroundings. She couldn’t see much because of the dark, but a light farther down the roadway was all she needed to read the street sign. Kingsley Ave. The name opened another emotional wound as she remembered a small diner a few blocks away. One of the many times he had tried to apologize, he had taken her there for breakfast. Back when he actually cared enough to make her happy. She made her way past the wino who seemed to have fallen asleep where he fell. She picked her way over the broken debris and carefully tried not to make a sound. She looked over her shoulder, aware of every shadow that she passed; trying not to imagine a man ready to jump out at her. She could be with her family right now. Her mother had said she shouldn’t have left to go with him. She had been so young at the time, and was now cast out on the street, running for her life at twenty-one. A part of her wanted to call her mother, wanted to ask to come home. But she was stronger than this. She could never call. Her mother could never know. As she rounded the corner at the end of the alley and turned onto an empty street, she allowed herself to sink into a memory. She didn’t do this often for fear that she would break down and completely lose her nerve. It was her wedding day; everything had been perfect. They didn’t have the money for a nice proper wedding in a church, but she had done her best to fix up her mother’s garden for the special event. The small family wedding remained in her mind as the most beautiful afternoon of her life. She still had a clear image of walking around the corner of the house down the flowered aisle. It was the same corner of the building she had torn around countless times, running with her friends when she was young. Part of her saw it as a right of passage. She was really growing up. No more games and running around as a child. Her wedding day had arrived and windScript volume 24
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Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild

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