OxLit
A space dedicated to Oxley students’ creative expression.
The Blind Man
I heard a blind man singing in the rain,
But it was not the gods’ drumming tears he sang of.
He sang of sunny days, of the golden rays and the bright blue sky,
Of sunset and dawn painting the horizon in burning orange, royal purple, soft rosy pinks.
I asked him, and I don’t know why I did,
Sir, have you ever even seen the sun you praise?
His milky eyes crinkled, and a smile broke on his face like the golden light he serenaded.
My child, he said, I have been blind my whole life;
Of course I have seen the sun, its rise and fall,
The awakening of the world at its touch.
But how have you seen it? Surely your world is as dark as the day around us.
He smiled again, sightless eyes turning skyward.
Sight is the poorest way of seeing, he answered.
I have seen the sunrise; the lift in the air, the singing of early birds
The world becomes new-born, fresh and dreamy,
Just before the sun crests the horizon and breathes life into the world.
You think I do not feel its warm fingers on my skin? Hear the world rise with it?
Then fall again?
The silence settles like a blanket, the warmth slowly bleeds away.
The world stills with the going of light, with the coming of darkness.
But darkness is forever with me, isn’t it?
He laughed, while tears and rain painted my face.
My sweet child, he said,
I see more than any man or woman who beholds the blinding colours.
I am not distracted by the oranges and streaking purples I sang of,
Of the glowing gift of ordinary sight.
I see not the shallow beauty you cherish with your blindness,
Instead I see the sun, the essence of the world.
I see life.
And surely, he laughed,
That is more beautiful than any light.
Kaitlyn S, Year 11
A Short Story
It looked like an eye.
It was rounded, not quite an almond, but close to it. It was opened wide, watching as if it did not have an eternity.
The trees mimicked eyelashes, maybe not in colour, but they were spiky and framing all the same. The birds scattered throughout twinkled, as if raindrops had collected on each of the hairs.
When looking from above, the tiny ripples on the surface resembled the individual streaks that created the hue of an iris. The terrain around it formed the raised mound of the cheek. The ridgeline was an eyebrow, and the valley a lid, folded thinly, allowing the lake to see everything.
And deep. The lake was so, so deep. Suffocating to some, but releasing for me.
The further down you got, the darker the shade of blue. Aqua to royal. Royal to navy. Navy to midnight.
Silver fish shooting like stars in a pool of never-ending night.
Everything that the lake saw, it absorbed. Stored. Remembered.
It was always remembering, and never sharing.
When I made my way here for the first time, I was bordering teenage hood. Not quite old enough to truly be considered mature, but beyond the humours of a child.
I was old enough to be alone, and so, unlike fellow females of my age, who were finding sleepovers and socialising to be the recent obsession, I chose to walk with my thoughts, to scour the land, to learn its traits as it learned mine.
I sat with silence, and yet my conversations had never been as entrancing.
I was content to be accompanied by only my mind, yet I was never short of a friend.
As I moved into high school, the lake listened as I ranted and gossiped. For the lake had met teenagers before, and it understood the desperations of popularity and status.
When I grew closer to adulthood, the lake comforted me through exams and meltdowns, tedious study sessions and anxious periods of waiting.
When I told the lake that I had to leave, the lake was happy for me. But it was also sad.
It didn’t like being lonely.
So I promised the lake I would come back, and I would bring the lake someone else to love.
I trusted him. I came back, and I brought him with me, just like I said.
I showed him the shooting stars of fish, and he laughed.
I showed him the trees where birds gossiped, and he was mesmerised.
I showed him the lake, and I showed him me.
The lake was where it happened.
Later, I didn’t want to come back. The lake had betrayed me, and crushed me, and ruined me.
And yet, just like the first time ever, it drew me in. Not out of curiosity, though. This time, I came back out of desperation.
Undoubtedly, I was angry.
Why would it let something like that happen?
Yet, soon after, I found in it great consolation. Once my fire was reduced to embers, I realised that the lake was the only place was where I could think what I knew.
Where I could believe in what I knew.
Where I could voice what I knew.
It was the only person that believed me.
That is why I chose the lake.
It listened to my plan. It didn’t judge, and it didn’t villainise me.
