Voices ACS Middle School Literary Magazine 2015-2016

Photo by Elizabeth Spuskanyuk | Grade 6

Voices 2015-2016A collection of middle school

artwork photographs

poems short stories

and projects

Caylee Watters | Grade 7

Being Asian Audrey Jeong | Grade 8

I know that I am Asian, I know that I am of a different shade than you, A different race, With different values, thoughts and ideas.

I don’t need anyone else to tell me that I am Asian. I don’t need others to tell me that I can do things because I am Asian. When I get a good grade on my test, People say, “You're Asian. You have to.” When they don’t even ask my opinion, and they start with the excuse- Don’t you have to study? I really want to tell you that I am not a studying machine.

Also, when I answer one question right during Math, I don’t need you to think that I am an Asian Math Genius. Or the prediction that I will become an engineer or a math teacher. If you think all we do is sit down and study, Is Jackie Chen a Westerner? Where does JPop and KPop come from? Just like you, we have millions of different paths to choose from.

Yes, I have smaller eyes than you, But I can still see, I can still see everything you see, Therefore, don’t define me with my eyes, I think they’re nice and unique.

Stop asking me if I can speak Chinese, You know that there are more countries than just China? Asia is a large continent, you know... And, don’t ask me if I can speak English, Because then I want to ask you, Do you speak American?

We have different ideas and morals... Don’t tell me that I can do such things because of who I am. I want to know what I can do from who I could be. Not to be fitted into the figure that I should become. I value everything: from my eyes to my imperfect English... My Asian-ness.

Lina Hassen | Grade 8

Tree & Bauxite Ibrahim Abdulla | Grade 8

A tool we use often. To keep the olden days alive. Becoming useless one day. It’ll be part of our archive. Turning into a disparate machine. Becoming the all new cool and clean Used as a part of art. Keeping people keen. But one day, it will be replaced. One day, it will be part of our distaste.

On the Edge Jackson Evarts | Grade 7

A thrill Looking down the cliff face

As if I were just a mere ant And anyone with intent Could just flick you into the endless abyss

Armies of wind sprites Battled against my shirt I raised my arms up Closed my eyes

And stayed there In a timeless trance Hoping there wouldn’t be a time I would have to leave

DeAnna Hewlin | Grade 7

Celina Jayendran | Grade 6

Not Clyde Jackson Evarts | Grade 7

I watched as the boy swiftly pushed the side of his folder with his arm. There were folders up at everyone’s desk to block their test from view. The boy had bumped his folder just enough so that the girl next to me, but diagonal to him could see his answers. I was in a position where I could see his answers on the test as well. The boy knew his stuff, and I could tell just by the way he was confidently writing the answers with no hesitation. I hadn’t ever seen anyone cheat before, but it’s not like I was going to tell on them, because if I did then it would be extremely obvious: I would walk up to the teacher's desk, tell the teacher something, the teacher would suddenly look at the two kids

and then they would be called up. Then after, the kids who now know I told on them would tell my friends that I was a snitch and couldn’t be trusted. Doesn’t end good for anyone.

But then again a solid  “A” would be good right now, I thought. My head was pulsing with the tug of war fight between [A] cheating, but knowing that the score on my test wouldn’t really be mine, or [B] finishing the test with my own answers and showing how much I actually know with the possibility that I get all of them wrong. At that moment I suddenly remembered sitting at dinner about a year ago.

“So Clyde, I heard that you had your social studies end of year exam,” my dad said, as my older brother Clyde suddenly looked up from his plate brightly.

“So, I was at first going to put down economy for my social studies essay,” he said quickly, obviously knowing what he was going to tell them, “but then I changed my mind when I saw the question about the effect on modern day Egypt, and switched to government. I got a 95.”

“Nice job Clyde! You're going to be a consultant in no time. Jimmy how did you do?” my dad said, asking my most dreaded question of all.

“I did OK,” I murmured, knowing I only got 78%, which was put as a C+.“Could you be a little more specific?” my dad said, asking me for my exact score.

Anushka Mukherjee | Grade 8

“I got a B,” I lied, trying to play up my actual score a little bit so it didn’t sound as bad as it was.

“Remember, Jimmy, it doesn’t matter what you get as long as you try your hardest,” my mom’s voice came echoing into my head from when I got my first bad grade. She wouldn’t know if I cheated, but she would always try to make me feel like I don’t fail as much as I think I do. “Nice job, Jim!” my dad exclaimed as the feeling of guilt rushed through my entire body.

This couldn’t happen again. It cannot happen again, I thought as I put on my concentration face and looked at the half-empty sheet of questions. The teacher got up and started walking around, surveying the area to see what she would be grading.

I was always told that if I study I will have better grades, but no study guide or strategy ever worked. I had a sudden feeling of guilt wash over me as I realized my mom would be so disappointed if she realized that I had been cheating. My face turned a bright shade of magenta as I thought over how stupid that would have been. I stared down at my page, checking and finishing my answers. Mrs. Hennerison suddenly looked up from her computer, checked her watch and jumped.

“Only three more minutes!” she whispered loudly, as at least seven students who seemed to be lost in fairy land, staring out the window, snapped back to reality with a look of horror, their heads snapping down as their hands scribbled answers.

I walked home after school that day thinking, I didn’t cheat, but that only makes it worse. Not cheating won’t make me do as good as my parents expect.

“Hey dad!” I yelled up the stairs after placing my backpack on the couch in the living room and running up the stairs. “Dad, I’ve been trying very hard on my tests and I have been studying for each one, but I’ve also been struggling to remember anything I reviewed the day before,” I said to him, starting to get emotional for what seemed like no reason. My dad looked up from his computer, took off his glasses and said, “So what do you want me to do about it?”

“I was wondering if I could get a tutor to help me study and quiz me,” I stated.“Couldn’t Clyde just teach you how to study?” my dad questioned me.“I cannot just be taught to do exactly what Clyde does. I am not Clyde.”I don’t need to be Clyde, I thought to myself as I walked confidently downstairs and

reviewed for the Spanish test I have tomorrow.

Ipek Narbay | Grade 8

StrongBela Koshy | Grade 6

StrengthIt is not physicalIt is not difficult to achieveStrength starts with youYou are strong

You can be the weakest personThe smallest personThe frailest personAnd still be the strongest

To stand up for yourselfIs strengthTo tell right from wrongIs strengthTo be braveKindCourageousIs strength

Strength can carry you throughout your pathIt can be your guide during your darkest timesYou can rely on it when you feel down

It takes strength to be youWhether sick or healthyrich or poorStrength knows only one muscle- your heartIt can be as gentle as lambAnd as loud as lion

Head to toeWeak or powerful

Ipek Narbay | Grade 8

Beyond The StarsMaureen Bowen | Grade 6

I had a dreamA time agoOf a placeWhere the soft, green grassSeemed to grow.I leapt and boundedOver bountiful fieldsTrying to reach the stars.When all of a suddenA silent vinePulled me backDragged me backLike an invisible tether.It led me to a grand groveWhere the treesWent past the skyWhere there was no sign of saying good-bye.The soil was warmLike the smile of an elder.As the moon shoneIt lit up the riverLike a lamp in the deepest dark.Then pearl-like wordSwirled from the vine,“Leap for the moon; it seems so farBut I guarantee your fateIs much worthier than a star.”I began to leap and bound, and jumpCrossing overSlickRiver rocksBouncing and reachingWithout end.

The treesOh the treesThey swept me upInto their armsAnd lifted me upUpTowards the shadowed sky.I touched the pale dusty moon,Then it smiled back and gently whispered,“Hush my child,I guaranteeYour fate is so much greater than me.”I dimmed my eyesUntil light was gone.The branches held me closeSwaying, rockingTo the muted soundOf a dream.

Aarnav Patel | Grade 7

The Taste of Honeysuckle Noor-Aysha Saadat | Grade 7

My grandmother was the sweetest, most kind woman I have ever known. I loved everything about her, from her bright red hair, streaked with gray, to her small frail hands. But what I loved most about her were her green eyes, warm and gentle as spring. I remember saying, When I grow up, I want to be just like my grandma. Unfortunately, I took after my granddad, black hair, tall and strong. But we had the same green eyes. She was the one who showed me how to plant, cook and everything. And most importantly, she exposed me to the sweet taste of honeysuckle.

I was racing down the driveway, desperate to get to our special spot. “Come on, Grandma, come on!” I called in excitement, picnic hamper hitting my tiny legs. My grandma had promised me that she would show me something special.

“I’m coming. I’m not as young as I used to be,” she wheezily chuckled. I stood there, impatiently waiting for her to catch up. As soon as she reached me, I grabbed the small lawn chair and set it up. We sat there, smelling the fragrant roses and honeysuckles.

“So what did you want to show me?” I demanded.My grandmother chuckled, a soft sound. “Patience,” she murmured. I watched her impatiently as she gently broke off a honeysuckle flower. “Have you ever wondered why they called honeysuckle, honeysuckle?” I nodded vigorously, wondering what that had to do with anything. “Well, stick out your tongue.”

“But isn’t that rude?” I asked cheekily.“Rose…” My grandma said a little sternly. I quickly obliged, not wanting to break this

special moment. Grandma squeezed the flower, and a small drop of nectar trickled out, hung there sparkling like a diamond, and then fell on my tongue. The sweet taste of honeysuckle flowed across my tongue. It was not thick or syrupy, but it had a distinct body and presence. It reminded me of good times.

I stared at my grandma with tongue out and said, “Ith thweeth!” I blushed, put my tongue back in and said, “It’s sweet!”

My grandma laughed, the sound that was dearest to me. “Of course it is, just like you.” She knelt down and planted the honeysuckle seeds in the dirt. I watched her with my head cocked.Several years later, I paced anxiously outside a hospital door. My mother came out, very quietly. I turned to her as quickly as I could. “Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?”

My mother stared at me, her black eyes meeting my green. Tears quickly filled hers. “You can-” Her voice broke and she tried again. “You can visit her for ten minutes only.”

I bit my lip and went in. I stared at my grandma. An oxygen mask covered her pale face, and random wires were strewn across her body. I stared at the machinery, the only thing keeping her alive. “H-hi Grandma. They say you’re going to die, but, please live? For me?” I watched my grandmother, not knowing what I was waiting for. Maybe, for her to chuckle that lovely chuckle, or to smile? Whatever it was, it didn’t happen.

“Rose? We have to go home,” I heard a soft and defeated voice. Swallowing back my tears, I nodded. It must have been worse for her.

