The Perfect Guest

Jacksie wakes abruptly, eyes snapping open, immediately on the alert. He strains to see in the darkness and stretches carefully. The space is surprisingly large despite all the boxes and – thanks to the trench coat he found upstairs – he’s warm and dry. He’d come across the stone-built cottage while wandering through the woods, searching for somewhere to doss down. Some old biddy had … Continue reading The Perfect Guest

Linda Patterson Awoke

  Editors Note: Kamena is pleased to publish the winning piece of this year’s Transformation programme, a widening participation scheme at the University of Warwick that takes Warwick undergraduates out to schools in Coventry to teach about Literature and Creative writing. This year the winner is Caitlin Hoyle, a year 9 pupil from President Kennedy school in Coventry.   Linda Patterson awoke one sweltering morning, … Continue reading Linda Patterson Awoke

Apple Pie

Mum had a habit of eating the entirety of an apple. The peel, the fruit, the core; all the apple would disappear. The first time I saw her leave an apple core unchallenged, Henry had made a comment, a jibe trying to be a joke that didn’t quite pay off. Henry was always doing that – trying to challenge my mother, to unsettle her. But in his passive aggressive cunning, he didn’t notice the way her eyes glazed over, and how, like hitting restart on a computer, she’d shut down for a short time before putting her face of normality back on and delivering a similarly sharp retort that snapped his neck to the ground with embarrassment. Mum was always doing that – trying to put him in his place, pushing him out of our circle.

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Writer’s Block

The little black line keeps winking at me. One. Two. One. Two. It’s annoyingly slow, like I’d expect it to be quicker, more impatient, more demanding. I’d expect it to match my current anxiety. Instead it takes its time. One. Two. One. Two. Calculating. Menacing. What is it even called? I google it. “what is that annoying black line on the word document called?”. “T … Continue reading Writer’s Block

Crash Course

I’m sitting here, wondering, is there still an us. Will there be, an us? Or, was there never an us to save. Nothing left but pieces. The polaroid pictures strung like bunting in my bedroom, couldn’t you have ripped the rope and dragged it out, like you did with your things? It only took a single touch and I, unravelled. I wasn’t wound tight enough, besides, the knot is always tighter when you’re not the one tying it.

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