Flight of Falling by Gunter Silva

When an angel is thrown out of his kingdom, he falls with force and fury onto the city. Raise your eyes to the infinite sky and you see how his divine form moves and tears apart through the air, making luminous flashes, like the flickering meteorite which disintegrates, weightless on touching the atmosphere.

The fleeting friction of his figure against the firmament creates a dull, poetic sound, a sad and distant lament.

Then I shiver and start walking up the street, towards Moorgate, with my leather jacket shaken by the wind and my cigarette starting to burn the corners of my lips. Arriving at Leadenhall, while the flashes of fire rush flickering above my head, I think that London is a damn Peruvian piñata on the point of pulverising itself.

The quartered body collapses like a shower of stars, radiant and metallic, like a storm rushing quick towards the earth, which follows its course, orbiting with indifference, as if nothing were happening right before its eyes.

The hands, the fingers, the feet, fall and will fall with real shame, the same shame that you feel when you are defeated and vanquished by fate. At a crossroads, I am able to see part of the wing embedded in the cement, reflected in the glass and steel of the skyscraper. The lines are perfect and have a lethal beauty. Then I stop and smile, and the stars, and the huge sky begins burning bountifully over my kingdom of dreams.

 

 

Translation by Katherine Capaldi

 

407553_10150566650806798_1178064009_nGunter Silva studied law and political science at the Universidad Católica de Santa María in Peru and holds a BA in the Arts and Humanities. He is currently completing a MA in Creative Writing at the University of Westminster. He has published two books of short stories. Crónicas de Londres (Atalaya. Lima, 2012) and Homesick (SU. Miami, 2013). Many of his short stories were included in Anthologies and translated into various languages.

Opiated by M.E Rolle

He told me all was foggy that day.

We were in different cities, so I didn’t realize that foggy was a metaphor

for being tired of dealing—

with the scores of people,

the scores of thoughts he couldn’t control,

the scores of prescription drugs;

opiated.

 

He had said that city life could break you down if you weren’t up for it.

The crushing hordes of people,

all of them in a hurry,

all of them bracing against you.

Like a tide of bodies pressing you back,

they could carry you out to sea like a wave,

if you let them.

 

11081047_10205291567701520_3084136575215819956_nM.E. Rolle studied English and Political Science at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She holds a J.D. in Law from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and an LL.M. in Environmental Law from Vermont Law School. After a twelve year career as an attorney for U.S. federal government, M.E. decided to pursue her passion for writing in London. She is currently taking part in the University of Westminster’s program, MA Creative Writing: Writing the City.

Broken in the City by Jhilmil Breckenridge

The city lives in us

Broken and searching

Fragmented by life and the city

We stumble on


The man in the City with the stooping back

Worries about his annual bonus

His assistant brings him coffee

After spitting in it


The shopgirl wearing too much makeup

Wonders if her boyfriend will call

The boyfriend texts another girl

Blowing smoke rings over the Thames


The young mother pushing the pram

With a baby bundled up in a red blanket

Plans another day in the mall

Though her credit card is maxed


Teenage schoolgirls bunking school

Rush into a matinee of the latest blockbuster

Giggling in line checking their phones

Trying to blend in


The city lives in us

Selfish whorish lustful

Amazing beautiful new

And we spin stumble and move


Lila and me for Delhi TalksJhilmil Breckenridge was born in a sleepy town in India and travelled most of her childhood. She was always found with a book in her hands and read whatever she found! She is most interested in writing prose fiction though has started flirting with the idea of screenplays.