More Hub, Some Bibles and Distractions from Study

The Hub

 

A mechanical spider rises from the ground and grabs the underside of a stairwell with its legs. The stairwell in question is colourless, as are most of the things in this foyer. However, in spite of the prevailing colourlessness around me, occasional splashes of colour can still be seen.

There is another conflict too, waged between the old architecture and the new; wooden panels and stone archways stand resolute against marble floors and glass banisters. The battle is hidden behind a cacophony of voices, resonating around me, drowning out the words on the TV screens. These screens cry out silently, begging to be heard, but no one listens to them. The students have more important things to do here: talking, eating, being.

Standing at the forefront in a place of learning, this place is their sanctuary.

 Jamie McLean

 

 

As I Sit Down….

 

As I sit down, coffee in hand, the first thought that springs to my mind is one of home. Not so much the place that I sleep, but the home that I’ve been welcomed to at Edge Hill. An idea, I think, that most of the freshers’ students have embraced. This brought me on to much more of a philosophical view of the rest of the campus. The HUB is very reminiscent of a colony of ants from what I can see; people running about, trying to go about their daily business, generally unaware of the others around them. Alas, the queen ant is nowhere to be found and the ‘hive’ has descended into chaos. A rather large student is walking towards the toilets at a rather quick pace. No doubt to finish some other form of business, one that shouldn’t need a description. Two female students are arguing over some menial thing, probably over who was in line first to get their daily dose of caffeine. Ironic, I realise. One of the two is wearing a bright pink skirt with black leggings. Surprisingly, the supposed match-made-in-hell doesn’t look that hellish after all. Her pink skirt flicks into the air with every brisk movement of her hand. She seems annoyed. Perhaps it would be best to let her get her coffee first.

 

Behind the two quarrelling females, a group of male students can be seen laughing and joking about one of the many freshers’ events. They seem to be picking on one of their group in a friendly fashion, as he can be seen laughing as well. One of them is leaning against a recycling bin, probably unaware of the dangers of doing so. He receives a pat on the back for some sort of manly achievement from the ‘UV Paint Party’, and swiftly retorts with some sort of comeback which makes the other male students’ face freeze up. The others burst out in to laughter once more. The whole ordeal was quite enjoyable to watch, and I’m pretty sure I was smiling at one point.

 

Out of the giant glass windows, I can see the library looming over me. I realise that I’ll eventually have to go in there to explore it, but it can wait another ten minutes. Yes, another ten minutes. Procrastination is going to be the death of me. Regardless, the library (from the outside at least) is an amazing piece of architecture. All of the buildings around me are. I suppose the library fascinates me more than the rest though, considering that it houses perhaps more than a hundred years worth of information inside.

I thought that I’d receive a few funny looks, considering that I’m sat on my own at a table with nothing more than a cardboard cup as company but nothing bad has happened. From the observation, I can tell that people at university are a lot more mature than I originally thought. Don’t take that the wrong way, I love a laugh and a joke as much as the next person, but I feel as if I’m going to enjoy these next few years.

 

John-Paul Levy

 

Short Thought

 

There is silence here beside the lake, only the flapping of gentle wings can be heard, the faint patter of miniature feet, and the rushing waters from the bridge. Possibly the most memorable of all the locations on campus, full of life and beauty – things that we humans tend to ignore, at the best of times. The water is calm, undisturbed, thick, and the smell is familiar. The sun, hanging white and cool in the sky, is clinging to summer’s heat, moving, without choice, towards the golden autumn. The lake is fresh and clear, and a part of my nature wants to join the ducks in their splashing fun.

