Notre Dame Preparatory School 2025-2026
Writers’ Replay
Editors-in-Chief: Yelie Pooda ‘30 and Chloé Young ‘30
Assistant Editor: Juliette Barker ‘31
Editorial Board:
Gemma Hiemstra ‘32, Alex Lloyd ‘32, Abby Barton ‘31, Reese Bossle ‘31, Emily Maietta ’31, Julia Saravia ‘31, Brynn Wilson ‘31, Evelyn Crawley ‘30, Abigail Ludden ‘30, Cassandra Newton ‘30, Lainey Stone ’30, Isabella Verde ’30
Contributors:
Juliette Barker ‘31
Abby Barton ‘31
Evie Bittinger ‘31
Reese Bossle ‘31
Ava Castello ‘30
Bella Cieslak ‘32
Evelyn Crawley ‘30
Charlotte Davis ‘31
Zuri Goetz ‘32
Gemma Hiemstra ‘32
Kimiya Kazemnia ‘32
Cover Design: Reese Bossle ‘31
Faculty Moderator: Mrs. Erin McNamara
Jane Lucas ‘30
Abigail Ludden ‘30
Emily Maietta ‘31
Ishani Patel ‘30
Yelie Pooda ‘30
Julia Saravia ‘31
Lainey Stone ‘30
Isabella Verde ‘30
Rina Waweru ‘30
Chloé Young ‘30
To Mrs. Cahill
This special tenth anniversary edition is dedicated to beloved science teacher and 6th grade advisor, Mrs. Susie Cahill, whose humor and love for memes inspired this magazine’s organization and whose love of words made her one of our most dedicated readers for the last decade.
Table of Contents
Words, Phrases & Something in Between: Poetry
Music is everything – by Ava Castello – 6
Ode to Theia – by Evelyn Crawley – 6
Ode to Seahorse – by Isabella Verde – 7
Everything Blue to White We Will Write: identity
The Backup Friend – by Rina Waweru – 9
Ode to my life – by Yelie Pooda – 10
Remember me – by Chloé Young – 12
A P P E A R – by Juliette Barker – 14
Writer’s Block: Mystery
Why did I do it? - by Yelie Pooda – 17
No One Would Tell - by Chloé Young – 17
Nightmares – by Jane Lucas – 18
Writer’s Unite: Sad & Reflective
The Snowman – by Jane Lucas – 20
Tears Keep Falling – by Ishani Patel – 21
The Fading Magic – by Reese Bossle – 23
The Waiting Room – by Evie Bittinger – 26
I Tried – by Julia Saravia – 30
Writer’s Mixtape: Historical & Throwback
Nightmare of Corruption – by Evelyn Crawley – 32
The Plague of the Past – by Rina Waweru – 32
The Final Night – by Yelie Pooda – 33
Writer’s Takeoff: Travel & Place
The Time Travel Machine – by Emily Maietta – 35
Tracing Our Roots – by Yelie Pooda – 36
Writer’s Assemble: Action & Adventure
The Mystery of the Long Hallway – by Emily Maietta – 40
The Spy Kid– by Bella Cieslak – 41
Escape of Experiment #724 – by Charlotte Davis – 44
How could you – by Juliette Barker – 45
Writer’s City: Dark & Dystopian
Diaries of the Survivor – by Alex Lloyd – 51
Shattered – by Abby Barton – 52
Poem Shot Down – by Lainey Stone – 54
“NO, IT’S MY TURN” - by Gemma Hiemstra – 55
Writer’s Realm: Fantasy
When the Monster’s Out – by Yelie Pooda – 57
The Voices – by Abby Barton – 57
The Best of Portfiesco Rosento– by Kimiya Kazemnia – 58
Writer’s Celebrate: Poems & Stories in 10s
Ten – by Reese Bossle - 62
The Ritual - by Chloé Young – 62
A story about writing about writing – by Gemma Hiemstra – 63
What Writing Is – by Abby Barton – 63
Countdown of Nostalgia – by Lainey Stone – 64
Rewind and Reflect- by the Editorial Board- 66
Loving Mrs. Cahill- by Zuri Goetz- 69
Words, Phrases, & Something in Between: Poetry
Poetry.
