Category: Creative Writing

Vicky Shi (9) | Staff Reporter

Auntie glared at me from across the table. She’s always glaring at me, the way you would scrutinize a cockroach, so full of disgust and loathing.  read more

Paria Shahir (9) | STAFF REPORTER

Hiding under the desk, wondering how I ended up here, I’m so tall I must slide into a position with my chin touching my chest. Looking up, I see the fuzzy bottoms of my drawers gnawing upon me, and those strange metal rods that seem to make drawers work and whirr. read more

Raha Rejali (12) | STAFF REPORTER

I sat in the chairs, denying every man who asked me for a dance. There was just no way I was going to give my mother the satisfaction of smirking at me and insinuating that I would one day marry whoever it was that I would dance with. I drank my sparkling champagne, and I could feel almost every man’s eyes on me. Did I happen to mention that I was an heiress? Yes, to a hotel chain. Our last name was known worldwide, and everyone decided that they wanted to put a ring on my finger from the minute I stepped into the room.  read more

Elaine Chang (10) | Staff Reporter

Anticipation like nothing else runs prickles along your body, your pulse battering against your skin, trying to escape its confines. read more

Elizabeth Rossi (11) | STAFF REPORTER

The hallucinations were the same as always. The same three-eyed felines and one too many winged birds slinking between the branches outside her window, singing away. Pollen and dust clouded the creases of her walls and furniture in a hydrodip smog. Her hands wove around the stem of one of the cocooned buds, too young to flower. The plant couldn’t help its innate hunger to spread, seemingly starved and equally as determined to leave no surface within the basement untouched.   read more

Luana Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER

There was an old hag sitting in front of my father’s bookstore. She was, as far as I could tell, extremely stubborn. She claimed that she could tell the future just by tasting someone’s blood. My father wanted her gone, of course, but there was no use in persuading her. She made quite a bit of money by sitting outside the bookstore.  read more

It doesn’t bother me, the notion of being another little person with another little name.

No documents or history, or star-stricken revelations to praise for times indefinite. Instead, only a half scratched out name on a few sticky notes and receipts. read more

Paria Shahir (9) | STAFF REPORTER

I sat on my chair scouring through my mind, feeling very sedentary, searching for an excuse for the anger I carried everywhere with me. As the heart meandered through the mind–or perhaps it was the other way around, I’m not sure–I heard the first drops of rain hitting the ground. The gentle thrumming turned into a cloudburst at once. I struggled to rise from my chair, pull back the thick shut curtains, and watch the night getting more blurry and vague each second. I was pushed back on the chair in awe of the delicate music being played outside. read more

Elaine Chang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

Somewhere, deep in the heart of the valley of skyscrapers, buried amongst veils of post-industrialist dust and attempting to be heard amidst sound-stifling concrete deposits, was a low, thumping noise.   read more

Luana Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER

Winter was such a beautiful place, especially on Earth. With the beautiful snowflakes floating down and the trees full of snow… oh, I was obsessed. I wished it was the same in my world. Unfortunately, my world was cursed a thousand years ago by a witch to never be beautiful again. Our winters were cold, dreary, and grey. read more