 

Richard Anderson

 

Mine and Wilson's short time together

 

So here I am, better late than never I guess. My first thought was to pick

a different time during the week, as not to write the same as the other

people I saw hurrying straight off to crowd around Wilson. Then, the rain

came, so now has been my only chance. After wondering around looking for a

nice vantage point from which I could spy on the busy lives of others, I

decided to stay stood outside by the flowerbed. My only other choice was to

sit in the sports bar, sticking out like a sore thumb against the machines

chugging down protein shakes and tiger blood before bellowing their war cry

and running off to do whatever those people do. The obvious choice was to

avoid this, so instead I’m gazing down at the flowerbed. The vibrant blues

with their yellow centers, the soft pinks with their yellow center too,

blooming and dying as one. Some thrived beautifully and would stand proudly

in your vase at home, whilst others wilted, hunching over as their colours

faded and their spines went. Sat between all this was a single piece of

rubbish, it was found to be a cheese and onion slice packaging upon

inspection, just nestled between this contrast of vibrant as well as dying

spectrum of colours.

 

All this time though, with my back to Wilson, I’m still thinking about him.

Bobbing away in Castaway, that one with Tom Hanks donning a crazy beard?

I’m just waiting for him to come sprinting around the running track towards

the building screaming “Wilson! Wilson!” before sprinting straight into it.

I shake my head, wiping the silly grin off my face. This, this is one of

the reasons I chose to do my writing at another time because even a little

oddity like this would be caught be an eagle eyed writing, just waiting for

a slip up in the normality around them. But still, I glance around fugitive

for anyone scribbling on a notepad in sight of me. I’m clear. As I gaze

around, my eyes slowly make their way back to the page. I didn’t see the

first drop, but the second and twentieth followed in quick succession.

Scooping up my belongings, duffle coat hood up and cigarette threaten to

make a leap from my mouth, I ran. Well, half ran. You know those runs

people in suits usually do? The one where they keep their arms pretty

straight and rather than looking sophisticated you look completely

ridiculous? Yeah, I did that. One last glance for people recording my

movements, all clear.

 

Ryan Thacker

 

I don’t like libraries

 I don’t like libraries. They’re too silent, well, too purposefully silent. Not like awkward silences, they don’t faze me. I feel guilty just to write, knowing the faint scratching is probably eating away at that girl’s brain.

This girl looks lost, but to be lost with a suitcase isn’t really lost, it’s more like everywhere she is she’s home. What is that incessant noise like a train coming to a halt? It’s not the printer, that whirring is familiar.

Another girl has just sat down, not too far from me. Choosing the grey chair in between me and suitcase girl. I’m not sure why she chose that one, seeing as there are nine other’s exactly the same. She’s avoiding me like the plague. Suitcase girl has a friend. Another girl. Why are there no boy’s? Probably sat at home playing FIFA 13, released last night. They’ve decided to ‘not give up!’ and attempt to get to Ormskirk station in five minutes, the girls, good luck with that.

That noise is still happening, every few seconds. It’s the door! I appear to be sat in the censor’s, I should move. I went where my legs took me. I arrived at the first floor and spied a fellow writer, his page blank. It’s too quiet, to quote Jurassic Park. Two women just exchanged words, the mouse clicks becoming increasingly rapid. Again there is a chair in between them, just sit next to each other!

“Swoosh.” “Woosh.” “Woosh?” “Yeah woosh.” “…woosh.” I’m still laughing at their apparently normal conversation, but they don’t find it funny. Sitting next to a window was a good idea, in case the silence gets too much and I need a quick getaway, like the assassin in The Bourne Identity who decides that jumping out of a window would be a better way to go than fighting. That was on TV last night, hence why it is so fresh in my memory. Rain has begun to patter the windows, aching to be let in. Unsurprisingly, the library fills up. Looking flustered, the newcomer’s attempt to look as if this was their plan all along, but their now darker jogging bottoms reveal this to be a façade.

 Jonathan Naylor

 

Friday 28th September 2012:  10:30-11:30 am

 

A man, middle aged, walks past heading for the Wilson building. He has a

concerned, slightly weary look on his face as if there's something terribly

important he has to do and he's doing his very best to avoid it. He is

dressed in a sport suit and trainers and carries a black duffel-bag over

one shoulder. His left hand is tucked into his jacket pocket giving it a

palsied look.