The mind’s way of speaking.
The hand’s way of thinking.
The heart’s way of singing.
The soul’s way of life.
Poetry.
Where the rules leave.
Where the sky opens.
Where the walls crash down.
Where home is found.
Music is Everything
By Ava Castello
Music is the spirit that travels ear to ear
Music is a hand that wipes every tear
Music is a wanderer unsure how to help
But music is my heart every feeling I have felt
Music is my home a bleak place to travel
But music is the sun something to fight every battle
Music is a note, a key, a pitch, or a string
Music is my world
Music is everything
Ode to Theia
By Evelyn Crawley
O Theia
My magnificent flute
With your glorious sound
And your dazzling sheen
As beautiful as the eternal light of the stars
May you always shine with your opulent splendor
You have been raised to the heavens
And blessed by Euterpe
May you always sound so bright and musical as you always are
Even with your sticky keypads
And your deathly notes
You still sound so heavenly and pure
My miraculous flute
You are destined to play for the gods
To sing praises of the glorious and eternal ones
Glow with your radiant shine
Speak with your harmonious voice
Forever play as magnificent and triumphant as you are
Ode to Seahorse
By Isabella Verde
I got him when I was just a newborn I liked him. He was a seahorse.
Bright pink,
With beady black eyes that stared right into your soul.
Seahorse was special. He played music. Soft and soothing, It lulled me to sleep, Like a mother who had just sang a lullaby. It comforted me,
Like someone who had just given you a warm hug.
Every night,
I placed him right next to my sleepy head, And let the magic happen.
I took him everywhere, Just about, Vacations, Sleepovers. He’s still with me, In my bedroom.
Even if I give him away, Seahorse will always be in my heart.
Everything Blue to White, We Will Write: Identity
A page is turned, and you enter a mind that is not your own.
A river of pain, confusion, and guilt flows over you as raw emotion consumes you whole. You drift weightlessly through a current of laughter and tears, peace and instability. The words of an honest writer are conflicting, bright and warm until they burn you. When an author makes the choice to write truthfully, a river of pride, pain, and everything in between is released from a dark place, never to be contained again. The road to understanding is winding and treacherous, and you will be forever changed if you make it out alive and sane.
I must warn you, and I say this from experience: enter at your own risk.
Welcome, problematic traveler, to the identity chapter.
The Backup Friend
By Rina Waweru
She often feels like the saying, “Always a bridesmaid but never the bride.” Her friendship is like the crumbs at the bottom of the bag, the outfit you wear on laundry day, the app you delete first when you need storage. You look for her when there’s no one else to turn to, a backup friend, so to speak. You’ll describe her as caring, thoughtful, and funny, but she’s simply not ideal. She is doing her best: being kind to everyone, cracking jokes, keeping secrets, and giving advice, but it’s never enough to reach the coveted position of best friend. She’s either too quiet, too loud, too smart, too stupid, too this, or too that; never what you’re looking for. She doesn’t understand that, so she’ll still cling to you like a magnet to metal. She’ll give her love to every relationship she encounters in hopes of finally being the perfect companion, only to receive heartbreak in return.
An ode to my blanket, For the times it holds me close, Shielding me from the wind, Like a cocoon keeping the outside out, And the warmth of life in,
I love you,
An ode to Catty, She stays by my side, A beacon of light in a snowstorm, Never out of sight
I love you,
An Ode to the Jigger shop, A treasured place very few know, Baked Alaska, Banana Split, Beignet Sundae, Sticky Bun Flambe, Death by Chocolate, Shoo-fly pie, A tradition started centuries ago,
An Ode to My Life
By Yelie Pooda
I love you,
An Ode to Yaya and Grandad, My grandparents, Those who spoil me rotten, I only have one set, And you’ve made life bearable, I miss you every day, Even though you’re only a car ride away,
I love you,
An ode to 7326 Yorketowne drive, So many memories just within your door, Always bustling with people, Christmas, Halloween, Easter, Birthdays, Always a celebration, Always a gift, Always loud, Always teasing, Our journey together was cut too short but never forgotten,
I love you,
My life no matter how happy, Or how sad, It will always be true to me, And I love it.
