Henderson LibrariesTeen Literary Magazine

2011

Unlocked Voices

Unlocked VoicesA literary magazine

featuring the finalists of

Henderson District Public Libraries’

Second Annual

Teen Creative Writing Contest

2 011For grades

6-12

3

Unlocked VoicesTable of Contents

Middle School Poetry Finalists.........................4

Middle School Short Story & Essay Finalists..........10

High School Poetry Finalists...........................22

High School Short Story & Essay Finalists.............27

The Authors.............................................42

Acknowledgements....................................43

4

Middle SchoolPoetry

5

Pots and pans!

Pots and pans!

Clinging, clanging

Binging, banging

They pile up

With a cup,

In a stack,

On the rack,

Laws of gravity don’t apply,

Oh, my! Oh, my!

Pots and pans,

Cleaned by hands

Scrubbed and dubbed

The king of suds.

What do you think

That I think stinks?

It’s pots and pans!

It’s pots and pans!

Pots and PansBy Sara Gong, age 12

I think my pots

Have made a plot

To never wash off

Their icky acrid

Greasy grime!

Greasy grime!

My pans have a mind

Of a different kind,

When I cooked yesterday,

I saw my pie astray,

Entirely burnt!

Entirely burnt!

So,

Now you know

The tragic tale

Of my travails

And of my

Plight to clean my

Sticky,

Icky,

Pots and pans!

Pots and pans

Raining, pouring,

soaring, lurking,

prancing, pouncing,

dodging, ducking.

I hiss and curl up a wet, black tail.

I dodge the droplets coming near.

I shriek with fright when the thunder booms.

I leap to a chair blinded from the lightning’s light.

I carefully tiptoe in the moonlight’s shadow, scaring myself by my own brave, black shadow.

I tap at the window sash with my wet, soggy paws,

but no one can hear me.

The clock strikes midnight, cold and tired

I hopelessly peer back inside the pane, but this time . . .

To my joy,

A young girl walks down the creaky steps toward the porch.

She opens the door, scoops me up and worriedly asks,

“Where have you been, Socks? You’re late for supper.”

I purr and mew as she sets me near the cozy fire,

Lapping at my saucer of milk

Before I take a long, happy, well-deserved catnap.

A Cat’s View of a StormBy Emilie Robins, age 11

6

7

For the world that needs light…

And for the person who showed me mine.

The world is dark and dying,

Because you all keep hiding.

You all feel trapped and alone,

Yet, there is an escape for freedom!

Have a look outside yourself.

No more working…no more growing…

As if the world has stopped.

But! I’ve found a solution!

To get through the darkness,

You need a light.

Something worth fighting for

A hope…

A dream…

A happiness that fills your heart with

COLOR!

All you have to do…

Is fight for your dreams…

You have to aim for your goals

Always look up.

Don’t let anything hold you back…

And you will find

LOVE!

Color Your LifeBy Marlo Wilde, age 12

8

People are people

Love to talk

Anything is possible if they work together

People are people

If they love something truly they won’t let go

But if they think it is impossible then it won’t get done

Those people are not fun to be around

Because if something is impossible they simply give up

People are people

Some mean, some nice, some fancy, some poor, others are famous or have glory

But most don’t care about being famous or fancy

They are fine how they are

And most of all they share similarities and celebrate differences

Unique in their own way

Who am I?

Well, I think I’m just average no A+ or F- for me

I’m just plain and simple

What about you?

Are you over the top amazing or are you failing everything

And it is just not fine or

Are you average like me?

You don’t need to be told that you’re amazing or failing

You get to choose the best thing about you

You are unique in your own way

You get to choose

You are you.

People are PeopleBy Hailey Krantz, age 12

9

BeachBy Taryn Wilcock, age 13

Beautiful place to be at

Every day I want to walk on the white sand

An area with shells, so big, small and round

Catching the right moment is whenever to be found

Happy as a clam when I’m there.

Sometimes I feel like no one understands me

That the whole world will never like me

Sometimes I ask myself if I will ever like myself

And sometimes I just try to forget all of that and try to be myself, the cool, nice, funny person I am

Sometimes I try to be myself, but I start to act weird and then I remember that weird is me.

SometimesBy Jasmine Mixson, age 11

10

Middle SchoolShort Story &

Essay

O nce upon a time there was a youngwoman who worked as a secretary for the Government of

Mexico in Guanajuato. This woman was born and raised in Irapuato. Four hundred miles away in Mexico City a young man worked as a train inspector. Born and raised four hundred miles apart, complete opposites. Who would have known that one day these opposites would fall in love? On Wednesday, May 16, 1979, in Guanajuato the once young man was now grown up. The minute that tall, hand-some, muscular, man locked gazes with the secretary of his friends (who was a lawyer). He fell head over heels for her. It was love at first sight for him and he returned the next day. Only this time he was seeking to see the secretary. The next day the man returned during the secretary’s lunch break, and in-vited her to lunch. Now secretly, the secre-tary thought the man was rather dashing, and she accepted his invitation. During lunch they talked and got to know each other a bit. They returned to the woman’s job and said a quick “goodbye.” At the end of a day’s work as the secretary was walk-ing out, the man was there waiting for her to walk her home. As they were walking they got to know each other more. They were at the corner of the woman’s block when the man asked her playfully, “If I were to ask you to marry me would you say yes?” The woman didn’t say anything, but looked at him with a confused expres-sion. Then the man turned serious and asked her, “Will you marry me?” Stunned by his question and not knowing what to say, she simply said, “Yes.” The man was ecstatic by her answer and bent down to give her, her first kiss. Once they reached her home the woman introduced him to her parents. The man asked her parents for her hand in marriage. After a short questioning they agreed to allow him to marry their daughter. On the Saturday of that week

Fairy Tale Wedding...Not So Happy EndingBy Sharon Torres, age 14

the woman and her parents were busy getting everything ready for the wedding. Meanwhile, the man returned to Mexico City to get all his paperwork done in order to get married. Luckily, everything was put together and ready for the following morning. On the morning of Sunday, May 19, 1979, they were married. It was the happiest day of their lives. Once married they moved to Mexico City and they had a baby girl named Maria. After a year of

their daughter’s birth the man got a job as a police officer and was stationed at the Queretaro Police Department. While they were married the man would almost always bring the woman flowers or something to eat. That way she wouldn’t have to stress or worry about cooking. He would compose and sing romantic songs to her. It was literally a fairy tale life. Until………on February 14, 1986, the woman returned home with her daughter from the store and found the man home eating. This was very, very unusual because the man would never go home for lunch. Once the man’s lunch hour was over and he was going to go back to work. The daughter started crying hysteri-cally and didn’t want to let her dad go. It is said that little kids can sense danger or when something bad is going to happen. The little girl did not want to let go of her dad because she knew something was

going to happen and he was not going to come back. The man picked up his little girl and whispered in her ear, “Te quiero, te amo, te adoro, te venero, te idolatro, pero que nadie sepa.” Only that calmed the little girl down and he gave her to the mom. The man left and two hours after a police came to the door of the house. The police officer was there to inform the woman that the man had been shot and that he was in the hospital. The woman immediately went to the hospital. There the man was still alive, when the woman noticed huge buckets underneath the hospital bed. She asked the nurse what they were there for; the nurse told her that it was simply dirty blood. Little did the woman know that they were indeed buckets of blood, but they were filled with the man’s blood. The man had type O Uni-versal blood, and it was very unique. Due to that the hospital was draining the man clear of his blood. The man could have survived but the evil, cruel people of the hospital finished him off. He died and was never heard of again. He was buried in the cemetery of France’s de Joaquin in Mexico City. It was a tragic death and the woman was broken to pieces. The man never lived to know that his wife was pregnant with his second child. Once the little boy was born she named him Jorge. Now you may be wondering who this all happened to. It was such a beautiful life and then it was ruined. Well, that is my grandma Mamaluz’s story with my grandpa Macario. That was their story. It may have been a beautiful love story at first, but it was turned into one of her darkest memories. I never got to meet my grandpa Macario, but I’ve been told that he was loved by everyone. I’ve been told many stories and I know he will never be forgotten. I wish I could have met him, but he was taken before I could. That was their story and it is defiantly one you could never forget. 11

“We’ve got a new girl.” Vex’s stern voice rang through the floorboards of the old, abandoned house. Trivia, the oldest girl, got out from reading the only book on the shelf. She set the tattered book down with a small tap that made the duo look at her. What a sight she was. At thirteen, Trivia’s nor-mally beautiful long golden locks were clumped together with dirt and grease. Her once perfectly smooth hands were worn away and cal-loused over. Most people wouldn’t recognize the once most beautiful girl on the island.

Despite this, Trivia smiled at the new girl invit-ingly. “Welcome to your new life, sweetheart.” The bitterness was almost un-noticeable in her voice. The girl didn’t notice, but Vex gave her a hard look. Trivia ignored this and went on.

“I’m Trivia and this is Vex.” She motioned towards Vex who was smiling en-couragingly at the new girl. “We’re sort of the mother and father of the group; the leaders.”

If Trivia had once been the most beautiful girl on the island, Vex would have easily been the most hand-some boy. He had hair the color of sunlight and choco-late eyes that made a heart

Printed VirusBy Felicia Kalkman, age 12

melt when he smiled. That was only a small part of him and everyone knew it; Vex was one of the quickest thinkers on the island. He was only fourteen, but his future had been one of the most promising ones on the entire island.

The new girl appar-ently didn’t register that at all. In fact, she seemed on the verge of a complete and total melt-down. “I just want to go home.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and tears start-ed streaming down her face.

All least she isn’t scream-ing, Trivia thought. Although she didn’t blame the new girl; this hadn’t been easy on any of them. The girl, who couldn’t have been older than nine or ten, wore nice clothes. Not just clean, but nice designer brands. It’s hard to go from that to this, Trivia thought. Just seeing how we’re living was enough to make any brave girl cry, never mind being told this was your new life.

“You need to get over that right now.” Crow came out of the darkness; Trivia hadn’t even realized he’d been there. She’d sat not a foot away for the last hour reading, but nothing had given away he was upstairs with her. Then again, that was Crow; com-pletely and utterly unpredict-able. With his murky, colorless eyes and his mop of black hair, his personality matched his

appearance: dark and mysteri-ous. Trivia didn’t know any-thing about Crow, not even his age. She guessed he was older, maybe fourteen like Vex, prob-ably no younger than thirteen like herself.

Vex was hugging the small girl comfortingly; he believed in trying to condole the children instead of flat-out telling them that they needed to get over mourning. He looked up at Crow, “Be gentle. She’s prob-ably had a very hard day!”

That is when the small girl exploded. “A hard day, just a little hard day is all I had! I lost my family, my friends, everything I’d ever worked for. It’s bad enough when I had to go to this stupid island.”

She cried then for a mo-ment before continuing, “I didn’t want to move; my dad said that this was an amazing opportunity, that it would be living in a tropical paradise.”

Then she looked at us, taking in our tattered cloth-ing and our hard looks. Trivia tried to convey the message: we’ve all been there. The girl was nearly speechless. Then she said in a quiet voice, “I’m Rune. Vex said you could ex-plain to me what’s happening.”

Vex comforted the child, “Of course. Trivia, would you mind sharing your cot with her?”

“Not at all; I’ll show you.” The old house was the

12

closest thing we have to secu-rity, Trivia thought. She walked through the rundown cabin. A few dozen cots lined up, each one filled with one, two, or even three kids. They would all be downstairs now, playing or eating. Vex and Trivia were the leaders…well, and Crow, when Crow was willing to help.

Trivia, Rune, and Vex sat down on the cot. Crow stood off to the side. Vex sighed and spoke first. “We know you can’t read.” Rune froze. “It’s okay; none of us can. In fact, that’s why we think we survived when everyone else, um...”

To all of their surprise, Crow spoke. “Everyone else on the island is dead or gone. They all went crazy, the en-tire little island. They didn’t respond to anything, and then they would just die. They would all go to libraries of all places, burn down every book to ashes. Others would be perfectly fine and then just keel over then and there. There used to be nearly a thousand of us, now,” he ges-tured around the room, “this is it.” Rune looked absolutely stunned. Her face had paled and she looked like she was going to be sick.