When the time came, it unhesitatingly swallowed the baritone screams. It smoothed out the leaves and blew the wind to cover any signs of life.
Before I released him into the water, I made the lake promise.
So, as I watch his face become blurry, sinking from aqua to the royal blue, I know the lake won’t tell anyone.
Madie G, Year 11
Flesh and Shadow
The taste has become unnoticeable, although I am unsure of whether I have become accustomed to it or rather have reached the end of a long-winding descent from sanity, as my life now turns in the hands of whatever malignant deity has severed my incorporeal attachments to life, as if I were a mere puppet no longer of any use.
The wind stopped long ago, and soon after the darkness enveloped us. Our skills were nugatory – no amount of practical thinking could have hoped to have saved us. We had no choice but to continue the descent. As we probed further, we stopped talking. Thinking of each other as people held little value anymore, for we knew what must be done to prolong our survival. The silence became absolute, save for the rasp of our breath echoing off of the unyielding rock walls that had become our tomb. Our endeavours had taken us into a labyrinth of which we were never meant to return.
A sound. It drifted through the void, although I was sure of its presence. Something familiar, but unrecognisable. The rhythm stuttered, and came in pairs, then a third. A heavy thud, followed by a scuttle, as if whatever it was had more limbs than it should, and they did not cooperate with each other. Silence.
I tried to stand, but it would require an effort too great for me to overcome. I had remained sat here, rotting in my own filth, for hours. Perhaps days. We had each packed four litres of water, although I had probably made my way through ten. The dead had little use for their belongings.
Over time, our numbers diminished. First it was slow, unnoticeable. Someone would fall too far behind, never to be heard from again. I had been the first to realise what would need to be done to assure a continued survival. Certain people accepted it. Some begged, tried to make themselves believe there could be another way. By that point, our humanity had long been stripped.
And now, as the syncopated stumbles rung out, I could hear those pleas. The cries. With what little strength I could muster, I lit a match and threw it as far as I could into the inky abyss which lay before me. It landed with a light tap against the ground, casting a faint light over the cavern walls. A shadow, only briefly, obscured the orange glow against the wall. A silhouette of a thing. An ungodly thing, unlike what I could have previously imagined. Its head seemed slouched, misshapen in a such a way that it might have multiple. A bulging spine, protruding from its back as if begging to be separated. The shape of an arm extended into the air, serving seemingly no purpose, as if it had been grafted onto the skin of the creature. It let out an oddly familiar moan, and for a second I thought I heard the amalgamated voices of my colleagues reverberate in a low, winding note that echoed within my very being. As brief as it had been lit, the flame extinguished, freeing my mind and soul from the idea of that creature.
Frantically, wishing to not be left in the dark with this creature, I took out a small lamp from one of my colleagues discarded packs. A gift from his grandfather, I believe it had been. He had no use for it anymore. Until now, I had been content with sitting in the dark. The effort required hadn’t seemed worth. But now I found myself fiddling with relic, trying to figure out how to light it. A brief click is sounded before the lantern bursts to life, a flame flickering, providing a light only fractionally brighter than a match.
I wait. Was the creature still here? Had it existed at all? A mind could be so easily corrupted if left unattended. Perhaps I truly had finally succumbed to madness. As long as it meant that thing wasn’t real, I was happy to accept that I had ended my descent.
The noise, again it rung. The horrible, disconnected scrambling of an animal that had no idea how to control its own movement. It reached the edge of the extent of my light, before coming to a stop. Only its leg was in clear view, however I doubt myself when I call it that. Numerous arms twisted, interlocking to form a writhing mass of flesh, culminating in a hand sporting far more fingers than necessary. Blood seeped from the cracks between the arms, which seemed to have been melted together into some grafted abomination. In some places the pale skin had burst, revealing the muscle beneath, twitching as if a worm wriggled inside. Again, the low groan echoed throughout the chamber, a terrifying voice reminiscent of my old friends who had gone missing in this hell.
The flame extinguished itself, for it knew there was no point in this stalemate. Closing my eyes, I felt the ground beneath me pulse, as if the entire cave was alive. The horrible movements of the thing drew near, although I did not fear. I knew I would soon join my friends, as one.
William C, Year 11
