The Laminator Closet The Laminator Closet
By By
Mishika K. V. Mishika K. V.
My friends Kassidy, Elsie and I were sent to wash paintbrushes in the laminator closet. I didn't really want to go, considering that literally everyoneintheschoolthoughtitwashaunted,andourteacherhadonly sentusthereasapunishment.Buttherewassomethingabouttheglintin my teacher's eye that told me that whatever awaited me in the laminator closetwouldbebetterthanstayingthere,withmyteacher,whoselipswere pressedintoathinlineandwhoseforeheadwascrinkled.
Shewasknownforbeingstrict,andhandingoutdetentionsrandomly.SoI draggedmyselfdownthehallway,withmyfriendsclosebehindme.
I grabbed the handle of the door and opened it, and we slipped inside. Inside,itwasdark,andImovedmyhandnearwhereIthoughtthelight switchwouldbe,pressingrandomplacesonthewallbeforeIfinallyfound it.Thelightsturnedonwithaflickerandasoft“hum”sound.Theroom wasdifferentthanIhadexpected.Ihadthoughtthatalloftherumorswere false,butitseemedthattheremayhavebeensometruthbehindthem.Even with the lights on, the room was dim and smelled musty. Cobwebs were everywhere,andwhenIranmyfingeralongthewallitwascoatedwithdust.
A laminator took up almost one whole side of the room, and the space behindithadracksofwhatseemedtobepapersandpencilsanddifferent typesoffolders,whichwasprettynormal,butIhadafeelingthatsomething was off, other than the terrible maintenance. The other side of the small roomhadanoldsink.Thespacebehindthesinkalsohadracks,thoughI couldn'ttellwhatwasonthem.
Itfeltscary,butitwasactuallyprettynormal.Butunderneaththesenseof normalcy, I felt a certain uneasiness stirring inside of me. Ignoring it, I turned on the sink, trying not to touch the dirty parts. I held the paintbrushesunderthesteadyflowofthewater,watchingthepaintwash offslowly.
ButthenIstopped.Ifeltdifferent.IfeltlikeIsawsomethingmovefromthe cornerofmyeye.Irememberedtherumor,themostrecentone,thatthelast kidwhohadgoneintothelaminator'scloset…hadnevercomeback.Witha shiver,Icontinuedwashingthepaintbrushes.Untilasoundstoppedmein mytracks.
Iturned.
“Kassidy?Elsie?Was-wasthatsound…you?”Iasked,myvoicequaveringas Italkedtothefaintsilhouettesofmyfriends.
“Nope,”Kassidysaid.“Itwasn’tElsieeither.I’vebeennexttoherthiswhole time.”
Iheardthesamesoundagain.
The laminator had started printing out things covered in a thin film of plastic.Iturnedoffthetapandwalkedovertoit,thewetpaintbrushesstill inmyhand.Inthick,boldletters,itread:
GetOut.Now.Oryou’llregretit.Therumorsaretrue.
I saw a girl's face pressed against the laminator and I screamed. I felt something ice-cold grabbing my ankle. I screamed, tossing folders and pencilsoutofthewayasIbumpedintotheracksinmyhurrytogetout.I poundedagainstthedoorbeforeitfinallyburstopen.
ETMISHIKA
ika is a 5th grader fro ringthemanywaysastorycansendshiversdown spine.Inspiredbyareal-lifeexperiencethatwasfar haunted than her imagination made it, Mishika bringsherloveofscarystoriestolifeinthispiece.She believesthat“agoodpiecewillmakeyouexperiencethe story; you don’t need any art.” Through Cosmic Writers, she discovered new writing techniques and foundsupportiveteachers
Untitled Spy Scene Untitled Spy Scene
By By
Delia S.
Elleanorhadjustgottenwordofwhoherbiologicalmomwasandwhereshe lived.Elleanorhadalwaysfeltthattherewasapieceofherthatwasmissing. Shethoughtthatmaybehermissingpiecewasmeetinghermom.Hermom gaveherupforadoptionwhenshewasborn.Shehadspenthertoddleryears asafosterkid,butwhenshewasfour,shewasadoptedbytwomennamed JeffandRobbie.Theyhadraisedhersincethenandnowshewas16.She wantedtomeethermom.
She put on her favorite sweater and got in her car. She sat there for a moment,wonderingwhathermomwouldbelike.Wouldshebejustlike Elleanor? She started to back out of her driveway. She followed the directions on her GPS to her mom ’ s house. She couldn’t believe she was actuallygoingtomeethermom.Shepulledintothedrivewayofawhite housethatlookedlikeithadbeentheresince1870.
