JADE Anon (Year 13)
Tumbling about a room, there but not present. A circle of grinning waxy faces revolving around an invariable axis in the glow of the fairy lights. They shifted, changed, teasing and ebbing a flow of words and thoughts towards a destination I could not control. The faces changed as the axis revolved. More eyeliner. More hair. More smiles. All with a cup in hand and all accessing a fifth corner of my mind I did not know existed. Thoughts I never thought rose up within me like a hot bile, irrespective of want and desire. The thoughts did not know what taboo was, nor did they know they were not wanted. And so they rose from my stomach to my throat to my tongue to my lips to the ears of that axis of waxy, grinning faces. And each face took its turn to meet the thoughts which had unfortunately gained the firm material of spoken word. ‘You should speak to Jade’ ‘You should speak to Jade’ ‘You should speak to Jade’ It was a recommendation. A solution. A shared experience being passed down. A reference to one of a dozen deities who were too high to not lower themselves to be with us, but not low enough to be one of us.
DANSE D’OISEAUX Nick Maleikyi (Year 13) Beneath the city’s towering grace, The pigeons fell and fluttered in a chase Their feathers danced in the urban air, A ballet of wings – a spectacle rare Feathers whispered secrets, soft and light On urban canvases, in the hush of night For some it was filthy, for others a wonder
‘You should speak to Jade’ ‘You should speak to Jade’ ‘You should speak to Jade’
The waxy faces became arms I could feel. And those arms pushed me up the carpeted stairs away from the quiet, hidden light of the big kitchen, through a locked door into a white room of cracked linoleum which had a mirror and bath and sink. Then the door closed and I was in the room with Jade. Followed and revered by every pretty boy and handsome girl, attracting the opposite of society. Questions began to spring up. Who was this woman? Why was she sitting on a toilet? Why was everyone downstairs saying I should see her, why did I have to see her in the bathroom, and why did she look like a peacock? Her hair was a curled explosion. Her body was wrapped in purple leopard print. Her face popped in the unflinching light, showing off foundation and blush and lipstick which would not have been there if she had not changed. The stir of a coffee spoon in a cup awakened her speech. ‘I think your egg just cracked.’
But suddenly carnival was stopped with thunder… As soon as the waters came down from the sky All the city’s birds were quiet and shy, They knew where to hide and how to survive, And in which little corners they’d be able to thrive And after the storm, the ballet resumed, The ants and the worms having all been consumed; The pigeons continued their dance in the air A ballet of wings, a spectacle rare.
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THE ALLEYNIAN 712
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