Category: Creative Writing

Luana Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER

It was one of those days. By “those days,” I meant the days when the prince would come gallivanting down the streets, with a whole parade of horses and men behind him. The soldiers were waving banners of the country’s flag on them, while the prince was throwing coins into the crowd. Much to my annoyance, people pushed and shoved to get them. There was nothing better than free money, but maybe if the crown took better care of its citizens, then maybe everyone wouldn’t be so desperate for some coins.  read more

Elizabeth Rossi (11) | STAFF REPORTER

Deadbolts, check. Door chains, check. Peephole covered, check.

The buzz of a rerun Tuesday night sitcom filled the dank living room with a cyclical laugh track. In the dingy kitchen, painted by the acidic yellowed bulb of the ceiling light was a kettle upon the stove. The gaseous flames, indigo and abstract, licked wildly as they sparked beneath the griddle but hardly bathed the iron in heat, seemingly taking their time with the matter. Pinned against the decoloured wallpaper, its peels having curled forward from age, stood the grandfather clock, rigid and familiar. It’d been a week since the last incident when their security cameras had stopped working. Then the time before that, their garage doors had opened while they were away at work.  read more

Elaine Chang (11) | Staff Reporter

“Why don’t you go up and clean the attic?” My mother suggests after another stream of my insistent complaints. “You might find something you like.” read more

Luana Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER

A man was leaning against a lamppost. He held a burning cigar between his fingers, and a hat pulled low over his face. He was dressed all in black: black pants, black shirt, and a black jacket. He casually stood with one ankle crossed over the other. He looked like trouble, as if his attire wasn’t a good enough hint.  read more

Paria Shahir (9) | STAFF REPORTER

I strolled down a pathway of leaves, hand in hand with the wind. This valley, secluded from the rest of the world, is formed from opposite rows of trees, standing as fleets moored to the earth and unshaken against the herald of battle ushered in by the breeze. As I drifted down carelessly, a gust of frenzied wind sprung from behind. The wind, once my companion, snaked its way out of my hand, and right then, whispered the news of a distant deluge approaching from above. read more

Raha Rejali (12) | STAFF REPORTER

My dearest Alex,

From the way you smile, to the way your gaze softens when I laugh, there is something about you that is not quite like anything I’ve ever seen. When you hold my hand, it feels like the threads of all my wounds are pulled shut. Every nerve in me lights up, just like your eyes do when you talk about what excites you. read more

Elizabeth Rossi (11) | STAFF REPORTER

I don’t know my name or face anymore. I can’t remember how or when it happened. I don’t even know if it did. I can’t remember the beginning or the end. read more

Vicky Shi (9) | STAFF REPORTER

I’m floating in an endless expanse of space.

I’m falling down from the roof of the apartment. 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

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