Thepaintwaschippingandshecouldseethatpartoftheceilinghadsunken in.Herewego?shethought.Itwasn’texactlywhatshehadexpected.She walked to the door and looked for a doorbell. There was none so she knockedonthedoor.Nothing.Sheknockedonthedoorasecondtimebut even louder. Nothing. She knocked again and said, “Hello? Is anybody there?” She then heard footsteps coming towards the door. It was happening.
She was going to meet her. Somebody opened the door and immediately said,“Whateveryou’reselling,Idon’twantit.”
Thewomanatthedoorwasnotwhatsheexpected.Shehadagravellyvoice and she had nothing on but a robe. Elleanor could smell cigarettes everywherearoundher.
“Oh,um,I’mnotsellinganything.AreyouKarenEves?”
“Yes.Whatdoyouwant?”saidKaren.Hervoicewasveryjudgmental.
“IthinkI’myourdaughter,”saidElleanor.
Karenlookedherupanddownandsniffedlikeshewasdisappointed.
“You’remydaughter?Okay.I’mstillconfusedwhyyou’rehere.Ifyouwant money,Idon’thaveit.”
“Oh,no.Ijustwantedtomeetyou,”saidElleanor.
“Dressedlikethat?Iknewaftertheytoldmeyouwereadoptedbyagay coupleyouwouldn’tbehalfofwhoIwantedyoutobe,”saidKaren.
Elleanorwasconfused.Thiswomanwasjudgingherforwhoshewas?Who herparentswere?Shehadn’tdoneanythingforherever.Sheleftherwhen shewasborn.
“Lookhoney,Idon’tknowwhatyouwantedbycomingouthere,butfrom whatIknow,Istoppedbeingamom16yearsagoatthehospital.Youare notmydaughter,”saidKaren.
Elleanorcouldn’tbelieveit.Hermomrejectedher.Shefelttearsstartingto forminhereyes,butsheknewshecouldn’tshowthiswomanheremotions.
No, she thought. She has no right to treat me like this. I am going to do rher,forme.Iamgoingtobecomeaspy.
MEETDELIA
A7thgraderfromMedfo beenwritingstoriesforh time and draws inspiration from her favorite romanceandfantasybooks andhercats.Delia enjoyed being part of the Cosmic Writers summercamps,whereshelearnedhowtowrite bettercharactersthatspeaktopeople
The World She Wove The World She Wove
By By
Naeto A. Naeto A.
Respected historian and intrepid adventurer Corvetta Maldrin stepped alongthestonypath,flashlightgrippedinhand.Herblackbootscrunched softlyagainstthecavernfloor.Shehadmadeithermissiontotraveltoevery corneroftheglobe,andindoingso,hadmadeseveralnotablediscoveries, butnothingshehadseen,notinallheryears,comparedtothesplendorthat unfoldedbeforehernow.
She continued her walk, marveling at the beauty of the cavern, then SHRILL.
Ahigh-pitchedscreechsplitthestillnesslikeaknife.
Corvettafroze.
Herflashlightspunaround justintimetocapturetheflickeringsilhouette ofabatglidingacrossthecave.Hershouldersdroppedinrelief.
Butthen…somethingelse.
From the corner of her eye, the flashlight also caught a jagged rock formation only,itdidn'texactlylooklikerock.
Corvettadrewcloser.Carvedintothecavernwallwerefragmentsofaruin, half buried in crystal and time. Stones, blackened with age, drew out patternsacrosstheruin'ssurface…symbols.
Theyglowedsoftly,pulsingincrimsonredlikeembersinadyingfire.
Not just markings on a stone slab words. A language of the ancient civilizations,lost,forgotten,andburiedunderthedepthsoftime.
CorvettaMaldrinsteppedcautiouslytowardstheruin,theirsymbolsflaring brighterinhercuriouseyes.
Sixyearslater…
Papers littered the long table each one scrawled with translations and brokenpiecesofloreandtheories.
Ancientbookslayopen,theirspinesgroaningundercenturiesofforgotten truths.CorvettaMaldrinleanedoverhernotes,eyessunkenfromyearsof sleepless nights, as she attempted to decode what she had seen on that fatefulafternoonsixyearsago.