Vex spoke, “Not the younger children, the ones who couldn’t read. I’m dys-lexic; I can’t read to save my

life. Crow,” he hesitated then dropped the subject, “I’m not sure about Trivia; she can read perfectly fine.”

Trivia’s mind, on the other hand, was racing. “Wait a minute, they went crazy.” She looked at Crow, “I didn’t know that. I only knew it was the younger children were the ones who stayed sane.” Something else dawned in her eyes. She got up. “Crow, this is really important; you said they burned books specifical-ly.” Crow’s liquid eyes were glowing in confusion.

“Yes, I’d be surprised if there’s a book left on the entire island.” Trivia felt sick. She went up and grabbed the book she’d been reading.

“This is what I read: In twenty years, everything stops. The schools close, the entire world shuts down. All because of a book everyone read.” Horror filled the oth-ers’ faces. Trivia kept on read-ing, “The people didn’t know, but inside the book they were reading was a virus, a printed one. Everyone who read the book would go insane. The only ones that are left to rule the Earth are the ones who never read the book; the il-literate.”

Trivia stopped; the shocked faces burned under the setting sun.

Crow spoke first, “So it wasn’t their own fault at all.”

It was silent for a mo-ment before Vex spoke, “They were trying to burn the books to cure themselves, but it didn’t work.” The silence was thick in the air for a few mo-ments. Rune was crying again while boys sat there looking as if they too were on the verge of death. For the first time in her life, Trivia saw that Crow was crying.

He spoke to the group and to himself, “I thought they were going crazy, my parents I mean. They were hitting me, driving me away, but maybe they were just trying to get me somewhere safe.” Crow continued to cry soundlessly to himself.

Trivia took his hand, and Crow turned his head up and gave her a half smile.

Trivia looked around the group spoke again, this time in a very soft voice. “This is an entire book is about what hap-pened; it was said to be sci-ence fiction.” Vex and Crow looked terrified. “There’s a dedication in the back of the book; it looks like it was from the writer. Someone knew we would find it.”

The four children looked down at the book to see a few simple words scrawled on the page: the printed virus has come and gone; only a few have survived. Now it is your turn, to make sure the printed virus is gone for good.

13

The Strange Day in JulyBy Rylee Jones, age 12

Timmy shuffled along the stream with his little sis, slowly, looking at his feet as they kicked the rocks surrounding them. He hauled up a small, flat stone and skipped it across the stream, then he picked up a second and did the same. But there was something very strange that happened with that third stone. He threw with all his might, but the third stone came skipping back.

Timmy was very curious of what threw that rock back and he intended on finding it out. He picked up the third stone, inspected it, and stuffed it in his right pant pocket. They looked across the stream to see if whatever threw the rock still lingered along the bank, but there was nothing, not a single soul in sight. All he heard at that point was the midnight crickets and the slow trickle of the water going down the stream.

Timmy and his sis bolted home to find their mom and dad just getting ready for bed. They scurried to their rooms, pulled on their pajamas, brushed their teeth and hopped into bed. Timmy looked at the rock that was grasped in his hand, then set it onto the night stand that stood next to his bed.

The next morning he woke up to find the third stone gone. He looked everywhere in his room, but he could not find it. He ran to his sister’s room to find her still fast asleep in her bed. He in-spected her room too. When he finally lifted her light head to look inside the pillow, there he found the third stone. Infuriated, he stomped back to his room and waited until she awoke.

When she finally did, Timmy talked to her about the rock, but she insisted that she didn’t take it. Timmy didn’t believe her. But she protested to her best, and so did Timmy. She finally gave up by walking into their backyard, and said once again, “I didn’t take it.”

“Are you sure?” Those words tasted awful in his mouth when he saw a tear roll down her face, a tear of pain and betrayal. He finally realized she was telling the truth because he had remembered that last night his dog slept in his room, and he would have heard his dog get up in the middle of the night at the sound of his sister. So who did put the stone in his sister’s pillow case?

Again he wanted to find this out, so he and his sister pulled on their day clothes, brushed their teeth, and sprinted back to the stream where they had found the third stone the day before.

Timmy remembered the log bridge he and his friend, Ronald, had discovered the week before, and thought of it as the only way to get to the other side of the stream, and it was.

They searched all along the stream, but couldn’t find a safer way to get across, so there was only the log.”Ladies first,” Timmy said teasingly to his sister. His sister gave him a look that just said, “Yeah right!”

Timmy walked across the log, but when he heard the shriek behind him, a chill went down his spine. He whipped his head around to find his sister gasping for air in the water. He jumped into the bone chilling sea of darkness to save his sister. He pulled her out just in time. She was as frozen as a popsicle. He pulled her to the other side of the stream which looked a lot darker than it had seemed before. Then he heard a faint rustling in the nearby bush. He set his sister in a seat shaped bush then bundled her in the blanket from his back pack and went to go investigate the sound.

As he walked further into the shrub, his backpack began to feel ten times heavier. He began to hear a small weak voice which sounded as if it were asking for help. He instinctively turned toward the most ancient, oldest looking tree, hoping there wouldn’t be anything lurking around for him. Instead there sat a small girl who looked a little younger than his sister. Her name was Scarlett. She had died the same way his sister would have, but she didn’t have a brother to save her.

Timmy and his sister never did find out what put the rock in his sister’s pillow case, or what threw the third stone back. A few years after the encounter of Scarlett, though, Timmy woke up to the sound of his alarm clock on a Fourth of July, the same day he had met Scarlett. He went to turn it off, and felt something flat and smooth beneath his fingertips. He looked at what he touched, and there it was. The third stone sat upon his fingertips, glistening in the light of his lamp, and some-what scratched on it was an “S.” So could it have been Scarlett looking for that brother she never had, no one knows. 14

S

Look at the Sky By Bethany Winder, age 14

Stop what you’re doing,” he told me.I was somewhat confused because I

hadn’t done anything wrong this time.“I’m trying my best, Luke. I really am.”He shook his head. “Stop now. Stop and drop

everything. Follow me.”He led me outside and a light breeze brought

my scalding body temperature down to almost normal.

“Look at the sky,” he remarked.I would never forget that remark.When I looked up, I just saw the sky. He

pointed at an oddly-shaped cloud. “I see poten-tial,” he said. “What do you see?”

I frowned. That’s all it was: something to frown at. It wasn’t anything. It was a twisty wisp of white, scarring the sky without reason. If you’re going to scar the sky, you may as well have something pretty to scar it with.

“I see what could be something better,” I told Luke. “I see the tail of a pig not proportionately attached to a flower that’s missing a few petals, growing from a football with ears.”

“That’s a very confident answer that you just gave me,” he said, smiling dully.

“No, it’s not. I’m not sure what it is. I want to finish my painting. I’m going back inside and I don’t want to talk about clouds.”

15

“No, look,” he stopped me, gesturing once again at that deformed cloud of his. I looked. Nothing much had changed about this cloud. In fact, its shape was slightly more peculiar than it had been only a moment ago.

“I see potential,” he said once again.“I don’t. Good-bye.”Luke died two weeks later. He loved clouds.He loved how they changed into new shapes

constantly. He loved how a cloud would be oddly-shaped at one time, but in just a short time, it would be a differently-shaped, oddly-shaped cloud. If you were lucky, it wouldn’t be oddly-shaped at all.

Once I saw a cloud shaped like a frowning face transform into a cloud shaped like a smile. I thought that was pretty cool.

Luke, my cancer-infested brother, always inspired me with my paintings, and also with life itself. He always offered brilliant insight, the kind that can only be conjured up from a bril-liant mind. He showed me the world that I never seemed to see until he pointed out the details. Look at the sky, he had said.

That was all it took to change me, and I was all it took to change the world.

Now, aren’t clouds always changing the world?

Robots Have Feelings TooBy Skyler Bradley, age 11

System’s memory 100% complete.

Functions activated...As I opened up my sensors I saw

Stefan, my creator, and other wan-nabes. I added Stefan

to my memory. “That’s odd, they usually don’t wake up for a week,” said a scientist.

“But E.P.B. isn’t a regular robot, is he?” said Stefan.

Then I said, “E.P.B, reporting for duty!” Because I’m their robot, right? “What must I do,

Master?” I asked.“What do YOU want to do

E.P.B.?” said Stefan.They’re asking me what to do?!

That’s strange but suddenly, this pops out of my

Vocabulator: “Explore The Lab.”Nice going E.P.B. Your first five

minutes of life and now you’re scrap-metal.

“Who are you? Get outta my Memory!!!” shouted E.P.B.

Supposedly, a part of you.As Stefan nodded to the sur-

prise of E.P.B., he went to his quar-ters in the large space station. Ste-fan watched what E.P.B. did. The only military that actually mat-tered anymore walked through the door... galactic peacekeepers.

Stefan shrunk in his seat.“Anything I can do to help?”

Stefan asked KNOWING what they wanted.

“You started the experiment when the Supreme Court told you not to,” said a peacekeeper.

“Besides, your lab license has expired,” the other one added.

“No, it hasn’t,” said Stefan hand-ing over his lab license trying to change the subject. The truth is E.P.B. shouldn’t have a personality, he shouldn’t even exist. Mean-while, a peacekeeper tore the lab license in half and said,

“Now, it has.”“What do you want?” Stefan

asked timidly.“The robot,” they answered.As E.P.B stood there staring at

another building-bot he thought, “E.P.B, what does that stand for?”

“Sorry, didn’t detect you. Am I in your way?” asked the other android.

“No, you’re just the first robot I’ve seen.”

“Oh, well, allow *spark* me to introduce myself. I’m B.O.E. It stands for Building Over Earth.”

As E.P.B added B.O.E. to his memory he said, “I’m E.P.B.” E.P.B. could tell from the pause of con-

versation B.O.E. added his name to his memory. Then, the cheap wall he was leaning on fell like a domino at the exact moment when Stefan and the two peace-keepers showed up.

Nice time to show up, you sons of Jacovai Caterpillars.

“E.P.B., you are to be sent to the droid dismantling center. You too, B.O.E.! We can’t afford any wit-nesses!” said a peacekeeper.

“No!!!” cried E.P.B.Wow, as your personality, I

have to say that was the stupidest move I’ve ever seen in my 20 min-utes of living and I’ve seen some stupid things.

Stefan then calmly said, “Follow us.”

As they saw other robots being dismantled, E.P.B. took an analysis on Stefan.

Stefan +5 -10 + Q (<:;’//?) = Master?????

Then, it was time to be disman-tled. As E.P.B. waited and looked at the scientist, he heard his per-sonality say:

If I were you, I’d go all kinds of 28th century on him. Wait, I am you. Man, what’s wrong with me?

“Shut up,” E.P.B. thought.But to his surprise, it was

16

“E.P.B. learned the hard way the Space Station wasn’t too far away from Earth’s atmosphere. Oops...”

B.O.E. who kicked the guy in the stomach. Then, E.P.B. did what he thought. He took a fire extin-guisher and shot out the win-dow, his artificial heart racing. He watched as the peacekeepers powered B.O.E. off. However, E.P.B. learned the hard way the Space Station wasn’t too far away from Earth’s atmosphere.

Oops...E.P.B. fell down somewhere

in Asia, which happened to be the Japanese President’s house. Luckily, E.P.B. wasn’t damaged at all. Why make his armor so strong? Then, he heard Japanese Kojo Fighters come down the hall.

This is gonna take some ex-plaining.

“This is gonna take some ex-plaining!!!” said a peacekeeper.

“Alright, sit down” said Stefan. “Some scientists and I wanted to make something new. So, yours truly thought of creating a robot with a personality.”

“Stupid, go on.”“The Supreme Court didn’t

agree but we decided to do it anyway.”

“Stupider, go on.”“Then we came up with E.P.B. It

stands for Experimental Personal-ity Bot. But it gets worse. He can make other robots get a personal-ity. Even worse, when Janitor Bots see the remains of B.O.E., they can get a personality and emotions.”

“Stupidest, you’re coming with us!”

Suddenly Sao Hung, the Japa-nese President, and two Kojo Fighters walked in.

“GET THIS SPY OUT OF HERE!!!” The Japanese president yelled in Japanese.

E.P.B. jumped out of the win-dow and ran into the airport completely unnoticed...

Beep beep beep. You have a

message. Read it now like any other NORMAL robot would.

Then E.P.B.’s sound receptors were filled with Stefan’s voice, “Robots are all over the place. They’re trying to get rid of us for good! There’s only one place to shut them all off: Capitol City in America, Inc. SHUT THEM OFF.”

