Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
Dead Letter Office
Memory is like a moth. It flutters. It drifts. It finds an abandoned wardrobe of precious clothes to nest and gorges itself, leaving behind the gift of dust and scraps.…
Posted inCreative Hall
The Monster In Her Closet
Cold. All she felt was the cold. It was hard for her to imagine that just a year ago, she had always anticipated the season of frost. She loved to…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
Ask the Angel
“Ask the angel.” That’s exactly what Nina did. Her companion’s expression didn’t change from where he towered over her abuela’s grave—he stared stony and gray, with the chiselled edges of…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
Nobody’s Daughter
Lovely Elena. Beautiful Elena. Just Elena—but none of them ever came close to the one I so desperately craved to hear once more. The “Elena” that sounded as soft as…
Posted inCreative Hall Poems
The Fervour of Breath
John Doe From the veil, birthed, I was blind Lost - from night to night - unkind Ash or clay, that clad my heart I did not know, the end…
Posted inCreative Hall Poems
On the horrifying ordeal of remembering
The first time I alluded to grief it felt as if I came in contact with myself––somewhat alarming voices of my mother drowned in floods, survivors of the water antagonising…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
The Paths Left Behind
In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you now, I love you more than you’ll wrap your head now, In case you don’t live forever, let me tell…
Posted inCreative Hall
Violence, Environmentalism, And Studio Ghibli
Disclaimer: The following article spoils many, many details from the films Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Laputa: Castle in the Sky, and Princess Mononoke. It also discusses dark…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
Dream Man
I never understood how dreams worked. I had never dreamt, as dreaming is a neurological process requiring both sleep and a brain, neither of which I possessed. I doubt I…
Posted inCreative Hall
In Breaking, She Blossomed
I There was no root she could dig up, no moment to blame. Her introverted self didn’t grow out of cruelty or neglect. It simply existed — like air or…