St. Robert CHS Student News
Luana Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER
There was an old, abandoned house on the outskirts of town. People used to say that it was filled with ghosts and restless spirits that would haunt you forever. However, it was more than a haunted house. In the backyard, there was a garden. It wasn’t just any garden; it was a memory garden.
Luana Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER
“I don’t know what happened,” I said again.
“Are you sure? You didn’t see a man wearing all black and carrying a gun?”
Vicky Shi (9) | Staff Reporter
Legend had it that the dolls crafted in Ray’s aunt’s workshop possessed a strange magic. They could either rescue you from your darkest moments or plunge your life into chaos. Ray was given one of these enigmatic figurines on her birthday, and it had sat silently on her desk, gathering dust.
Vicky Shi (9) | STAFF REPORTER
The platform was empty, saved for the soft whisper of the wind humming a song of forgotten memories. Haruka stood at the edge, each breath coming out like puffs of smoke. The air was frigidly cold and there was a soreness to her neck that she couldn’t seem to place the origin of.
Paria Shahir (9) | STAFF REPORTER
She climbed up the hill alone. During her ascent, her eyes roamed in search of the white poppies. She plucked each one she found by its delicate sprig, as others flailed with the breeze around her. Once she had gathered a basket full of pearl-white flowers, she sat down under the flourishing cherry tree on top of the hill, from where the entire town with all its vibrancy was visible.
She settled under the shade and began to write, addressing her love, who was entangled in the chaos of the battlefield somewhere remote. She wrote of love, of the longing to cry in his arms. She rendered her heart in words, speaking of the town news, the apple pie that had filled the house with its scent that morning, and of spring.
Elizabeth Rossi (11) | STAFF REPORTER
Town population: 6,918.
Non-human population: Unknown.
Rowan adjusted the wire frames atop his nose bridge, pencil flicking to and fro between his fingers within the other hand as he stared down at the newly scribbled statement front and center of his journal. He pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, feeling the gap between as he sunk further into thought. The diner was humming with the clattering of dishes and utensils scrapping the contents off of them, a sound that he didn’t mind but Kirsty seemed to feel differently. The dark-haired girl’s lips were pulled down, brows drawn together in a scowl that seemed to be permanent as she glared at nothing in particular. Her hands were fidgeting with one of the many braids trailing over her shoulder as a few had come undone from their earlier hunt. Even Mila was uncharacteristically quiet considering the ecstatic thrum she would normally have about her, half asleep against the pane of the window. The blonde’s ringlets were partially uncurled but still, somehow, retained enough shape to practically cushion her lolled head. She had felt sick from the start of the evening up until now, nauseous and unwilling to nurse any drinks or food. Mila had told them that the house they’d visited reeked so profusely it hurt her head but the others hadn’t smelled anything.
Raha Rejali (12) | STAFF REPORTER
I clutch onto my mother who held me close to her body on the raft. My breath comes out as a cloud of white that triggers a small giggle in me, despite the fact that the water has frozen me so. I look at the others here along with us, seeing the look of desperation in their eyes.
Vicky Shi (9) | STAFF REPORTER
A bloodstained sunset glory,
A happy-ending story,
A pale white sky with a wispy cloud,
Elaine Chang (11) | STAFF REPORTER
“What is that?” Warren said, voice laced with incredulity. He was blinking hard against the eyepiece of a microscope.
Elizabeth Rossi (11) | STAFF REPORTER
Francis couldn’t remember the last time she’d lived; truly and most unapologetically lived. It didn’t feel real, her days more empirical than whole experiences themselves. One more day simmered beneath the scorch of her own hatred. One more night of deserving nothing short of the next day. Her good eye, hazel unlike the dulled grey of her left, tracked the alcohol’s curl within the small glass in her gloved hand. She never liked drinking; didn’t do much except hurt her head but the burn of it was grounding. The straw-haired girl pressed the rim to her lips chewed with cuts and the past’s brandings, downing the sharp liquid at a paced rate.