“At least she lived a happy life,” I mumbled. Lives, I thought. She lives a happy life, trying to cheer up for my mother’s sake. My mother tried to smile, and she nodded as she opened the car. Istared out the window, seeing the trees whip by, but not really seeing them. I begged quietly to anyone who was listening, anyone who cared, to let my grandma live, even for one year. My mother stopped in front of our house.

“I need to get something. Stay safe, don’t open the doors for anyone, and stay in the house. Here are the keys,” my mother ordered, sounding more like herself.

I forced a smile and nodded, watching her roll up the window again and drive away. As I slowly trudged up the stairs, I looked at the honeysuckle bushes, at the small honeysuckle my grandma and I had planted all those years ago. I walked over to it, disobeying my mother’s orders, and examined it. It had three flowers sprouting. Smiling gently, I plucked one off. The taste was faint, but the sweetness was still there. I smiled a little more, a genuine smile this time, as I tasted the sweet taste of honeysuckle.

Golden Fish BowlKaitlin Murphy | Grade 8

You Are the Bird You Choose To Be Sam Terblanche | Grade 7

We are all BirdsWe are all eagles, doves or pigeonsFlyingTo wherever theWindTakes usSome of us fall

DownWith the tornado of regret and fear

that haunts usSome of us soar

UpUp with the wind of courage and loveThen there are some of usWho float just above theGroundTo help theFallenRiseAgainAnd there are some of us who push othersDownWho claw at others with theirTalonsAnd there aren't enough of usTo catchThem bothImagine this:You encounter a mountain on your flightNot the usual hill butA huge mountain full of glistening snow at its peakBut you do not want to trudge up this mountainSo you go through the dark train tunnelAnd this train that is chasing you downhas the passengers of fear and hatredOn boardThe freight train

So you flyYou soarYou even sprintas fast as your red wings or your blue wings or your stubby talonstake youBut you start to stopNow don’t you dare stopKeep flapping your wings because if you look down that tunnel withYour eagle eyes or your owl eyesYou can see the lightFollow itFollow it with your heart mind and soul

You might be a beautiful doveI might be a dumb pigeonThough we all haveFeathersand we all haveBeaksand we are all birdsSome of us aren't willing toFallFor othersSome of us aren't willing toFlyBy ourselves

ButSomewhere in all of usIs the willTo flyNot above the restNot with the restBut whereWe chooseTo fly.Where will you choose fly?

Asja Querin | Grade 7

None of Us Are Innocent Emilia Stever | Grade 7

None of us are innocent. Each baby already has blood on its hands the minute they awaken from months of peaceful slumber. No one let us forget our ancestors’ sins. Tasteless jokes or full on accusations of murders we have not committed ourselves, The fine we still owe and yet my generation and the one before me have done nothing wrong. So we keep our heads down begging for forgiveness pounding into our heads over and over again. Never forget and never again. We look on in envy at others more sinful who celebrate themselves every day of the year but we can't celebrate. We have blood on our hands that a group of men coated us in for life. We can't forget, and on our birthday we go ‘so what’ because we are scared of that one person that will say the name which we loath, dread, and want to forget. The one name that can slam us to the floor and make us cry from guilt. I dread the day that my little cousin comes crying to me because some foul-minded person has called her a Nazi!

Rose and Cactus Serene Zuhdi | Grade 7

Pointing their long dirty fingers at you and howling. Sharp eyes following you with every move you make. Judging who you are based on your look? How bad you are at one thing than the other? Calling us the cactus just because of our thorns? Calling themselves the roses by how they look or act. You are beautiful on the inside. They are the thorns and you are the rising flower. You are beautiful on the inside. That is all that matters, not the way you look, dress, talk, amount of money, But who you are. Who you choose to be can be two forks in a road, But choose who you are. Don’t listen to the thorns, Listen to yourself Accept who you are Who you chose to be. Be the cactus.

Cursed Heather Samir Maarouf | Grade 8

The sky started to turn grey and foggy as I picked the sacred apples of Nyros. I could smell the stench of horse manure attacking the market with its sour, thick, and petrifying odor. In my mind, I screamed in disgust as the villagers’ sweat touched my skin. The irritation would never stop. Many couldn’t help but stare. They seemed to be astonished by my beauty and how I, a witch, could be so pretty. They would stare like dolls at my white silky gown. They would look deep into my dark blue enchanting eyes, but could never figure out my personality; jealousy blinded them. To them, I was just a pretty face. The whispers surrounding me grew louder. “Oh my god, she’s so pretty; she seems so perfect. I mean, like, look at her outstanding posture, her shining smile, and flawless nose. Ugh, how come she gets to be the prettiest one in town? I bet she really sucks if you really get to know her,” a lady whispered to her friend, as she stared at me in disgust.

‘So ignorant,’ I thought as I rolled my eyes and sighed. I turned around. I was able to spot a small heather beside a wooden cart. It was long and purple as if it had a thousand petals on it. I could barely notice its long thin stem because of the millions of petals covering it. I reached my hand out and picked it from the wooden crack. As I looked at it, I knew it would be a great flower to add to my collection at the house.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a red furry creature running back and forth in the crowd, trying to find a way to escape. Its dark, black eyes shook in fear as it jumped from one spot to the next, trying desperately to avoid the villager’s feet.

Instantly, a child ran through the crowd and crushed the furry red creature's paw, leaving it helpless. I could hear his last squeak before he fell to the ground.

“Move it, move out of my way, please! There’s a poor creature there,” I yelled as I shoved through the crowd. Distressed, I dove to the ground and I wrapped my arm around the creature who cried in pain. I noticed the small tears as they formed in his sad eyes and fell down his cheeks. Villagers stared in wonder as the gossip began.

“Woah, is she gonna save that wretched creature? Wow, that’s pretty nice. I would’ve never thought she would’ve done it,” a woman in the crowd said as she tried to peer over other people's shoulders.I quickly grabbed the furry creature, and got up. I could feel his heart racing inside his body as he struggled to move. The crowd looked at me in shock with their jaws hanging open. I slowly backed away, stroking the little animal with my thumb.

Out of nowhere, Mother appeared from behind wearing a dark purple cloak over her long, black hair. She slowly approached. With each step, I could feel the evilness within her growing stronger by the second. Many villagers had told me, before I was born, she would roam the streets using her charm to get what she wanted. She used her gift of charm like a curse.

“Delia, you know you were suppose to be home by now,” she said in a serious tone as she clenched her teeth and got closer. “Come with me, now!” she said as she grabbed my gown, holding it tighter. I held the little creature tightly as Mother dragged me like a sack through the market.

Unexpectedly, a large man in the crowd yelled like a beast as he searched through the crowd desperately for someone. “Get out of my way! Where is that little devil?” the protester yelled as he searched through the market for me. “Where are you Delia, you think you can curse me with your stupid spell? Your beauty won’t save you, nor will your powers!” He ran through the crowds of people holding a hatchet. “You don’t know who you are! You’re fake, and you can’t bear to realize how you’re just a threat to this place. Once we take over Nyros, we’ll destroy you, Delia!” the protester yelled as he raised his hatchet high, aiming towards my heart.

I shivered and clenched my white gown with my trembling, pale fists. Inch by inch, he started to approach. Mother slowly backed away. I stood in fear, shaking. I remembered the time when I was a child looking back at similar protesters who taunted me day after day because of my beauty. They yelled that I was a demonic monster keeping people under my spell with my beauty.

“You can’t curse me! For years we have killed people like you. Can’t you see -” Out of nowhere, a guard struck an arrow of silence at the protester leaving him stunned. Lifeless, the protester stood, his whole body starting to change; he lost his colour, turning into a dark, grey, deadlike, piece of darkness. His eyes turned pitch black and he seemed now soulless. Silenced by the arrow, the protester fell to the ground leaving the whole atmosphere silent. The wind stopped moving, people stopped talking, silence slowly took over the place. Everyone stared as the man slowly started to fade into the air. This was the power of the arrow of silence and no one could resist it.

Standing on the fertile, moist ground, I breathed slowly. My cheeks turned red. I held the heather tightly until my knuckles turned white. Speechless, I started to back out of the market place. Mother stared shamefully, as she shook her head. Hundreds of villagers stared at me hissing to one another.

You are weak, worthless; you’ll never be able to defeat your cursing beauty. Internally, you’re a disaster Delia! The dark malicious voice in my head slowly spoke to me in a vile way. Confused and heartbroken, my heart started to feel like it was sinking into a vast hole of pain. Tears started to fall, burning my cheeks as I hesitantly shook my head.

‘I can’t believe this. Why me? Why has God given me such an evil, intense curse that it would only lead people to kill me? It can’t be; I can’t be like my mother, enchanting people with beauty for my advantage. What a sinful thing to do!’ Questions stormed my head leaving me helpless. I quickly ran to the woods as fast as I could, leaving the market now thriving on gossip.

Tears flew into the air as I ran mile after mile deeper into the woods. I held onto the little red animal, holding him tighter and tighter towards my chest. The Protester’s words seemed to have scarred me.

Memories of fear attacked my head. My eyes started to widen, and I could feel my stomach twisting and binding as I panted heavily. I didn’t think protestors would still be attacking me after they had been defeated by the cops and knowing that I was the strongest witch of them all. Although my powers could have saved me from the incident, fear seemed to have taken over my body as I saw the Protester raise his knife.

Aysha Berry | Grade 7

As I arrived to the cottage, I barged in, dashing to my room. Flustered, I sunk into my bed drenched in tears. Worthless, what did I tell you. You can’t break your curse Delia. No one will ever find out about the real you. No one truly cares about you, not even your mother! An evil voice in my head possessed me as my heart started to ache. I stared at the heather in my hand as it slowly started to break apart. The dark soft petals slowly started to detach from the stem and they floated gently out the window, pushed by the wind.

All of a sudden, sheer evil entered the room. Mother marched toward me as her

nostrils flared. She quickly grabbed my hair as she stared deep into my eyes.“You stupid little witch. You’re weak! Why didn’t you use your power against the protester? You’re

afraid. You’re not a true witch Delia. You’re not my true daughter,” Mother said as she grabbed my hair, pulling it tighter and tighter. Her nails sunk into my skull as she swung my head back and forth throwing me towards the bed.

The room was silent. “Worthless,” mother whispered under her breath as she slowly turned around and walked out.

All I could hear was the rain hitting my window drop by drop. Heartbroken it had felt like my insides were burning. Sobbing, I slowly tried to get up and walk towards my desk. Wiping my tears, thoughts attacked my mind. Your beauty is like a forest Delia. You’ll never get out. Never will you find your true self! Your personality is hidden behind a wall. You’ll never cross or break through. Deal with it Delia!

