Colored Catastrophe

The world was colors. The streets were made of buttons and a fabric sky was raining droplets of paint that splatter on the world. My cheeks turn to a river of yellows and pinks and blues. They swirl down my arms and into my boots, landing with little plinks as they fall from my fingertips. Sequins stick to my eyes and I assume it’s gotten cold enough to snow. Paint dries on my skin and sticks me in place, staring at the sky. Arms outstretched, eyes wide, mouth wide. 

Pom pom’s land on my tongue and dissolves like cotton candy. Dripping sweet, bitter, sour, cold, boiling. Streaming through my body till I break out of my cast. Running, walking, skipping, bouncing upon textiles. A person stands on the corner, stick still. I wave and get nothing back. My feet slow and I circle them only to find the person is entirely flat. 

On an impulse I poke them and they crumple, colors mixing into brown water and swirling down a nearby drain I hadn't noticed before. I freeze before I dismiss the odd moment and keep waking, a strained smile on my face. I walk and walk for what seems like hours and probably is because when I finally reach the once distant city, the fabrics have gone black. 

Entirely, there’s not a single star. Something moves in my peripheral and I spin fast only to see brown water trickling down the slope of the street. Another movement and I catch the last of a paper person sloshing to the ground with a squelch. I stare for a long moment, watching the water swirl down the street. Before walking away hesitantly, heading further into the city. 

The sidewalks are empty as I wander, though occasionally water flips over my boots. I get so lost in thought that I don't notice when I enter a paper filled clearing until a frail hand taps my shoulder. I turn and the person looks me right in the eye for a long moment before promptly splashing downwards onto the pavement. Its friends follow suit and the square floods. It picks me up and takes me winding back through the city, back through the wilderness, all the way back to where a cast made of paint lays limp on the ground. 

A portal similar to the one I arrived through waits there. It’s gray now. Gray like the world I live in. It was colorful before, inciting, inviting. This world is odd and the paper people are dying but it’s beautiful and marvelous. I’m not so sure I want to go back. The water pushes and I stumble into the gray. The blinding light vanishes quickly and I'm standing in my living room, alone. I move my hand to wipe my eyes only to realize, I'm a paper person and my feet are wet.

Design for Multiplanetary Life (If Ever Required)       (499 words)

Flip?

Yah. Ho!  = to lay down back up and explain what’s going on here when the planet Rstyj touched Earth’s farthest out registers {which had been set to zero by wise elders way long back who, in the grip of this that and those silly superstitions, believe that such collisions were at least, remotely, if not less than, actually possible.} all qualified minds (whew) came up with OOPS this hippo; what was needed, in anticipation of the number of planets unpredictably expanding, there needed to have a flexible material set in place that when planet # 2 came out and there needed to be a seamless state-of-being between planets #1 and #2, this flexi-floor would stretch on its own providing seamlessly unified living surface for each and every planetary creature, each one of which, though having been forced into interplanetariazational existance, the stretching device would transform this interplanetariazationalism into invisibility for the living creature who would become aware of and be comfortable living on a virtual uniplanetary surface (and be happy to do so. yip This being way way much more practical organically pleasing underlayment of their plane of existence than the way way back there previously described roundy-bout sum early pages as “elaborate and rickety illusionary systems of catwalks, slim scaffolding, mind/memory machine tools, error traps, run-off diverters and pap-scagagglia la la pap-scagagglia, hooonley, with the necessary vision generators belief drowners hoit-toit Spangle! Co-lock’t Spangle! of a Spangle! and scads of other barely profitable jury-rigged illusion systems” and et-cetranoonia (back-whistle dumpster) which, of course, given the mystical nature of reality nowadays, may actually underlie this new-flangied flexi-floor stretched out under the multiplanetary string, on its own providing seamlessly unified living surface for each and every planetary creature {whether they like it or knot up died trying} so rich     sweat          whizz         DIP!         sweat      wheeze                       wheeze            sweat      the last part of this document outline of what the hells going on at this juncture in the sweet polite yet lightly scarred “lives” off this here these two chloroform twins Jan and Jon seeking an in-in-the-wall to entre into the architectural worksite on the corner known way back yas yaas waaaaay back as the trigger what fumbled off into the void of memorized existence the raw materials backhauling the first seed drop’t into the gulf of the Mass-Tragedy that raged up the eight blocks of the most of the main street knocking it out of economic commission and you do know what the hell THAT’s called why after all Willy (aka Albert and Victoria’s (evening wear required (WHERE’S MY GOD-DAMNED SUPPER!!) ) gently go, my townfolk, gently, eh ah, gently MANY LIVES BRUNCH FESTIVAL-POP PARTY pop PARTY   |||||| so now that you’re equipped of what’s underlying this whole splat, know that Jan and Jon have not done anything you may have missed but only keep creeping on rightward searching for a way through that green wall (we think)

                                           happy

    wheeze                   Hey! It’s Picklebackin’ Minnie            dark helmet              wheeze                squeak              sweat           sweat    Party!

