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Sample Writing for Issue IV - Horizon

Another Chapter

by Daisy Bignell

I lean against the doorway in the dressing gown my mother sent me a couple of days ago. It’s fur-lined and one size too small, and so my legs are mapped in goosebumps.

My bathroom is always cold - I think it’s because of how the window never fully closes and the old brickwork. I crouch against the bath and turn on the tap, and stare out the window where the sky cries.

Dipping my fingers in and out the stream of water I wait until it runs warm to push the plug in. I pour in half a bottle of bubble bath which stains the water purple and the room begins to smell like lavender. The steam and bubbles begin to fog my glasses which I’ve only just started to wear again.

Steadying myself on the bath, I rise and make my way to gather my things. 

I reach for my comfort read - The Hobbit. I boil the kettle, which fills the silence of my home, to brew a lemon tea. I use my favourite mug which is a forest green mug with gold engravings on the inside rim, and at the bottom of the mug is a tiny hobbit. I think to myself, 

“Elevensies?” My stomach rumbles and I laugh, for the first time in a while. 

I spread avocado over a sesame seed bagel, with fresh tomatoes, vegan ham with a dollop of cream cheese in the middle.

From the cupboard under the stairs I reach for the wooden bath board my sister gifted me, complete with a book stand, mug holder and  extendable hooks which latch onto the baths sides.

I place my food, my mug and book on the board and make my way back to the bathroom. Laying my things across the bath extending one end of the board and turn off the tap, I light the candles which are scattered across the bathroom, accompanied by various crystals my friends have brought over. 

I untie the knot of the dressing gown only to release a tight gasp of air as I feel the cold against my skin. In a feeble attempt for support I grasp onto the brickwork wall and step into the bath, careful not to slip. My legs are stretched out in front of me as I begin to peel off the bandage on my neck.

It has been thirty-six hours now since the surgery and the doctor has given the go-ahead. Slowly releasing my skin from its sticky grasp I let out an audible breath as if this is the first breath I have taken since being under.

I take a sip from my mug of tea and fall back. I look down to my body which is still healing. It feels a like broken still, but I keep repeating the trending quote from Emma Thompson - 

“This is your vessel, it’s your house, it’s where you live.”

I can feel my cheeks reddening and my mouth curling into a smile. The doctors, my mother spoke of the healing process so much after my surgery but never what happens next. I open my book to the seventh chapter and begin to read. This must be what happens next.


by Alin Quinn
Find the poem in its original format here.

drowning in this

crimson galaxy 

which spills furiously 

between my scarred thighs

my uterus has 

dragged me down

and as the

surface disappears

from my tired view,

i am defeated

i spill despair like clotted blood

churning in this violent storm

and so i melt into this hostile sea,

waiting for a sweet lull 

to sing me a 

haunting lullaby 

so i can settle

the melody sweeps

me up in the 

swirling current

and these notes

make me remember

how to fight and

so i thrash 

and thrash 

and thrash

until i am so

 close to air

i can almost 

lick it off my 

parched lips

and this hope

lifts me up and

washes over me,

as my face breaks into sky,

and its force releases me

from these bloody chains,

and now instead of pain,

all i can smell

and taste 

and feel

and see is. . .



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