I looked down at my arm and saw the tiny creature’s paw shivering with pain. As I sat on my chair, I gently lifted his paw. I slowly examined it, but with every move I made the little creature would squeak. It’s black, glistening eyes shone as they filled with water. I crouched down to the bottom of my desk and opened a small wooden door, pulling out a long cotton cloth. I started to wrap it around his leg, attaching a small pencil to the leg for support.

As I finished, he weakly tried to stand up walking toward my arms for warmth. His long white whiskers tickled me as he hopped into my arms. A small smile started to form on my face; he was the only one that would never judge me based on my appearance. “Finally, a true friend,” I said calmly as I brought my nose up to his and stared into his friendly, grateful eyes.

Nick Torrez | Grade 7

Secrets’ Treasure Andrew Shin | Grade 7

Secrets, secrets,Open up to me.

Give me your mapFor everyone to see.

I didn’t mean to bury you,It was a huge mistake!I need to get you back,

But you’re sneakier than a snake!

No one can find you,You’re lost under the sea.You’re an invisible thief,

Gone with my sanity.

There is no toolTo follow your trail,

And wherever I searchI break my main sail.

You’re like a fast frigateJumping from island to bar.

You set sail so fastYou leave me in bizarre.

To drop anchor at your shoreIs as pointless as maroon.You’re driving me crazy,

I must find you soon!

The Weekend Sophia Rodgers | Grade 8

My hand grips the pencilWith all of its might!I try to stay awake

though each lesson’s so trite.

and that’s when I see it!the weekend my dear,

“I’m coming to save youSo have no fear!”

we have chocolateand chips

and milkshakes galore!you can just stay insidedon’t open your door!

There’ll be plenty of foodand Netflix of course

No need to leave your bedif not to let mother nature take its

course...

well bring video gamesand chick flicksand MTV HD!

come on and join us,there’s so much to see!”

Then suddenly it approaches!A horrible thing..

it’s Sunday again,and I haven't

donea thing.

War Zone Naz Kilic | Grade 7

As I look outside,In this battle we called lifeThe air is crowding my ears with children’s cries,And nobody moves.

As I step outside, I smell the scent of blood,Clouding inside my nose.Blood of the soldiers,The innocent men,Just following orders,That tried to save our country.

As I step closer,I see something coming closer and closer towards the soldier.It’s a bullet and it’s running towards the soldier,And soon it hits him,Like thunder, And the sounds of the bullet echo throughout the city like the loud howl of a fox.As his body collapses,I hear people screaming.People huddle around him like a campfire,All looking at him with their bare eyes that are filled with horror,But he doesn’t move.

As I’m asked to exit the area,I want to do something but I can’t.The images and feelings scar me for lifeAnd tears start streaming down my face.

Caleb Moser | Grade 7

Under My Shell Lucas Rodenberg | Grade 7

Am I the only one, Who cares about others’ opinions? The only one, To purposely alter my personality, To fit the likings of others, Who don’t even care?

I am a lie, a piece of wood, Hidden inside the trunk of a tree. You say you like me, Just the way I am, But I’m not me, Behind my powerful, colorful shell, I am just plain old me.

I am a chameleon, I change my color, To have a chance, of being “Cool” “Popular” “A part of the gang” But underneath, I am just me.

I am dressed in camouflage, To hide the truth, And be able to hang out And be powerful, Rule over others, But under my shell, My colorful, eccentric shell I, am just plain, old Me.

I am sculpted by your opinions. Etched into my soul, I feel your dreadful influence I am the man of a million faces, For I can change myself, Lie to Myself. Sometimes, I begin to Believe, I am someone That is not me. All because of the shell, That isolates Plain, old Me.

Sometimes, I want to just Burst out, Of my Destructive, Deplorable, dishonorable Shell, I Need to Destroy it, and show who I Really Am

I want to fly away, From all these lies, Fly like a sparrow, because I know, I can outrun these lies, leave them panting behind,

For years, I’ve had the truth crawling at The back of my throat, waiting to Speed out at any second, And you know what, I am a lie, A Person that is not a person, Hidden with camouflage.

So I ask you this. Am I the only one, Who cares about others’ opinions? The only one, To purposely alter my personality, To fit the likings of others, That don’t even care?

Because under my shell, I may just be plain old me, But when plain old me, Breaks his shell, He’s a lot more, than Plain, old, Me.

Jacques Weale | Grade 7

The Day I Was Me Alexia Suter | Grade 7

The world to my eyes... is the danger of being you you are beautiful but you care not Your heart beats to the song of the birds you see the beauty in the smallest things With a single touch you are able to feel a new world And when you hear a tweet of a bird and you can finds it’s perfect melody You don't want to swim in waters of guilt so you live days like its your last But you put your head down to the ones who put theirs up? No As your friend I will put my head up to the ones who think they are the queens of the world I will scream so loud for every girl in the world even the angels above hear my scream and they listen now they know I can stand up for being me

Jessica Dziedzic | Grade 6

Ordinary I am ordinary or I hope I am

I want to fit in I want to blend in To hide my colors Cover them with gray

To be ordinary

But

What does ordinary really mean What actual value does the word have Other than making people want to be ordinary Other than making people change themselves to be ordinary

Well I have thrown off the gray Shining my colors to others showing I am not ordinary But then you judge, hate and criticize

Well what if everyone changed to be like me Than you wouldn’t be ordinary So stop pointing fingers So stop labeling

Ordinary isn’t good Ordinary is bad Do you really want to be the same as others Lifeless robots trying to fit in Trying to put others down Trying to hide their inner self Strangling their personality with a gray cloth Just so they can be

Ordinary

So they can fit in and instead of being one of a kind They are then one of a thousand One that nobody recognizes Just another ordinary person

There’s that word again But what does it actually mean It doesn't mean being cool or one of a kind It just means being dull and just being the next simple person with no meaning With a gray cloth over them

I have changed my mind I don’t want to be ordinary

I am not ordinary And I am proud to be me I am me not the word ordinary But the person me I am me

Ordinary Joseph Allan | Grade 7DeAnna Hewlin | Grade 7

Lina Hassen | Grade 8

Ode to My Fishing Rod Caleb Moser | Grade 7

Given to me as a gift, my most prized possessionYou are my heart and soul you are the source of many memoriesyou connect me to my past, my heritage, and to the greatness nature every time I feel you in my hands.

a handle of cork with many holes, each hole is a story yet to be told.

Oh the places I’ve seen.places filled with weeds that look like a carpet of miniature leaves woven tightly together and trees that look over the water like guardians of the swamp watching you shading you with a shade so dark it turns the water black.places filled with shallow murky water and long hair like grass that if brushed against would act like a saw blade cutting into your skin, but it was the fish that lived there, the fish turned the brown murky water into a golden pool of turmoil and explosions on the golden water.oh the places I’ve seen with you in my hand.

And the people oh the people I’ve met.People of great spirit with great lives ahead People who had nothing, but a rod and reel to sustain their souls.People in need of help so that their life isn’t spent in jailPeople I loved whom I now miss because depressingly most of them are dead, but when I think of them I feel a strange feeling inside I’m not sure whether it’s joy or depression oh the people I’ve met with you in my hand.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my obsession

Anna Spuskanyuk | Grade 6

There is an expressionThat life is shortThis is not trueBecause life is the longest thing you ever doYou’re born as a babyDie as an elderlyHow long is your lifeThe choice is yours

You need health to liveYes, you need to be healthyIf you live a good lifeYou could be wealthyHowever, wealth is not the only thingAnd health is not the only thingThere are other things in lifeThat bring successYes, they bring success which brings happiness

To achieve success you need time, yes lots of timeTo achieve success you need effort, yes lots of effortThe main goal of life is success It is what we all wantAnd what we all work towardsAnd life is your road to successStarting from school as a kidTo work as an adultWe do all of these things to achieve success We do them to earn success

The journey is longThe journey is like an essayIt has a beginningHas a middleAnd like all other thingsIt has an endBut the end isn’t always badThe end is a reminder of what you’ve doneGood or badThe end will always come

And that is lifeYou need health And can have wealthAnd other thingsBut the most important part of lifeIs achieving success which brings happiness.And happiness comes out of successHappiness is your reward from successYes, happiness and success.

Life David Avakyan | Grade 6

Anushka Mukherjee | Grade 8

Upon a Crescent Moon Katelyn Rutten | Grade 6 Upon a moon

Upon a crescent moon A laughing dove stays till noon

Upon a silver crescent moon A beautiful creature stares at me, as if I am some sort of loon

Upon a sparkling silver crescent moon Its wings flap and move as if to get cozy But stays there as if a guard on the wall of a castle Not looking like it has a plan to leave soon

Sitting upon a sparkling silver crescent moon Its black eyes such little things in such a big world Staying put, there to stay As if meaning to say, I am a sand dune

Sitting soundly upon a sparkling silver crescent moon It’s so silent, not a sound But there are other noises all around Almost like an animated cartoon

Sitting soundly upon a sparkling special silver crescent moon Other birds sit beside but do not rise to the moon Its neck wrapped in dots of maroon

But now it is the afternoon And we must part ways, see you later…

Upon a crescent moon

Zainab Khan | Grade 6

In My Hands

Taylor Campbell | Grade 6 In my hands I hold society 7 billion writhe like a worm Wanting Waiting to get out In my hands I hold feuds Many problems Few solutions People so lonely But surrounded

In my hands I hold differences Separation exclusion Just to feel “cool”

In my hands I hold them gently The slightest movement and Worthless Holding them Just worthless

In my hands I hold importance People filled with Greed Hatred Desire

In my hands I want to help Though they aren’t touching me They rip My heart Out

In my hands what would happen? If I dropped them A responsibility lifted off my chest Would I feel selfish? Or nothing at all?

What if you held them? Just tiny dolls after all Yet with lives of their own But why do I care They aren’t heavy after all So why can’t I Just Let Go.

Joshua Anderson | Grade 8

If I Arnav Patel | Grade 7

If I,Could fly,

Above your words,Above the pain you’ve rained on me,Above the tears I’ve cried from you,

I would soar,Soar above your army of mountains,

That obstruct my path,Soar above your soldiers like storms,

That meddle with my wings,Soar above your wicked wind,

Mocking my misery with their corrupted laughs,

I will fly over them,And fly into the light,

Where nothing you sayCan reach me

Nothing you do,Can touch me

Your chains won’t tie me down,Again,

Your words can’t fire at me,Again,

Because I can fly,With my own wings,

Nothing to tie me down,Yet still,

I fall,I plummet to the ground,

My feathers shed,Each piece by,

Piece,And each feather,

Isn’t something I can grow back,It’s Irreplaceable,

It’s not you,It’s not anybody,

But,It’s,Me,

Because deep down, Buried into my heart,Engraved on my soul,Like a stone carving,

I know your words are still there,No matter how high I fly,

Your words still reach at me,Clawing at me like I’m a meat dangling from

above,The stars once weaved in my sky,

Go out in a blink,The moon once loomed in my night,

Eclipses into the dark,Your words still reach me,

Like a leash constantly pulling me,down,

Dragging me into your chasm,Luring me into your words,

You’ve taken my wings,My urge to fly,

Fly away from this world,From this living storm,

Something I can’t get back,A part of me you ripped out,

You‘ve taken so much from me,My wings,My flight,

And you know what,I,

Still,Forgive you.

