Category: Creative Writing

Mahraeel Tadros (12) – STAFF REPORTER

It would be fun to be blue –

To be Heaven’s hem and shoe. read more

JUSTIN YU (9) – CREATIVE WRITING

Autumn is a few months full of bright colors from red, to yellow, and orange, Autumn is cold and that will mean you have to wear many layers so that you won’t get sick, It is also a year where friends and family come together for a family or friends gathering. read more

Justin Yu (9) – STAFF REPORTER

From July 30 to August 8, I attended a Beijing summer camp which was full of people from all around the world. There were people from Japan, Canada, the United States, and even Ireland. We went to places like the Great Wall of China, the Forbidden City, the Water Cube, and many other places. read more

Maggie Aghababyan (9) – STAFF REPORTER

The cool fall breeze threads through the rough material of tethered black jeans, a warm drink clutched between your hands as you attempt to stay warm with the remaining heat of the drink. Ah yes, it’s finally fall, the most wonderful time of the year to me. read more

Kenley Ho (12) – STAFF REPORTER

If I were a crayon, I would be the colour green because many things are associated with the colour green. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

It’s a wonder her eyes are brown when she has lived her entire life in blues. It blurs the corners of her vision and maybe that’s why she wears glasses. Those are pink though. It’s there in the smudged corners of her memory, the colour of her sister’s snot streaked shirt when she would sniff into it. The words flying out of her parents’ mouths would be blazing and red, but she only remembers the cerulean-soaked tune of her sister’s shakey lullabies in her ear. Now, with work-worn eyes, her parents always smile at each other, and her sister lives miles away in a cramped dorm and never texts. read more

Jin Schofield (9) – STAFF REPORTER

Has it already been a century? Since November 11, 1918, when the Great War finally came to an end? So much has changed since then. read more

Jin Schofield (9) – STAFF REPORTER

It’s a mild, overcast Monday, and it’s apparent this year that October is not coming to its typical victorious end. The trees that line the cracked-cement road I stroll along are not mid-eruption in a mane of fiery colours as they used to be this time of year. Rather, they are bare, their brittle branches at the mercy of the howling wind. Even the streets seem more empty than they should be – what should be bustling rush-hour traffic is a single car, its noisy engine groaning as it pushes along the vehicle’s crumbling chassis. I finally reach my bus stop – a lonely glass shelter, casting translucent shadows on the yellowing grass. Funny, I don’t remember any shadows being particularly noticeable on Friday. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

Nobody knows about the bodies in my walls. There are so many of them. Their rotting stench ghosts into and infests my very mind. Some of them are raw, fresh. I can feel their warmth through the layers of insulation, drywall, and paint. Their downtempo heartbeats pulse throughout the whole room. A whimper. A sniff. A final beat. You can practically hear their eyelids latch closed, their eyelashes brushing their cheekbones. read more

Maggie Aghababyan (9) – STAFF REPORTER

The eerie night almost felt sickening. The only source of light to be seen as coming from the dim street light that flickered from across the road. I knew I shouldn’t have been so scared, I had walked down this street hundreds of times, but why did this feel so… odd? read more