Remember Me
By Chloé Young
She offers you little things to remember her by.
When you see the art in her sketchbooks, Her room hopefully preserved, And my paintings hanging on the walls
Remember her,
Remember all the good she’s done in this life and remember her for it in the next,
Remember her,
Remember the girl who gave you snacks, helped you with your math homework, and was a shoulder to cry on during your rough times.
Remember the girl who was fast like a cheetah, Would climb mountains to make sure someone was fed, And check up on someone when their behavior seemed just a little bit off.
Remember her,
Remember the girl with the wildest lunches, cupcakes, cakes, popcorn, pretzels, seaweed, gummy bears, or Trolli’s.
She’d always throw in some grapes or an apple or even buy a salad just to joke about being healthy once in a while.
Remember her,
Remember the girl who was always cheering our team on during sports or PE class, always somewhat bubbly even when she was tired,
Remember her,
Remember the one who used to carry huge bags to classes in sixth grade, bring smaller ones in the beginning of seventh grade and finally learn to carry her books herself in eighth grade, she’d probably win an Olympic medal for longest time trying to hold 3 binders, 3 textbooks, and 5 notebooks, with a calculator with her two pencil cases.
Remember her,
Remember the girl who was always drawing on her papers, in her sketchbook, or anything she could touch,
Remember her,
Remember her face, personality, belongings, presence, and her art,
Remember her,
Always remember her, in this life and the next, remember the girl who wants to make a name for herself and wants to see her name on billboards, for a business or her art and book covers with her name printed in bold
Remember her because I am her and she is me,
Remember me.
The Baker
I wanted to fly
But I dropped
I wanted to rise
Like a loaf that couldn’t be stopped I wanted to live
I didn’t want to cry
But now I’m still
And stale
Like an old piece of rye
Left on the sill
The Lawyer
I flew high
In the court
And for this I had to lie
This is the sort
Of poem you’d see
On a file
Lost
With nowhere to be
I would swear on my life
But then I’d surely die.
The Pauper
I was lowly
And lowly I stayed.
I wanted to solve it
A P P E A R
By Juliette Barker
I had to solve it
For the money
For the honey
That could feed my family
But I failed
I have not sailed
To the wealthy isle
I shall not be healthy I shall not survive
The Pilot
I was thought of highly I flew highly. I solved it. I did.
That was the lie I told myself as I read poem after poem after poem
And I finally recognized that I also lack And therefore I add this to the stack
The Scholar
I read the files. Time passed passed and passed.
How are we supposed to last?
So with a heavy heart I give in
To the forced smiles
And add a poem
To the piles
The Child
I want to fly
I won’t drop
I will rise
In the court
For the honey
In the isle
For the family
In the air
I’ll be thought of highly
Like the file
That I had to tiptoe to reach
Scribbled on the paper
P A P E R
Rearrange it.
A P P E R
Not a word.
Add a letter.
A letter.
Letter A.
Appear.
A P P E A R
I blow
And watch the water flow
Truth floods through my fingers
And I catch it
The baker became bitter a failed pastry
The lawyer became a criminal liar
The pauper became a thief.
The pilot became insane
As did the scholar
So why do people become what they don’t want to be,
What they don’t want to see?
I have a choice
I understand I can fall into a nightmare
Or rise to a dream I can become what I want.
A scholar? Not quite.
A scribe? Not quite.
But to write what I feel that's a dream.
Emotions
Themes
Everything
I’ll be
A poet
An author.
I’ll be Juliette Barker.
Writer’s Block: Mystery
Ten years ago, I was murdered. It was the most trusted judge in the state,
Who committed the crime.
I had no hope
That he would be convicted.
But this year, He finally died of old age.
I greeted him in the Afterworld
With a sharp shiny object Who knew, someone could die twice.
Why Did I Do it?
By Yelie Pooda
I don’t know why I killed her. Maybe I meant to. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe becoming a killer was the one thing that I found slightly entertaining. Maybe it’s the only thing stopping me from slipping into insanity. Or maybe...I already have. Is it bad to relish in the memory of her death? Or is it worse that I’m happy her head will forever be my trophy? The pink hue in her hair that I saw as I approached from behind. The golden clasp to the chain on her neck. The sadness in her final words, “Not you too, Lilith.”