And it’s not too late,To forgive yourself

Lina Hassen | Grade 8

The Sun Madhav Ajayamohan | Grade 6

The sun is full of gas, maybe more than a warthog But it is a giant factor of life It also causes strife But strife is as small as curry leaves when it comes to your life

The sun is like your friend, it lets you play outside But in large amounts it is your enemy, at a drought So the sun is neutral And tells us that the saying ‘Too much of anything is bad”

The sun was a major god to the Incas And good befell them The others had little attention to the sun So let a drought befall them

The sun is the creator and destroyer:like Vishnu(the preserver)and Shiva(the destroyer) It is your friend and enemy it is It is something we desperately need So it is important indeed

Regan Puryear | Grade 7

Morgan Genung | Grade 8

We are Humans Too Anushka Mukherjee | Grade 8

We are treated like rugs, Like the soles of worn out shoes,Worse.

We shouldn’t have to think twice,Before stepping out into the world,Which we brought to life.

We have to watch our backs,Hide our faces in the shadows,Day and night.

They gaze and glare.No matter when, no matter where.Taunt us with ignorance.

Our voices are suffocated by theirs.No right to speak.Just hands that cup our lips shut.

Everyday, somewhere in the world,One of our kind is abducted, raped, mistreated, used, abused.What have we done to deserve such treatment?!We are not your toys or puppets for your amusement.

We are masterminds behind men.Yet, we pretend to be mute. Drowning in their Narcissism.

Some have bullets pierced in their heads,Yet they hold their ground.

Striding on with life,We hold on to sanity, striving to bring in the positivity in this world, We bring our hopes.

Lina Hassen | Grade 8

Lina Hassen | Grade 8

falling is the hardest.

to fall means to accept failure.to realize that there isno way to gain control againwithout

tumbling offletting go

and putting faith into the groundthe airyour veryskin,praying that yourbonesdon’t crack...like you did.

its scary.falling.the air flies past you likearrowswhooshingwhistlingnear grazing your skin with theirpointed heads.

your stomachfalls

first. like on a rollercoasteronlythere’s no safety-bar to hold,just the leather braided reins the wild knotted mane of the horsebeneath your legs.

i’m not sure ifit’s shockor adrenalineor my insanity catching up to mebut when you falltime

slowsdown.

the white of the horse’s eye,the sandbillowing,the helplessnessyou feeldeep into your soul.

when you falltime might slow downbut you certainly don’tas your body meets sand with a definitivethunk.

finallyyou have more than one option.you couldstay sprawledon the groundletting yourfearget the best ofyouor,you couldget to your feet and saddle up again.

you realize thatyes falling is the hardestthe most painfula hoof to the chestif you will.

fallingisthe hardest partbut it doesn’t scare us off.

resilience is our watchwordour mottoour battle cry call us crazylocoor horse-brained,but we don’t ride for the ribbons or the fame.

we ride for all the falls.

we ride to learn from our mistakes.

get back updo it rightthenwe feel theaches.

FallingLaetitia Haddad | Grade 8

David Avakyan | Grade 6

Round and Round, Go the Pink Wheels: An Ode to My SkateboardIna McKiernan | Grade 7

Round and round, go the pink wheels, Of my skateboard. Your scratches carry the memories Of our past adventures. You find new routes, I have never known before. The torn up pavements The canopies of trees. They show me unbelievable things, That shine new light on my perspective. You are my horse, I ride into battle on you. My one real escape, From this hell I call life. With you I am flying Atop the clouds, Soaring. You are my teacher Teaching me how to be free, And I always come back to learn more. Your screws are my hope, They hold you together Like my hope holds me. Some people have Toyotas or Hyundais. But you are my Ferrari that everyone looks at Wishing they had something like you, But they never will. Sometimes you are my shield Protecting me from the cannon of words Thrown at me Every. Single. Day. And after the battle is lost I know I still have my one escape. Round and round, go the pink wheels, Of my skateboard.

Leila Bustami | Grade 8

The life I want I want to LiveLojeen Odeh | Grade 6

The life I want to live, it’s so different from society’s idea.

See my idea of life is equality and happiness like alice in wonderland everybody is equal and jolly.

But Society is just about comparing girls versus boys, this versus that.

Once I said that I like soccer, I was stereotypically labeled a boy.

Just because the label says “salt” doesn’t mean it couldn’t be pepper

just because you like cars doesn’t mean you’re a boy

Just because you are black doesn’t mean you can’t have a white heart.

See in this crazy world called earth you feel like you’re flying high up in the sky, But then society disapproves of you and it feels like they push hard into the ground.

The Life I want to live, It’s so different from society’s idea.

The life I want to live, it’s the life that will save us all.

Asja Querin | Grade 7

DeAnna Hewlin | Grade

Celina Jayendran | Grade 7

Kyra Bakshian | Grade 7

The BullyKai Wynkoop | Grade 7

A bully is a bolt of lightning, a witch, cursed upon you, a servant of evil, a poacher, hunting you down, stalking you, an assassin, a great white, smelling your blood, from miles away. A snake, slithering towards you, a noise, tap tap tapping on your door, sucking your power, locking you in chains, BOOM! a crackle of lightning Thunder yelling at you, a sergeant commanding you to death, Until you don’t listen, and you’re commanding yourself.

At The Break of Dawn Michael Baker | Grade 7

“All right troops, load up,” Sergeant Shepard called out from the front of the landing craft. “We’re almost to the beach.”

As the boat’s gate began to open, I took out my navy challenge coin from my left pocket and held it in both hands. The coin gave me luck, I thought.

“Hey newbie, let’s move out!” my partner Allen Rutten called out from the gate as the boat slowed to a halt on the sands of Iwo Jima.

“Move out!” Shepard shouted, “Come on slowpokes! This ain't the Army. It’s the Marines. Don’t just stand there! GO! GO! GO!” “Ready for this?” Allen asked.

“Born ready,” I told him, although I was not ready for it at all. Six weeks of training and I still wasn’t ready for war.

As the gate fully opened, I saw the beach for the first time. It did justice to the pictures in the final briefing this morning back on the carrier: The tan sand on the beach. The dirt ahead turned up where no grass laid because of the explosions that had blown off the grass. The sun just rising above the horizon.

Sandbags placed across the battlefield like tiny Great Walls running across the dirt and dunes. We jumped out onto the bullet-strewn sand and saw the rest of our squad heading to a wall of sandbags. I peered around the edges and saw other squads already advancing on the Japanese. Ahead of us was a landing strip just long enough for our helis and 2-engine planes to land. I heard the noise of engines above me, but was too scared to look up. “It’s the Japanese!” I shouted as the plane flew straight above us.

“That’s Stryker’s plane, Shelby,” Allen called back as the plane dived under the dunes.A sigh of relief was let out as Allen put his hand on my shoulder and giggled. “Wow, you really are

a newbie,” he said.But the laughing was premature. When I looked around again, I saw a young man about the

same age as me carrying his wounded friend back to the ship. I hoped I wouldn’t have to do the same. I helplessly remembered back to the time at the base when silver taps played for our fallen soldiers.Shots still rang through the air as General Stryker jumped out of the plane and ran towards another squad. Fighters flew above us, tanks beside us, and men in front of us. Once Sergeant Shepard was radioed to move out, we would slowly advance on the Japanese, just like the other squads ahead.

A minute later the radio squeaked and squealed as a few faint words came through. “All right men, there’s the call. Stay low, be alert. The Japanese have got tunnels all through this hill,” Shepard called out.

I went over and helped up our newest member, Murphy, who was worried about going into battle. Murphy Stevenson was new to our squad and brand new to the Marines. He was shy and only

ever talked to Allen and me. He barely knew anybody In our squad, and that’s tough in battle.“Come on Murphy, no turning back now,” I told him.“Stay with me, will ‘ya?” he asked.“No man left behind, right?” I pulled him up and we began to hike.We trudged up the hill to the US bunker near the top. Shepard opened the hatch and signaled us

all in. Inside there were men with guns lined up along the small holes in the mountain shooting at any Japanese they saw. He counted us up and noticed that instead of 9 people, we had 8.

“We’ve only got 8!” he shouted to the group. “Buddy up.” I looked around for Allen who was my official buddy. I found him and thought everything was O.K,

until I realized I had told Murphy I would be with him. I walked all around the bunker, opened the hatch and saw nothing.

“Where’s Murph?!” I shouted out in fear of losing Murphy. I opened the hatch and grabbed Allen. “We’ll look for him,” I told Shepard. I hopped out of the hatch, but Murphy was nowhere to be

seen. I glanced off the edge of the ridge and saw a figure lying at the bottom. “Murphy! Murphy! Murphy!” I called out waiting for a reply that was never expressed.

“That’s him isn’t it?” Allen comforted.“I think it is.” I sat down with my feet hanging off the edge, head down.Staring.I reached into my pocket and felt around for the challenge coin. I held it in my hands and headed

down the hill to pick up my friend and take him back to the boats. As I reached the boat, I saw other squads hiding behind the sandbags as I was once doing just minutes before. I set him down on a boat just as its gate was closing. The boat drove off the sand and began to glide off to the fleet, and I was still standing there.

“Let’s go, Shelby.” Allen pulled me back and lumbered back up the hill to the rest of the squad. Even though our soldiers were dying, the war still went on. The Japanese didn't stop, but Shepard helped us along; he was like a… well, he was quite like a Shepherd and kept us all together as one. We fought as one. Traveled as one. And lived as one.

A few weeks later I was back in the States. I met up with my family once again. But there was still one thing that still was In my mind.

“Stay with me will ‘ya?” was said over and over again in my head.I attended the ceremony where I had been just months before back at the base. I saw my fellow

soldiers, but one was missing.Murphy.