 

 Suddenly sirens begin to wail, increasing in volume as the vehicles

approach. They are ever-so slightly asynchronous, otherwise you would be

unable to tell that there were more than one. I'm not sure which emergency

service they belong to; they could be ambulances but I'm not sure. I find

it very difficult to tell one siren from another.

 

 A man in a leather jacket with chestnut brown, balding hair talks

animatedly into a mobile phone;

 

'Yeah I can get it for about 72,000,'

 

He doesn't mention a name but it sounds like a financial conversation

Possibly with his wife or husband. He is wearing a gold band on his ring

finger.

 

 A well dressed women with her auburn hair cut short hurries past into the

Venue and she looks miserable; hugging herself against the cold and maybe

more.

 

 

 There is a slight wind and it's blowing through the leaves on the trees.

There is one beach and two weeping willows. There are also two trees that I

can't identify as their leaves have already dropped off. The leaves don't

move around at all; they're too soaked by last nights' rain.

 

 

 It started raining so I ducked into the Hub and saw three Bibles lying on

the Starbuck's counter. They aren't complete; just the *New Testament

*and *Psalms. *I wonder who left them there and whether or not it was intentional. It

wouldn't make a huge amount of sense to leave bibles on the top of a coffee

shop counter but they were stacked meticulously.* *

Samuel Weeks

 

Silence

    

Silence was a concept I had never believed possible in this place, until now that is. Finally, I can breathe an air unpolluted by the deafening drunken excitement that had so far struggled to find an end.  I am in a place of the old and the new. A looming red building stands in the foreground of a gathering of old trees. I laugh to myself because even with its attention-seeking colour, this modern monstrosity pales in comparison to the natural strength and beauty of the trees. They rise from the earth like tall pillars while ancient roots descend deep into the soil, rich with moisture from the heavy rainfall. The ground is dotted with puddles and sludge. A family of ducks are making the most of the recent showers as they bicker and float on a pond that has formed in the valley of the grass. I am at peace here.

 

Shannon Perry

 

Enter the Hub

Those are some weird looking students, with their bald heads and fluorescent green jackets, drinking milk from the carton.  Kids these days.  One student stands in the middle of hall and slowly twirls around looking confused, and suddenly this eighteen year-old man in the big university regresses back into a toddler lost in a discount supermarket, looking for his mummy.  Another sits in a far corner of the room, wondering why his friends - a collection of tables and chairs – won’t laugh at his jokes.

The large sitting area consists of red, blue and green chairs, segregated by colour.  And I thought we were past that.  What’s worse is that the red chairs are clearly the comfiest.  Disgraceful.  Inside a mounted television screen sit a group of incredibly happy and relaxed looking students.  Sorry, but no-one looks that relaxed and happy, not unless they’re on a lot of drugs.  Wait a second, they’re students.  Never mind.

“There have been six fatal air crashes in Nepal in the last two years,” booms another television.  Well, he seems like a cheery conversationalist.

Across the room sits a solitary student with a pen and a writing pad, watching other students as they wander by.  Maybe he’s a Creative Writing student.  Or perhaps he thinks he’s a singer-songwriter, and he’s writing a ditty about how everyone seems so happy whilst he’s so lonely and miserable.  Whine, whine, slash wrists, end song.  If he’s smart, he’ll write out the chords for the song, too.  It’ll have to be in a minor key, because all songs are in a minor key.  Duh.  E minor, C, A minor, G… no wait, G’s too happy.  G minor.  It doesn’t even fit with the rest of the chords, but fuck it, he’s a rebel.   

A man kisses his beloved.  Silly human, she’ll distract you from your studies.  “Women weaken legs,” a wise man once said.

 

If one more person says “YOLO”, I swear I’m going to write an angry Facebook status… 

 

James Jeffrey