No One Would Tell
By Chloé Young
No one would tell me why our town had so many disappearances; no one would tell me why the same person shows up in every photo from the past 70 years. No one would tell me why the abandoned power plant always had one light on. No one would tell me why we couldn’t go or even peak outside at 3 am. No one would tell me why there were gates blocking tourists from visiting our town. No one would tell me why it feels like I’m being watched. They know, they just won’t tell.
Nightmares are reality
The truth we dare not speak in the light of day
Only in our dreams
Do we find what our voices won’t say
They are a reminder of our grief
What we won’t acknowledge
Buried deep
Only in nightmares do we speak our thoughts
Only in the truth of sleep
Nightmares
By Jane Lucas
Writers Unite: Sad & Reflective
The way I look back, the way I’m sorry
When I look at the memories, I first see the good parts
The care, the new places.
The care, the gifts, the loving words,
The conflict, the love bombing, the forgiving.
The friends saying its toxic, the constant gaslighting
The words you said, the way I isolated myself for your love
The way my own family defended you to the point I believed you
The way I know nobody believes me because even when I look back at the mess, I can only see myself.
The snowman
Innocent white
The snowman
Happiness of ice
A stolen moment
Soon to melt away
Quiet before the storm
Before things went the wrong way
The Snowman
By Jane Lucas
Snow keeps falling, Tears keep falling.
I ran.
Through the thick snow,
Through the freezing air, I ran.
Snow keeps falling, Tears keep falling.
I cried,
Replaying the memories, Replaying the smiles, I cried.
Snow keeps falling, Tears keep falling.
I knocked on his door.
Why am I here?
He doesn’t like me.
I don’t like him.
Why am I here?
I knocked on his door.
Tears Keep Falling
By Ishani Patel
Snow keeps falling, Tears keep falling.
No.
I can’t.
I slowly backed away. The door creaked.
I can’t.
No.
Snow keeps falling, Tears keep falling.
I ran.
Away from him. Away from the door. Away.
Snow keeps falling, Tears keep falling. I ran.
Am I far enough?
I turned back.
The silhouette of his head, Peeking through the curtains, Watching me.
I ran.
I ran, Through the thick snow, Through the freezing air, I ran.
Snow keeps falling, Tears keep falling.
When you look at me, you see just another ordinary friend, one of the group. But when I look at you, I see a better version of myself.
You are everything that I wish I could be, with talents that I possess only in my dreams.
You are athletic and strong, I’m slow and clumsy.
You’re the perfect height with smooth locks, I’m a bumbling giant with a knotted mop.
You get a few B’s and shrug it off, “Oh, well. I tried, but I’ll do better.”
I get a 92 and punish myself, “I slacked off.”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m better than this.”
I wasn’t always this way.
If I close my eyes, I can remember an old tale
The Fading Magic
By Reese Bossle
from a long time ago.
Once upon a time,
I’m seven.
I love my family, my friends, myself.
I believe in the tooth fairy and the easter bunny and Santa Claus. My socks, my shorts and sparkly pants, the sleeves of my tops, Princess dresses and comfy shoes, everything fits just right.
The whole world is bright and magical.
I get my hands dirty, lying facedown in the snow, Digging for grubs and worms,
I don’t care what anyone says.
I am unapologetically myself.
Not all stories have happy endings.
I’m thirteen.
I love my family, but friends are tricky. Real, genuine ones are hard to come by and even harder to keep, slipping through your fingers like sand.
As for myself, It depends on The day.
Sometimes I am beautiful.
Sometimes I am strong, smart, and witty. Other days, I am awkward, clumsy, Stupid, and misshapen.
The magic of holidays, stories, and nature, Has died, the happiness empty and short-lived. My clothes feel wrong, more like a second layer of skin. Socks too small, pant legs too short, tops too pinched and feminine, tee dresses and Velcro shoes replaced by tight, cropped shorts and heels. My clothes are too small, too little kid, or in the laundry too often.
If I’m loud, I’m weird. too quiet, I’m needy.
