Enrique's Writings

 In the pre-dawn hush, Bartholomew Smith Wells awoke to a silence that felt foreign and yet familiar. The last thing he remembered was drifting off at his desk cluttered with papers and the dim glow of his flickering light bulb. As he woke up, he felt guilty about falling sleep with unfinished thoughts—essays, manifestos, half-composed letters he was preparing that evening. He blinked at a ceiling made of strange patterns like an upside-down floor, and the air tasted faintly of ozone and wildflowers. He sat up, heart thumping, and tried to piece together his fragmented memory. The room was unfamiliar: shelves suspended with no visible wires, books with screens instead of pages, and a wall of frames that seemed to pulse gently, shifting with colors and pictures that appear in a random pattern. A gentle chime sounded, and one of the big frames on the wall blossomed into a scene he recognized, it was a photograph from his youth. Bartholomew remembered the original picture. It was a se...

 To Sammy loneliness was an everyday feeling as unbearable as it was it was familiar. Attending school was about the only thing he did that included other people. Playing videogames online was as lonely as the rest of his life. It was clear the other players were far away and had no interest in getting to know him, not that he wanted to get to know them as they were avatars in a virtual world. To believe that the other players looked like their avatars was as naïve as believing they cared who he was. His persona online, his avatar was a strong fighter, at one metre eighty, and ninety kilos of pure muscle, dark skin, green eyes, and curly black hair. In addition, his avatar had a beautiful girl as his sidekick. In real life Sammy was an overweight, clumsy boy too big for his age, with flat feet, bad eyesight and didn’t have a sidekick. The parrot residing in his room didn’t count. Although, there were times when Sammy thought that his bird was his only friend. Sammy was a very good ...

 Introduction  Jack had always felt a deep connection to his work as an ambulance driver. His days were filled with urgent calls, flashing lights, and the hum of the city rushing past as he carried lives to safety. He often joked with Maureen, his wife and fellow paramedic, that their shared profession was not just a career but a calling. They had met in Toronto in the mid- nineties. At the time both were in prior relationships. It was until after the pandemic when Jack had moved to Peterborough to be closer to his dad that they became closer and rediscovered their mutual attraction and had gotten married.  Their home in Peterborough, gave them a reprieve from their daily frantic life. The city was less hectic than Toronto where the rhythm of city life often intertwined with unpredictable emergencies.  At the heart of their family was Old Jack, Jack's father, a retired Gurkha soldier who carried with him a legacy of bravery and discipline. Since living in Canada old ...

 Maureen, Jack, and old Jack were attending the Canada Day celebrations of 2024. It was celebrating the country’s identity. The celebrations were special because the new “Canada Day” logo inspired by the maple leaf. The same evening and as part of the celebrations there was a concert at the DelCrary Park. A tribute concert to the “Tragically Hip” by a local band. The Canada Day celebration is a highlight of the summer. The city of Peterborough put on a fireworks display at Little Lake, following the Peterborough Musicfest.  The sky over the southern part of the city was illuminated by a magnificent display of colours and sounds. The event was attended by hundreds of people who gathered in the park and the surrounding streets to witness the spectacle. To Maureen a middle-aged woman, a paramedic by profession and an artist by dedication, the event was a celebration of colours. She stood awestruck as the first burst of colour painted the evening sky. For her, the fireworks were a...

It was the year I would begin my university education, September 1975. As a pre-requisite to be accepted into the different faculties, the new students were required to attend a preparation course under the generic term ‘orientation.’ The orientations were delivered from May to August three times per week from 6:00 to 8:00 PM. The purpose of the orientation was to prepare us, the new students, for the rigors of academic life. Supporting new students in the complexity of higher education was a commitment to the University. The subjects were not academic per se , but rather subjects aimed to facilitate learning. For example, explaining what a lecture was and how to take notes, the requirements when submitting an essay, how to borrow books from the library, or the use of the ‘ Kardex ’ (a system to find books within the library). I worked full time in the daytime attending the orientations in the evenings. Senior students delivered the orientation as part of their community services. Stud...

As he packed, what he called, his most precious possession, old Jack was remembering his arrival to Canada and the adventures of his long-gone youth.  The decorated wooden box was a little longer than he liked but if it fit under the bed. It would be alright. The box measured 65x30x20cm and was decorated with snakes and strange symbols carved into the dark wood. Even though the box had never been treated with any chemicals it had a lustrous smooth surface that had been polished by the passage of time. The box was a mystery for everyone. It was one of the few things in the house that was always locked. Not even his son, with whom Jack had become very close since they both lived in Peterborough, knew what was in it.  As they were packing the house, young Jack told his dad that the retirement home, where he was moving to, might want to know the contents of the box. “ It’s a safety reason dad ” he said. “ They need to be aware of whatever is in there to be sure it is not dangerous...

The smell of fresh earth after the rain saturated the air. It felt like a promise of spring. The frigid air filling his nose reminded him the season had not yet arrived. He walked on the path that generations of walkers had made through the ancient forest. The sun rays filtering through the canopy made him think of a symphony of musical notes written on the ground. A light breeze made him adjust his coat pulling his scarf over his mouth. His golden retriever walking beside him suddenly took off chasing a squirrel. He let the dog have fun for few minutes then with the palm of his hand hit his left leg a few times. The well-trained animal immediately came back to his side and continued walking by his side.  The dog, the scents of the forest and its natural sounds were his only companions. He welcomed the silence; it was an old friend. Lately walking was his only form of transportation. There was a truck back at his cabin that he rarely used. As he arrived at the small hamlet, he coll...