Category Archives: Poems & Stories

Downed by Ayaan Rashid

The plane was in a 45 degree nosedive as I wrestled with the yoke to control the plane. I could hear passengers screaming with fear. How am I going to slow down this plane? My arms burned as I reached forward, and pulled the lever to deploy the speed brakes to 100%. My whole body was falling forward; the only thing holding me in was my belt that carved into my stomach. I must have lost all of my air; my heart beat faster, and I was panting to stay conscious. I used all of my strength to reach forward, and grab the control column. I gripped it so tightly my knuckles turned white. I heaved it all the way back, my muscles tightened as I struggled to hold the yoke back. The plane slowly pulled up, exerting a great deal of G-force on the airframe and everyone on board. My legs stiffened so much that I couldn’t feel them. They must have hit the rudder pedals because the plane yawed left and right a little bit. I ignored the passengers’ wails as best as I could. One of the overhead baggage compartments got unlatched, allowing suitcases to fly about the cabin. As the overspeed alarm continued to go off, I was thrown into the bottom corner of my seat. The altimeter on my instrument panel now read 3,000 feet.

The plane plummeted at an extremely dangerous rate of descent at 25,000 feet per minute. While the rate of descent had slowed to 10,000 feet per minute, we were still alarmingly close to the ground. The altimeter was violently spinning counter-clockwise. When we hit the 2,000 foot mark, what felt like every terrain alarm blared. Pull Up Terrain, pull up terrain, pull u-terrai-pull u-terrain… All of the alarms blurred together into one undecipherable word.

At 1,000, feet I looked at First Officer Charlie Walters. His resigned eyes looked back at me as he picked up the phone, and said solemnly, “This is your First Officer. Brace for impact.” I gazed up from the instrument panel and felt a strange sense of peace. My muscles relaxed as I saw an open, lush, green field, dotted with grazing sheep. The yoke fell back into a neutral position. We’re not going to hit the ground. There were a few men running in and out of a deep red barn in the distance. One of them looked to the sky, and they stopped in their tracks and looked straight at me. We can’t hit the ground! The men dropped everything in their hands and ran to the sides of the farm.

Oh, God, no. There was a loud bang. Then everything went black.

The Door by Nadia Calder

Every thought, every bone, every cell in my body told me not to open that door, yet my overpowering curiosity was already winning, as it did every time, as it would this time.

Goose bumps appeared on my arms, even though it was a warm summer evening. The moon’s glowing beam of light shied away from the doorway, fizzling out. Nothing could be seen through the crack above the dark oak door. The door was warped and up close I could see long, thick scratches, as if someone, no something, had tried to claw their way in. Snarling and growling filled my ears in an uneven rhythm. And yet, my hand still inched forward until I grasped the door knob. All sounds stopped and a frozen chill filled the room, starting at the door and clawing its way through my body, a chill that my robe and slippers did nothing to help. Along with the slight rust, my hand clung to the knob as my palm grew sweaty.

I opened the door, and I woke up. I was panting, and sweat gleamed on my hands, just like in the dream. Normally, I would dismiss it as any nightmare, except that I had had that same recurring dream for the past week. And the door in my dream was the same as the one in my basement. As I did the past seven nights, I untangled myself from my twisted sheets, pulled on a satin bathrobe, and shoved slippers on my feet.

I padded to the basement and jerked the creaky door open. The stairs were worn beneath my slippers as I crept down them. Spiders crouched in their homes, made in the crevices and cracks of my basement ceiling. On both sides of me, a blanket of dust covered the clutter filled basement. No sounds were omitted through the door. I turned with a sigh and trudged back up the stairs. But then I heard a noise. Again I heard it– definitely a growl. I took a tentative step. The noise grew, shaping into a feeling; fear. I let out a small sound, maybe a gasp or a quiet yelp, I don’t know. Whatever it was, was greeted by sudden silence– a pulsing, awful silence. I shrunk back.

There was something behind that door, some thing, and it couldn’t be good.

A Walk Through The Ocean by Aydan McGah

Ice cold water
splashes across
the ongoing ocean floor.

My bare feet push deeper
into the grainy sand
while I shut my eyes
and listen to the waves crash.

The bright sun, shines down
as the seagulls
glide in the air.

Calico crabs hide
under barnacle covered rocks
and between slippery seaweed.

I dance across the beach,
skipping rocks into the mysterious
dark water.

The cool Maine breeze
rushes across my face
as I relax and watch
streaks of orange and pink
disappear as the sun sets.

The Orange Triangle Chapter 1: The Darkness by Stephen Creavin

I see darkness.

Pitch black.


No space or anything around me.

Just nothing.

Then I taste leather tied tightly around my mouth. Heat swarms around me and I feel if I’m burning. But still, I still see empty darkness, empty darkness with no life, nothing living.

I have a suddenly have a feeling that washes over my body, neither hot or cold or in between. It’s impossible to describe the feeling, it was sort of like, realisation but missing understanding. Like something that you didn’t know where it fit but you knew it was part of something. That’s how I realized I had my eyes closed. I tried to force my eyes open but they were like a powerful force fighting against me, pushing back at me. I suddenly felt very tired and darkness swirled around me, wrapping me in warmth. But I was not feeling warm, I was scared, of this darkness. Of this emptiness. As darkness swirled I seemed to drift farther and farther from understanding. Before understanding slipped from my hands I asked one question to no one in particular, the words “Where am I?”.

Manchester Breeze by Anna Walsh

I descend
knee deep
into chilly refreshing water.

Feet sink
into wet rocky sand.

Water splashes
droplets fall lightly on my face.

I walk deeper.
A tide so low
you could walk for miles still keeping your head above.

I wave my cousin on
urging her to descend deeper into the salty waters.
Water rises up my legs
reaching up
to touch my shorts.

Boats chug past.
The engines play a soft melody in my ear.
New adventures await
the content sailors.

Eyes stay focused ahead,
hands stay fastened to the wheel,
waiting for whatever the ocean brings.
Navigating the cold
wavy waters
breezy ocean winds.

I look back down
to water’s sandy surface,
to creatures below.

It’s not there.

I continue on until I see
small sand dollars.

My hand plunges into the crisp water.

Found one!

My sister and cousin come splashing over
to admire the small treasure
I have found.
They lightly hold the precious creature,
as if their lives depended on it.

I smile and hand them the sand dollar,
to add to the collection
and continue looking
in cool, salty water,
on this breezy day,
in Manchester.

The Call By: J. Anonymous

The phone rings.
It is 3 am.
I can hear the dead silence;
the house is does not move.
It feels like years
before I hear my mom say

The next morning there is luggage
at our front door.
The plane ride feels empty.

We are there
The white walls

surround us.
The rooms are filled with people.
A person in blue points us towards the room:
We see him,
his body limp, covered in scars,
he does not move,
in his white room
with a single light hanging over the bed
As I look, I wonder
what will happen next.

In The Dot by Daniejah Franklyn

The windows are down
and the wind breezes by my face.
The street is crowded by houses
that lie on top of one another.

I see rippling lights,
flickering to a rhythm
that is not heard.
The sky is pitch black
with small sparkles hardly seen.

I walk on the lumpy sidewalks
with gum stains chalk stains,
and my brain replays
scraped knees and our old swing set,
as I open the door to my childhood.

Memories are triggered by the smell of home
and they flourish in my mind.

Comfort waves over me
and I sigh a refreshing breath.
at home in the Dot.