Ella Burkett | Grade 8

I don’t love you because they all doI don't love you because you’re a hulky dreamI love you because you're a fighterBrave enough to sacrifice a life for your landSomething about you Makes me feel like we are dangerousIn a good wayDangerous to the causes of this warBut safety to all our peopleYour soul is an eagleEach flap of a wingPushes the missiles bullets bombsThe other directionYour voice is just pouring out of your loud mouthAnd with that loud mouthYou speak the language of freedomThe one not many can speakBut with your words of wisdomYou can bring peace back to our nestYour lips are the gun Your smile is the trigger and Your words are a bulletLet them label you as a killerYou’re really just another pair of strong wings

You flap harder each time a feather falls offEither from your eagle wingsOr the ugly duckling’s feathersYou flap harderBecause you can't afford having your peopleFeatherless You learned to flap your wings for others And yourselfI remember you started out flapping under a rockOn day you just burst out of the rock andMade a differenceYou did it once you can do it againRemember what your wings are made forMaking a differenceTo flyChange your landThanks you for your wings Thanks for using them for usThank you, my eagle Soaring in the skyOnce you have landedYou have changed the world

My Eagle, My Fighter Lara Azar | Grade 7

Azalea Arman Grade 8

To the Moon and Back Aysha Berry | Grade 7

I walked into my lime green room, dropped my rainbow bag on the soft carpet, telling myself that I would do my homework later, and slumped down onto my bed. I was so tired. Two hours of softball practice. Ugh. As I was just about to lay down on my soft, cozy, turquoise bed, my ears suddenly perked up at the sound of my mom’s voice, drifting through the vent. Two years ago, I realized that the rusty, old vent in my room connected to the kitchen. Using that vent I learned many secrets that not many people knew. I stopped thinking and just listened.

“ Mark, should we tell her?” my mom said in a hushed and saddened voice.“I don’t know, Diana. She doesn’t seem ready, but maybe we should tell her before it gets too close,”

my dad replied back. I thought about this for a while. What was it that they are keeping from me? My brain hushed up

when my mom started to talk again. “I’ll go tell her, but I might need some backup.” Uh Oh. She’s coming up; better make it look like I’ve been studying. The second that my finger tips

reached the book, I heard my mom walking up the dark echoey stairs. My eyes met the first word on the page and then a slow, quiet knock rattled my white door, which was covered in pictures.

“Come in,” I told my mom in the happiest sing-songy voice I could muster. I saw her enter and then my face became glum. My mom’s normally nice face was red with something that couldn’t be anything but the sign of tears. My dad entered closely behind, not looking much better, but managing to hide most of his sorrow.

“Honey, we have something very sad to tell you,” my mom said in a sorrowful voice. Her eyes teared up and she then said slowly, “Your dad is going to be in Iraq for a year.”

It took me a minute to realize what was going on, but the second I did my body tensed. My hands got clammy and suddenly the thoughts going through my mind shifted. No Dad, no Dad, no Dad! I thought back to all those fun years with my dad, like when he took me to my first softball game and our last Christmas when he got me a signed bat. Then I could think of nothing but the fact that my dad was leaving. Suddenly I broke into tears. The tears were ragged, and I was having to breath in a rough way.

“I know, Honey,” my mom spoke in the most caring way, but I pushed her away wanting to be alone.

“I have to be on the plane in two weeks. I know this is sudden, but this way you guys can stay here for another year,” my dad mumbled in a calm and convincing voice. I felt a little better knowing that this was the best decision, but I was still so sad.

Azalea Arman | Grade 8

The two weeks that followed were terrible on the family. My parents had to explain this to my three-year-old sister and that didn’t go well. My softball team lost half of their games because our star pitcher wasn’t there. My dad had to work extra hours to get ready to leave and whatever time he did have at home was spent packing. It seemed liked no time at all had passed, but it was time for my dad to leave.

We pulled up alongside the dark, gray airport, the whole family holding back tears. As we walked through the airport, my mom and little sister slowly fell behind my dad and me, giving us time to say goodbye. Suddenly my dad turned to me, handed me a wrapped rectangle and said, “Don’t open it until you get home okay?”

“O-o-okay,” I replied through tears. My dad said nothing else as we walked the rest of the way to the gate.

“Now, my star player, are you going to be good to your mom and love your sister for me?” my dad asked. I nodded my head, but looked behind him, at the bright advertisement for shampoo, knowing that this promise could not be kept. I was about to say something, but then my mom and sister appeared. After they said their goodbyes, our whole family gathered together for one big hug and then my dad had to leave. “Goodbye my girls, be good!” Then he turned and walked down the passage.

Coming home was the worst. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway, I ran. I ran all the way up the stairs, across the front porch, inside, onto the stairs, up the stairs and into my room. I then sat down in my green bean bag chair and ripped the paper off the present. My eyes landed on a beautiful green and blue leather bound book and my heart stopped. It was a diary. I had always wanted one and this was the most beautiful one I had ever seen. I dried my tears and opened the first page. There sitting in the crease of the book was a fresh, clean letter with my name on it. I slowly pulled the letter open and read the whole thing while holding my breath.

The letter read, Dear Camdyn, I already miss you and I know that you do too. This diary is for you to write in while I’m away and to read when you feel saddest. I have already written two entries and sent them to you. I hope that you will send me yours too. I miss you to the moon and back. Love, Dad. As soon as I had finished I went to my computer and opened my email. There it was, an email from my dad. Without even opening it I knew what was inside.

I had never had a diary and the thought of writing down what I felt was incredible. I wrote in the diary for at least one and a half weeks before remembering to send them to Dad. I never did send them. I was too scared to tell him.

Sophia Rodgers | Grade 8

Dear Diary, This weekend on Saturday morning I woke up at 3:30 a.m from a terrible dream. This is the first one that I have had like it and it was very scary. The dream started when Dad left and then I got a phone call from him. During the phone call a bomb went off and he died. I woke up screaming, but was able to calm myself down enough so that I was able to sleep restlessly for the remainder of the night. When I woke up again at a reasonable time, and not from a dream, I slowly walked down the stairs and headed into the stark, white kitchen for breakfast. As I was eating my bagel, my mom asked me if anything was wrong; she heard something last night. My mouth was full of bagel, but before my brain had time to think about my answer, I blurted out forcefully, “No!” Realizing the astonished look on my mom’s face from my forceful answer, I quickly changed my answer to a soft “no.” So far the weekend has been terrible. At least I have my softball game to look forward to.

Dear Diary, During my softball game I felt alive, throwing and catching the ball like it was second nature. I scored 3 runs, 1 a homerun, and was really enjoying myself. Then when I was sliding into home, a girl on the other team stepped on my hand and when I went back into the dugout, no one on my team asked if I was okay. It was then I realized that I had no friends that liked me anymore. Maybe there are still a few left at school.

During school I talked to no one. I really didn’t have any friends left. As soon as the bell rang I ran to the playground.The sky was a beautiful blue and wood chips crunched under my feet as I walked. Recess is my only alone time, but today as I headed for my favorite swing I noticed that someone was in it. She was new and I didn’t know her. I walked closer, ready to tell off this girly girl, but then realized that she was crying. As I sat down on the swing next to her, as quiet as a mouse, she looked up.

Her face all red and I said quietly, “What’s wrong?”

She replied shyly, “My dad left last week…”

“My dad left too,” I said calmly, but I knew that the tears would start soon. I could tell that she understood what it felt like so I murmured, “We should talk.”

“Ya,” she responded. “What has been the worst part for you?”

I knew that I shouldn’t tell her, but I did. “The nightmares. Do you get them?”

“Yes I do. I hate them.” I could tell that she was calming down. “Have you told your mom? I haven’t,” she asked.

“Me neither.”The bell rang and before we clambered inside, April (I had just found out her name) handed me a slip of paper. On the paper was her email and a note that said that we should talk more. Azalea Arman | Grade 8

Through our emails we were able to convince each other to tell our parents about the nightmares. Having already told someone, it was a bit easier, but it was still really hard. The conversation with my mom lasted for at least an hour and ended with a huge hug and many tears. I felt so much better after I told her. It felt like a thousand pounds had been lifted from my shoulders. Then I remembered the two emails that I forgot to send to Dad.

Dear Dad, These past couple of weeks have been really hard without you. At first I was really scared to have you gone, but knowing now that I have someone to confide in really helps. I can’t believe that I forgot, so here are the two diary entries. I miss you to the moon and back. Love, Camdyn

Send

Sharif Hassen | Grade 6

Adam Cassem | Grade 6

Ode to Video Games Katelyn Rutten | Grade 6

Oh, video games how much joy you bring to me How happy you make thee

Running around in a fake land Maybe helping a friend get unbanned Never ever getting scammed

Being a wizard or dragon or warlock too Also helping make a brew Never ever feeling blue

Maybe playing many sports or having fun on a basketball court Always having cool looking shorts

Most times being a made up character Like Mario or Charmander I am not an amateur

Maybe being Pikachu Or playing on the Wii U Also having Super Speedy

Playing on any device Or even being with a family of mice Never having to do a level twice

Playing all day and all night But maybe I might Take a break

wait... No way

Maybe helping stop a crook Even remaking a movie or book Can’t stop now I'm just so hooked

Dana Selim Nasr | Grade 8

Never-ending Love Dina Fakhoury | Grade 7

I’m here, I’ll always be here. The first time I held you in my arms I couldn’t stop staring at your dark brown eyes Sparkling in the dark sky

The first time you crawled You were like a mouse searching for cheese

The first time you lost your tooth That’s when I knew you were growing up And that ripped my heart out I didn’t want to think that you will be off to college Overnight

The first time you fell and hurt your knee I knew I had to shield you from the world And keep you close

The first time you had a crush I was there to give you advice And helped you look beautiful in that sparkling dress Under the disco ball light In the school dance

The first time you got your heart broken I was there to tell you it’s going to be okay And eat a bucket of ice cream While watching The Notebook

The first time you drove a car I was there to teach you everything And then crashing the car on the sidewalk With you

Those memories brings back emotions that I can’t lock in That’s why I started crying when you turned 16

because I knew you were going to leave me And go to parties and forget about your mama

The first time you were picking out colleges I was there to push you to go to a great college

The first time you had a graduation I was there to see my baby girl become a woman I cried my eyes out Until there was nothing left To cry for

While you were in college I was alone And getting tired I did not think I will live for long But then you found someone and you got married And that brought the joy back in me

A few years later I was staring in your daughter's eyes And whispering in your baby girl's ear Ma Ma those dark sparkling eyes Just like your mom’s

Although you are all grown up, in the inside you will always be My baby girl. The one who cried on the first day of school because you did not want me to leave you The one who was nervous to start a life without me

Spread your wings And fly

Never forget who you are and how you were raised I love you, Dearest rose My little tiny red rose

Alex Gay | Grade 7

Father is Back!!! Madhav Ajayamohan | Grade 6

It was another rainy, gloomy day in the state of Kentucky.

