by Nicholas Antoniak

The night decided it had grown tired of the moon and wandered over to the outer edge of the atmosphere dejectedly. The moon didn’t mind. It was used to the turbulent nature of the night. Characterised by random sparks of dying light. Beautiful in its transience.

Night

Jonas Grimsgaard via Creative Commons

Sometimes the moon would try to cheer it up. Beaming right at it. So bright and loud it would be impossible not to hear. But other times, it would slip behind a darkened shroud. Hiding from dejection. So the night may not see its starstruck tears, flying through the dark with a burning, raging passion, before fading into black.

They always, however, seemed beautiful, to the funny people down below. They visited once or twice, but never stayed long. Those of them far enough away from their vitriolic light could bare witness to the moon and the night’s tragic waltz. Sometimes the moon would notice, and point this out to the night, and they would smile, if only for a moment in time. If only for just a moment.


Nicholas Antoniak is an 18 year old emerging Australian writer. He writes both creative fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry. In July he will commence a bachelor of arts majoring in philosophy and sociology and hopes one day to become an author/poet/philosopher.

by Nicholas Antoniak

Paranoia

Sergio Sánchez via Creative Commons

They’re fucking watching me I know it. Through their windows with their brilliant arrogant eyes that reek of the judgement I know they’ll try and bring. But I see the way colours flow through the days of August, and how the trees talk casually in the wind. Jealous. Hateful. Spiteful people. Just leave me alone. Alone. But the lamp looks bright in the corner and it’s making my head spin. Stop knocking. Stop leaving letters. I want to be left alone. In the dark with a canvas onto which I can spill my lifeblood and leave my final mark.

It would be magical.

But they can’t let you be wrong in a world full of rights can they? Arms getting prickly at the mere thought of you out there on the loose. Wild. Free. I’d run without clothes, you think we’re born with these? Because I see through your lies you bring nothing but judgement to my door.

I don’t need judgement though.

I need support, kindness, and a soft shoulder to lean on when it all gets too hard.


Nicholas Antoniak is an 18 year old emerging Australian writer. He writes both creative fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry. In July he will commence a bachelor of arts majoring in philosophy and sociology and hopes one day to become an author/poet/philosopher.