How pleasant.Without thinking, E.P.B ran for

the next plane to Capitol City. The flight attendant assumed it was part of his job.

It’s nice to know I live inside someone who reacts before he thinks. What a genius!

Capitol City is as HUGE as a space station, but after asking around, he figured out where the lever to shut off the droids was. It

was a tall tower on the other side of the city. As E.P.B. struggled to open the door, it just wouldn’t work.

Really, you’re going to quit that easy? You’re the first experimen-tal personality bot for crying out loud.

Then, E.P.B. just bashed the door remembering how strong his armor was. However, his moment of triumph ended soon when he

saw how many peacekeep-ers there were.

Sometimes, you can be a real pain in the photo receptors.

Finally, when he made it to the top, there was the

lever. E.P.B. paused...“What are you waiting for? Pull

it! End the robot virus.” It was an angel on his shoulder and you can guess what’s on the other shoul-der.

“Don’t pull it!”“Don’t listen to him! Pull it!”“Think about it. He’s only been

alive for six hours and if he pulls it, he’ll shut down.”

“Actually, he has a point. Don’t pull it.”

E.P.B. pulled it and he shut down, knowing he did a good thing. Stefan headed for the escape pod. All of a sudden, there was a mild shake and then a boom! Stefan turned around and all the droids were shutting down. E.P.B did it... he actually did it!!!

Exit -- Stage LeftBy Samantha Hayashi, age 13

18

Life is a series of ups and downs. Bad or difficult events happen, and how you deal with them is your act alone. In elementary school, you walked

onto the stage of life as a new actor. During this early time, you collected actors to perform with you. They were called friends. In middle school, you are on a slightly bigger stage, and you might occasionally lose some of your fellow per-formers due to personality differences or they could simply move away. High school means that you will broaden your stage to an entirely new setting. It is more elaborate and confusing, but the biggest evolution is that actors whom you sang with, danced with, and grew attached to, are leaving en masse. I just found out that nearly a third of my friends are planning to attend different high schools next year, and I am not too happy about this.

My elementary school friend, Shelby, went to Lake Mead Christian Academy for middle school, instead of the public Mannion Middle School. She is a smart and friendly person, so at Lake Mead, she is popular and the head cheerleader. I am extremely proud of her. I’ve known Shelby since kin-dergarten, and I will always remember her. After the first semester of kindergarten I had to switch to another class, but all of the friends that I had made were in the class I had transferred from. I didn’t want to go to the other class, and I was crying in a chair all alone, when Shelby came over and said to me, “Are you OK?” She was super nice and consid-erate even though I was whimpering my problems to her. She became one of my best elementary school friends. Ever since she left to attend another middle school, I have wished that I could see her more often.

Another good classmate and friend of mine is Brandon. He has been in my classes since elementary school. At the lunch table he is fun to joke around with and talk to, but next year he plans to attend the Las Vegas Academy of Perform-ing Arts. Brandon is amazingly and shockingly smart, and I believe that he plays the piano well. I am confident that he will succeed at the academy, but I will miss him too. Music is also important to me. I play the clarinet and alto sax in the Mannion Middle School Wind Symphony and Jazz Band. I love being in the band programs; however, I don’t think I could go to the Las Vegas Academy, because I prefer to keep my music a hobby and not an activity that will control my life. I just can’t see myself practicing for hours a day on an instrument for school. I’m excited to soon join the band at Foothill High School in Henderson. Foothill has excellent academic programs, and their bands are top notch. They have beat out other high school bands in competitions and

are among the best on the entire West Coast. I can only hope that Nevada’s infamous 1 billion dollar budget deficit, which is all over the news,

will not impact the band programs and other school activi-ties in the coming years.

If she leaves, the person whom I would miss the most is probably my best friend, Megan. Next year she wants to go to Valley High School to attend their International Bac-calaureate Program, or IB Program for short. According to the program description on the internet, it is a “college preparatory program that will help to earn admission into the best universities in America and across the world. It will foster critical thinking skills and intercultural understanding and expose the students to a variety of perspectives”. After reading all of this, all I can say is, “Wow”. Megan is smart, so I’m sure she’ll be accepted into the program. She’s asking me to go to the high school with her, but it is a long bus ride away. Also, when she asked me, I hesitated. Because of this hesitation, I know that this program is not for me at this point in my life.

Which high school, and then which college, to attend are huge decisions in one’s life. But come on, I’ve only completed half of 8th grade. I am not even sure what I want to be when I grow up. Yes, I want to go to one of the best colleges and graduate with good grades. But to go attend a place like Valley High just for a program and be separated from every-one, to me, sounds stupid. High school isn’t going to be just study, study, study. You want friends that you can trust to be there when you slip up or make a mistake. To go some-where that’s so far away from these people means you’ve either got guts, or you are a poor lonely soul, who will not miss anyone and whom no one will miss. But I know Meagan is on the guts side, so she’ll tough it out. As for me, I hate being in a new situation alone. I always want someone to be there for support and to reassure me I’m doing the right thing or to pull me away when I’m not. The expression, “Two heads are better than one,” could also mean, “I’m so scared that my conscious is messed up, so I need someone else to help keep me straight.” Megan is someone irreplaceable in my life. I’ll miss seeing Megan every day.

I’m proud of all my friends. They’re intelligent and good people. And even if they are leaving, I know it’s the right deci-sion. They are doing what they know is best for them and I trust that. I’m just afraid that high school will take up so much time in my life that I won’t be able to keep in touch and that our friendships will fade over time.

On my stage, new actors come and go, but even if the settings and characters change, my play will continue on until the end. Until then, I live my story and walk through situations swiftly, my own way, and add to my unforgettable cast. But I had better not hear about anymore close friends leaving for a different school far away, or else I’ll be pissed. Are you hearing this Andrea and Heather?

Z Z

“Brad! What’s up, Mike! Come on in!” I beckoned from the backyard of my house. My backyard is huge. I live in a three story mansion and my friends both live in the mansions down the street. Brad and Mike came in and they stared in awe. I made a maze, a giant one. I had a little help (OK, maybe a lot of help) from the chef, who was once an engineer.

“Wait a second,” Mike said, “this isn’t fair! You made the maze, so you know how to get out. And, what if you rigged it with booby traps at every turn?” Brad nodded in agreement.

“Fine, I’ll give you a head start of three minutes. And I did not rig it with traps,” I assured them. They nodded and took off into the maze. After three min-utes, I ran into the maze. Then, I noticed that Brad was climbing one of the walls. When he got to the top, he began to run across the walls to the finish line.

“Cheater!”, I accused as I climbed up and ran after him. Mike saw us running across the walls and ran after us, but he crashed into a wall. Brad won the race and we both ran back in to lead Mike out.

“OK! You won, Brad! Now you get to get your picture taken on the Winner’s Panel!” I congratu-lated Brad. He beamed and stood on the panel. Right when Mike was about to take the picture, I took a remote out of my back pocket and pushed the only button on it. The panel shot up, and lauched Brad out of the backyard. He flew in the air and then fell like a sack of rocks over Alyss’s house. Alyss is the girl who lives down the street. She was gossiping with her two best friends, Anna and Alexandra. Brad plummeted down to Alyss.

“ALYSS! LOOK OUT!” Brad screamed, but only Anna and Alexandra heard. They were pointing up at Brad and signaling to Alyss, but she didn’t understand. Then- CRASH! Brad landed on top of Alyss. One of her contacts came out of her eye and she groaned. Brad groaned also. Then me and Mike hopped the fence and went into Alyss’s backyard.

“Hey ladies. Looks like it’s raining Brads!” I laughed at my own corny joke. Anna gave me the evil eye. Alyss then threw Brad off of her with extreme strength. Brad covered the whole backyard with ice and he slid to me and Mike’s feet. Anna threw a fireball at me, and I flew up into my thunder cloud while Alexandra teleported to Mike and tried to slap him, but her hand stopped at about three inches from his face. Mike was protected by his shield. OK, I know the story has gotten WAY off track. You see, the six of us have superpowers. I have thunder, Brad has ice, Anna has fire, Alexandra has teleporting, Alyss has strength, and Mike has shielding.

“Since you picked this day to make it rain that-” Alyss pointed to Brad “-we can battle now!”

“Uh, what are you talking about?” I asked curi-ously.

“When you tripped us in the hall!” Alexandra screamed.

“Oh, yeah...” I said as my mind wandered off to the “Day of Trip”, as Mike had dubbed it.

Mike, Brad, and I were sitting at our table in the cafeteria at MacIntosh Middle School. Alyss, Alexan-dra, and Anna walked past us one behind the other,

all carrying binders with their iPods sticking out.“Let’s binder check them,” Brad suggested.“I have a better idea,” I said. Then I waved my hand

towards the three binders in their hands. A lightning bolt shot at the three binders. The binder’s fell and papers scattered. Brad, Mike, and I had a good laugh from that.

“Oh, yeah,” I said to Alyss.“That was pretty funny,” Brad laughed.“Oh, since you think it’s so funny, we want to fight

you!” Alexandra demanded.“Sorry. I don’t fight girls,” Mike said.“Oh, so you’re scared?! You’re gonna run to your

mommies?!” The girls teased.“Fine!” I screamed. “We take your bet. LET’S GO!”

Alyss’s backyard morphed into a battlefield, and the battle began.

“Thunder cloud!” I yelled. I got into my cloud and hovered over Alyss, ready to strike. But Anna shot a fireball at me. I was hit from behind, and I fell out of my cloud. Brad threw ice pillars at Alexandra, but she teleported away from him. She teleported behind him and tackled Brad. Brad sprawled over the ground and landed right on top of him.

“Hey! Nice catch, Brad!” I said. Mike was protected by his shield the whole time. But he tripped over us and his shield vanished. We were in a defeated heap.

“I don’t believe it!” I thought. “After thirty seconds, we were defeated!” I hung my head. The girls cackled evilly as they waved their hands like sorcerers. A flam-ing portal opened beneath us and we were sucked in.

“Ouch, man, my head hurts. Where am I?” I opened my eyes and everything was fuzzy at first. I remem-bered that I was at the battlefield. Brad was shaking me.

“Chris! Our powers are GONE!” he screamed. He tried to make an icicle, but nothing came.

“Well, well, well,” voices hissed behind us, “it looks like you powers are goners. Well, you’d better forfeit right now!” We turned and saw that Alyss, Anna, and Alexandra in full power form.

“Never!” Brad, Mike, and I yelled and we charged for them. Alyss punched Brad and he blasted away. Anna threw a fireball at me and I flew after Brad. Mike came flying next.

“Man, in this battle, we have a knack for falling in a heap,” Mike said. Brad and I agreed. A portal appeared in front of us and the girls stepped out.

“Give up already. You have no powers and you’re cornered,” Alyss said.

“NO! I’LL NEVER GIVE UP, YOU HEAR ME? NEVER!” I growled. Suddenly, the sky grew dark. Lightning flashed and a sword descended from the sky. Everyone stared in awe. Mike, Brad, and I all grabbed on to the sword. Our bodies began to tingle. Brad sud-denly faded from sight! I sprouted wings and Mike’s whole body changed into metal.

“Whoo hoo!” We have powers!” Mike cheered, and then he charged at Alexandra. She teleported away. Mike tried to get her again, but she teleported away.

“I’ll get Alexandra. You go get Alyss,” Brad whis-pered. Then he ran to Alexandra. She didn’t know that Brad was there, so she was caught off guard as Brad picked her up and started spinning her over his head.

Then he used Alexandra’s own momentum to launch her across the field and into a strange orange moat. I flew through the air and dodged Anna’s fireball attacks. She flew into the air after me and I noticed a basin shaped object. I grabbed it and flew to the moat. I scooped up some of the orange stuff and threw it at Anna. Her flames extinguished and she fell. Mean-while, Mike and Alyss were fighting. Alyss threw a punch, but it went right through Mike.

“Ha, ha. That tickled. Now it’s my turn!” Mike growled. He threw Alyss into the moat. She sank in and we cheered. But suddenly, my wings began to blink. So did Mike’s metal body as Brad began to come into view. My wings disappeared and I fell. Mike returned to his normal body and Brad became visible. I landed on my feet and looked at the place Anna was. She was gone!

