Fresh Beginnings Angel-Clare Linton, March 20, 2024February 28, 2024 The unknown creeps into a grey pot,resides close to my heartwith no dark blue goo or bright yellow rain,ready to ooze out of me—it wants people to feel what I feel. My fingers are at the start line,eager to beat the rest of the contestants in a raceto see who can write the most poetry the fastest.A transparently white and thick substance oozes out of them—they’re dancers unwinding at the dance studio at 9 p.m. Poetry has always tugged at my heart,but when my sparkling purple galaxystops flowing from my fingertips, it’s off on an adventure—it wants to experience the world on its own. And right now, it’s wandering off on a quest,leaving its sparkling purple galaxyin the corner of my brain. I grab at it,but it rapidly flies awaylike a bird when humans approach it. Itleaves me with this shining new ideathat slowly itches away at part of my brain.It murmurs, trying to replicate the art of poetrylike a computer trying to replicate the sounds of a motorcyclespeeding down the highway in the HOV lane. I reach for it,wanting to grab it,but it quickly inches away—its venomous laugh matching its grin as it exclaims,“Catch me if you can!” Related Prose