The Inkwell presents: Defining Traits

By The Inkwell

This edition, we chose to seek inspiration from another form of writing, that of the word in meter and in rhyme, that which we know as poetry. Not just any poem, but one that speaks to what makes us, each person—or elder god—who we are.

Interlude: Let Go - Escape sought in another's arms can be the hardest to let go
Land's End - What's worse than death? Bearing witness to the consequences of your curiosity
Dating Death: Revelation - Secrets are revealed as Mandy confronts the truth of who she is
Seaborne - A stowaway finds freedom in an unexpected form
Her Worth - Harsh words result in introspection and reflection over what was and could still be
The Truest Eye - Sometimes the simplest of beings hold the answers we seek
War Within - When all other options are terrible, sometimes all that's left is to find the strength within
Movement - Some do, others follow, all must find their place

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Inkwell
• Release date: Nov 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005521813

The Inkwell

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Book preview

Interlude: Let Go

Written by Rose Bordonaro

Approaching the door allows the real world to disappear. It takes away every problem I have. There are no distant siblings, either in kilometres or emotions. Neither are there dying parents, nor painful work that needs to be done and will be done. I don't need to worry about what happens to the house if she leaves too soon. No thoughts of the agony wracking my back and knees, no cancer or kidney disease ravishing those I love, no depression or OCD. Once I enter that door, nothing exists but me and him, broken only by the occasional interruption from his cats.

He's been tired, withdrawn, and paranoid for a while now. His job takes a lot out of him, like mine does me. But it leaves him jumpy and in need of company. Every time I initially enter, he seems just a little wound-up, just a little too anxious. But it all settles down once our bodies press together, and our hands hold each other tight.

I couldn't tell you what happens in his mind, whether his problems slip away when I'm around, too. All I know is, once his arms wrap around me, he refuses to let go.

I fall asleep in his company for an hour, waking up to my glasses removed and his nose gently pressing against mine, snoring softly. We're too comfortable. I don't want him to let go. I really don't. But I need him to. I need to go to the washroom.

He wakes up and laughs when I tell him this, loosening his grip around me. I get up and look back briefly. He's lying still, waiting for me to return. It makes my heart ache knowing that, no matter what happens, eventually one of us will always have to let go. One of us will always have to break it off so we can return to the real world. For now, it's only a moment but, in a few hours, it will be for a week.

I take out my phone while sitting on the toilet. Unlocking it returns me to my last Google search: Survival rates of colon cancer. I shake my head and check my messages. For a brief moment, I feel like I should text my sister. Tell her how I'm feeling about all of what's happening; how scared I am of what comes next. But I wouldn't know where to start. It'd just be awkward. So, I choose to reply to no one, wash my hands, and turn off the lights.

The soft glow from his computer monitor lights his entire body lying on the bed. He's arranged things so his mouse is right next to him, and he can put Youtube videos on in the background as we rest together. No interruptions.

No words. I lie back down, my back screaming at me as I ignore it. He smiles as I shuffle myself closer to him. Grabbing the back of his head, I press it close to my chest. He knows everything. I've told him. He's one of the few people in my life who knows me completely: every little story, problem and triumph. He hears it all. But, when we're like this, there are no words. It's not necessary. We’re too comfortable to speak of those sorts of things.

Hours pass. We shuffle and change position maybe once or twice, depending on our breathing and what part of us is cold. Videos play but we don't really pay attention. My brain empties as I slip in and out of sleep, intentionally waking so I can enjoy every moment of fleeting closeness. I know I'll have to leave eventually, will have to let go, so I cherish every little breath and movement.

The feeling of skin and cloth. The warmth of breath on cheek and the cold on back. My man's smiling lips and skinny shoulders. That softness. Those soft whispers I barely understand. His hand gripping the fabric at my neck so tight.

I'm hungry, he says sleepily. He says this, yet there's no change in his position or grip. He just holds onto me, possibly expecting food to appear in the small gap between us as if by some sort of miracle.

Did you want to go out? I ask. I'm entirely willing to walk into the darkness, his hand in mine, and grab a snack. Yet there's no change, grip still tight. We can't get food if you don't move.

I know, he responds. There's a big yawn, and his head presses into my chest again. Too comfy.

I laugh. Well, it's more of a soft chuckle. The energy of the room is too subdued to be my normally loud and demanding self. I can't bring myself to adopt my usual persona around him. He's seen it quite a few times before. But that was when we were out with friends, in public. When it's just us, I can't force myself into that mindset. I don't have it in me to interrupt what we have.

He changes position, lying