I let others talk, I’m too quiet, but when I talk I’m an attention-seeker.
A “pick-me”.
I look in the mirror and I see an echo of a dream. My childhood sped by like a movie an 2x speed and now I’m left here in the shade Wondering where my life went.
The Waiting Room
By Evie Bittinger
“You will be okay, I promise”
There I stood Hoping, Wishing, Praying
That my promise would not be broken. Nurses smiling at me, Like this was ordinary Asking me pointless questions I stood tall, Maybe hoping,
To cancel out the feeling, Of how small I really felt.
I have never been tall in height
But I have always felt tall.
I have always noticed small things, I made sure to be the one people could always rely on. I pretended this was still true
But the truth, This was the most helpless I had ever felt.
It was a simple surgery, I knew But even simple things Become difficult when you're the one Waiting.
The comforting thing in bad situations
Is that you’re still in control.
The scary thing about this situation, Everything was out of my control.
The faint smell of hand sanitizer and cleaning supplies Everyone's eyes burning through my head, Like they were lasers.
The words “Stay strong”
Repeating in my mind.
But how do you stay strong
When you feel, So So Small?
My final words “I love you mom”
Echoed through the thin hospital walls. Her cart was pushed through the 2 doors And with that went what little height I had left.
Minutes felt like days, Hours felt like years.
The world seemed to move in slow motion
As I waited for the doctors to come in,
To just tell me, my mom was okay. It's weird
To see
Weird to see
Someone you love In pain
With no way to ease that pain.
I felt restless
Hoping I would wake up
From this awful nightmare.
My mind racing
Trying to occupy myself with Something, Anything
That would get my mind to Just Stop Thinking.
Scared, anxious, numb, uneasy, So many emotions I felt
So, I just sat there
Slouched and short.
I have always been good
At reading people
At accessing when somethings wrong
When someone is lying.
But when the doctor came in
With a neutral look on her face
I could not read her at all.
It felt like the world stopped
As I waited for the words to come out of her mouth
“She did great”
Relief, happiness, gratitude
I knew she would be okay,
But you never Really
Know anything
Until it's over.
Driving home
I started to feel Tall again
And I realized
Anything this world threw at me I would be ready I would stay strong
And I would stay tall because Nothing can shrink you
Unless you let it
I tried I swear
Tried to forgive you
Tried to forget all things you said
All the things you said
I can’t show my emotions
Around you
Always be happy
Always have to have a smile on my face
Can’t cry
Can’t yell
Can’t tell you that you’re wrong
It’s funny though
You don’t realize all the things you’ve done to me
The pain
The tears
The yelling
The loss of sleep
It’s funny
You’ve turned me into glass
Always on the verge
Of shattering
I tried
By Julia Saravia
But I accept it
You won’t change
You never will
So I changed myself
Now I’m
Walking a tightrope
Always worried that I’ll fall over the edge
Always worried I’ll
Writers’ Mixtape: Historical & Throw-Back
The past is the future, and the future will be the past
The past surrounds us
Old memories, young love, whispered murmurings
It’s all there, always
You just need to look and listen
Look into sections from the past
Listen to the voices that tell a tale
Sections that highlight a history
So read these stories and learn
Learn from the past, for the past is the future
The Nightmare of Corruption
By Evelyn Crawley
There is a nightmare that many people fear, and it is the return of a horror that was once so widespread around children and teenagers that they were brainwashed by the craze. The nightmare is the return of a demonical word that pilfered the brains of many youths and drove many adults on the verge of madness. The Great Meme Reset was the only hope left to cleanse the next generation of insanity. The infernal word is an ill-fated term that many people do not dare to say to keep lucidness and order. What is it? 67.
The Plague of the Past
By Rina Waweru
Wait, can we rewind?
What do you mean I’m not in 5th grade?
Wasn't I just raving about dance moms and emceeing my 5th grade graduation?
No, that was 3 years ago.
What do you mean I’m not in 6th grade?
Wasn't I just in Ms. K’s class spreading my morbid stories and watching My Story Animated videos on the way to Hershey?
No, that was 2 years ago.
What do you mean I’m not in 7th grade?