My name is Leo Pendragon. My mom and I lived in an old rundown house, with 2 bedrooms,

which was just acceptable for living. It looked like a pub when we moved in, for there were a lot of empty bottles and a poker table. We refurbished the whole place as best as we could, alone at the time,

and managed to get all of our stuff inside in a month. But, that was when my father was here. He’s been gone for one whole year. My father had gone

away for World War II, last year. Every able-bodied American man was ordered to go to the war. My

father was my best buddy, my role model, the person I could confide everything to and was exactly just like me. Except for my mother’s green eyes (I would rather have father’s deep brown chestnut eyes)

and my sour sense of humor (in my father’s opinion), I am totally like him. And I don’t have my father's accent, which I practiced all my life but could not achieve.

But, now that father is gone, I have these strange headaches. Not like a mammoth headache. On

a scale of 1-10, it’s a 1 or 2. But, it’s always there like a scab on my face. If I’m really immersed in something, I don’t even feel it, unless I’m reminded of it like a fly bothering me. When I have it at

school, I try to control it. When I told mother, she was very scared and took me to about 100 doctor’s appointments.

She’s the sweetest person of all, with her red hair and bright green eyes. She had a real kind face,

streaked with wrinkles of tiredness. Her job is to be the cook in a restaurant. She's the only cook. That has to make someone tired. Not one of the doctors could find what was happening. Finally she decided

to talk about it to the school nurse Ms. Susan, because she was a good doctor. And the nurse called me in every break for the checkups. It didn’t help to keep my name in soccer.

Then the doorbell rang. “Leo, sweetheart, please open the door,” called mom.

As I opened the door, there was a woman. Nurse Susan. She criticized, “My, my Leo. What a shabby house,” with her ever smiling/sneering face.

“Even though she was rude, she is right,’” thought Leo. It was an unexpected time for a guest to come.

The house was a

mess, the sofa half ripped out, the kitchen

filled up with dishes, magazines all over the

table and shoes all over

the floor. “Well, um ah,

welcome, Ms. Susan. I’ll call my mother right

away.”

“Good morning, Ms. Susan. I’m sorry the

house is such a mess. We didn’t expect you to

come by. Now, I hope

AsjaQuerinGrade7

you will have some tea with us. Leo, get those cookies we baked last evening.” Soon both my mom and Ms. Susan finished having tea (and some scrumptious biscuits, if I say

so myself), when Ms. Susan came to the point. “Mrs. Pendragon, your son has unnatural headaches.”

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. None of the pharmacies say there is a problem with him and he wants to play hockey. I don’t believe it one bit,” said Mother with a firmness created from living

alone. “I have to agree with you Mrs. Pendragon. It is emotional pain from not seeing his father, is my

best guess,” Ms. Susan said.

“Emotional pain?!” exclaimed Mother and me. “Well, Leo has been telling me that he is very sad that his father is gone. And he seemed to have

imagined that his father was standing in some places. He is very sad his father is gone and suffers from that anxiety. Isn’t that right, Leo?" said Ms. Susan in her most business-like tone ever.

“Is that true, Leo?” questioned Mother.

“A bit,” I said, wondering how much of her hair was white now. “I felt very sad when father left. I did want to cry, but I thought about what father would say. I didn’t tell because you needed to get all

the rest you can for work.” “My sweet little boy, you should have cried. Crying makes a world's deal. It takes all your kept in

emotions out in one single minute, makes your heart and head as free as possible,” my mother said,

wondering why her son did not open up to her like this. “Anyways,” Ms. Susan said, “I called my father, who is a military general of your husband's troop,

coincidentally, to release him from service.” Mother then looked 10 years younger after that and asked, “Then where is he? Where is he?”

“He’s just outside the door. And he had full honors of the troop,” Ms. Susan said.

But, Mother didn’t hear the last bit. She ran towards the door. But, I was faster. I opened the door and exclaimed, “Father!!!”

‘Father’ looked like a young man, blond hair, humorous eyes, a black backpack and an old, black, moth eaten coat. “My gosh. You're as tall as me, you are boy,” said Father.

“Jeffery, you look more.... manly,”

she said lovingly. “And yer lookin’ more older, I say

Lisa.” In that moment of peace and happiness, my family hugged each

other, and no one said anything.

This peace was broken by Ms. Susan saying, “May I take my leave now Mr.

and Mrs. Pendragon?” “Oh, I’m sorry for neglecting you

like that. Yes, you may leave,” said

my bewildered mother. Picking up a cookie, father said,

“What I missed most is good cooking,” causing the whole family to

laugh.

“Leo, do you have your headache now?” Mother questioned and I

answered a happy, “No.”

DeAnna Hewlin | Grade 7

Jennifer Coleman | Learning Lab Teacher

Save My Soul Dina Fakhoury | Grade 7

As I opened the cupboard all I saw in front of me was a finished bottle of whisky, and I knew Dad was drinking again. He promised me he would stop; why would he lie? Afterwards I went to my cold dark room, and as I put my head on the rough reeking pillow, I heard yelling and screaming and all of a sudden Mom came running as if she was being chased by her worst fear. Suddenly I heard a loud click.

“Eric, I locked the doors. Now get under the bed and don’t look up,” she said with fear, so I crawled under the bed. I heard a bang as a foot banged the door and then I realized my dad was the one who my mom was fearing.

Then I heard struggling and cries for help. I tried to peek in from the crack of the bed. My face stuck to the ground trying to see what was going on.  Anxiously I looked up. I saw my dad. His eyes were as red as blood and his face filled with anger and sweat ran down his face drip by drip and his lips were as dry as a desert. I could see his huge hands grabbing Mom’s shoulder. I saw her trying to get up. I could see her struggling, but it was too late. He grabbed her shoulder and threw her down the stairs. I wanted to help, but what can a 12-year-old, skinny, boney boy do?

A n d t h e n I heard a Boom…

As I ran down the stairs, the old wooden staircase, puddles of blood w e r e o n a l m o s t every stair. I got worried, so I tried to look for Mom, but I could not find her and then I thought to myself, where would Dad hide her? So I went to the basement and there before my eyes was Mom sitting there in pain. All her clothes were covered in blood and she had a faint expression on her face.

“Mom what happened?” I said with fear. Mom replied with exhaustion, “I just got a small scratch on my  head…  I am fine.” “NO!!! I am not a boy anymore. I am almost 13!” I yelled with anger. So I pulled her to the

ripped old brown couch. As Mom continued to cry, in the background I could hear footsteps coming down stairs and a figure appeared right before me. Sounds of cries echoed in the room over and over. Tears filled up the room, screams blasted through the walls.

“Dad.. what’s wrong?” I said with hesitation. “Nothing!!” Dad said with a roar. I was very scared of him, yet I loved him. It's funny,

knowing that the person you love can be the person that can hurt you… Bang, the sound of leather hitting against each other. I knew it was beating time. I guess

Dad liked taking all his anger out on me.

Madhav Ajayamohan | Grade 7

 The smell of leather makes me want to cry because that smell reminds me of all the times I was hurt from Dad and I wish I can just grab it and throw it out of the window or even better burn it. Then all the pain would go and Dad would just be powerless and he would face his inner darkness.

But then Dad took the first hit and I screamed as loud as I could and cried, “Why are you doing this…? I am your son!”

“Shut up and turn around!!” Dad yelled as loud as he could. Mom tried to get up, but the more she moved the more blood she lost. The world kept spinning and then it all turned black like someone had turned off the

light and then… I woke next to Mom, but as I tried to wake her up, she would not.  I shook her and shook

her, but no response. I am no doctor, but I thought she was losing a lot of blood, so I started chewing on my nails. As scared as I was, I knew I had to stop whining and help her get back on her feet, so I wrapped her head with towels and splashed her face with water.

As I began to get a response from her, all she said was, “I love you so much! Remember I will always love you, but please promise me you will leave everything behind and go to Aunt Linda. She will take care of you,” Mom said with a soft voice.

“Mom what are you  saying?“ I said with a worried voice. “I am not leaving you and dad! I love you both,” I said with a proud mature  voice.

“Goodbye. Please listen to what I am telling you. I love you,” Mom said with a trembling voice.

”Don’t leave me! You can’t Mom!!” In my arms, I had her. I felt her body getting lighter and lighter. I heard creaks and I looked. It was dad coming downstairs with his evil red eyes staring right at me and I yelled with anger, “Look at what you did! You killed her! I am going to the cops! You need help! You made the one person that loved me leave me forever! I love you, but I am fed up with this! I can’t, I just can’t handle it anymore!” I screamed over and over.

“Who said you can leave? Now go to your room or I will make that back of yours more red and make it bleed harder,” Dad said with darkness.

I couldn’t handle it. The pain was hard. I cried day and night, staying in the room. I grew thinner and weaker because all I did was stay in that stupid room. It was like a shield blocking me from reality, but all I wanted to do is leave this town, leave this house, and finally leave Dad. Sometimes I wonder if I had listened to Mom where would I be?

As I kept thinking about Mom, a question popped out from nowhere: where did Dad leave the body? Saying it out loud made me scared. As I kept asking myself over and over, I knew it wouldn’t help, so I came to my senses to go and ask Dad.

As I dragged myself to the door, and opened it slowly, I saw Dad just sitting on the chair and watching a match like nothing happened. As I confronted him with the question, he ignored it. I felt like a fly that kept annoying him.

I was sick of watching myself rotting while I had a whole life waiting in front of me and I couldn't see Dad drink himself to death. So I stood on the table and started to yell with anger and I said, “Dad your life does not need to end here. You need to wake up to reality. You need help! You don’t only need help, you need professional help!”  

“Eric, I know I did some bad stuff. Call the cops. This could right my wrongs,” he said with a relieved tone in his voice.

“Dad, I can’t call the cops on you,” I said. “Son it is time for me to find the light,” Dad said. I grabbed the phone and it took me a few seconds to dial and then by one phone call it

was all over. As I heard the sirens getting closer, I heard policemen screaming, “This is the NYPD! You are under arrest for the murder of Tonya Stilinski and the beating of Eric Price.”

I saw Dad trying to resist the cuffs yet letting them slide through. I waved slightly as he entered the police car and I stared in his eyes which only reflected fear and regret. I guess regret for the horrible mistakes he committed. I realized that I forgave him, but the question that begged to be answered was, could he ever forgive himself?. Surely time will be the judge of that….

