Contributed by Ryan Camuto | gargoyle@flagler.edu

I once had a friend, he was like an open book.
A musical score if I may
but he was blank,
a page without a single mark.
Clean, crisp, craving my ramblings with such reception.
It was in him I confided every ounce of my mind,
after such a moment he would just look,
and my open book friend knew
exactly what I meant.

Contributed by Ryan Camuto | gargoyle@flagler.edu

Turn out the house lights,
direct your attention to the man on the stage
spilling his insides out
every note streams over the audience
for eternities, at least through his eyes

Contributed by Gian Louis Thompson | gthompson@flagler.edu

Onyx clouds vanquished what was left of the sun’s reign. I pulled up my hood as a wind beckoned throughout New York City’s concrete bones. The sky blackened with every minute but I felt shielded from the impending storm. The stoop on which I sat was littered with a display of rubbish from old gum to spent beer bottles. A cigarette clung to my fingers like a mantis as it coughed forth a stream of blue smoke. I observed the urban portrait before me, focusing not on one thing in particular. The legions of the storm marched further, conquering more of the sky and deploying barrages of rain with growing ferocity. And so I waited for my friend who was in the building behind me tending to something.

Contributed by Gian Louis Thompson | gthompson@flagler.edu

We stepped from the MetroNorth railcar and onto the concrete platform at Grand Central Terminal. People poured from the doors like ants under a magnifying glass. I took a deep breath and welcomed the familiar scent of the underground musk. Walking towards the main concourse, I greeted the lonely newspaper bin. There it sat, squatted with its robust belly and blue skin, begging for the human’s newspaper waste.

Contributed by Marcia Vojcsik| gargoyle@flagler.edu

Come into my cell

Make yourself at home, dear friend

I wouldn’t hurt you

Contributed by Jake Heckman

A lonely boy amidst a sea,

He could be you or could be me.

Upon his raft grows an apple tree

Contributed by Jake Heckman

Where the dew bells are ringing.

Contributed by Marcia Vojcsik

Come into my cell
Make yourself at home, dear friend

Contributed by Lauren Belcher

The bathroom was small. The walls were a cream color with black and red etchings that flowed from the ceiling to the floor tile. A bright red shag rug stretched out on the floor. On the wall, next to the shower, there was a giant mirror above the sink.

Contributed by Lauren Belcher

The feelings overwhelm me so I go inside.
Inside is where she hides, if I can find her.

Contributed by Emily Hoover

As I sit alone on my front porch, blanketed by darkness, smoking cigarettes naked, I am prompted—even compelled—to gaze outward, through the trees and into the window of my neighbor’s house.

Contributed by Aaron Turner

This piece of literary work was contributed for our Creative section.
If you would like to contribute your work, e-mail us at gargoyle@flagler.edu.

It was dark outside. The flickering lights did little to illuminate the streets. The scream of sirens in the distance occasionally broke the silence.