“Where are they?” Brad asked. We searched for them but couldn’t find them.

“Hey! We didn’t look under this shoe shaped rock,” Mike said. He tried to pick it up and to his surprise, it lifted. I gasped.

“It’s the girls! They’re GIANT!” I yelled. Mike screamed and ran away.

“DIDN’T YOUR MOTHER EVER TELL YOU NOT TO HIT GIRLS?!” the girls boomed. They picked us up and brought us to their mouths. Anna swallowed me, Brad got swallowed by Alexandra, and Alyss swallowed Mike. I tumbled down Anna’s esophagus and landed in her stomach. I didn’t know how I was going to get out. Suddenly, orange goo fell into her stomach.

“She must be drinking that moat stuff,” I said. Then I tasted a little (I know, it’s gross) and it tasted fizzy. I had and idea. I began to slosh the goo around. I threw it up and splashed it everywhere. Suddenly, everything began to rumble and I shot up the esophagus and Anna burped. I shot out and apparently Mike and Brad had the same idea because we had a head-on collision. We plummeted down and bounced off of the girls’ shoes and landed safely. The girls looked down and reached for us. We ran away and ran towards a hole.

“How do these things keep appearing?” Mike asked. We hopped in and plummeted into a hole. It was actually a sewer. We ran down the sewer and turned around. The girls had shrunk, and now they were coming for us! We ran until we saw a door. Brad opened it and the door revealed space, outer space.

“How do these things keep appearing?!” Mike screamed. Brad and I shrugged and we put on some spacesuits that just appeared. We hopped into space and used jet packs to fly around. The girls got suits and packs and flew after us. We passed Mars and then dodged asteroids in the Asteroid Belt. We stopped at Jupiter to watch the girls dodge the asteroids. What we didn’t see was that another girl appeared behind us. She waved her hand and a huge blackhole opened behind us.

“Nooooo!” Mike screamed as he was sucked in.“You won’t get away with this!” Brad screamed.“Goodbye, cruel universe!” I yelled as I went in.

Alyss floated over to the girl and thanked her. Alyss, Alexandra, Anna, and the other girl left the blackhole silently. The war was over. In the end, girls rule.

The end… for now…

Boys vs. Girls By Marqes Parker, age 13

Emerald, time for dinner”, my mom shouted. I bel-lowed back,

“Just give me a few minutes. I just got out of the bathroom.” I quickly went out of the bathroom and put my dirty clothes in the laundry room.

“Emerald,” my older sister Ruby complained, “Come down to the kitchen already. I’m starving and mom won’t let me eat until you come down.” Immediately, I went downstairs and into the kitchen. Both my mom and sisters were furious when they saw me because I had come down for dinner so late.

“It is about time you got here! Hurry up and get your plate that I have left on the kitchen stove. Then meet your sisters and me in the dining room,” my mom demanded. Without delay, I went to the kitchen stove and picked up my dinner. It was beef stew, which had obviously just been made because it burned my fingers to even touch the plate, and it had steam coming off of it. I ran into the din-ing room, taking my rightful spot between my two sisters. All four of the chairs in the dining room were dark brown, which matched ever so perfectly with the light brown walls and the medium size, dark brown dining room table. After I sat down, we prayed and like lightning all of us had gotten into an argument.

Jade, my younger sister, questioned, “Why does it al-ways take you such a long time to come down for dinner?” One of her eyebrows started to slide up, implying that she was waiting for an answer.

“The reason why is because Emerald always takes long showers,” Ruby joked.

“It isn’t my fault that I enjoy being clean, unlike the rest of you,” I replied.

“I don’t know about that,” my mom laughed. She was clearly remembering about last year, the time I went a month without showering. It was a mistake to bet Jade that I wouldn’t shower for a month after my 15th birthday if she stayed out of my room. I started to blush and then in high-speed I ate all of my beef stew and swiftly went to my room.

The second I got inside my room, I dived into my bed. Its light green colors reminded me of the sea. I looked around my carefully decorated room. The walls were paint-ed aqua and the room had posters of numerous places I wanted to go to. The white dresser, night table, and desk didn’t have a single mark on it. They were new and I got them for my 16th birthday. I began to look at my poster of Paris and then slowly but surely my eyes wondered to my balcony. I ran onto my balcony, still in my pajamas, and

saw a star that shined so bright it hurt my eyes to look at. “I wish I could go on an astonishing adventure that I will

never forget,” I whispered. A thunderous noise filled my ear drums and I fell to the ground. I was baffled as darkness filled the sky. When I got up, a sensation of soreness ran through my body. Limping a little, I walked back into my room. The feelings I experienced as I staggered into my room were trepidation and irritation. The room’s aroma was one of a dying animal, and all my clothes were scattered around the wooden floor of my bedroom. My bed was unmade and all of my sheets and covers had accumulated dust. The beautiful posters that had formerly been hanging on my wall were now in a less glorious position: the floor. The trepidation that was beginning to make itself more known was caused because I didn’t know if a burglar had done this to my room and, if so, are they still here now, try-ing to harm my family? My irritation also started to build up as I thought, “Why here? Why now?”

I shrieked, “Why? If you’re out there, just seize me now. I don’t care! Show yourself or are you too terrified?” Ten-sion started to build up inside of me. I collapsed to the ground and I started to wail hysterically. My bedroom door busted open, revealing a teenage girl.

“Hello,” the girl inquired, “are you okay?” I glanced at the girl. I was stunned beyond belief once I looked at the girl. To my shock, she appeared to resemble my little sister Jade even though she was seventeen. Her eyes were of the same dark burgundy color. Though the girl’s hair was slightly too curly and her nose was larger than Jade’s nose. Other than that she could be Jade, especially since the face was exactly of jade’s face.

“Who are you? What’s going on? Why are you in my house and why do you resemble my little sister Jade Puzzle?” I questioned. I was surprised that I had asked all those questions. It was as if I was someone else.

“Wow! You ask a lot of questions, but I will try to answer your questions the finest way I can. My name is Leader Puzzle-Joiners. I was walking to my bedroom when I heard an ear-splitting noise and then I knew I had to find out what was creating the sound. As for why I bear a re-semblance to your sister Jade Puzzle is because I am her only child. As for you, I am positive that you don’t reside in this house, but you are identical to my long lost Aunt Emerald Puzzle.” Leader replied. It was evident that Leader had seen the bewilderment on my face.

I stuttered, “I-I am Emerald Puzzle, bu-but it is impos-sible that you are my younger sister’s daughter. I-I would have known.” My eyes were wide open, and were analyz-

20

MissingBy Amber Mixson, age 13

ing all of her movements. “Emerald,” Leader requested, “Follow me downstairs to

the dining room and we will discuss this more.” I stood up and started to follow her downstairs; her footsteps were quick and muted.

“I still can’t believe that this is happening!” I exclaimed. Leader had just finished explaining to me that my wish must have transported me into the future. It was 2042, which means Jade gave birth to Leader when she was 30, and that I had wished my way through thirty-one years. Oddly, the kids in the future actually care about their edu-cation. Another weird thing about the future is that parents decided that it would be an impressive idea to name their kids what they want them to do as their occupation.

Leader commanded, “Well you had better believe it to be true. I’m optimistic that we will get you back to the past. The only problem is that I have to leave in the next few minutes and you will not be able to come.”

“Where are you going?” I wondered. “I have to go to my job. It’s at this clothing store down-

town and I can’t be late or I will be fired. So while I am gone please stay in the house and try not to create a large amount of racket,” Leader requested. Before I could say another word Leader was out the door in a flash. Then, out of nowhere I saw a shimmering, light blue debit card. I ran towards the flamboyant object. As I picked the debit card off the dining room table, I realized the card had a 3D image of Leader. It was so realistic I would have thought it was her if, the image was taller.

“I have to use this. Besides, it will give me something to do,” I whispered to myself.

At top speed, I grabbed the map and bus pass that used to be lying beside the debit card. Off I went into the unknown streets of the future, only having my memory of my town and the map with bus schedules attached to it. Shockingly, I automatically spotted a bus stop that wasn’t there before and went over to the bus stop. You could tell the benches were new and with all the posters and bill-boards being in 3D it burned my eyes to even look at them. I quickly looked at the bus schedule, realizing I didn’t know what time it is.

“Excuse me”, I murmured, “Can you tell me the time?” The stranger replied, “It is 8:23 a.m., the bus won’t be

here for another fourteen minutes”. I peacefully said thank you to the stranger, whose long brown hair made him look like a girl.

Finally, after sixteen minutes a dark blue bus appeared and I went inside, surprised to find out that the bus smelled

great and looked neat. I put Leader’s bus pass through the bus scanner and promptly found a bus seat next to the stranger I was talking to earlier. It didn’t take long for the boy and me to get in a conversation. His name was Leo Gras, which was very bizarre because kids in the future have names of jobs. Also, he gave me more information about the future, it turns out they don’t have DVD players anymore, instead they have something called the Raiser that allows you to experience a movie in 4D (4D is similar to 3D but you can feel exactly what the characters are feeling).

I yelled to Leo, “Bye”. Then, I went into a clothing store called Crazy Aces. When I went into the store I noticed that there weren’t any dressing rooms and that all the posters were in 3D and changed in an orderly fashion.

“Why are you here? I thought I told you to stay at home. I don’t even have time to go back home to drop you off, so you will stay here and not touch anything” Leader roared. She hurriedly grasped my hand and as she did so, I caught sight of a small triangle mark on her hand. For the rest of the day I stayed inside the store, sitting on a dark green bean bag chair. By the time Leader and I got out of the store it was past midnight and only two other teenag-ers beside Leader and me were outside.

“Grab them now!” a teenage girl ordered. I felt muscu-lar hands grab me, causing a sensation of pain so strong that I almost became unconscious. The girl holding Leader hit Leader over the head with a thick book, which caused Leader to become unconscious. Suddenly, after seeing what the girl had done to Leader I fainted from shock.

“Wake up”! Leader exclaimed. My eyes slowly opened. What I distinguished to make of the room was that it was painted black and the only things in the room were four chairs, two beds, and a large dresser.

Leader said, “It is about time you woke up. It has been three hours and it turns out the boy and girl who captured us were trying to help us”. Amazement filled my face as what Leader said absorbed into my mind.

The teenage girl explained, “My name is Mia Gras. Leo and I are co leaders of Missing in the Past, M.I.P. for short. After you had that conversation with Leo on the bus, we knew you came from the past. We brought you here to tell you that you have been chosen to help us keep the past, present and future in balance. Even though you are a chosen one, you can give this up and live a normal life, so you have a choice. So what do you say?”

“Yes”, I replied, “But I must write a letter to my family explaining to them why I disappeared.

21

High SchoolPoetry

22

1) Boom. A word that brings one to their knees

2) And have many and all stricken in fear

3) All the mortals beg to the gods “oh please!”

4) The sound that shakes the earth is almost here

5) Boom, the sound that signals war and terror

6) A sound that summons rain and life for all.

7) A sound that cannot be ever measured

8) Signal the calm spring and summer and fall

9) Boom I die down as the sun comes once more

10) I’ll return with a new sound that screams bass

11) I am the thunder like the great god Thor

12) Boom is my name my hammer like a mace

13) Unique is my sound and loud is my cry

14) Dark is my tone and blue is the sky

and with these words I bid thee goodbye

BOOM, THE POWER OF SOUNDBy Isaiah Caston, age 17

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24

You live your life as perfect as can be,

Yet here you watch me suffer in silence.

I fight the curse that tears me apart.

A freak is what it makes me,

And death is the only path I see.

“Get help! Get help!” I hear.

You live your life as perfect as can be,

You watch me growing stronger by the day.

I am beginning to understand who I am.

I welcome the change in mentality,

And consider death not.

“Keep going,” I hear.

You life your life as perfect as can be,

Yet now you watch me flourish.

The curse is no more, for now it is my blessing

It gives me new purpose and strength.

And death means nothing to me.

“We work as one,” we say.

The Strengthening CurseBy Brian Alan Crosby, age 17

I BelieveBy Esther Brincat, age 14

25

I believe:

These two simple words

More powerful than a nation.

I believe in my rights.

I believe in true love.

I believe in fairy tales,

dragons, and talking animals

Even a woman president.

I believe in visions

In the power of dreams,

Two very different things.

I believe in long distance relationships;

And I believe in a first kiss.