Wasn't I just playing Mrs. Wormwood and discovering my favorite city?
No, that was last year.
What do you mean I’m in 8th grade.
I don’t have the same friends, live in the same house, or have the same worries that I once did
Life has moved on.
Why am I still stuck in the past?
The Final Night: A Holocaust Poem
By Yelie Pooda
On the final night,
The sky is sparkly white,
The gleaming stars full of light, And so the planes take flight,
On the final night,
The sky is brilliant blue, Calm and true, And so the planes start to cruise,
On the final night,
The sky is raging yellow,
Throwing caution but still somehow mellow, And so the planes start to dive,
On the final night,
The sky is ruby red, Devastation is coming so hide under your bed, And so the planes release the bombs,
On the final night,
The sky is liquorish black,
The aftermath of what put many in a sack, The smoke bellows higher than all the trees, The planes take of after all the demolishing, For they have more missions that need accomplishing.
Writer’s Takeoff: Travel & Place
From beaches to mountains
From north to south
From arctic to tropical
Experience small corners of the world
And distant places
See landmarks as old as time
And meet new faces
Travel without leaving home
See sunsets, plants, and houses
Through words printed on slices of a tree.
We are not in alone in the universe
There is always a new place to discover
A new place to learn from
The human mind craves knowledge
So we explore the universe
We see the vast corners of the cosmos
Always hungering for something else
Wanting to discover something new
Yearning for more to see, learn, explore
So we take off into the galaxy
The Time Travel Machine
By Emily Maietta
My siblings and I landed in the old-fashioned house (it looked that way for us but for people of that time it wasn’t) that our grandma lived in in the 60s. We were looking around for her, but we couldn’t find her. Then an older woman came into the room. “Kids! Dinnertime!" She spoke. That must have been the mom. She had an apron on and still had the iconic 50s hairstyle. Then the dad came in from work. Then 4 pairs of tiny feet were coming down the stairs. The oldest looked like our great aunt. The boy was the second oldest, but he looked younger than the rest of them. The third oldest, I recognized from pictures. She’s that one great aunt who never comes to family reunions for no reason. And the youngest, I recognized as, my grandma.
When they sat down for dinner, the dad started talking about how the people at NASA are trying to get people into space and that this girl is to smart and doing the work that men should be doing. “Luckily, on the paper I gave her, I blacked out some important information, so that she wouldn’t figure it out.”
“I really don't think you should have done that, Papa,” exclaimed the oldest.
“Yea,” agreed the rest of the kids. I was beginning to realize how the 60s were just as unsettling as things are now. Quickly, we ran to the time machine and landed back in my grandparents’ living room.
Tracing Our Roots
By Yelie Pooda and Chloé Young Clementine
People always say, wherever you go, you take memories from home with you, and that is how that place will always be. But I’m not quite sure that’s true. I remember lush greenery, contrasted by dusty roads. The vibrant fabrics that surround you when you enter the market. And most of all, the people. Even though I could barely understand what they were saying, since I was still learning to speak, being around them made me feel at home. But now, my second home, that African village that I used to consider 50% of my identity, is war ridden and stripped of the sights and sounds that used to make it a beacon of hope, in this dreary and dark world. A wasteland.
I have only been to Africa twice. Once for my baptism, and once for a little over a month to go to my grandmother's funeral. I was about 4 or 5 the last time I was there, but the number of traditions I became engrossed in, and the number of family members I met for the first time was overwhelming. Though I only remember being there once, knowing that my family could be in danger, or that my village could be in ruins, this very moment haunts my soul. I pray every day that everyone is okay, and that someday it will be safe to return. That I will be able to embrace my family once again.
I was born in the US, but I have always felt a deeper connection to Africa. I grew up here, learned English as my first language, and grew up knowing my mom's side as my whole family. The US is great, I love it here, but now that I have been to my village, Burkina Faso, Compty, seen it firsthand, those memories, my roots, will never ever leave me. Before I came to NDP, I always felt different, and insecure about my skin. I was nervous. I don’t remember seeing other people who I felt related to me or my heritage. I never saw a character in a book that was like me. I never heard another person even speak the words Burkina Faso, and that always made me feel singled out. The way they made fun of my name which is sacred to my family and laughed.
