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Quetzal 2020 | University of Waterloo’s Online Arts Magazine2020-07-15T15:02:06-04:00

Photography

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Poetry & Prose

Golden Stars

Golden Stars by Rachel Hannusch The golden stars dance across the sky, and in my arms the baby cries. Hold on hope, do not die, and in the dark, the ravens fly.

Attraction

Attraction by Amy Zi-Xuan Liou She dwelled on a lower frequency. Tuned into the media and heard the voices of crying children. She couldn't sleep. The remorse replayed over and over like a haunted serenade. She took her moody attitude to work the next day. At [...]

In the Midst of Winter

In the Midst of Winter winter a lovecraftian force persuasion towards self-destruction causes mind to desire fire chemical imbalance swerves nerves   reaching out for poison warmth against the bone chill embrace the hot rot shelter against lead dread spiteful winds slap curses infinity beckons in the black [...]

i tried to make a home inside your skin and bones

i tried to make a home inside your skin and bones i didn’t realize that people are not buildings and when you crawl into someone leaving is not as easy as opening the door and walking out or maybe it is at least it was for my father [...]

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Visual Arts

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Short Stories

Confessions of A Creative Woman

Confessions of a Creative Woman by Tasnia Nasar It’s the top skill discussed in an interview, the ability most highlighted in my resume, and the characteristic I’m most known for by my friends and family. I laugh at my own Instagram captions and marvel at how witty my tweets are. I take an extra 20 minutes to make my meals look presentable only to eat it a few seconds later. The stationary section at Chapters is like my Disneyland and overpriced lattes are my chardonnay. If I just told your life story, you my friend, are creative. We’re often misunderstood. We’re often ‘self-employed’. But we’re also a lot of other things. So it’s time I sat down and confessed why we are– the way we are. Our life is an organized chaos I have a laptop case in my purse without a laptop in it. I have a wallet too, but my debit and credit cards are usually in the side pockets. When I’m hungry, I indulge in the smell of gum wrappers and dig through to find a few tangerines…at least that’s what they used to be.  Give me a ring while my phone is in [...]

My Hands

My Hands by Emerald Naylor He could hear the murmur of voices on the other side of the wall. There must have been hundreds- no thousands- of people waiting for him. He rolled his shoulders back and tried not to think of the crowd. Priscilla was still standing in the doorway behind him. She glared at his back. “I can’t believe you- doing this again.” Her voice was steady, but he could tell she was trying hard not to shout. He turned around to face her. “I’ve told you, I have to do this. This is who I am; I’m their hero.” He started to turn back towards the arena when something in the shadows caught his eye. “For gods sake! Stop being the damn hero!” She was yelling now. She sounded exasperated. He took a step towards the shadows. “You don’t have to be their hero. Come home with me; be mine. Be my hero,” She whimpered. “Priscilla, shush.” He narrowed his eyes. There was something there, right in front of him. “Lionel,” He stepped closer. He could make out the outline of the figure through the darkness. There was something in its hands. The shadowy figure [...]

A Spoken Word

A Spoken Word by Muhammad Zaid Bin Amer Hey My name is Muhammad Zaid Bin Amer. You may have heard of me And to be quite frank I’m not always 100% sure I’m spelling Muhammad right. Is it M u, M o, I don't know- it's confusing. I was born on June 21st 1999, in some ghetto army base within Peshawar, a small city in Pakistan. This is widely been regarded as a terrible idea Now see the reason I wasn’t born in a regular hospital is that we were on the way to the airport, leaving Pakistan as refugees because of some bad business my parents have never went into because they just love keeping secrets This just goes to show, people wanted me dead even before I was born I’m often terrible at staying quiet, being loud and shattering the solid silence, I mean what can I say I was born sleeping and have been messed up ever since I like coca-cola Alot I go to The University of Waterloo I’m in first year and I still don't have my drivers license And for as long as I can remember I’ve loved cheap food... and bad [...]

Understand Me

Understand Me by Eunice Adubea Owusu Amoah Was he dead?  Or was he alive? His skin felt warm and flushed all over. Was he dying? Or was he still in love? Something warm and sticky was in his hand. Blood. His? Hers? A face appeared before him. Someone screaming his name. Or maybe just screaming. Screeches of fear. Or pain. Or surprise.  Was it her? Was she beside him? Screaming for him to stay alive?  Or screaming at him to just die? He didn’t deserve to die, he thought. She was the one who broke him. He thought of the day they met. “Boo,” she whispered.  He quickly spun around to face her.  His chin brushed against her short, wet, spiky hair. He looked down at her and she looked up at him. Two complete strangers who had fatefully met in a cemetery on a rainy night. There was an ambulance. His thoughts begged for the siren to be shut. He was trying to remember.  What had she been wearing? Had she smiled? No.  She’d laughed though. Yes she’d- The siren. The stupid siren. Too fucking loud. She’d laughed. He’d stared at her in that beautiful moment, [...]

Summer in the Suburbs

Summer in the Suburbs by Erin Taylor I‘m on my leadoff from second base when a girl shows up and leans against our dugout fence. I pause, trying to make out who it is, before I hear the scuffle of the backcatcher's shin guards as she jumps up and my coach screams, "Morris! Down!" So I dive face-first under the sweeping glove and slap the tips of my fingers on the bag. Our cleanup batter brings me home. Coach Jen hesitates, tells me to look, then run. She knows I have a good slide. I scoop up the bat and hustle back to the dugout, grinning and dusting off my batting gloves on my shorts. Annette is standing on the other side of the fence, behind my teammates, the fingers of her left hand hooked in the chain links. I shriek and jump on the bench. There’s a commotion by third and my teammates all rise. I reach her through the fence. I’m shouting, "You're back!" She’s laughing and nodding, and then she looks over my shoulder. "They need you out there, Sarah." I look back. Everyone has taken the field. "Can you stay?" "I'll be here." [...]

“The Time Twister” by Suhana Kumar

The Time Twister Suhana Kumar Published Spring 2020 ` Sarajevo, 1914 The air was smokey, clusters of particles floating through as if time had stopped. Maybe, in a way, time did stop, and it was as if the streets of Sarajevo knew something was going to happen. Or, as they say, the calm before the storm. He woke up at precisely 6:30, and dragged himself out of bed to dress. He had to look his best, today was the big day. He grabbed the letters that piled on the broken side-table and shoved them into his coat pocket, and finally, retrieved a gun from his closet and putting it in his inside coat pocket. The boy looked into the dirty mirror at his shorn hair as he covered his demons with a cap. What did I get myself into? But you promised me. So why does it feel wrong? His long, unkempt bangs fluttered in his face as he tugged on his cap, stepping out into the streets. He doesn’t know why he was feeling so self-conscious, living in Sarajevo meant that you were a nobody. A nobody… It took him 15 minutes to reach [...]

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