I believe in my country.

And I believe in helping my country.

I believe in home schooling.

And I believe that I’m weird.

I believe in dance,

I believe in laughter,

Even when there are tears,

And I believe in a shoulder to cry on,

B-E-L- I -E-V-E:

If I told you all of my beliefs,

You would be here for many more hours;

But now it is your turn

To state your beliefs.

What do you believe in?

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Just because I am a quiet student in every class,Doesn’t mean I don’t have any sass.

I’m just as crazy as you,I talk, I dance, and I sing and yell, too.

And just because I’m young and small,Doesn’t mean I can’t be bright and think tall.

Even though I’m not so responsible now,Someday I’ll know how.

And just because I’m so shy.Doesn’t mean I can’t talk to a guy,

Every day I think of the future of my life,How one day I’ll be married with kids, and I, a wife.

And just because I’m on the honor roll,Doesn’t mean I have no soul.

Let’s get to know each other and you will see,How different I can be.

Just because I’m very smart, don’t assume I am a bore,Because I am different down in my core.

Just BecauseBy Sabrina Novenschi, age 15

27

High SchoolShort Story &

Essay

28

The combination of stale popcorn, cardboard nachos, and month-old

candy encompassed the air around me. White, red, and blue banners dazzling with school pride were suspended in midair. Roaring, the crowd stood up as we watched the scoreboard tick down the final seconds in the game drawing closer. My eyes trailed the players on the court, and watched as the brown ball was passed and dribbled.

“Five, four, three,” the an-nouncer began to count down while the crowd’s voices began to reach a higher decibel.

Holding my breath, I waited as the buzzer shrieked for our atten-tion, signaling the game was over. The final score was 73 to 69: we had won the game by only four points. A piercing scream of joy escaped the mouths around us, as we all began to celebrate. Students cheered with victory and ran onto the court that was filling up with a multitude of people. Immediately, my brother blazed up the bleachers to give my parents and me hugs. His jersey was crinkled, and sweat gleamed down the back of his neck, trickling onto the floor.

“Congratulations!” I yelped as he squeezed me into a bear hug, his rancid odor filling my nostrils.

“You did amazing,” my dad and mom said in unison.

“Thanks,” my brother cheered and gave a little yell of joy as he held his fist up in victory. “I’ll meet you

guys by the car after coach is done talking.”

Someone had thrown the game ball up into the air and it made a swooshing sound as it sank into the basket. After the cheering ceased, the entire basketball team marched into the locker room with their heads held high. Solemnly, the other team did the same; however, their spirits and heads both faced the ground in defeat.

“Come on. The Andersons are probably waiting for us in the quad,” my dad nodded his head and began to lead us through the crowd.

The Andersons, a family of four, were located by the drink-ing fountain waiting patiently for us to shovel through the boat-load of people. Jim, Esther, Allie, and Austin had all been very close to us ever since we met them nine years ago. Esther, Jim, and Allie all stood smiling as we approached them.

“You guys ready to eat?” my dad asked, his mood ecstatic from the win.

“Aren’t we always?” Esther joked. Her arms were crossed, and she wore a complete Nike brand outfit from head to toe.

“Where’s Austin?” I asked look-ing around for the youngest of the Andersons.

“He’s in the bathroom. Anyone else need to go?” Jim asked.

“Nope,” I answered walking over to stand by Allie.

Right then, Austin strolled out

GoodbyesBy Tiare Giron, age 14

29

of the bathroom, and we all began to walk out of the quad into the dark night. As I looked up into the starry sky, my mouth couldn’t help but drop in awe at the beauty of the night. The school’s parking lot was packed with cars; there was a slight chilly breeze coming from the north, and everything felt innocent.

“Are you going to go with Mom or me?” my dad asked. He had already agreed to be the one that would wait for my brother.

“I’ll go with Mom.” I said hug-ging him goodbye.

“Allie, want to ride with us?” I asked her.

“I’ll just see you at the restau-rant,” she said, already walking towards her parents’ car.

“Okay. See you later.” I waved goodbye.

Automatically taking shotgun, I buckled my seat belt, waiting for my mom to pull out. Carefully, she watched as a truck signaled that she was free to pull out. My mom’s Honda van backed out hesitantly, wanting to not bump into other cars. I turned on the radio, switch-ing the station every fifteen seconds trying to settle on a good song. My mom was now waiting for her turn to exit the parking lot onto a main road. Lurching forward, my mom checked to see if any cars were heading her direction, and then she slowly eased on the gas. Suddenly, a dark car emerged, and was no doubt speeding toward us at a good sixty miles per hour.

“Hold on!” my mom demanded as she clutched onto the steering wheel, and I grabbed the sides of my arm rest.

Fear raced through my blood, as I saw the car not stopping. My mom tried to speed up, and her efforts to avoid an accident failed. The dark car clipped us on the back left side of the van, sending us spinning out of control. Grasping my seat, I cried out for help, as the reality of the clip came crashing down. Just as quickly as the motion started, it came to an abrupt stop. The tough seat belt locked in place and scratched my neck. Silence now filled the air The only audible noise was our breath in-taking air, the impact leaving us with a sense of panic.

“Mom.” I whispered breaking the silence.

“Don’t move.” she replied. Never in my life had I seen my mom that still with fear, and never will I forget the facial expression that accompa-nied it.

The next hour would be a daze to me, though. I became too stunned to move, and was helped out of the car by my dad, who had seen the accident from afar. Shaking, he guided me to go sit in the Ander-sons’ car with Austin and Allie. A blur of blue and red lights appeared on the street as my parents told the police what had happened. Though numerous people tried to comfort me, I sat idle in silence, wishing that this night would be over. It

felt like time was in slow motion. Everything around me was collaps-ing, and I sat there powerless. After the first painful hour of realization, the tears came-- not because I was hurt or injured, but because I could have been. Within the last hour I could have been dead, or my mom could have been. Closing my eyes I embedded this moment in my head and silently thanked God for the miracle he had blessed us with. Once I had finished my prayer, I began to form a conclusion about goodbyes and last moments of life.

When saying goodbye to some-one, a casual “see ya” or “talk to you later” would suffice. Perhaps you say goodbye to a loved one; may-be an “I love you” would be more appropriate. What people don’t realize is you never know when something will come to an end. A laugh might be the last laugh, or the three enticing words of love might be the last recited to you.

Maybe I misunderstand numerous lessons essential to life, but this I am positive is correct: each second you are alive is a blessing; each moment, no matter what the circumstances, should be important to you. The trick about life is, you can’t look back at the past, because it’s untouchable. No, that doesn’t mean look at the future, for you never know when your future will end. The key is not to focus on the past or future, but to keep your mind set on the present because you never know what breath you take will be your last.

I still remember that first time as a child: the first time I ever knew how a bird felt--the breeze in my hair

and the horrible feeling in my stomach. I imagine that you must be thinking of the first day I rode a bi-plane. If that is the case, you are horribly mistaken. No, this is a thing you may only do in your strang-est fantasies. If only I had known that this was going to be the first step in under-standing who I really was, and the first in a long string of adventures on the planet of Minerva, in that town, Dragnifea.

I recall going inside the barn, which was just about two stories higher than the ones back home. Inside, it was warm. It wasn’t designed in the usual way. This barn was larger, and instead of having open stalls, it was just a large hallway of vast doors, ap-proximately sixteen feet tall. These portals were wooden with metal bars near the top. The edifice was constructed like a horse stable. My cousin, Lavender, walked out of one of the stalls wearing her usual jeans and a short sleeved shirt. She was a tall girl with long brown hair that was always in a pony tail.

“Sorry. I would show you around Drag-nifea, but first I have to do some chores,” Lavender said, closing the door behind her.

I was very bored, and had nothing to do that day, so I said, “I can help you if you like.” Lavender shrugged and said, “Okay.”

My cousin violently swung open the door next to the one she was just occupy-ing. I walked in slowly behind her and looked up. What I saw nearly gave me a coronary. There it was: the creature of dreams and nightmares. It towered over me, as its split tongue lolled out of its mouth lazily.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lavender when she saw the expression of shock I gave the monster.

“It’s a dragon! It’s a dragon!” I gasped, only looking at the dragon.

“So?” said Lavender, looking at me like

I had just said the sky was red instead of blue.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, but at the same time, it didn’t really surprise me. It was a strange feeling. It was a feeling of pure awe and familiarity.

“It’s no so! It’s a dragon!” I responded in-credulously. “Don’t you see what I mean? Where did you get it?”

Lavender still looked at me as if I were a patient at an asylum and I had been babbling downright nonsense. “We got it from a dragon breeder. Where else do you think?”

I felt a bit outraged by the way Laven-der was acting. At the same time, it all seemed like a great big joke. I was half hoping I was in a feverish dream, but at the same time, I wanted it to be real out of curiosity.

“Oh, I just wondered because where I come from, dragons aren’t sitting in peo-ple’s barns.”

Lavender still held her stern gaze. She finally turned away and muttered, “Earth people,” under her breath. I knew that I wasn’t going to get through to her.

“Well what do you do with it?” I found myself asking, glancing back at the grand, horned beast. It was a dark, scaled crea-ture. Its eyes seemed to be ablaze with fire. The monster was at least fifteen feet tall. It looked exactly like the dragons from movies, with horns on its temple and long garish spikes streaming down its backbone. A majority of the spikes on the dragon’s back had been girded down, but the ones on its neck remained. The huge animal was lying down with its legs out-stretched before me and its leather wings rested at its sides. The dragon’s snake-like tail happily slashed across the stone floor, similar to how a happy cat’s would. Lavender went up to the beast and stroked its nose as though it were a horse.

“Oh, people ride them.” she replied non-chalantly.

Memories of My YouthBy Natasha Culbreth, age 15

“Can we ride it then?” I sounded hardly surprised. I had seen a lot of movies fea-turing dragons, and so far that seemed to be the only thing people did with them. I was expecting a more exciting reply.

“Yah, that’s part of the chore. You have to ride them every day so they don’t get angry or bored.”

“Okay, so what do we have to do to ride them?”

When I said this I was thinking of just jumping on the creature and walking it around the block for at least fifteen min-utes. For some reason, it surprises me now that I didn’t think of flying. “Here, I’ll get the stuff.”

And with that, Lavender vanished. She came right back with an extraordinarily large saddle and a huge bridle. “Okay, here. The bridle is the easiest,” said Lavender as she threw the bridle at me. Lavender jumped onto the dragon’s back and started saddling the fierce beast. I stood there, dumbfounded. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Lavender jumped down, and grabbed the bridle from me without saying anything. She strung the bridle around the dragon’s head as simply as one would do to a horse.

“Come on Roxs!” Lavender reached a hand out to help me board. Climbing up the beast was much like climbing up a slide. Its vast scales were slippery and smooth, so they provided no foot hold. I struggled while it was easy for Lavender. With all of her strength, Lavender flung me on.

Right away, the dragon started walking. As the dragon moved, Lavender quickly fell on her stomach grabbing the traces of leather in her hands. Her feet fell into two holes in the saddle. Realizing what was happening, I was sure to do the same. The saddle was built for two. The person in the front held the leather traces that were attached to a horn on the dragon’s nose while the person in the back held onto a smooth wooden beam.

“Hold on,” said Lavender. I thought she was a little late with her command. The dragon slowly neared a cliff. For a mo-ment, I thought it was going to jump. But it was still. Lavender tugged the traces of leather and shouted “Volo!” The dragon

gave a low bark in reply. I closed my eyes with fear. I had that feeling of dread like you have before you go on a roller coaster or enter a dentist’s office to get a root canal. For a second I felt like I was free flying, and my stomach felt like it was rising into my rib cage. I foolishly opened my eyes. What a stupid mistake that had been.

The dragon was nose diving down the cliff. The fall seemed like forever. Its wings were folded, and its head low. The wind burned my eyes, and tussled my hair out of control. The moment I thought I was going to die was the moment the dragon soared up away from the trees. It unfolded its wings and twisted its whole body upward. The sun blinded me. The overgrown lizard flapped its wings effort-lessly. Only now could I see that its wings were twice the size of its body.

Lavender casually sat up, and looked back at me. I attempted to get up, but discovered it was as hard as attempting to stand up in a boat. I found it irresistible to look over the side. Another stupid mis-take. Clouds and tree-tops were all I could see--no other dragons. This surprised me that we were the only ones speeding through space on such a creature.

