Creative Writing

Another Day
By Kayla Albers

Blank stares faced the empty walls of the classroom as the 8th grade class patiently waited—hoped—for their teacher to arrive. They knew what it meant if their teacher never showed and they were dreading having to face that moment—a moment they were all too familiar with. They happened to actually like this teacher, unlike the other four they had this year. 

​

A rolling rumble began in the distance, almost like thunder, rising from  deep below the Earth. One student gave a little whimper at the sound. They knew what it was, their world breaking open, breaking into pieces around them. The rumbling had grown worse in recent years. Stronger. More frequent. More destructive. They didn’t know a life without it—this was the life they were born into. 

​

The door burst open and the students turned their faces up in excitement hoping, with what little they had left, to see their teacher walk through the door and exclaim, “I am so sorry I am late! Traffic was terrible this morning!” But this wasn’t 2016. Instead, in walked the school principal with a heavy sigh saying he would be taking over class for the day. The students mumbled to each other, “Do you think the Earth got her? Do you think she went to the edge?” They dropped their heads to their desks, some with tears rolling down their cheeks, others with empty expressions, when they realized their teacher’s time had run short. They knew she would never leave them, not by choice, not now.

​

The school was falling apart, like every other building in the city. The paint was peeling off the walls, the outdoor basketball courts had been cracked all the way through, and the windows and life outside were covered in dust. It looked apocalyptic. It was straight out of the movies that their parents had talked about watching when they were young.

​

The kids wondered why they even needed to be in school anymore. There wasn’t going to be much life left with the world falling apart day by day, so what was the point? They were no longer the future—there was no future left. This was it. The Earth was going to swallow itself whole. The sun wouldn’t burn the world to a crisp like the scientists had predicted. The world would kill itself first.

​

The 8th grade class got smaller every day as kids disappeared into the depths of the Earth, were crushed by falling debris, or lost the will to live—this is what got most in the end. It was a regular occurrence in the city to watch people slowly walk to the cliffside where the city was crumbling and falling into a black void. They would walk all the way to the edge, look down to where everything they knew was disappearing, and step off, never to be seen again. At least this way they were in control. This way they were choosing how their time would come to an end.   

​

The rumble in the distance was growing louder and stronger. The Principal stopped to listen, to feel what the Earth was saying. It was saying that it was angry. They knew it for years but ignored the signs. Now there was nothing left to be done, but wait for it all to end. 

​

The students' desks began to shake and sway with the rumble beneath them growing more rapid, more aggressive. The few decorations left on the walls fell to the ground and the book shelf full of tattered old books toppled over. 

The Principal looked to the window, a pointless gesture since it was so dusty there was nothing to see. Back when there was life outside, windows often provided comfort—A view to elsewhere. But right then, there was no elsewhere. The Principal’s face fell. He knew what was happening. He knew what was going to happen—to all of them. The intensity of the shaking, the growing growl of the rumble from the Earth, the heat building beneath them, the pounding building inside of his head.

​

The kids looked to each other, fear blazing through their eyes, as they all reached for each other’s hands—looking for any source of comfort in these  final moments. They were going to spend their last breaths in school. A place where, once upon a time, was somewhere kids went to build a  future—build the future. Now, it was a place they were required to be, even in the last days of this living world. 

​

The kids huddled together, holding each other, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the Earth cracked open and the school was lost inside. The Principal wrapped his arms around all of them, knowing he couldn’t protect them, but trying anyway. The Earth gave a loud roar, like it was starving and ready to eat them alive, and a violent shift sent the kids soaring across the room with a scream. Chunks of the ceiling came crashing down and the windows burst, shattering into pieces. The kids covered their heads screaming, waiting for the ground to split open beneath them, swallowing them into the deep, burning depths of the only world they had ever known. 

​

In a matter of seconds, when they thought their lives were supposed to be flashing before their eyes, everything stopped. Just stopped, like it had never even started. The stillness was deafening. The low, growing rumble ceased, the shaking paused, and everything was calm. The kids and the Principal groaned and picked themselves up from the floor and gave each other tired glances. It was as if they had lived a lifetime in only a few minutes. The Principal heaved a sigh of relief while the kids hugged each other in tears, realizing they would get to see each other tomorrow.

​

As realization set in, the kids slowly dropped their aching arms, their short lived relief fading because although today would not be the day they were swallowed by the world they knew as home, it would just come for them another day.

Am I In Love?
By Kayla Albers

The girls look down

On me

with the superiority

That comes

With being

a popular girl.

I look at them

With their

Perfectly dyed

hair,

Face painted

with gems

under their eyes,

Flaunting jerseys

Of the best players

On the team.

They spit in my hair,

asserting their dominance

In the social hierarchy of

High School.

I am not welcome here.

I was never welcome here.

The bleachers shake

With the

shouts and cheers

Of adolescence,

But I keep walking.

Spit oozing

down my hair,

Tears posing

as gems under

My eyes.

Girls

Are their own

Breed of mean—

Their words

following me

like a shadow,

Their actions

Stuck to me

Like gum

Was all I wanted

to love them—

Or to be them?

Pressure
By Kayla Albers

I can’t handle much more

Of the pressure.

The pressure.

The pressure.

The pressure.

The pressure

to conform

To the expectations

To be

A smiling, polite,

pleasant

Young woman

who keeps

Her thoughts, ideas, opinions

To herself.

The pressure

To ignore

The damage done from

Compartmentalizing

Day to day

Life.

Woman: noun. An adult female human being

I am

A pomegranate—seedless.

Cracked open,

Tossed aside

When the goods aren’t

Sweet enough.

The pressure

To appeal to the

Male gaze.

To ignore his comments,

Jokes, sexual innuendos,

Whistles and stalking

When I feel anything

But safe.

The pressure

To pleasure;

Not pleasure HER

but to pleasure HIM.

Always him because

Men have needs.

Pleasure: noun. A feeling of happy satisfaction and enjoyment

No seeds to

Grow a new fruit,

No seeds to sprout

A fresh start.

The pressure

To be with men,

To “enjoy” myself

When all I want

Is never to

Be touched again.

The pressure

To smile and

slip into

Silence

Like nothing

Ever happened.

Hibernation
By Kayla Albers

I could already feel the sun baking the sickness out of me. Sickness from being in the dark for so long—sickness from winter. It wouldn't be long before all of the Minnesotans began to wake and move outside of their artificially heated homes to feel the real heat of the sun on their freshly hibernated skin. Patches of grass beginning to peek through the freshly melted snow. The grass not being a particularly appealing color, but it was grass, a sight we had not seen for months. It would be green soon.