The Old Pine ForestMadhav Ajayamohan | Grade 6

Oh, now I miss the old pine forest The pines cackling like a fire The trees a pendulum in the wind It endures all seasons

The spring breeze gently touching it The summer sun beating down on it The fall ignores it’s needles when it brings all others down Never succumbing to the winter cold

The city may be very neat With drummers drumming in a beat Buildings that touch the clouds And circuses that all come to see

But in my opinion the forest is better The cawing of the birds”Caw,Caw” The chatter of the squirrels”nee-nee” The falling of pinecones “Thud, Thud” Creates better music than those trumpeting elephants in the city

The trees do not touch the cloud But, they give you a good view Their bark helps you make a fire Those buildings are just a waste of space

Oh how I miss the Pinewood forest The trees are just like me; rough and never-changing I wish the needles touch me again as bristly as a paintbrush Oh how I miss the Pinewood forest, my true home

Zoe Eckardt | Grade 7

Sophia Stevenson | Grade 6

WolverineMadhav Ajayamohan | Grade 6

Gulo Gulo in Latin Skunk bear for the Blackfeet Indians For me he is something quite different He is a double-faced shameless fiend

He’s a gigantic cousin to otters, weasels and minks Is an Omnivore, but meat is it’s pick He is a vulture who eats animal corpses And when he passes by birds eggs be no more

Males mark their cold terrain But generously let females in They’re said to be polygamous And that’s quite scandalous

He may look like a bear But he’s much worse so be in despair It’s ferocity is the one of a demon Thank god there's as much a chance of seeing him as seeing a bat, or states of people in the tundra will be fatal

They live in places of cold And we quite as ferocious as a bear and as bold They are shameless yet fierce What’s the name of this beast who is not nice

Malise Foss | Grade 8

Khai Le | Grade 6

Lost Colors Seena Alrakawi | Grade 7

Under a black ripped tent I sleep With the lullaby sounds of bullets and explosions I drift to sleep and dream

I don’t belong here I belong at Home My alarm has turned into explosions and these alarms keep my eyes open as wide as an elephant

Colors I haven’t seen in awhile Orange Green Blue Are all replaced with Black and Gray

I kneel down and Sit up straight and pray that I can see the Colors again Because my world Is Nothing but black, gray and blood Splattered across the gray ghostly streets And has become part of us

I can’t stand the sights of guns That drowned refugee And my innocent country getting invaded

And everything from black fallen buildings Grey skies Red paint To dead people…..

War, stop! Stop and take me back to my Home Take me to my colored Home My colored wonderland Please God…. Make that happen Or just take me to heaven

Fish Musab Khan | Grade 7

Fish Armies of the sea mini submarines stalkers of the depth archaeologists of the unknown seas anarchists, extincting each other Using each other Giants of the sea to be supreme dominating each other selfish dwellers of the sea denying each other forgetting each other the fish mirror their mouth blind by sight.

Different Serene Zuhdi | Grade 7

You’re a ghost Nothing

Worthless You don’t belong here

Too different to hang out with us. Or at least that's what they said to me.

Bam They let me down,

Hid me away from the sunlight, Standing in front of the lockers.

Staring at you. Whispering into each other's ears

laughing. But why?

Is different bad? Or is it just unique?

Aren't we all different? Or is it just me?

Can’t I just be myself and walk down that endless hallway not feeling bad? Or do I have to be someone I am not?

I am different. I am me.

I don’t have to be someone that I am not. Why can’t I just walk down the colored lockers with pride? I don’t need someone judging me on every move I make.

Someone to tell me who I need to be. I am me

And that’s what makes me different I am different

I am me.

Jackson Evarts | Grade 7

Too Cool 4 YouDina Fakhoury | Grade 7

Popular A Word that separates

Me and you Like a border line separating two

countries

Can’t be seen with you Can’t say a word to you

Like a mute personThey just ignore you

I am a seed trying to grow

Yet there is drought Keeping me from growing

When rain comesI am not allowed to be exposed

I spread my wings out But I feel trapped in a cage

As I walk down the heartless hallways

I see them, staring, laughingAs if I was a clown in the circus

They move in herdsThey prey on the weak ones,

In a herd

They hypnotize everyone with their smiles

But deep under I know what they are

They are cruel

They want to ruin your life When they think you have the

powerThey spread rumors

That could ruin your life

Then you sit

Alone

Scared

Helpless

Ready to disappear

And then slowly perish with the air Like you were never there

Forgotten

Regan Puryear | Grade 7

Gone, Just GoneDeAnna Hewlin | Grade 7

A few weeks go by,The pressure piles up,

Layers,Like a rainbow,

Color after color.

The day comes,Tears came,Fears came,

Then again, more tears.The tiny droplets of rain.Falling down your face,

Trickling down your chin.

I never truly expressed,My feelings.

Like a dog enclosed in its cage.A bird trapped in its nest.To afraid of what might,

Happen.Will it come to you,

Tears,Fears, and again,

More tears.

You are leaving me,All alone, in a still, quiet

Darkness.With shadows dancing,

Leaping,Prancing,Spinning,Twirling,

All around me.

You are leaving me,All alone, without your help in

my daily struggles,All alone, without your selfless

love.In the hardship, of this horrible,

Unloving,Unworthy,Injustice,World.

To suffer,Unintentionally.

But still,You’re gone now.Gone, just gone.

Pencil of Mine Jackson Evarts | Grade 7

I only have one pencil In this pencil case Of Mine

I made this pencil from my own bare hands By cutting off the strands

The lead may be broken But I’m not heartbroken I can still fix this pencil Of Mine

I would get a new pencil But if I just used a stencil I would not have to leave this pencil Of Mine

The eraser fell off But keeping it will pay off Because there will never be a pencil like this pencil Of Mine

The pencil snapped in half it broke

But it was only a joke He didn’t know the pencil was important He thought it was just another pencil Of Mine

He could not have been more wrong And I may not stand as strong Now that I’ve lost This pencil Of Mine

Kaitlin Murphy | Grade 8

Maegan Kofoed | Grade 6

COMPANION CHAPTER for The Giver Michael Baker | Grade 7

Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he

heard music too.

But perhaps it was only an echo.

Jonas smiled; he looked down at Gabriel and saw a faint grin poking up through his cheeks.

Around him, snow-covered hills filled the vast expanse of land abroad. Gabriel’s face was

beginning to fade, just as the memories had. But Jonas knew, losing the memories was better for the

community. Maybe Gabriel will help too. But he would not let Gabe die. He would not let himself die.

Jonas began to walk. He knew it may be the only way.

The music behind him was faint, but Jonas thought he heard something else, something even

more cheerful ahead of him. Maybe it was just a dream. He placed his hands on Gabriel’s back and

tried so hard to transfer all of the warmth Jonas had left and carried on.

Jonas tested all the strength he had left to carry on, pulling the youngling on the sled through

the darkness of the night. He stopped. Jonas needed a break. Looking around, he spotted a glimmer of

orange light coming from the valley beside him. All of a sudden he felt a little warmth. He placed his

hand on Gabriel. Nothing happened, maybe this was just a dream. Jonas knew he had to do something.

He had to help; he couldn’t let Gabriel go. Jonas hiked to the edge of the ridge and laid his eyes on

something he could never have imagined before.

His eyes were almost blinded. He had never seen anything quite as amazing as this. Except he

had. Ahead of him a small row of wooden houses lined an opening in the forest below. Warmth

flooded out of the stubby brick chimneys that lay atop the snow covered roofs. Jonas looked through

the window and noticed bright twinkling lights that filled the rooms with multiple colors. He

remembered this, but he didn’t know how. Gabriel poked his head up through the blankets and

expressed unrecognizable words.

“Ch-Chri-Chr.” Now Jonas knew what this was: this was Christmas. He fell back into the sled

and laid his arms around

Gabriel.

Jonas stared off into

the valley, closed his eyes

and fell back into another

world, the world of the

Released.

Macy WhisenandGrade 6

Time Adam Cassem | Grade 6

Time can create or destroy It has on multiple occasions. It still will, still can and still does.

Even though the past is the past, And we cannot change the past, The present is happening now, With the future to come.

Time is impossible to get back, to create, or to destroy. Time can only be borrowed.

Time is a guardian and enforcer. Time has, will and does allow for the most amazing things like creation of life. But time has, will and does allow for the most terrible things such as destruction of life.

If thought about, time creates, destroys, and repeats all at the same time, Because anything that will happen or has happened, is still happening, Yet can and already has happened. Because to the future, we are the past, To the past, we are the future, And to us, we are the present with a future to come.

Past, present and future all happen at once, But past, present and future also have already happened, And will happen.

Time is, will and has been infinte for infinity. This will never change. Time is as impossible to get back as it to revive someone.

Even though the past is the past, And we cannot change the past,

Celina Jayendran Grade 6

Mothers Amal Foufa | Grade 6

Your mother may be harsh on you, Just because she cares,

She loves you, She cares for you,

She is always there for you, A mother is one who takes the place of all others,

But whose place no one else can take, A mother is superhuman,

Loving, Caring,

Machine, Who works 24 hours 7 days a week,

She went through pain, She went through heartache, You might not see eye to eye,

But you will always see heart to heart, A mother understands what you want to say without saying it,

She loves you, She cares for you,

She is always there for you, Life doesn't come with a manual,

It comes with a mother, Mothers hold your hands for a while,

But your hearts forever, I believe in love at first sight,

Because from the moment I opened my eyes, I loved my mother,

All that I will be or hope to be, I owe to my mother,

Always love your mother, Because you'll never get another.

Always my mother, Forever my friend.

