Author: Emily Yang

Emily Yang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

I understand true growing pains. 

I have endured them to my core, attacking exactly where I am my weakest read more

Emily Yang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

The chimes sounded as we pushed our way in through the doors. I took a long stride forward into the bookstore. Eyelids drooping, I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of dust, paper, and aged book covers. My comfort spot. From behind me, Mavi strolled towards the shelves lining the walls.  read more

Emily Yang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

2:30 am.

Turning from the clock, I sighed at the open mess of a suitcase before me. I had started packing at around midnight.  read more

Emily Yang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

Mary Lynn, 35 years old, a widow. Her past seven years had been but a slow, excruciating deterioration of her individuality. She looked old for her age, prematurely shriveled by the passion of grief. Her face showed an unapproachable solemnity with a burden of sadness. read more

Emily Yang (11)  | STAFF REPORTER

This morning, I fully prepared to be absorbed in my book for the whole ride. Though it was a reread, it was one of my all time favorites.  read more

Emily Yang (11)  | STAFF REPORTER

I’ve always had something more to do. Another thing, goal, task, place to be. I’ve always known what the next step would be. So you’d understand when I say I’m feeling lost beyond return right about now. My college graduation was three days ago. I was supposed to have some corporate job lined up for me the second I flipped the tassel to the other side. I’ll never forget how I felt at that moment, standing on the stage. read more

Emily Yang (11)  | STAFF REPORTER

Oh, if I could run away and live among the trees and the deer.  read more

Emily Yang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

I don’t know how I got here. Placed on this specific seat. There is this strange fatefulness about this, as if it’s been carefully set and picked out for me, all of it. Looking around, I notice the endless blue sky, white clouds floating peacefully. The track ahead is white metal. I’m sitting in a singular car, the seat lined with red leather. The seatbelt fastened around me has no buckle. No one around, nothing behind me. No way out. read more

Emily Yang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

Wake up at the crack of dawn to the irritating sound of an alarm. Brush my teeth, wash my face, get dressed. Evaluate. How am I feeling? Who do I want to be today? The answer is almost always the same. Put on the foreign yet familiar veil of someone bright and bubbly. Avoid mirrors at all costs. read more