Thoughts — KRIS JAGS: A Curation of Thoughts and Ideas

Careful Stitches

I've stopped wearing my watch on his days. Time isn’t really a quantifiable unit with him, and I always feel like I'm running against the sun.

Experimental Writing, ProseKRIS JAGS1 June 2020Prose

Midnight Swim

It's 12:40, I have music in my ears and my eyes are watery. My fingers find themselves dancing over keys for the first time in weeks and while everything looks alright at this moment, it doesn't feel right.

Prose, Experimental WritingKRIS JAGS31 January 2020

Itchy Feet

I don't particularly care for travelling, but I do love a good plane ride.

Prose, Experimental WritingKRIS JAGS8 July 2019

Stick and Poke

Believe it or not, it wasn’t being told that I have a condition with no cure that was traumatic to me. It was the treatment – one needle entering my vein for three hours at a time, every two months. Ridiculous, right?

Experimental WritingKRIS JAGS20 May 2019

Red and Gold

Driving westbound on Eglinton for the first time in what feels like decades, I expected the carcass of York Memorial Collegiate Institute to be completely levelled.

EssaysKRIS JAGS14 May 2019

The Twenty-Fifth Summer Pt. 1

I told my best friend about you that night in the quiet darkness of his car. He told me that you seemed cool. And I told him that if you asked me out, I would say "yes". But when you told me you liked me, I panicked, because something, deep in the back of my mind, I knew that she still had you. And I was right.

ProseKRIS JAGS12 May 2019Featured

A Dead Man, A Priest and a Newspaper

Jack had just killed a man. And he realised that sometimes, these things just happen.

Short StoryKRIS JAGS12 May 2019

Structural Integrity

I don't know why I remember that tree we had in the front of the house. It was a sickly looking thing, never growing any larger than the height of the rusting brown banisters on the perimeter of the portico.

ProseKRIS JAGS12 May 2019

Longing

Every morning he woke up, reached over to find the sheets cold on the other side of the bed. His heart would sink to the pit of his stomach, and he would roll over and let the sun from the window warm his skin.

ProseKRIS JAGS12 May 2019Featured