Get creative with the Al Landwehr Creative Writing Contest

Underneath the back-to-school hustle of buying books and crashing classes, there is bubbling creative activity as Cal Poly’s sharpest writers prepare for the approaching deadline of the 44th annual Al Landwehr Creative Writing Contest.

American Summer

The house did not belong to them, but the dream was all their own.

War Story

Rhiannon Kelly is an English freshman and Mustang Daily fiction contributor. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was dying. It seemed so long ago that he’d somehow found himself at the base, running through a battery…

& All At Once It Struck Me

Sean Bugée is an English senior and Mustang Daily poetry contributor. It was the cold, calculated, inhuman efficiency of the thing: A hive of machinery and gears spinning, whirring inexorably, timed to perfection, that the system remained irrevocably on time…

Airplanes (in the night sky)

Alicia Freeman is a graduate student and Mustang Daily poetry contributor. *A Zombie Interlude* Watch me carve our names Into that graffitied bench (or that dancing hobo’s neck.) Sometimes when I think of life, I think it’s all an apocalypse…

Cero

Aaron Rowley is a biomedical engineering senior and Mustang Daily fiction contributor. She reclines deeply into the paling blue vinyl of the seats, scans briefly over the knife-scratched initials and hard water stains, and spots a young man propped up…

1974

Cate Harkins is an English senior and Mustang Daily poetry contributor. From the darkness you come strange In memories that don’t belong to me and I don’t keep. Born wild-eyed and late, as the first are, Swaddled in a German…

August

Cate Harkins is an English senior and Mustang Daily poetry contributor. Him Her name knotted around the inside of his mouth — Unspeakable, indiscernible — Through tacks and pins, Before coming to a dead stop In the gutter under his…

What Used To Be A Boulevard

Aaron Rowley is a biomedical engineering senior and Mustang Daily fiction contributor. He walks outside, lights a cigarette, combs a salty hand through salty hair and wonders if he’s a martyr. There’s a bench he sits on — tries to…