GRAVE AND LIFE

Hi guys! Hope you are well by the grace of Allah.
Friends, my religion is Islam and it is the fastest growing religion in the world. But many times I have heard some negative thoughts and rumors from the people of other religion.
Now I am here to fix those issues.

Introduction: Burial is a process where we have to bury people in soil after they die. But before burying we have to complete some more cultural rituals. First of all we have to wait, so that many people can see the dead man last time and can get support from other
people. Then we have to wash the body to make the body holy and clean. Then we took “khatiya” means a type of vehicle which is powered by four people by hand. Before burying we
have to say a prayer for that the dead person that Allah will forgive the man and give him/her Paradise. Then we bury the body with a white cloth named ‘Kafon’.

Negative thoughts: the negative thoughts of other people are:

1. Burial takes up too much space
2. Burial doesn't offer anyone benefits
3. Burial costs too much money for the land and plot
4. Burial is useless

Now I will tell you the advantages

Natural advantages: first of all we don’t have enough trees and the climate is changing every year and we are at risk. But when we make a family place for graves we will have a garden of trees. On the other hand the water level is decreasing every year because of concrete and human made structures. But when we have a place for graves we automatically make a place where the soil can absorb water. And also the dead body will serve as natural fertilizer for soil.

Emotional advantage: In many religions like Hinduism, they burn the body and throw the ashes into the Ganga river. Because of that fire there is air pollution and they can't feel the loved one again physically. But when it comes to a grave there aren't pollution problems. In fact it is healthy for nature. And you can share your feelings with the people in front of the grave. In fact if you are worried about the dead person, you can also pray for him/her in front of the
grave and the next generation will also recognize the dead people.

Now many people will tell that grave takes too much space but I have to tell you that it is renewable. In fact, in the soil of your property there is a buried person. It can be 50,100,150, 200 years old and that is true.

(Disclaimer: It is made only for education purpose. We are not doing hate speech. We are just telling what truth is.)
Thanks.

Mahmudul Hasan Fahim is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

My spring

You gave me a sign, my spring,
Bright green pasture fills the heart.
Everywhere the flower shines,
Scattered on the ground with smallpox.

Almonds bloomed one and all,
You gave me a sign, my spring.
A swallow flies over the sky,
You brought the freshness of spring.

Everywhere covered with beauty,
Enjoyment for young and old.
The children rejoice at this moment,
They still work hard.

Hear the laughter of the youth,
Everyone dances in a circle.
Drawing a rope and horse racing ,
They start the spring game.

The earth is bright today, with peace,
From entertainment and joy.
A burning sensation in every heart
Bring me, always my spring…

Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. 

In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntos por las letras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korabl znaniy» and «Talenty Rossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «Kayva Kishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina;s «Multi Art-6», Kenya&;s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.

Human Brain

Human brain is like
Bermuda Triangle.
As it is mystery,
Still it is a solution.

Sabrid Jahan Mahin is a student of grade ten in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

An ant

In the garden so small, yet bold,
An ant navigates, steadfast and old.
Tiny feet upon the earth they roam,
Seeking crumbs and treasures to bring home.

With strength not seen by a simple glance,
They carry burdens, they advance.
A colony working as one,
Their tasks in harmony, never undone.

Their homes underground, a bustling maze,
Where life's intricate dance always plays.
In unison, they toil and strive,
Their unity makes them truly thrive.

Oh, to be like the ant, small but strong,
To persevere when the journey seems long.
A testament to diligence and might,
The ant embodies a resilient light.

Don Bormon is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

THEN WHEN DEATH LAUGHED AT US

Under the cold, our fingers shrink like lips before the astringency

while we are biting into fresh quinces.

We push our palms into the deep openings of the coats

 – everyone in their warm pocket fireplaces,

earlobes and nose tips are witnessing the sharpness of the wind,

saying; Hurry home,

so we don’t stand here,

 it’s always cooler by the water!

 Don’t come back to hug me,

I’ll see you another day.

Now, hurry and get up there,

it’s cold by the water!

Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia. Winner of several international awards for poetry, including: Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.,„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020. Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021. „Fra Martin Nedić“ Award, 2022. She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.