Thank You Mum,

I love you💗

Laura Kaija | Grade 8

Be Unique Katelyn Rutten | Grade 6

Just a leap of faith That moment where everything could change-- you have to take that chance

The doorway is open Mistakes are just there to help us get better next time

Run as hard as you can across the finish line Because YOU did better than last time

Be the short building among all tall Or be the tall building among all small

Be the light bulb in the darkness Show others the path of light

Be the white rose among all that are red Because you are special

Be the One to change the world The one who can do it all Don’t let others tell you who to be

BUT PLEASE ALWAYS BE UNIQUE

Aysha Berry | Grade 7

The Journey to LifeTec Headquarters

By: Andrew Shin | Grade 7

New York, 2025. Meet John Wong. Chinese. 22 years of age. John Wong is nothing short of an average Asian man. He has average interests, average height, and average intelligence. But there is something about Jonathan Xi Wong that sets him apart from most normal humans. His gullibility has cost him several jobs, popularity, and money. And that’s why he is here, in New York City, to find a job at LifeTec Corporation. 40 dollars an hour, modern interior design, free coffee. John Wong was at the narrow cracked sidewalk next to his cheap graffiti-covered brick apartment building in Harlem, waiting for any lost taxi to happen to drive to his remote location. So remote in fact, that you couldn’t smell the ocean breeze or see the metal spire of the Chrysler on a hazy day. Leaning on a stop sign, John slid his palm down his flat face and let out a long howl. Just as he was imagining his old home in Hong Kong, a loud Honk! shocked him, sending him into a dirty bench nearby. “Need a ride, slant-eyes?” joked a Southern man inside a yellow taxi. “No,” said John in his practiced American accent, slightly Chinese with anger. “I’m just enjoying the view.” The man laughed and sped off down the narrow street. Looking at himself in the situation he was in, John decided to find another way to LifeTec, on the other side of Manhattan on Hudson River Greenway. As John walked, American businessmen and families looked at him and quickly looked away. “What?” he said to a staring boy, as he was walking down a staircase into the subways. When he entered the subway station, his eyes needed to adjust to the dark corridor. He bought a ticket at a nearby machine, and waited at the edge of the subway’s rail. Minutes went by, kept track with John’s Huawei. As he checked his phone for the fourth time, he noticed a reminder at the top of the screen. It read, “Meet at room A80 at LifeTec, 9:30.” It was already 9:20. He hurriedly stuffed the phone into his pocket, mistaking the side of his jacket for an opening. The fragile silvery phone whirled and spun as it fell on the ground with an echoing “Crack!” John was on a freezing subway, squished between two large greasy men. With his free hand, he checked a cheap brown digital watch. 9:30 AM, it read. He was already late for the interview. And there were the greasy men he was wedged between. And his broken phone in his pocket. It couldn’t possibly get worse than this. When the subway arrived at John’s stop, the two men stood up simultaneously, lifting John as well. The metal banging subway floor turned into a clacking marble tile under John’s new shoes. The newly marble-cladded floor was added as a luxury perk for the workers of the financial district, and if John was lucky, he could enjoy them as well. When he exited the subway station, his eyes had to once again adjust to the blinding glare of the buildings’ reflective windows. He squinted around, trying to find the words LifeTec. When he couldn’t find it, he asked a passing businessman for directions. “Excuse me sir, but do you know where LifeTec is?” The man turned, a phone on his shoulder. He scowled at John and walked away.

“Cūlǔ dì měiguó rén,” said John. After walking around for a short time, John found a tall white and silver building, with the words LifeTec at the very top. John checked his watch. 9:40 AM, it read. He briskly dashed across the black road, striding between openings in the crowd in front of him. By the time he made it to LifeTec’s entrance, it was already 9:45. He pushed and groped through the glass spinning door of the front entrance and stumbled to a desk. He peered over the smooth edge, only to find an empty office chair and an empty coffee mug. “Can I help you, sir?” John turned around and looked down. A woman with a coffee pot was standing before him, a bored, toothless smile on her face. “Ah, oh, I’m here for a job interview, in room… A80.” “Are you John Wong?” asked the woman, taking her index finger from the pot to point. “Yes, Jonathan Xi Wong. Now, please, I’m running very, very, urgently, late and I need to know how to get to room A80.” “Do you need to make an appointment, or…” “Well… no, but I was told that I would be guided straight to A80.” “Well, there’s an elevator over there.” said the woman, using her ring finger to point. Just then, the coffee pot slid from the woman’s grasp and spilled its scorching contents onto John’s expensive and fashionable suit jacket. John stepped into a large elevator, and pressed the top button, marked 80. Just then, a tall man in a grey suit leaped into the elevator, making the elevator doors open and close again. The elevator then whirred and made a sound that was awfully similar to a rocket. “Are you here for your first interview?” asked the man quickly. “Yes, how did you know?” replied John. “Well, you seem pretty unprepared for what’s about to happen!” shouted the man, above the growing noise in the elevator. Just then, the elevator lurched upwards, sending John to the floor. A glass screen on the wall began flashing through numbers until it hit the number 80. The elevator doors parted with a sci-fi blast door effect, revealing a vast grandeur office floor. When John and the man stepped out, employees quickly looked in their direction and switched their screens from Warcraft to Word. “Follow me, Wong-John-Silvers,” said the man with a wheezing laugh. “I’ve been saving that for an hour!” “Um, who are you, sir?” asked John. “Oh, I’m Jackie Chan, the CEO of this insurance company, and I’m going to be interviewing you today!” he said with another dangerously wheezing laugh. “C-E… Oh! I’m sorry. But If I may ask, isn’t someone else supposed to interview me?” “Nah. Here at LifeTec, we legally do things in a way that achieves maximum productivity. By interviewing you myself, I can get a good idea where to put you.” “Okay, Jackie Chan.” “Please, follow me to my office. Dan! Coors! Now!” A man whose name was apparently Dan stumbled from his cubicle to the crowded break room. ‘Jackie Chan’ led John into his mood-lighted office. There were cables everywhere, and there was a holo-screen TV on the wall with a Playstation 5 underneath it. ‘Jackie Chan’ jumped into his vintage armchair and put his pointed shoes up on a 60’s style desk. “Please, sit down,” he said, pointing to what looked like a fuzzy red therapy chair. John anxiously laid down, his suit jacket crunching with dried coffee grinds. ‘Jackie Chan’ then stared at John with a stern, but humorous face. “Let’s begin,” he said in an insecure bass. “We do not pay 40 dollars an hour.”

Lina Hassen | Grade 8

Falling

Asja Querin | Grade 7

People walk, in slow phases but with smiles

across their faces, They act like nothing's wrong, But the whole world is falling,

Unlike I, I notice the differences, and own up to it, I know that things

in the world don’t all go right, kind of like the humanity,

Bam, Gone,

Do wars help? No, it’s like tug of war, where teams

Pull, and one has to win, but instead,

in a war, the other

Side, dies,

Wars rot our world, They never stop,

They always come back, And sometimes, get worse,

Why can't we all have a civil world, Where people are nice to each other,

and equal, Imagine

you're in my shoes, 13 years old,

adopted, and bullied for 6 years

of my life And still,

I am here, standing up, and trying

to change our world But every time,

I fail.

Popular Zein Fakhoury | Grade 7

A word that is used to define us as humansA word that separates you and meA word that everyone wants to hear

A word that decides who gets more attentionA word that makes someone more worthy than another A word that makes you think you're better than me

A word that shouldn’t be said A word that shows no equality A word that should be forgotten

A word that makes you think you're in charge of meA word that makes you decide what clothes I wearA word that makes you decide how I do my hairA word that makes you look down at us Popular

Morgan Genung | Grade 8

Rose on the Inside Aysha Berry | Grade 7 The rose is beautiful When you first meet it. Its sweet, strawberry scent entices you to touch it It makes you its friend Loves you, Cares for you,

You think it’s amazing And perfect Because it cared for you But you soon realize how it tricks others like A magician without a soul And how it uses its vortex of words to spread a faux seed to brains

So the second you turn your back, And look away from its flowing red luscious petals without a second thought because You thought you were different to the rose It fights. It becomes an army killing all enemies in bloody warfare And a knife stabbing people without thinking twice And it thinks that it is the world. Because everyone loves it.

But you

You have learned to hate it Because you now know that it has thorns for a heart but beauty for a body. A knife A sword or A bloody war But it’s flawless on the outside.

Lamis Gharzeddine | Grade 7

Morgan Genung | Grade 8

It all began with that inviting wall. That laugh. That smile. That seed of hope for something new. We grew quickly each shared memory creating a new leaf a new tendril. Reaching ever upwards, the sunshine beating upon us, our bond unbreakable. The words “I’m leaving” Took root from nowhere. We were bound too tightly to fall alone. So we fell together. Everything that clung: hopes, dreams, was ripped away from the wall. The wall that gave us joy. The wall that helped us grow. The wall that anchored us. The wall that crumbled as we fell. Shadows started to swallow us. We had reached so high That the fall seemed never ending. Until we hit the ground. Hard. We lay there battered torn separate. Gazing at the heights from which we had descended missing the beauty of our climb. Still. Shocked. Silent. But hopeful. Hopeful to reach up to a new place. Or just to cherish the memory Of our journey. Because when will I find someone else Who can be My intertwined ivy?

Ivy Ella Burkett | Grade 8

Samir Maarouf | Grade 8 (Both Photos)

You Can’t Escape The Dark Room Leila Diab | Grade 8

A room that used to be filled with smiling people Is now dark and full of sadness.

There is only a man Sitting at a table with four chairs The only things keeping him there Are small pictures.

Why was he left alone? Why does nobody care about him anymore? What did he do to deserve this?

He sits alone in the dark Wishing that he could get better... But he can’t.

You can’t get out of a dark room once you’ve gone in. You can’t regain hope once you’ve lost it. You can’t change with no one there to help you.

The keys to the room have been lost long ago No one knows he’s there.

He looks down at the pictures Wondering what went wrong.

All the people that used to care All the happiness that was in the air

No one can see what he’s going through: The cold, the darkness, the loneliness. The only light shines on the pictures.

The man glances at his old cleaning supplies. It could help him find his way out Except that the dust has gathered on him So heavily, too much for him to handle Making it impossible to get out.

Hannah Cho | Grade 7

His days go by slowly in black and white And the only colors that he sees are in the pictures The only thing that keeps him alive are the pictures.

Will he find a way out? Extremely doubtful.

There is too much dust It’s too dark, too cold So much dust weighing him down The pictures give so little light Not nearly enough to set him free.

You can’t escape the dark room once you’ve gone in. You can’t find hope once it’s gone. You can’t be helped with no light Except for the tiny bit of light That the pictures give off.

The DollLeila Diab | Grade 8

“You really aren’t good enough.” “My gosh, why don’t you have a brain?” “Why are you so small?” All of these things come from her owner.

But when she tries to say she’s not good, Her owner replies, “Don’t be so negative. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up like ‘the irritating doll.’”

So she sits there and listens To every word her owner says. She does everything she’s told to do. Every choice, comes from her owner.

Her owner tries to fix her flaws by insulting them until they change. But words aren’t enough. Action makes change happen.

She goes about changing the doll, the only thing she has that can be changed. Except for herself. But she’s perfect, forget that idea.

The doll stays silent. Follows every command. After all, the owner gets to choose what happens to her doll.

The owner sells her doll when she’s tired of it. And the doll never showed it, but she ended up like “the irritating doll”.

There are two major differences between them. One, “the irritating doll’s” owners didn’t stay long. And she always knew what they were doing.

As for the other doll, her owner stayed almost forever and she never realized her owner was the reason that she became a hushed, annoying doll.

Caylee Watters | Grade 7

Seena Alrakawi | Grade 7

David Avakyan | Grade 6

Adam Cassem | Grade 6

Maya Espinal | Grade 8