Amara
They always say to remember where you came from. They as in, the people. The problem is my roots are still somewhat unknown to me. I have a home with my loving family. But I never felt a connection to any of the cultures I was a part of. Whether it was my mom’s side from Maryland and California or my dad’s side from New York and South Carolina. I never felt like I belonged.
Most of my cousins are at least 10 years older than me, and when you’re around older people, you can always feel awkwardness. They always tried to find some conversation to include me in, but the age gap was a reason we all weren’t tight knit like other families. They all grew up together, shared fun memories with one another and I was just the baby in the family.
By the time I was 10, all my cousins were 19 and older. We grew closer at my Grandpa Bobby’s funeral in 2022. We had two funerals for him, one in New York and one in South Carolina where he was buried. While we were in South Carolina, I met family I had never heard of. New cousins, aunts, and uncles. They were also a lot older than me. At least 25 years.
We had barbecues and spent the majority of our time reminiscing about my grandfather. He’d impacted a lot of people; I finally got an assumption of the number when hundreds of people showed up to each funeral. I didn’t recognize the majority of the faces, but my parents and cousins did.
They introduced me to new people, and I started having a better time. I was talking to more people. Those cousins who’d I’d hung out with before, I finally knew their names and how to talk to them. My grandparents were very big church fanatics. I believe that’s partially one of the reasons why my parents decided to take me and my sisters to church.
We used to go to church. We went a lot when I was younger. But, as the years passed by, church was no longer a weekly thing for us or even a monthly thing. It was a beautiful place for my family, and I would go occasionally.
I was never baptized either. My parents always said they would get my sisters and I baptized once they found the right church for us. Us as in my sisters and me. I did feel pretty left out when I was younger. All the kids in my classes were baptized and shared wonderful stories, photos, and memories their parents had stored for them.
Clementine
But when I walked through the gates at NDP, there was a different feeling. I saw more people who looked like me. In the library, there were more characters on covers of wonderfully written books that looked like me. There were more books written by people like me.
I knew just from a glance around that this place would be different. That I was welcome to be who I am and express that openly. I also made some fast friends, like Amara, and others who will stay anonymous. One thing that we all shared that I think brought us even closer was the fact that we were all different. We all had stories to share, and soon our differences no longer seemed like differences. They felt more like accents of gold that help each of us glitter brighter.
Amara
When I made it into NDP, I was smiling for weeks. Making it in was one of my biggest accomplishments. My parents spoiled me with cake and balloons. My parents called my grandmother and my uncle’s family. We all
cheered and celebrated for days. When I ran down that hill on the first day of school, I was wearing my blue dress, a sweater, new saddle shows, and freshly braided hair. When I began to settle into the school, I was amazed.
The school had more people who looked like me, offered delightful sports and arts programs, and had an exhilarating academic curriculum. The library was one of the selling points to me. Books from my culture, books about people from my culture, and books by people from my culture. It felt empowering to see how far we’d come.
The people here are so different. They don’t make fun of me when I don’t know the answer; they let me be myself. Every time I come to school in the morning, I feel like it’s me. I feel like it’s my reflection staring back at me in the mirror, not another mask of me hiding.
At my old school, I struggled to openly express myself, for the fear of being laughed at always held me back. I saw how other kids who freely expressed themselves were judged and ostracized. Being at NDP helped me understand that it feels amazing to be yourself.
Being here at NDP has opened a window to diversity, and I finally realized I’m not as different as I thought I was. I belong. Being able to speak those words, and genuinely believe them, now that is a feat that the Black community has fought so long and hard to achieve. I know so many people have stories like this that are more personal and dramatic, but I am flattered to have been given the chance to share my story.
Amara
Here at NDP, I feel accepted. The people here made me realize that maybe I do belong. I felt comfortable, and this school helped me open my eyes to my own culture. This is what my people have fought and died to finally achieve. Belonging and Acceptance. I am truly honored that I can share my story with you today.
