The results for the Creative Writing contest in Design Mela 2015 are here!
After a tedious process of reviewing all the creative writing projects we are glad to announce that three projects have been selected as the winners. It was a tough task for our Jury to review and select the best as the quality of each and every project was really high. There have been some amazing entries from you guys and we are glad to have all of you as artists on our platform.
Here are the three finalists for the Creative Writing category, in ascending order:
In First Place: Poetry Samples by Archita Mittra
Alcoholic
Seven o clock, morning.
You are a different person
Made of newspaper, underwear
And breakfast left-overs.
Your bad breath tells us
That day has begun.Seven o’clock, evening.
You are a different person
Made of bones and bottles
Of stale beer and the static
Of television. You stumble
In dreams you can never
Wake up from.The world is made of
Broken glass and expletives.
Violence is the string
That ties us together,
Two puppets dangling
By the fingers of a mad
God.You take the years from her life
To drink it in one gulp.
You suck her dry
To drown in your wine-glass
Along with your name,
Someone she once knew and a child,
Who tells Mother,
“We are barren shells,
That the tide will not take away.”We sleep with our eyes open
In the room next to the one
Where the corpse slumbers,
The remnant of some black magic,
So that everyday
A skeleton, and not Daddy
Rises after me.I still search in the ash
For things I’ll never find.– See more
In 2nd Place: Perfect by Michelle Naidu
Our steps are measured. Lithe, ready to strike. You move first, and I know you want me. It’s enough for me to close the distance between us and hold your waist. One of my free hands reaches up and cups your cheek. Firm, pale and soft. Perfect.
~~
“What’s your name?” I ask, and you whisper it in my ear but I’m not really listening. I know your name. It’s always the same. You are prettier this time around. Red rosebud lips, long pale platinum hair, smooth legs that go on forever. Perfect.
I’ve done my research properly this time. No mistakes. I breathe in your heady scent and almost growl. It’s unimaginable how each of you have the power to hold me captive. Not for long.
You’re beautiful, and you know it. The silver dress you wear is designed to make guys look at you. Your features already are head turners and with this dress your pale skin looks almost translucent. The dress is long and covers those legs, but it can’t hide how utterly sinful you look. Perfect.
In 3rd Place: Blackout by Benny Thomas
His eyes opened to the ceiling of his one bedroom apartment. It was not the ceiling or the fan hanging from it that bothered him, but his own point of view. Why am I on the floor? he asked himself, lying on the cool tiles of the floor between a writing desk and a black leathered revolving chair. Did I fall down from the chair?
Even though it was the middle of summer, the tiled floor was cool. His room had one window that was covered; he couldn’t reckon what time of day it was.
He felt no pain, but there was a strange sensation; no nausea or dizziness, no need to throw up his last meal, yet he felt faintly queer. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite put a finger on. No eldritch lights were seen, there was no ringing in his ears; all limbs were functional, he checked. His brain was functional; it didn’t take long for him to confirm that – he recalled his name and instantaneously the name popped into his head.
“Mani, my name is Mani.”
He managed to get himself up, and surveyed the room. Everything was just the way it was supposed to be. His laptop computer was sitting on the desk with its screen black, a pen and a notepad right beside it, some magazines were lined up behind the computer along with loads of printed A4-size sheets scattered about. On one side of the writing desk was a small bookshelf, next to which was a larger one, covering the entire left wall of the room. He ran his eyes through his collection of books. Everything seemed to be in proper order. The right wall housed the wardrobe for his scanty clothes and the single window of the room – covered completely by a dark curtain. Besides all this, the only other furniture in the room was a bed facing the writing desk.
At a glance everything seemed normal, but to him it did not feel normal.
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