Sincethen,Corvettahadspenteverydayresearching,studying,andfinding clues.Althoughtheprocessprovedlengthy,everythingwasfinallystarting to make sense for her. One of the ancient booklets she had bought containedsomeofthesymbolsillustratedontheruin.Shelookedatboth her picture of the ruin and the book, eyes scanning frantically as she searchedforamatch.Andthereitwas!
Thetextthatshehadspentyearsdecodingfinallyspoketoher.Itread…
"Seventheywere Notpeacemakersbutdemons.Theyforgedtheworld frompain,shapeditwithliesandsuffering,andbounditinchainsunseen. Thisworldisnogift.Itistheireternalprison.Andweareitsprisoners.”
Corvetta'shearthardened,mindracingastheworldssoakedthemselvesinto hermind.Thisworld...ourworldwasfoundedbyliesandsuffering,Corvetta thought.EverythingIknewabouttheuniverse'soriginwasbutalie?
MEETNAETO
An8thgraderfromPhiladelphia,Pennsylvania, Naeto was inspired by the Hofburg Palace in Vienna, Austria, while writing this original espionagestory.Throughresearchingthepalace’s history and studying its architecture online, he sharpenedhiseyefordetailandcombinedhislove for spy fiction with the creative support he’s foundatCosmicWriters
Silent Orders – Code 4521 Silent Orders – Code 4521
By By
Shritika S. Shritika
CELLBLOCKA–12:08AM
“Besafe.Gettheinfo.RememberallthatI’vetoldyou.”
“Rogerthat,Captain.”
Acrackleofstatic,thennothing.AgentCloversetthewalkie-talkiedown. Her mission: gather information about John Baker. The most dangerous criminalinthecountry.
Shelookedup.Therehewas,rightacrossfromher,sleeping.
Thejailbarsclangedastheofficersshutthemwiththegiant,silverkeys. Echoes were sent down the long, dark hallway filled with lightbulbs on eitherside.Theentirefloorwasdimly-lit.Guardswalkedbybackandforth. Oneofthemwasaspy.WhenhewalkedbyAgentClover’scell,henodded. Shenoddedback.Shenoticedthathehad‘4521’writtenonhiswrist.It matchedJohnBaker’scellnumber.
“Phase1isago,”hewhispered.Shenoddedagain,feelingoff.
Shepulledoutherdiaryandstartedwriting.
Inmate4521(JohnBaker)–Sleeping.Nosignofactivityyet. AgentSmith–Hadakeyinhisrightpocket.‘4521’writtenacrossright wrist.AlliancewithBaker?
Visitationyesterday.Captainwarnedmeaboutamissingjailkeyanda button.AgentSmith.
Suddenly, Agent Clover heard scratching coming from the jail bars. She lookeduptosee…AgentSmith.
Key.Button.
ShehandedherdiaryoverafterSmith’srequesttosee.
“There’snothingonhere,”hesaid,studyingherdiary.
“MypenranoutofinkandIcouldn’tnotbefidgeting.Youknowme.”
Hehandedthenotebookbackandallthewordscameback,withfreshink. Sweet.“You’remissingsomething,Clover.”
Shehidboththebuttonandthekeyshetookfromhispocketrightunder thediary.“Andwhat’sthat?”Shesmiledplayfully.
Heleanedinaftermakingsurenopryingeyesorearswerenearby.“Your missionisn’taboutJohnBaker.”
Hedisappearedquickly,andAgentCloverwasconfused. AgentSmithwas doingwhatsomeoneelsewastellinghimtodo.Shequicklyturnedtolook atJohnBaker.Hewasasleep.What?
Shewentbacktoherdiaryandreadoutwhatshewrote. Wait. ItwastheCaptain.AgentSmithwasgivinghimalltheinformation.Her missionwasaboutherCaptain,notJohnBaker.
Smithwastrapped.
MEETSHRITIKA
n 8th grader from Colle ritikaisapassionatewrit rror,suspense,thriller,andmysterystories.She ds inspiration in amazing plots or even dden ideas that spark her imagination and esbythewordsofRobertLouisStevenson:“I keptalwaystwobooksinmypocket;onetoread, onetowritein.”
Olivia and the Great Switch Olivia and the Great Switch
By By
Kennedy S. Kennedy
Alongtimeago,therewasagirl.HernamewasOlivia.Shehaddarkbrown hairandgoldeneyes.Shewaskindandsmartandathletic,andhadagood life.UntiltheGreatSwitchoccurred.