It ended before I even knew it. It had only seemed like we had flown for seconds, but later I found out it had been hours. I soon saw the cliff with the stable again. The dragon steadily slowed down, as the jagged overhang neared. With two final flaps of its wings, it landed. Lavender jumped down onto the land and walked into the barn. The dragon obediently followed, folding its wings as it went. Returning to the ground was strange; I had become used to the weightlessness of flight.

Over time, as I continued these flights, something magical happened. For some reason, images and memories came to me during my time in the air with these impe-rial creatures. Pieces of the puzzle of my past came together and these adventures became a source for understanding my true identity. I don’t think I’ll ever com-pletely understand what happened to me on the planet of Minerva, but I know I am happy I went.

UntitledBy Michelle Bostaph, age 12

I walked into my classroom a few seconds after the bell rang, and rushed to my seat. I could hear

the other kids laughing and whisper-ing about me from across the room, as they did every day. When I got to my seat, I set my big purple bag on the floor, and pulled out my speech for the upcoming 12th grade gradu-ation. I didn’t pay much attention, as Mrs. Foy (my 1st period teacher) talked about the candidates for vale-dictorian because I was already told I was one of the few selected.

“Amanda, are you listening to me?” she yelled.

At first I didn’t register the words she said to me. I was staring at her eyes. It was weird that I wasn’t paying attention during class, but I already knew what she was talking about. Her eyes were fascinating to me. They were “full of sky” as my momma would say. They had this bluish-brown look to them, which I had never seen before.

“AMANDA!” she yelled even louder.“Yes, sorry,” I whispered. “Yes I

am.”As she proceeded to talk, my

cheeks started to turn pinker than cotton candy at the carnival. I hated the unnecessary attention people put on me. I was known in my school as the poor nerd who does nothing but read and do her homework. School was my safety zone-- my favorite place to be (even though I was made fun of) because when I left school, I didn’t know where I was going to sleep that night.

What people didn’t know about me was that I was homeless. I slept in abandoned houses, empty churches,

park slides, wherever my unemployed mom and I could find. Some-

times I wondered why this was all happening to me. How come I couldn’t just be the girl next door, the girl who didn’t have to worry about going to an amazing college to have a bet-ter life for her and her mother?

I had been in an out of houses for about nine and a half years. My everyday life was school, trying to find food, finishing homework, and looking for a place to sleep. But would this stop me? Not at all. I was probably more determined to gradu-ate with all As in my senior year than any other person in the history of the galaxy. So far I had met my goal. There was only one more day of my twelfth grade year before it was over. This was when I would see if I got any scholarships to pay for my college education.

I was sitting in the park slide alone, staring at the huge palm tree in front of me, and fiddling with my fingernails. Melanie, my mother, was out looking for food because it was her night to do so. I had already finished my homework, so I really had nothing to do. I began to climb up the slide and look for my mom. I saw her walking a few minutes away from where I was. I started to run toward her, but it was hard to because I hadn’t eaten since last night.

“I couldn’t find anything. I’m sorry, baby boo,” she whispered to me.

“Oh, it’s alright momma, I’ll try to get something tomorrow morning,” I reassured her.

“You shouldn’t have to, Pooka,” she murmured, “I’m suppose to be the one caring for you-- giving you a house to sleep in, with food on the table!”

“Oh, mommy, it’s not your fault your daddy left us with nothin’ but a few dollars and a pillow case,” I jok-

ingly replied.She looked at me, took my hand,

and led me to the slide. She reached into her pocket and took out a beauti-ful golden locket.

“Oh, momma, it’s beautiful,” I whispered.

She hesitated to reply, and when she did, her eyes started to water.

“Your dad gave this to me right before he committed his crime. He wanted me to give it to you before your graduation.”

“It’s..... it’s beautiful,” I said, so quiet that I could hear my momma’s heart beating faster than a cheetah running after its pray.

I could tell she had been waiting to give me the locket for years and years. It had “forever together” en-graved into the top part of the heart shaped locket. When I opened it, it had a picture of my dad and me when I was a baby.

I was about to say something, but she interrupted me before I could.

“You gotta get some sleep. It’s your big day tomorrow. Tomorrow we finally get to see if you get that big scholarship,” she said, a little too excited for someone who was just crying. My mom’s speech was a little out of date, as this was how they would talk when she was younger.

I nodded my head, snuggled up to my mom, and went to sleep faster than you could say, “homeless.”

*****I woke up that morning happier

than I’d been in a long time. My mom was still sleeping, and I usu-ally didn’t wake her up when I was leaving for school. I headed down to the park bathroom to fix my ratted hair. I didn’t have really anything to get ready for school with. I wore the 32

same thing every day for 2 weeks. When those two weeks were over, we would head down to the home-less shelter, and they would give us something new.

As I was about to walk out of the bathroom doo, I saw a few dollars on the ground. I picked them up and ran to where my mom was. I slid them under her coat jacket, and wrote her a note with the binder paper in my bag:

“Mom,I found this in the bathroom this

morning. Go get yourself something to eat, and remember.... Don’t go all out!

Love, Amanda”This was a joke between my mom

and me. We would say it to each other when we found money lying on the ground because, when we did find something, it was usually only a couple dollars. But I mean, hey, a few dollars is better than nothing!

I began walking towards my school, a little faster than usual, because I woke up a little later than I did normally. The little birdy in the palm tree had been waking me up for the past few days while we had been sleeping at the park.

I got to school right as the bell rang, and I was relieved I wasn’t late again. I’m usually late getting to school because I don’t have an alarm clock to wake me up in the morning.

The day flew right past me. First period, second period, third pe-riod, fourth period, lunch, and fifth period went the fastest they had ever gone in the past four years I had been in this high school. When sixth period came along it seemed to drag on. I was a little mad that this class hadn’t gone as fast as the other ones, but then I thought to myself, “This is your last period of your high school year. Enjoy it.” I

listened to that little piece of ad-vice I had given myself. It was ironic though, because right after I thought that, the period went faster than all the other ones.

When the school bell rang, it stuck in my mind for at least 30 seconds. It finally occurred to me that this was the last time I would hear that obnox-ious bell ring at 3:11 p.m.

I began walking to the front of the school, because that was where my mom would pick me up and take me wherever we were going to go that day.

When I saw my mom, she had a smirk on her face, and I began to wonder why this was so. She began to mouth something to me, but I didn’t understand her.

“How was your last day, Mandy Moo?”

“It was good. Real good,” I an-nounced.

I knew she had been hiding some-thing from me, and before I got to ask her, she had already begun to blurt it out.

“I’ve been saving money for the past few years, now, to get you a dress and your hair done for this special day. If we hurry, we can get it all done before five!”

I looked at her, dumbstruck. I was astounded! I thought I was going to have to go to graduation in jeans and an old t-shirt.

She took my hand, and we began to run toward Dresses Anonymous. She had saved up $430.62 ever since my tenth grade year.

Yet again, everything was going faster than usual. I had my dress, and I was about to be finished getting my hair put into a tight bun. The lady had 33

put beautiful makeup on me, and did my nails. By this time, it was already 4:45: almost time for my graduation.

We ran to the high school foot-ball field where my dreams were about to become my reality.

It was my turn to give my speech, but when the announcer called my name, he stopped. He began to smile and said,

“Amanda. Amanda Hureta. The young lady who has gotten As on all of her tests, turned in all of her homework, and has been an abso-lute honor to have here at Green Valley High. I don’t think I can wait to give Amanda what the state of Nevada has offered her, so I believe we need to do so now. Amanda, please come up here.”

I couldn’t explain the feeling I was having at that very moment. Every single emotion was run-ning around in my mind, and, eventually, to my stomach. I had the craziest case of stomach butterflies you could possibly

ever have.“Amanda, I can’t possibly wait to

give you this. We have never ever done this before, and I don’t think any other school has, either. We are now offering you a full ride scholar-ship to any college of your choice. Right now,” He said so enthusiasti-cally. I was about to cry. And so I did. I was speechless. This was the moment I was waiting for, for nine and a half years. I needed to hear those words for my life to really feel complete.

That was the feeling I wish ev-eryone could experience. I wanted everyone to have the feeling of accomplishment like I did that night. When I heard the words he told me, I knew that anything--and when I say anything, I mean anything and everything--was pos-sible from that point on.

“What people didn’t know about me was that I was

homeless...”

Confessions of a Nazi SoldierBy Kaylin Arnold, age 17

My name is Torvald Shinshonizky and I…I am a Nazi soldier. What I do, what I am…I am in no way, shape or form proud of. They, the world, tell me it’s an honor to be serving Hitler, to be under his tutelage. But I…I know that this is no honor…I kill, I take, I kill…I take… We are not soldiers.

We are murderers. Don’t try to make it sound like something it’s not. I hate what I do, what I have become… Why am I here?

I know not. Maybe it was to feel as if I had meaning again, purpose… I haven’t felt that way in a while… My wife, Anna, and my son, my beautiful, sweet son, Samuel…they died. Before… before the fever

spread, we were all happy… We were a family. My wife, my son and I, we would sing, dance, laugh…live. I used to make them proud. I’d come home from work and despite having been gone for hours due to it, they’d look up at me and smile. Sam would tell me all about his day at school and Anna would greet me with a kiss and ask, “How was work?” I’d give her my usual answer of long, hard and grueling…but I knew each hour I spent there, I was somehow bettering their lives here at home. Meaning…purpose…that’s what I had with them.

Then, as if by night, fever struck. I, out of ALL people, was immune to whatever caused the fever in the first place, but them? No, they were too weak and I…I had to stand there and watch all I ever loved...die right before me…I have no meaning, no purpose any longer I felt…

That was five years ago and even now, I still feel the same. I wish I could do something for them, to show…somehow prove that…that...[sigh]. There’s nothing to prove. I’m a failure, a lost man…no, these things are obvious and require no proof. Huh, what do I do now? I joined the army to feel of use once more, to feel some sort of happiness, to perhaps fill in some kind of hole that’s been in my heart. But…I can’t, it’s not working. Somehow, the hole in my heart only deepens. It cuts deeper as I see men fighting men, as I see pain and anguish right in front of me…

Aren’t we human enough to know not to cut down our own brothers? True, the “enemy,” as they are often called, look different, talk different, sound different from us but they are just as human as we are, cor-rect? I see men, woman and children cut down, shot, gassed just because of their looks, their religion, their beliefs... Who’s to say they are not correct? Who’s to say that there is not an all mighty, all powerful God ruling over us all, protecting us all as they say? Since when did Hitler become a God? I know not… But I do know that this is wrong…

We judge, we discriminate against others. Is it from fear of them, what they can do to us as a result of their differences? Or is it from a fear of ourselves? Are we afraid that we are not different enough, like them, to fit in? I know I make no sense…but perhaps I do… It is the year 1937 and how far have we come? We still kill, murder the innocent, take what is never ours to begin with and even judge others, tear them down due to their presumed inequalities… No, we are not perfect. We are not perfect just because Hitler says we are. Those around us are our brothers, our sisters…instead of constantly tearing them down we should be trying to build them up. We need to show them love, kindness, compassion…if such things still exist…But some-how I know they do. I myself try to show such things even if I am a “soldier.”

This is why I do not kill, this is why I lay here now, on my back, with a bullet hole through my chest... … I could not pull the trigger on the “enemy” because what I saw, me being well advanced in years at least, was a boy… A scared, helpless boy in front of me that I could not shoot down… So he struck instead, in fear of losing his young life prematurely.

I don’t blame him. I don’t. He just did what he was trained to do, “Strike the enemy first before they strike you.” Maybe I am the fool. If I had shot him I wouldn’t be laying here now but…my life is over. It ended five years ago. Besides, I’ve seen enough cruelty. However, perhaps in my kindness to spear his life, I did some good. Maybe I helped to bring back something that seemed long gone…kindness because I cared enough to show it.

The Jews say they are kind because their God is. Because God wants them, teaches them to be so. “Love and kindness in all things” it seems He says to them. I like Him, this God… I would have liked to live a life serving Him rather than this Hitler. Maybe that would have been a life worth living, as well as a life my wife and son would have been proud of… How I miss them. Maybe in death we’ll be reunited…or not…for I know not what is out there beyond death. I know of a Heaven and a Hell. Which I’ll be going to I know not…but I hope Heaven…maybe.

