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Quetzal | University of Waterloo’s Online Arts Magazine2019-11-17T16:01:16-05:00

Photography

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Poetry & Prose

Epitaph to Empire

Epitaph to Empire

by Stuart Ian Little

Black waves caress grey sand

While stranded Roman arches stand aloof,

Declaring histories of ‘us’ and ‘them’;

An empire’s glory cast 

Among the pebbles, by the black-glass sea.

“A Peek into a Girl’s Life” by Shruti Bagmar

-describing an event in reverse-

 

Clouds of misery and despair in her head

She lay down, motionless, on her death bed.

Unstoppable tears flowed from her eyes every second,

And she persistently tried to forget what happened.

She knew her clothes weren’t the reason for this demonic result,

If anyone touched her now, she feared and repulsed with disgust.

She didn’t even give any ‘signals’ as coward men say in their defence,

Men say that ladies were ‘asking for it’ so that their act doesn’t look like an offence.

Her only fault was that she went out when the moon was shining bright at late night

Roads all lonely, no human in her sight.

She wasn’t home because it was a very special day-

Her boyfriend asked her to marry him

And now after this, she didn’t know what to say. 

The Little Lonely Cell by Jonathan Yang

There once was a cell that was all on its own.
There was no one around and it felt so alone.
With no one around it could do nothing but cry.
That’s when one day he gave a big sigh.
He said “No longer will I hide and run”.
“It’s time for me to have some fun”.
“There’s no time for me to be a monger”.
“I’ll take this time to be stronger”.
So the little cell trained and trained.
And strength is what he gained.
Day and night without rest.
He put his dedication to the test.
In the end he grew big and strong
But one day he grew big and something was wrong.
He felt insides to growl and rumble.
His DNA start to bumble.
His DNA began to double.

His DNA all in a bubble.
He felt his chromosomes all lined up.
And at this moment he wanted to give up.
But he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
So he held on with all of his might.
He felt himself beginning to split.
It was okay because he became so fit.
Then all of a sudden he began to divide.
Then all of a sudden the pain started to subside.
He opened his eyes and was caught to his surprise.
He looked up and he could not believe his eyes.
A second little cell stood in front of his face.
No longer will he need to complete his chase.
His lonely days will fall without a miss.
This is all thanks to mitosis.

My Alter Ego

My Alter Ego

by Ayooluwa Solaja

My alter ego is everything I’m not:

She’s not second-best at anything,

She’s artsier than I am,

Loooovvves math,

Is never rude,

Comes up with the best comebacks,

Is comfortable in her own skin,

And is nothing short of a genius.

Now you see, I could strive to be better, 

and make myself into a version of this “perfect being”

But what’s the fun in that?

I’d rather be me

You’d think I’d hate her for having all the qualities I wish I had,

But what’s there to hate? She’s pretty likeable, and has a killer smile;

Her words never get jumbled up in her mouth

She was never nicknamed “fart-queen” by her taunting classmates

And never had to deal with a look of disgust or pity

She has the world spinning around her pinky,

Epitome of charisma by day, and probably running the olympics at night.

She takes it all in a stride

The irony of it all is

I don’t know what demons she’s dealing with…

Well, I guess I do, since she’s MY alter ego –

But maybe her pinky gets cramped sometimes;

Hoisting the world on your finger can do that to you.

Or maybe she wants someone to defy her or contradict her sometimes…

I know I have enough of that

dissipation

dissipation

If I Love You

If I Love You

Shruti Pankaj Bagmar

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Visual Arts

Short Stories

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 [...]

One Dance

One Dance She’s fucking Alexander, Theo reminded himself. He was standing by the bar, waiting to order a rye and coke. His gaze was directed towards the dance floor where he spotted Lily and Emma in the crowd. The rest of the crew seemed to have disappeared into the pulsing array of flesh, the other guys each on their own personal mission to get some. Usually, Theo would be on his own personal mission to get some, but whenever Lily came out with them, he couldn’t help but not care. For some reason, he just wanted to be around her. He didn’t want to think about it too deeply beyond that and he made sure to remind himself every now and then that she was sleeping with one of his closest friends. Theo finally inched his way to the front of the line. The busty bartender gave him a sultry smile and asked, “What can I get for you, sweetie?” “I’ll have a shot of whiskey and rye and coke...make it a double,” Theo replied. She punched in his order on the register. She poured the shot of whiskey and handed it to him. He took the shot [...]

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." [...]

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