ItwasaSaturdaymorninginSacramento.Thebirdswerechirpingoutside and the sunlight was warm. Olivia hurried down the hall in her onebedroomapartment.“River!”shecalledout.RiverwasOlivia’sbig,smug catwhoneverdidmorethanyawnandstretchinthesunlight.Oliviapicked Riverupandsqueezed.Riveryowledinindignation.“Guesswhatdayitis today,River!”shesquealed.“It’smybirthday!”Shequicklygotdressedand turnedonthenews.“Weather’sgoingtobeweirdthenextcoupleofdays.” Olivia frowned. “But it’s the middle of summer! There shouldn’t be a thunderstorm,ofallthings.”Shegrinned.Betterhavefuntoday,then,she thought.
Oliviadrovetothenearestparkasfastasshecould shehadthingstodo today,andnotrafficcouldstopher!Shearrivedinlessthanfiveminutes.As herfriendsslowlyarrived,Olivianoticedthattheskiesweregettingcloudy. Ifitisgoingtorain,Iswear…shethought.Thelastofherfriendsarrived. “Girl,you’vebeengettingtall!”oneofherfriends,Natasha,smiled.“You’re gonnabeagiantifyoukeepthisup!Here,Ibroughtapresent.”Oliviatook a sparkly gift bag and lifted the object inside. A deep blue cube that glimmeredinthelightwasinOlivia’shand.“Whatisit?”Oliviaasked.“I don’tknow,actually.”Natashasaid.“Ifounditonthestreetsinprettygood condition.Ijustwasheditandpolishedit.”“Thankyou.”Oliviasmiledas shehuggedNatasha.“Ofcourse,darling.”
After Olivia’s birthday passed and some days had been spent, her mind tuggedatwhatthecubewas.Itwastoobigforjewelry,andtooperfectly cubed to have been a natural gemstone. Maybe someone cut a gemstone intoacube,thendroppedit?Itdidn’tseemlikelythatsomeonedroppedit, though.AsOliviastudiedthecube,shenoticedaslotinthecube.Itwas small, almost the size of a keyhole. Wait… Olivia had a key that she had foundinabushwiththesamecoloredgemsonit.Sherummagedthrough herdresserdrawers.Shebrandishedthekeyuptoherlight.Oliviagrabbed thecube,andstuckthekeyinside.Sheturneditoncetotheleft,twicetothe right,andbacktocenter.Sheremovedthekey.Atonce,thecubestartedto glow,burninghot.Oliviadroppeditwithacryofpain.
Itglowedbrighter,andbrighter,sobright thenwentout Shefrowned, wonderingjustwhathappened.Then,theearthstartedtoshake.
Thebuildingstartedtorumble.Herpictureframesalongthewallsstarted tofalloff.Pottedplantsflewoffshelves.RiveryowledandranupOlivia’s legs.“Ouch,River,letgoofme!”Oliviasaid,tryingtopryRiveroffher legs
Shelookedoutsidethewindow,toseewhereshewassupposedtogoinan earthquake buttherewasnopath,nofirementorescuetenantsinhigher floors,butanentirebuildingwasbeingsuckedintoagiantportal.
Slowly,Olivia’sbuildingstartedtoslidetowardstherightofthecrowd “I amNOTgettingsuckedintoabigportal,thankyouVERYmuch.River, getOFF!”ShepriedthebrownPersianoffherleg.Oliviagrabbedthatbig bag that her mother gave her at 17 “Someday you’ll need it!”, as her motherhadsaid andgrabbedtwosparechangesofclothes,somesnacks,a waterbottle,somepetfood,andRiver’sfoodbowl.
Nowoutside,shecouldseewhatwashappening hugeportalsweretaking buildingsandpeopleandreplacingthemwithotherbuildings.Theearth shook as huge skyscrapers disappeared and were replaced by smaller buildings.Shedidn’thavethetimetostudytheportals;shehadtogettoher parentssothatshecouldcheckonthem,NOW!
MEETKENNED
A6thgraderfromNo wrote“Oliviaandthe fantasystoryaboutagirllivingwithafosterfamily of anthropomorphic cats. Through Word Camp’smentorship,shelearnedhowtodevelop her ideas into a cohesive story and gained confidenceinhercreativevoice.
For many of my students, [our cosmic writers workshop] was the first time they have thought of themselves as "writers" and people with a story to tell.
”
–Jennifer, English teacher partner, Queens, NY
Yourgenerositymakesit possibleforyoungvoicesto beheard.Tocontinue supportingourstudents, scantheQRcodeorvisit cosmicwriters.org/donate
