Story Storm

Selected Creative Writing | Fall 2025

Story Storm brings together creative pieces that explore identity, fear, change, and self-

discovery. Through short fiction and poetry, these works use imagery and metaphor to

transform familiar experiences into something unexpected, while giving shape to

emotions that can be difficult to express directly.

The Mirror that Lies

after René Magritte’s Reproduction Interdite

The mirror never lies, they say. But this one refuses to tell the truth.

He stands before it every morning, the same way he always has: straight posture, calm

breath, tie knotted, just so. Yet the man staring back is never quite right. The hair is

perfect, the collar crisp, the stance identical, but there is no face. Only the back of his

head, endlessly turned away.

He leaned in closer. Nothing changes. No flicker, no trick of light. Just distance where

recognition should be.

Behind him the room remains still: the open book on the mantel, the soft grey curtains

breathing with the morning wind. The world hums quietly, obediently, while the glass

hums with its secret.

He tries to remember the last time he saw his own eyes. A week ago? A lifetime? It

doesn’t matter. The mirror decided something he cannot undo.

He touches the surface, cold, smooth, alive with refusal. Somewhere deep within,

another version of him is doing just the same, palm to palm, each waiting for the other

to blink first.

Outside, a clock chimes. The man adjusts his tie, nods once to his unseeing twin, and

walks away.

Behind him, in the mirror, the figure remains.

Still watching nothing.

Still facing forever.

Unanchored

I’ve never been this close to the sea.

It smells like metal and wind.

You walk ahead, shoes in your hand.

I follow, careful of the shells.

The sky folds into the water,

and everything looks endless.

You say, “It’s not that cold,”

and step in.

The waves bite at your knees.

I hesitate.

You laugh, calling my name.

I step forward.

The water lifts me,

colder than I imagined,

lighter too.

Salt fills my mouth,

and I don’t care.

You shout something,

but it’s just sound now.

I float.

I let go of the shore.

I’m not afraid anymore

Pain

A storm that never quite leaves the sky.

A glass heart wrapped in sandpaper.

Violin strings pulled too tight.

Ink bleeding through paper, slow and unstoppable.

A candle burning at both ends, but giving no light.

A room full of echoes with no sound.

The colour red learning to whisper.

Time limping forward, one second at a time.

A cracked mirror reflecting too much.

A song stuck forever on the wrong note.

Gravity that only pulls you down.

A prison with invisible walls.

Tell me,

Was it really pain all along,

or just another name for love?