Perhaps if we were to believe in this God, change from our wicked ways on this terrible earth, stop kill-ing each other but rather, have peace and harmony…maybe then we’d all be going to Heaven… I’d like to believe such a goal as this was possible but I, Torvald Shinshonizky, KNOW NOT.

…And even now, in the year 2011, such a goal as this is still trying to be achieved. Maybe if we took some time to express kindness, have a little faith and even…believe in God once more, this goal will be ac-complished at last.

No matter which way I turned, I was trapped in an endless maze of aisles, as though they were never ending, paral-lel rows, fully stocked, spewing people, bustling about like busy bees in a hive. My mother had to be in here somewhere. She had to be somewhere. Somewhere—gone. She could not have left the store. Alone. She had to be searching. Invisible. The other shoppers flowed around me in unison, like I was a small rock in a river, disrupting the current. Terror. Surround-ed by everyone, I felt isolated. Secluded. Though the store was chilly, my fuchsia Rugrats sweater seemed fervent. Solitary. The diligent adults. The diligent adults ambled by with their groceries, never pausing or glancing down at my insignifi-cant body. Pursuit. I raced up and down the aisles, scanning for my tall mother, with tears brimming in my eyes, cascading down my rosy cheeks, clutching my teddy bear, feeling the concerned stares when suddenly I saw a break in the crowd. By the register, there she was, but Teddy fell, and after I retrieved him, she was gone once more, swallowed up in the crowd. Desolate.

The clouds sit poised, threatening either to overwhelm the city with rain, or retreat to high ground. The static air tingles the hairs on the backs of our necks. It’s stunningly, eerily quiet. We’re huddled together, holding hands by the small cell phone on the desk. She glances at the clock for the thousandth time. 4:17. Still no word. We jump as a foreboding crack of lighten-ing brightens the sky, thunder booming shortly after. She lets go of my hand to crack her knuckles in a noisy fashion-- trying to soak up the silence, I presume. I follow suit, taking a perfunctory sip of my tea, and turning the channel on the TV. I crack my knuckles, roll my neck. I bang out a beat on the pillow. I jiggle my foot. When she thinks I’m not looking, she closes her eyes and slumps forward. Slowly her hands come up to her face, clasped together tightly. Her lips start to move rapidly, then slowly, then rapidly again. I realize she’s praying. Then her phone rings.

35

LostBy Sierra Lomprey, age 16

WorriedBy Ashley C. Mixson, age 16

Beat Up Chuck TaylorsBy Lindsay Yates,

age 15

Across the room, he looked at her. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and turned the

page in her textbook. She was beautiful. I have to make her mine, he thought,

watching as she laughed at something her friend had said to her. It had to be one of the best things he’d ever seen. She’ll make everything better.

The bell rang, and she and her friend got up to leave. He meant to say some-thing, but he never got the chance. He was too busy wondering how someone could make something as simple as jeans, a t-shirt, and beat up Chuck Taylors look so good.

Later that day, he got another chance. He was on his way to the bathroom, and she crossed his path. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only sound that came out was somewhere between a squeak and a groan. She gave him a strange look, and forced a smile before tossing her hair over her shoulder and proceeding down the hall.

Mortified, he tried to avoid her for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he ran right into her on the way to lunch. He didn’t trust his words, so he just bent down to help her pick up her stuff. He caught sight of his name in an open notebook and his heart beat furiously. Looking down, he realized it was a note between her and her friend, saying how ugly and weird he was. He felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. She looked up just in time to see the hurt in his eyes.

She called his name as he ran off, but he refused to hear her. He just ran and ran, not caring who or what he ran into. He. Just. Ran. As he finally made it to his front door, rain began to fall. He didn’t care. It masked the tears running down his face.

When he made it to his room, all he could do was turn on the saddest music he had and cry. He cried. And cried. And cried. The pain never seemed to go away, no matter how long and hard he cried.

He snuck down to the kitchen. The house was asleep. He reached into the

drawer where utensils were kept, pulling out a steak knife. This was all it would take. All the pain would go away. He stood over the sink and dragged the cool metal over the skin of his left wrist. He couldn’t take it anymore. His life was a disaster. His parents were constantly fighting; his only friend had abandoned him for the ‘popular crowd;’ his only sibling had died in a car accident, and now this.

There was a soft knock at the door. He spun around and tiptoed to answer it. It was her, soaking wet from the rain. She didn’t say a word. Her eyes said it all, shiny with tears. She cared about him. A lot. She had just said those things to her friend because it’s what she wanted to hear. She didn’t care what anybody else thought. She wanted him to be hers forever.

For the first time, she saw the knife in one hand and the blood that trickled slowly down his wrist. She let out a small gasp. She looked into the depths of his eyes and realized how dead they were. She went inside and dragged him with her to the kitchen. First, she took the knife, rins-ing and drying it. She asked him where a first aid kit was and he pointed to a small cupboard.

She worked quickly, cleansing the single cut and putting a bandage across it. When she was finished, she kissed it. In that kiss was a promise. A promise that she would never let anyone or anything hurt him ever again.

Ten years later, she kept her promise. It was their wedding day. The scar from that single cut was long gone, a secret be-tween the two. The dead look in his eyes had long been replaced by joyful light. She had given him that: the happiness he longed for. He looked in the mirror and fixed his tie one more time before going out for the ceremony. Not long after, his beautiful bride walked down the aisle. He gave her the biggest smile he could muster. She returned it with a smirk and a small wink, lifting her long dress just slightly. He had to refrain from laughter, for under her beautiful wedding gown were her beat up Chuck Taylors. 36

Dedicated to my soul sister.

The rain falls and mixes with my tears, as I walk along. My umbrella? I lost that long ago. It lies forgotten, beaten and torn, somewhere along the path. I slip on mud, but try to right my-self. I should have learned by now that fighting does no good.

Someone gives me a hard shove, and I slam onto the cold unforgiving earth. “Why?” I won-der as I lie there, too tired to stand, “do I bother trying to stand when the world just pushes me down?” People walk on by; some even walk on me, as I simply lie there. I close my eyes, wishing to disappear. I hear a sound, and when I open my eyes, I see a girl standing beneath an umbrella. She stares at me with great interest. The girl kneels down and stares some more. I also stare, curious as to what she wants. Wordlessly, she stands up and holds out a hand with a smile. I’m not sure why, but I find myself grabbing her hand and smiling, too.

“I’m Sharmila,” The girl tells me. Sharmila pulls me underneath the umbrella. I think this act is pointless because I’m already soaked and covered in mud, but as I stand there with Sharmi-la, I find myself becoming dry and clean. After a long time, the storm finally passes. When it does, Sharmila closes the umbrella, but doesn’t let go of my hand. Never does she loosen her grip as we walk along the path, side by side.

Another storm comes, as I knew it would. I’m given a hard shove; I close my eyes and let myself fall. I don’t want to fight anymore. But I never hit the ground. I open my eyes to see Sharmila scowling at me, as she opens the umbrella.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, pulling me upright again. I’m too shocked to answer her.

Storm after storm comes and goes, but with Sharmila at my side, I manage to stand. That is, until I feel a pain so great that I can’t go on. I don’t even have the strength to stand.

“Get up,” Sharmila says, as I fall to my knees. She tugs on my hand, but even her strength can’t keep me up. At this point, I wonder if she will let go, and leave me like all the others. But once again, Sharmila surprises me. She kneels down and wraps her arms around me. I sit there, staring at nothing, until I feel her shaking. I look at Sharmila to find that she’s crying.

“Why are you doing that?” I ask. She looks up, and gives me a small smile. “Because you can’t do it on your own.” After this, whenever I lose my strength, Sharmila kneels down, pulls me into her warm com-

forting arms, and cries with me. Sometimes she simply picks me up and carries me until I find my ability to stand. It never takes long because I have Sharmila there with me. Never once has she left me alone. Even though we are now far away, she still holds my hand, and keeps me going when the rain pours down.

I have no words for my eternal gratitude that someone cares enough to stop and pull me up--let alone catch me when I fall. Each time I slip, or my grip slackens, I feel Sharmila squeeze my hand. Sometimes I think Sharmila doesn’t realize her actions: that’s just how she is. Also, I don’t think she realizes how much I love her.

She reached out when no one else would, and saved me from myself. Sharmila held me when I couldn’t go on, and understood me when others couldn’t. She loves me for who I am.

Sharmila is not just my best friend. She’s my sister. My twin. My reason to stand.

37

Why I StandBy Brenda Salas, age 16

He was dying today, and would probably die tonight; at least that’s what the doctors suspected.

It was a car crash that did it. It bruised and broke him in all parts except his head, but still his mind was beginning to go because the pain was making him constantly pass out.

He had been in a hospital bed for three days, pretty much alone. Or at least that’s what he made himself see. He had a “family,” but not one he was close to at least. He had no friends either. Unlike his peers who cared about cell phones, malls, and bright things, he liked to imagine and invent places unlike our own. He thought about the shadowed things, the ones consid-ered so dark in his modern society.

At times when he was conscious he would feel a presence, but he didn’t want that. He wanted his dreams. He felt he lived an unimportant life and was ready to see what was waiting on the other side. Was there heaven? A God? A forgiving God?

It was true. He never really believed in God or religion. He tried it but didn’t like it. Still he, as most people do, feared God and feared Hell. But heaven, that was hard to give up. Life was too hard and pain-ful to say that you died and that was it. Although he tried hard to not pay mind to religion, he wanted to see a heaven. A good end. He thought about how he couldn’t help his mind. Maybe if there was one, this God would understand.

* * *He was fading again, as he called it amusingly in his

mind. The right phrase was passing out. It was happen-ing more frequently now, making him yearn more to see what was waiting on the “other side.” He began to see something, and in a way feel something too . . .

He was in his neighborhood now. It was sunny out and the grass was brightly green. His house wasn’t too far; just two blocks down the road. You could almost see it, just the edge, because the house in front was blocking it.

The air was cool, but yet he could tell it was sum-mer and that it was probably in the afternoon. The sky was a gray haze, but the sun somehow cast a light onto the brand new one-sapling lawns and white pavement. His bare feet warmed a little on the concrete.

Oddly, he felt younger too, like twelve or so. He had his casual gym shorts on like he did back in his

elementary school home, now miles away due to a move. A move that now felt very recent to him, unlike the his eighteen year old self he knew he was a part of.

He soon realized he was looking for something. Someone, but who? It was someone familiar. Some-one he loved in a way and missed. He looked at the paper he was holding. An address, but . . . but . . . it didn’t add up. No house matched it. Sadness filled him. Failure filled him, but it wasn’t so bad. A feeling of freedom filed him in this neighborhood. The real world’s sadness was not here, not in this place.

Strangely, he felt alone too. No neglecting family, no hateful people from school. It was all good, but sad. Sad he couldn’t find the place. However, there was a feeling in him it was the white house he was walk-ing by now. Marble white like the Taj Mahal. But the address didn’t match up . . . So he kept walking bitter sweetly.

By the time he reached, rather in confused thought, a house in a halfway down the block, he heard someone call his name. Quickly, he turned himself around to see a skinny, tall kid flutter out of the black-windowed, marble house he felt was the right one he was looking for. The kid’s hair was wispy and blond with highlights.

Suddenly he knew him. It was him he was looking for! It was an old friend, a true old friend. One he had wanted in the past to see so badly. He was excited and a smile widened across his face. Oh the excitement, the pleasure!

With a burst he tried to run to the friend who stood waiting. But he couldn’t move; he stayed. He wasn’t getting any closer. His friend looked disappointed and confused.

“Nataniele!” He yelled remembering his old friend’s name. “Nataniele! Nataniele! . . . l . . .”

* * *

It was nighttime now and he was facing a small, one story house. The air was clear and the brightest stars could be seen in the wide-open sky. The street was kind of dark though, but peaceful as he noticed now looking around. There were large trees on the lots and the houses were quaint and older. The lights that shone through their windows made things seem magi-cal, and in a weird way cozy. The house in front of him was extremely familiar.

A word, or was it a name, had hit him. “Andre-”,

La Fin de Vie by Ben Jones

38

La Fin de VieBy Ben Jones, age 17

“Andra-”, or some name he knew, but couldn’t get it out of him.

