Creative Writing – The Orbital

16Mar

By Mya RogersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Found Family

Mya Rogers, Associate Creative Writing Editor Do not think you are alone in this competition, As there is a group of us that empathise, Attempting to relieve the pressure that pushes You to prove yourself in your chosen exercise. There are those of us that know nothing about sports, But that does not mean we know nothing of community, So we will still stand at the sidelines, Cheering you on for every winning opportunity. We will write the signs with words of wisdom And paint our faces with the competing colours; Showing our support in every way possible, From the indoor fights to the outdoor races. Or maybe there are some of us that did sports as a child But now choose to just spectate, Living vicariously through the sportspeople we see; ...

26Jan

By Alex RobsonNo Comments

Creative Writing

‘For Zohran Mamdani’

By Alex Robson, Staff Writer Oh, Zohran Mamdani, won’t you save some freedom for the rest of us? Lady Liberty shines in her city once again, but across the pond, we’re becoming weary. Tired of the politically unconscious who shout, ‘Batten the hatches.’ Oh, Zohran Mamdani, we are foolish, deaf; we cannot understand your language. We speak only in loathsome bureaucrat and pseudo-politician; we want to learn your dialect, we really do, but our radio waves have not yet received your policies. Mr Starmer is ever-idle, Mr Farage continues to connive, he smokes cigarettes- sure, ‘he’s relatable’- a culture destroyer. And if you don’t support Starmer, then you...

5Dec

By Mya RogersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Movement is never easy

By Mya Rogers, Associate Creative Writing Editor It’s not that I thought movement was something easy; In fact, I knew it would be the most uncomfortable I’ve ever felt, But I still wasn’t prepared to play this game of cards, Especially not with the unlucky hand, that I was dealt. Not a Jack, Queen, or King in sight- My brother, mother, and father are missing too, So that now I am left helpless and alone Thinking, what the hell am I meant to do? I’m new to this- still getting used to the rules of the game And still getting used to playing it alone, But I’m not a child anymore, and I can’t rely on my parents for help (I just wasn’t prepared for the realities of being grown). Still, time must pass and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, Meanin...

12Nov

By Ruby SaggersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Fingerprint

Written by Ruby Saggers, Editor-in-Chief Content Warning: Mentions of grief A fingerprint hangs from my neck. It moves with me, gripping, and I cannot leave without it. Tennessee Whiskey... Golden Brown... Red Red Wine... Mind drifts, words wander, but my fingers always find their place - atop a teardrop, all I have left. Getting older now, though time stands still in your land. Experience overlaps memory, senses become distant. Where are you? ...

3Nov

By Alex RobsonNo Comments

Creative Writing

‘Let’s Go Somewhere Nice.’

Written by Alex Robson From Calais to Metz,Berlin to Cologne,We could go to Père LachaiseAnd visit the Priest, the Poet, or the Soldier, unknown.Yet vast sorrow-filled seas do alter our minds,And endless cigarettes, sunken ashtrays, Heavy with the salty pewter that fumigates our minds,Clouding our every judgement,Turning our desires sour, our tongues yellow;Beseech me from this sorrowful employment of your love,Yet keep me in your jar, for a harsh winter's day.Je n'en connais pas la fin, you used to say,But even that was a lie,Bright eyes, full of lies, all the lies, so many lies-Cotton-mouth jargon, so solemn in its creation,Falls loosely on these sombre ears.Arbitrary in the way you spoke,In the way you may have prevented my progression,From rosebud to soil, my mind wanes and my mem...

21Oct

By Mya RogersNo Comments

Creative Writing

A love letter to Royal Holloway

By Mya Rogers, Associate Creative Writing Editor A collaboration with the students of Royal Holloway, University of London. I remember the day I first moved here, In that time where autumn is beginning to introduce itself to the world, But there are still remnants of a warmer time: Like the way the trees whistle on a mild summer evening, Or the sunsets that shine silently in the distance, A ball of fire, feigning fear behind the founder’s building. Yet, yellow must fade to orange- Or, orange must fade to red, Reminding me that nothing lasts forever; Reminding me that the seasons change, The trees shed their leaves, weeping for a forgotten time, And the colour seems to be taken from everything- Just like how the sky is gettin...

15Jun

By Mya RogersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Sometimes I don’t want change

By Mya Rogers I once thought I knew what love was. I thought it was that person that I had to spend every day with Because I didn’t know what would happen in our time apart, Or holding hands in every place that we went, To keep them close, to not lose sight of their heart. He, that took me on dates as a form of asking for forgiveness, So that I’d forget why I was even upset in the first place, And wrapping me in his arms every time he made me cry, Portraying himself as my saving grace. The boy who was my first everything; So, of course I would think that it was love, You gave just enough, so that I wouldn’t realise all that you took, And I remained thinking of you, as someone sent from above. It’s funny how that has all changed. I’m glad that i...

8Jun

By Ruby SaggersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Dear World, why am I not like you?

Image Credit: David Clode, Unsplash Written by Ruby Saggers, Associate Creative Writing Editor I grew up in the countryside. There had always been a difference in the way particular flowers grew; some straight, some slanted, some trodden into the mud. You could see the morning dew scattered across the grass so carefully you would think the droplets chose these blades to be their forever home. But there was always the possibility for one blade to be left untouched. That blade, dear Mother Nature, is I. Me, myself, and I rolled amongst the daisies, ignorant to the suggestion that ‘human friends’ would be better for me. Instead, I befriended the snails feasting on leaves, webbed palms of frogs placed carefully atop a mossy bedding. I sat in the classroom, knees knocking under the oa...

21May

By Dorothy BanaityteNo Comments

Creative Writing

Fluorescence

Fluorescence It’s not the passing of seasons that I mourn, The way the swallows sing just out of earshot, The way I turn my head like a lost child Searching for that last piece of hope. It’s the way everyday drives the wedge deeper. I pace in silence and the walls shrink, I say these words and all expectation is destroyed, I’m sorry, I always get the timing wrong, You said it ruins the moment. I’m sorry. You turned the page, yet, I’m still writing on this one. You put on a coat, every new winter, that I’ve never seen, The years...

15May

By Lena ZellerNo Comments

Creative Writing

Thornes

By Lena Zeller CW: Mentions of self-harm and suicide The thorns always come first. I can feel them growing under my skin weeks in advance. But inside me they could still be anything. Could be nothing. Could be cancerous.  They don’t hurt before they pierce flesh. They only incubate. Some twinges here and there. Growing pains. Contractions. Nausea, every time I touch where I think one may be.  I am not supposed to pull them out to get it over with faster.  I drink a cup of herbicide every morning.  I always think I know when they will cut through skin. I never do.  I collapse on the floor of the grocery store like a child throwing a tantrum. I forget people can see me. The whole world is sharp and my body is the whole world. &nb...