The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email features@scadconnector.com.
Redemption by Manav Chordia
Grayscale
There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be here today. I see the difference between the two neighbors sitting beside me. But the only difference I can withstand is between the one I am and the one who I was: I say this through my teeth clenched in a smile appeasing to these lighter skinned beings. I heard the phrase “white is right” and was shook; the tornado that lifted Dorothy should’ve taken me instead, I am far away from home and I can’t wait to be back, but little Dorothy changed lives even in fiction, and hopefully by mere diction. “There’s no place like home.”
Rainbow
As long as I can see the oblivion, I do not require the privilege to be informed by every story that keeps revolving around the people I contact. I contain the power of an uninspired poet, the one that can find faults even in the brightest of situations; the only reality I can witness is through the myriad of mirrors that mimic the maneuvering of the simplistic souvenirs that can only be picked up people who prescribe poppy popping privileges. The fluttering of the oblivious wing force me to set my alarms for every two hours, waking up to clear my head, find new ideas and then in an unamused way, set my life in a routine. I hate these murmurs, these whispers, these sounds — they make me realize that I have no voice, that I have no rhythm, that I have no future or even a mere chance of unleashing my untamed heart for an unspoken love; my existence is as futile as the million other words to connote puke, I exist and can be used by a number of people with no particular goal or intention but an objective lacking joke. I am a joke — a dirty, rotting, uninspiring pile of puke. The mop cleans me up, left, right, left, right and then what comes ahead is the layers of bleach that leave my outsides white, something I will never truly be.
Amusement
There are people dying, but here is where the unresolved and unamused souls are destined to arrive. They admit no defeat unless it’s with minimal effort or applause. They live to perform and promote their pale lives, the unified frontier where the only motto is “THE SHOW MUST GO ON,” though with emotional instability I must will this to be true, and definitive of our collective motive.
How to drink a glass of alcohol
Today is a hard day for you. You wake up. Stuffed within a heavy quilted blanket and a cushy mattress. Your parents are out of town. It’s 2 a.m. at least somewhere in the world, you are thirsty. Thirsty to quench your dry throat. But you’re not going to do that. You’re better than that. Get your shit together. You try closing your eyes, but you can’t. You realize that you shouldn’t be thinking of this. You breathe in. You breathe out. You calm yourself and think about much lighter things. The old YouTube video of ‘Charlie bit me’ makes you laugh. You search up funny people to look at. You’re laughing now. You’re distracted. You’re not broken, not completely. You’ve been healing. You know you can sleep, cause there’s nothing holding you back. You curl up in your heavy quilt. You shut your eyes. You don’t drink, you dream. You’re guiding your dreams to a better place. There’s a whole new world waiting for you when you wake up. Good night, Sweet Dreams and Sleep Tight. You’re loved, just remember that.
