Category: Creative Writing

Anna Li (10) | STAFF REPORTER

A key fell from the sky.

To be precise, it fell from the ceiling of the girl’s washroom. read more

Rachel Yan (10) | STAFF REPORTER

Emilia and Aaron crouched in the flowerbeds, concealed behind the porch steps. The dark mansion towered above them, the roof tapering into a steeple.  read more

Aashna Nadarajah (9) | STAFF REPORTER

Drip. Drop. Tick. Tock.

What’s to do? What’s to see?

I don’t know what to do with me, read more

Clare Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER

Bright sunlight bounces off broken glass, streaks of golden light illuminating the room. An empty manor abandoned by all except the plant life, cracked wood, broken windows, and branches extending into the once-great hall. Dust notes twirl and dance under the sunlight, but no sound breaks the silence. No birds sing, no leaves rustle. The silence here, in this ruined house of memories, is awkward and stilted, all too human in its unnaturalness. read more

Rachel Yan (9) | STAFF REPORTER

James was taking the subway to school. I sat beside him, listening to the clacking of keys. He was typing out the essay that he hadn’t been able to finish because he had been visiting his mother last night.  read more

Aashna N | STAFF REPORTER (9)

She dreams of normal life again,

When she can be with all her friends.

She dreams of schools and busy halls, read more

Clare Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER

The amusement park is desolate, painted in dim shades of grey. Creaks, ominous, can be heard periodically, the equipment tilting slowly with the wind. Silent footsteps across great swaths of dirt, a boy bends, picks up candy wrappers, mementos of a time long past. Wandering, as unanchored to this world as the scene before us, he runs a hand along the carousel. Years of dust is brushed away, revealing what would have once been a grand attraction. read more

Jin Schofield (9) | STAFF REPORTER

There’s a type of magic in forgetting who you are, where you are, and the aspects of your life that don’t necessarily make it so worth living.  Suddenly every weight is lifted off your shoulders and every lost opportunity re-emerges. Faces are lit in golden light. Hilariously funny, or infinitely sorrowful, or benevolent and humble. You can choose your own company, and decide the appearance of the world around you. The pleasures of the Earth are all at your fingertips. Play with your own emotions. Suffer the pain of conflicts, and feel the satisfaction of their resolve at the sacrifice of a pinch of time. read more

Isabella Pan (9) | STAFF REPORTER

In darkness there is light,

With heaven there is always hell,

With water there is fire, read more

Isabella Pan (9) | STAFF REPORTER

My mother’s flesh and bones held me for eight months,
A little concave of safety and love, 
Of chinese folk songs at night
And Tangshi in the morning. 
There she hugged me, put her hands on her belly
As I kicked and punched and screamed and cried. 
There my grandmother housed my mother, 
And my great grandmother housed my grandmother.  read more