Category: Creative Writing

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. read more

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. read more

Vicky Shi (9) | STAFF REPORTER

A bloodstained sunset glory,

A happy-ending story,

A pale white sky with a wispy cloud, read more

Elaine Chang (11) | STAFF REPORTER

“What is that?” Warren said, voice laced with incredulity. He was blinking hard against the eyepiece of a microscope. read more

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. read more

Luana Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER

I tied a piece of black fabric around the bottom of my face and flipped the hood of my cloak over my head. Then, I strolled onto the street, my feet splashing in the puddles. Rain fell in a steady stream, soaking my clothes and making me shiver. I tucked my hands into the pockets on my pants and continued walking, keeping my head down.  read more

Vicky Shi (9) | STAFF REPORTER

If one is so lost

Why bother finding a way out

If all is already gone?

Nevermind what the old man said read more

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.  read more

Paria Shahir (9) | STAFF REPORTER

He was headed for downtown. 

As the old man stepped out of the bus, he placed his hat back on his head, adjusted his coat, and set off down the simmering pavement with his leather loafers. After a few minutes of walking through the overwhelming commotion of the streets, he arrived at the art store. He opened the door to chime the bell hung from the ceiling, and entered the dim shop redolent of wood and paint.  read more

Elaine Chang (11) | Staff Reporter

Matthias knew he made a mistake the moment the guard’s iron-plated knee crammed itself into his back. He tumbled forward, landing face-first against the craggy ground of the ore mine as a singular, lambent ore rolled from his open fist. read more