Suddenly a girl with golden blond, short hair popped out of the door with a boy. The boy had a thick paperback in his hand. They looked about the way in front of him, but up, up towards the sky. The boy said something then and the girl laughed, and then sud-denly he felt connected to the boy, like he had seen or will see a scene like this. There was a stark familiar-ity. He wanted to then ask them, approach them, and join them. He tried to get his eyes on their faces. The great knowledge that spread over him and then the girl locked eyes with him and . . . and . . .

* * *He was conscious again and in a lot of pain. He

couldn’t see much either. It was dark but he felt light. He had no idea if he was alone or not, but he couldn’t think, the pain was too much, just way too much . . .

* * *He had no idea where he was now. There was,

however, a long hallway he now found himself walking down. Walking down it to go somewhere. Up ahead, the hallway ended in a turn and there, yes there, he felt it was the right place. Tthe place he wanted to go or knew to go.

Sadness suddenly fell over him, forcing him to cry and fall to the floor gripped with pain and sorrow. Someone had done something. Someone had hurt him. His sadness overcame him. He then fell flat to the floor as if being forced. Was it a sickness, he won-dered? For no emotion was this strong. He couldn’t get up at all. All he could do was curl up into a ball and cry. He felt so forced to the ground. Stapled to it with pain, unimaginable pain.

Then he felt a hand, a small hand, a light hand place its pale self on his back. Friendship, he felt. True friendship that steadily began to erase the pain away with kindness.

* * *The air was hot now. The sky was a crystal blue and

large white clouds glided in the wind. It was noon now and very hot. The leaves on the

trees baked easily in the noontime silence. He was in a yard, a backyard. There was a black chair and a fire pit on the little cream hued patio and several large houses rose geometrically around sitting silently and empty.

This place did not ring a bell like the others had, but he felt it would come. Maybe one day he would know it, but that day would be very far away. He then stood for a minute and then walked over to the windows of

this house. They were too dark to look into though. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to anyway.

A gate opened behind him forcing him to turn eagerly that way hoping for someone or something to help him solve this riddle, this place, this time.

A girl stood waiting. Her hair was a brilliant red and her skin was a light tan like she belonged along the coast of a great warm sea. Her eyes were wild and brown while her clothes were torn in some areas and in others covered with dust patches. She wore a tan, almost undershirt and a dazzling skirt that fluttered and hung ripped in others. Her hand was out waiting for another one to take it.

Almost instantly he treads towards her. His mind did not care to worry whether or not he knew her or would know her. His hand came to take her rough, small hand, and so with a gentle ease he did, feeling the skin of a youthful girl. A youthful girl that he felt close to now, a girl he felt wasn’t living, but did once and had a hard life, a life, however, unlike any other, a life full of life.

She gave a slight smile and pushed open the gate with a tap.

He didn’t know what was happening at first. He felt all the memories were done now and all the people he was going to see were just beginning.

There was a lot of light and not a lot of gravity. Ev-erything earthly, scientific, real, and true wasn’t there anymore; all was thrown in the trash, taken away.

There were no more legs or cuts, hurts or desires, and he felt there was a big secret to be told; a big mys-tery was to be solved. Someone was holding his hand and someone or something was close, closely loving, closely caring, and closely telling of it all; the begin-ning and the end. There was then a huge heart before him bleeding, then he could smell a bright orange and then, and then with no sudden warning his eyes seemed to really open for the first time ready to learn, see, and really understand.

He didn’t exactly know what he saw but he thought there was a girl with dark Arab skin and rich black hair ready to be with him again and forgive. There was a woman with brilliant flowers in her hair ready to accept and smiled, and someone, yes someone, to tell him he’d be here, but to wait - for just a little while.

Then with a flash of ease, and relief of a final test or first impression, he finally found himself in a field of brilliant green, peaceful hills. The sky was a crystal blue with white clouds gliding steadily in the wind. And with a fragrant whiff of jasmine or a secret spice, the wind blew calmly, gently in the breeze. Then to his right there was the red haired girl standing and smiling with her hand tightly in his.

39

The snow crunched under my feet as I ran with the last of

my will. My wings had broken long ago and I had the strength of a human as I ran barefoot through the forest. They chased me with arrows and knives, taking chances at shooting my fleeting figure for an acciden-tal hit. Trees surrounded me, reaching out with broken limbs to stab my dirty wings. An arrow sliced clean through my hand, but the adrenalin kept it numb as I kept my mortal pace. Fallen twigs bit at my legs, slowing me down before a knife, cut-ting through the air so close I could hear it, incited me for-ward again. Feathers coated the branches above me and I knew an angel had fallen here.

Blood dripped from my now brown feathers. I turned back for a split second to examine them, realizing my mistake a moment too late. I tripped, falling for what seemed to be forever before I clashed with the ground with an almost silent thump. A bright white light flashed above me, and I saw a pair of hooves at my head through my light silver eyes. Brown hair, normally a plati-num blonde, splayed out away from my head, covering the hand with an arrow through it and falling down to my waist. I felt blood dripping from my

legs, my wings, my hand, but I felt no pain. A dark feather

fell down in front of my face, seeming to signal my mind to fade to black.

A cold splash of water hit my face, waking me up instantly. A young woman with an aged aura apologized to me as she squeezed the water throughout my hair. I felt suddenly embarrassed as I realized that she was washing me. I was still in my tattered dress, but I moved away from her, ashamed. She gave me a stern look and poured another freezing bucket of water over my head. I whimpered as pains in my hand and back be-gan to show themselves. After her apology, the woman didn’t speak, so I sat holding a strand of my hair, returned to its normal color, and thought about what had hap-pened.

The hunters had found me begging for my life, and I hadn’t known that they were bad people. The only thing I could think of was getting away from the horrible people that had surrounded me. A knife to my thigh changed my mind, but I could only run. Ar-rows shot through the sky around me and I struggled to keep myself in the air. I don’t remember when or why my wing broke, but it sent me crashing through the forest with no mercy. I had been dirty, but it only got worse from there.

The woman was gone. I hadn’t realized that she had left, but I changed into a pure white dress that was set by the door. The back had two slits and I slipped my fresh, white wings into them, before grimacing in pain. I turned

my head and saw a bandage keeping my wing in one place. It really was broken, then. I sighed and tried to open the door to no avail. I began to panic, real-izing that I had no idea who was keeping me here. I couldn’t remember what had happened after I’d tripped, and I began to hyperventilate before I saw a black feather fall from above.

I looked up and saw an angel, but not a normal one. He was a fallen angel. I didn’t know if he was good or bad, but I backed away, soon finding myself falling into a bin filled with water. He cast his eyes downward, look-ing as if he felt bad about scar-ing me. I wasn’t fooled. Fallen angels weren’t trusted in the ethereal world, and I didn’t feel a need to trust him now. But I owed a life debt to him; he had saved me from the Angel Hunters. I got out of the water and held out my hand to him. He put his on top of mine and a bond was formed. I couldn’t leave him until I repaid my life debt.

He smiled, but it wasn’t an evil smile. Sadness crept into his bottomless eyes and I felt the need to look away. My hand still raised, he floated above me with light flaps of his darkened wings. He began to disappear, leaving only a dark feather behind that floated down to touch my palm. Sunlight poured in from the broken roof and I held my face up to warm it. I sat like this for a long time, though time was 40

Angel WingsBy Aimee Mahoney, age 16

elusive to me. A shadow passed across my face at one point and I quickly opened my eyes to see the unknown angel above. He was gone quickly and I closed my eyes again to bask in the sun light.

Days passed while nothing happened. The woman came to check on me from time to time, but I was never hungry or cold. After a while, I realized that we were in the ethereal world or one similar to it. I didn’t mind. My human had died and there was nothing left for me on earth. I was content to stay here for the rest of my life, and I was sure that I would. I hadn’t seen the fallen one since the very first day, and I feared that I would never be forgiven my life debt. I longed to fly away from the room as soon as my wing had healed, but an invis-ible force held me to the open room. Days continued to pass by me as I sat, wishing.

He returned one day, a day that I couldn’t count to. He held a troubled aura and sat down next to me to speak. His voice echoed throughout the room and it trembled with each word. “I have been keeping this from you. You are not trapped by a life debt bond to me. You are trapped here by my will. If you would stay, I shall set you free to roam the ethereal world. But you surely know that all an-gels will die. You are dead. Stay here with me eternally, or go on to an unknown life in a differ-ent place which we will never learn about. My guilt allows you this choice.”

I felt as if the choice were timed, and that I only had now

to decide. Panic and indecision overwhelmed me, but I knew that I didn’t belong here. The weather was nice, and the atmosphere welcoming, but my place wasn’t in this world. My place wasn’t on earth, either, after my human was gone-- killed by the horrible men that I couldn’t stop. I longed to stop the fallen one’s loneliness, but my heart tugged to a new world, and my mind agreed. I looked at him, and his eyes told me that he knew my choice. The invisible weight of the bond lifted and I opened my wings to fly. He stared after me with loneliness as my wings carried me through the bright sky.

He got farther and farther away before becoming a lone ant on the distant ground. My room was one of a large castle-- a garden room. I smiled slightly, know-ing I had been pleasured during my seemingly endless stay. There hadn’t been much to do, but, in my heart, I had enjoyed it. He remained, alone, waiting for the next girl to save and to hope that she would be the one who be-longs there with him. Perhaps a fallen angel can’t be trusted, but my wings carried me to a perfect world by his wish. The feelings of being trapped by him were swal-lowed in the feeling of freedom that came to me in that moment. Hell could have been my other choice, but he had repaired me. He had given back my Angel Wings.

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Middle School Finalists

Skyler Bradley - Short Story: “Robots Have Feelings Too” page 16

Sara Gong - Poem: “Pots and Pans,” page 5

Samantha Hayashi - Essay: “Exit -- Stage Left” page 18

Rylee Jones - Short Story: “The Strange Day in July,” page 14

Felicia Kalkman - Short Story: “Printed Virus,” page 12

Hailey Krantz - Poem: “People are People,” page 8

Amber Mixson - Short Story: “Missing,” page 20

Jasmine Mixson - Poem: “Sometimes,” page 9

Marqes Parker - Short Story: “Boys vs. Girls,” page 19

Emilie Robins - Poem: “A Cat’s View of a Storm,” page 6

Sharon Torres - Short Story: “Fairy Tale Wedding...Not So Happy Ending,” page 11

Taryn Wilcock - Poem: “Beach” page 9

Marlo Wilde - Poem: “Color Your Life” page 7

Bethany Winder - Short Story: “Look at the Sky,” page 15

High School Finalists

Kaylin Arnold - Short Story: “Confessions of a Nazi Soldier,” page 34

Esther Brincat - Poem: “I Believe,” page 25

Michelle Bostaph - Short Story: “Untitled,” page 32

Isaiah Caston - Poem: “Boom, The Power of Sound,” page 23

Brian Alan Crosby - Poem: “The Strengthening Curse,” page 24

Natasha Culbreth - Short Story: “Memories of My Youth,” page 30

Tiare Giron - Essay: “Goodbyes,” page 28

Ben Jones - Short Story: “La Fin de Vie” page 38

Sierra Lomprey - Short Story: “Lost,” page 35

Aimee Mahoney - Short Story: “Angel Wings,” page 40

Ashley C. Mixson - Short Story: “Worried,” page 35

Sabrina Novenschi - Poem: “Just Because...,” page 26

Brenda Salas - Essay: “Why I Stand” page 37

Lindsay Yates - Short Story: “Beat Up Chuck Taylors,” page 3642

The

Authors

43

Special thanks to...

Friends of the Library for funding and prizes

Our teen volunteers for binding

Nevada Society of Childrens Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI)for judging and providing the panel discussion at the reception:

Laura CanonDori Gilbert

John KelleherTina KirchnerSharon Mann

Jennifer MooreBrei StoklosaShana Valenti

and a special thank you to Ann Kimbrough-- our main judge and contact

and to Dinh Chau-Kieckhafer--who coordinates library art displays and first connected us with SCBWI

The Crew:

Kristina Drury - Selection, Reception

Stephanie Espinoza - Selection, Layout

Sarah Okner - Selection, Editing, Publicity, Reception

Jessica Sullenberger - Selection, Editing, Publicity, Reception

Tiffany Van Buskirk - Selection

Tawnya Shaw - Editing, Reception