You Took The Sunshine When You Left

My world consisted of captivating sunshine, the kind that seeps into your skin and leaves your soul hopeful. Fresh mountain air, fresh rain on the pavement where my glory days still reign. The leaving hurt. The remnants of you mark my eyes with devastating longing. The sun went into hiding and the blue birds no longer flutter past my window. Leaving hurt. I no longer see the serenity of tomorrow in a golden haze, but dark. Destined for loneliness. The hope of loving you has become yet another long lost dream that the sandman refuses to leave at my door.

From Guest Contributor Courtney Alvarez

Courtney is a student at Pikes Peak Community College who loves writing, reading, and photography.

Sanctuary

The showerhead above rains hot water hitting the skin hard with maximum strength, like it means it, sending a tingling current that pulls through every fiber. Having a powerful drowsing effect, these watery sounds mingled in heater noises fill the room like a warm blanket. A comforting scent of the body wash lifts the spirit up to a momentarily lightness of serenity. Back against the wall, I stare emptily at the floor as if I can see through it to the scornful world beneath. I think I still have some time to go...or do I?

“May I come in?”

From Guest Contributor David Chek Ling Ngo

David Chek Ling Ngo is a professor at a Scottish university in Malaysia.

The Last Call Before A Trek

He woke up early that Sunday morning excited to go on a trek. His friends had been calling since morning, planning the route, discussing apparel. He was enthusiastic. It was a perfect getaway from the usual day-to-day stress. Chirping birds, a cool breeze, and serenity!

Last night had been disastrous. His wife was not satisfied with their sex life. She was adventurous and experienced. He had made bad decisions at work. To top it all off, he'd brawled with a friend.

He was about to leave when his phone rang. His ex-girlfriend said, "I love you". He skipped the trek.

From Guest Contributor Manmeet Chadha

Manmeet is an Alumunus from the London School of Economics & Political Science. He works in India as an Economist & Writer.

Whimsy

The statue of young Buddha had been an exemplar of serenity when first placed under the tree. Time had passed. Wars had come and gone. Nutrients and sun had been converted into growth by the woody plant’s armoury of respiration and generative processes.

Aashi grinned widely at her discovery. The base of the tree had grown around and in front of the old idol, seemingly intent on squeezing it silly.

She looked closer. Through some trick of lichen growth, the once droopy eyelids and superior smile had been transformed into an expression of squashed distress.

Her tinkling laughter wasn’t malicious.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid