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ISSUE IV: Mirror of Society

"Mirror of Society" is The Global Youth Review's fourth issue, which revolves around themes of social injustice, inequity, and inequality. We warmly welcome you into a space filled with riveting prose, poetry, and photography from creators across five continents. Designed by Sena Chang

"Mirror of Society" is The Global Youth Review's fourth issue, which revolves around themes of social injustice, inequity, and inequality. We warmly welcome you into a space filled with riveting prose, poetry, and photography from creators across five continents. Designed by Sena Chang

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PROSE<br />

thoughts rush into my mind as a river <strong>of</strong> memories plunges my<br />

consciousness underwater.<br />

“Look, Stellar, I’d appreciate it if you kept this quiet.” A man in a crisp<br />

suit stands in front <strong>of</strong> me. “Plus nobody is going to believe you,” he adds.<br />

I can’t speak. I can’t even move my hands. But my eyes start to process my<br />

surroundings. Bottles <strong>of</strong> medicine line the shelves, papers are stacked on<br />

the desk, and empty pill bottles litter the trash.<br />

Medicine, medicine is what I need.<br />

As my mind is pulled out <strong>of</strong> my ocean <strong>of</strong> thoughts, finally<br />

having a chance to breathe, I decide to head out to a pharmacy to<br />

get medicine. It’s as if this plan was meant to be. There are keys in<br />

my jacket pocket that unlock the car. The navigation system shows<br />

Gregorie’s Grocery Store as a recent destination that’s been searched.<br />

As I start to drive the roads are clear. This plan seems too perfect to be<br />

true.<br />

I notice that it’s awfully quiet outside.<br />

But the silence is a gift, the first dose <strong>of</strong> medicine that soothes<br />

the throbbing headache, increased heart rate, and foggy vision that<br />

plagues me. As I continue to drive, something catches the corner <strong>of</strong><br />

my eye. A sinister shadow. The glimpse <strong>of</strong> a man holding a camera. A<br />

bright flash. I tell myself I’m making this all up, that once the medicine<br />

enters my body everything will be alright. That it will all make sense…<br />

The parking lot is empty. My car invades the lonely pavement<br />

like an insect. As my feet gently massage the ground a scream pierces<br />

the quiet <strong>of</strong> the day.<br />

“Come here, you.”<br />

I turn around and a tall, startling figure is present. I<br />

don’t know if I can even call him a man because his features have been<br />

twisted. His skin is patched with purple, his eyes glow a deep, misty<br />

yellow, as if they are dying stars, and his voice is slurred. It’s as if death<br />

has sucked all <strong>of</strong> humanity out <strong>of</strong> his soul.<br />

“I’m…I’m sorry sir, I’m not sure I can help you.” I take cautious<br />

steps back.<br />

“You should be sorry for what you’ve done,”the man blurted.<br />

“You deserve this.”<br />

“Deserve what? What does that even mean?” I whisper to<br />

myself.<br />

Then it happened. The man pulled out a gun from his pocket. His eyes<br />

lock into mine like a predator toying with its prey. His grey teeth shine<br />

as he smiles a wicked smile. It’s the look <strong>of</strong> a monster. The gun’s barrel<br />

stares judgingly into my soul and it’s all I focus on. My legs aren’t mine,<br />

my hands stay locked in place, my heart stops beating. Frozen in fear I<br />

lose control <strong>of</strong> my body. The hypnotic state is fascinating. The way that<br />

time seems to stand still, the way all the vibrance in the world, once an<br />

oasis <strong>of</strong> colour becomes a desert stinking <strong>of</strong> death.<br />

A bullet pierces the air, cutting through the flesh <strong>of</strong> the<br />

atmosphere and as I look in front <strong>of</strong> me, I see the man crumple on the<br />

ground. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t say anything. But his eyes. His<br />

eyes are open, the bright yellow pupils stare at me with fascination and<br />

judgment, as if they are looking at a monster.<br />

A woman's voice booms like a thunderstorm,<br />

“C’mon we gotta go.” Her arms grasp my shoulders, pulling<br />

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By TESLARIU MIHAI

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