The Elixir

The Literature and Arts Magazine of Brenau University


Creative Nonfiction

Elixir Magazine (2017-18)


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Elixir 2017-18
Featured post

Elixir Magazine (2016-17)

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Elixir 2016-17 (FINAL)

And Then They Had Sex

And Then They Had Sex by Kate Rochford-Price

Her husband was rubbing her feet.

Her feet were bare. Why did he always wear his socks to bed? His thumb pressed into the solar plexus of her left foot and she groaned. The sensation sped up her ankle, soaking into her tendons, sending her brain the message to relax. The running to-do list in her mind (email Meg her R.S.V.P., send their $147 installment check to the IRS, call in her birth control subscription, schedule PJ’s pediatric appointment) slowly faded. Continue reading “And Then They Had Sex”

Tidal Wave

Tidal Wave by Laura Burke

An overwhelming tidal wave, crashing around you, pulling you down into the unforgiving dark. You keep your jaw clamped tight, sharp pain lancing through your skull from the pressure. You feel a scream claw and scrape its way up your throat, but you know that if open your mouth you’ll drown, inhale the cruel cold water and lose yourself to its dark embrace. The fear and stress march up and down just under your skin, crawling and digging down ever deeper. The water around you is crushing and inescapable. You desperately crave to relieve yourself of the feeling, and that glint of metal is so seductive. To just cut, cut, cut to ease the pressure; flowing lines of crimson equal the rush of freedom and peace. Scratch, scratch, scratching at yourself, they don’t understand, you need something, anything, to distract yourself. The pain is a welcome friend who knows just how to grab your attention, to cede control to you. Chest heaving, breaths ragged, traitorous gasps sneaking past clenched teeth. You are the embodiment of Atlas, but alas you are not as strong, unable to take such monumental weight. Then, just before you completely fall to pieces, until you’re smashed flat, your breaths return to normal, the scream inches its way back down your throat, and the wave recedes, leaving you waterlogged and bedraggled, crawling pitifully up the shore in a vain attempt to flee the next destructive wave. Continue reading “Tidal Wave”


Heroines by Tahimi Perez-Borroto

Lucy Pevensie

Innocent and dreamlike, she introduced you to the concept of imagination. Wardrobes, lions, Tumnus, voyages, princes and princesses. Bt most importantly, the heart. The heart is the key to everything. Lucy showed you how beautiful it is to believe, how faith can take you to lands where dragons and mermaids are real. Temptation and darkness weave together as the overarching branches in your forest of light, don’t lean on them. You need only to trust in the truth, of your beauty, of your worth, of your power. Majestic and graceful, remember that what pours down from above pours into you, to be poured into others. You were created for more, for Cair Paravel, The Silver Sea, Aslan’s Country. You are light.
Continue reading “Heroines”

Average Star

Average Star by Tahimi Perez-Borroto   

(3rd place prose winner)

The Kármán line is about 62 miles from Earth. It breaks up the mesosphere from the thermosphere and before you know it, in the blink of an eye, you’re in space. Once there you’ll see the Earth, the moon, the sun, and all other celestial bodies. You’ll also see my favorite detail of outer space: stars. Because the light from each star that reaches our eyes means they’re dead, you’ll never actually see an average star (the second step in a star’s lifecycle right after it leaves the stellar nebula it came from). From there it will become a red giant, then a planetary nebula, until it eventually becomes a white dwarf star and fade into a black cold ball of nothing. The corpse of something that once was. Continue reading “Average Star”

Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca

Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca by Tahimi Perez-Borroto

(Prose winner)

How beautiful it must be to grow old and wise. To hear prophecies in the winds, or see memories in violet sunrises. I can still feel the lulling motions of that old wooden rocking chair with its straw back and the faint smell of cigar on my great grandfather’s shirt. Squeezed between two walls, a lantern on the floor, our shadows dancing Continue reading “Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca”

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