Clementine
Writers, Assemble: Action & Adventure
A is for action
S is for sci-fi
S is for super
E is for entertaining
M is for marvels
B is for bread
L is for loving
E is for end because this is end of the poem
The Mystery of the Long Hallway
By Emily Maietta
As soon as I heard the voice talking to me, I turned toward it. “What do you want?” I said with worry in my voice.
The creature looked at me and said, “I have a mystery of mine from about 200 years ago that I never solved. Now that I have been dead since then, I obviously can't finish it. So, I need someone as ambitious and as daring as you are. Will you do it?” I looked at whatever it was talking to me.
And then I said, “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t trust you.”
“Why can’t you trust me”
“You're a ghost!”
He looked at me then said, “Trust me or else you will meet your doom.” I thought about it a little bit. “Cassidy, just trust me.”
“How do you know my name?” I said
“I’ve been watching you.”
“So, then you're the great ghost of this passage! That's been a reoccurring mystery for 200 years! Who was haunting it! Well, I may not have solved your mystery, but I solved the right one! So long!”
I left through the tunnel and went to catch a train back to the subway station. But when I got off the train, the first thing I saw was the monster. “You aren’t getting away! You are going to solve my mystery!”
I looked at him. With a sly smile and a bombastic side eye, I said. “Not a chance.” I kicked him in the middle of the road. I had killed a ghost.
The Spy Kid
By Bella Cieslak
Chapter 1 The Stranger Danger
I’m walking home from school with my friend, Julia. We are laughing about the drama that happened that day. I ask her, “Hey, Julia, want to come with me to the convince store?”
She replies, “Sure why not, I have nothing to do today”. We headed to the convince store not ready for what weird was going to happen that day. We arrive at the convince store, and while I’m debating either chocolate or gummy bears, a man is secretly following me. We checked out, and I decided to go with a chocolate bar. Anyway, Julia and I headed home. We went to Julia’s house first since it was on the way. I departed with Julia for the day. Now I had to walk half a mile home in the dark, with no phone. At least I had the streetlights, talked too soon, now there out again. I’m scared I feel like someone is following me, but every time I turn around there is no one there. My home is just down the street. I can smell my mom’s delicious lasagna. I am about to ring the doorbell when a stranger pulls me aside. He drags me into a truck, despite me resisting and tells me that if I move there will be consequences. I decided that I should listen to him. I asked him where he was taking me, but he didn’t respond.
Chapter 2 The Advice
While we are driving, he says, “This world is not what it seems to be, kid.” He tells me that he has been watching me.
I immediately exclaim, “So you’ve stalking me this whole time.”
He replies with, “Yes, I guess you could say so.”
“I ask him what is stopping me from getting out of this car and running home.”
He whispers back, “I know you’re smart kid. I know you know about what is happening in the world now.” He finally said something true. He says next, “So I’m not going to keep for long, I just want to show you what big difference in this world you can make if you join us.”
“What do you me to join?” I ask.
“Our company of course,” he replies. I tell him if he wants any chance of me joining, I need to catch his name first. He tells me that he can only say his company name; apparently if he told me his real name, he would be fired.
“Ok,” I reply go on with it then.”
“I’m John ” Ok at least now I have his name, I tell myself. He takes me to a clean white building. I go on and it looks like, well, a different universe. People are testing gadgets to get criminals across the world in the click of a button. I walk towards one of his gadgets and are about to touch it when he yells, “NO TOUCHING!” I quickly back away before he can push me away.
“Ok, geez,” I reply. “Sorry, it’s just that we don’t want any minors touching our things.” I walk away from him and leave the building.
He asks me, “Where are you going kid.” I’m leaving the building because you don’t want any minors around. “He exclaims something about he didn’t mean it, but at that point I have already made up my mind. Then right as I’m about to go into a McDonalds, he says, “Fine come in but the only way you can touch something is if you go all in with our company.” I enter the clean crisp white building again. John leads me into his office. I sit down and he tells me that he needs my signature to make it official. I read the contract states that if I sign this paper, I promise to work 6 days a week. It also reads I promise not to tell anyone about it. The final thing it states is that I will be working as an undercover spy to see if anyone at a suspicious school is a criminal. I sign my name in cursive.
Chapter 3 The Spy Adventure Begins.
First mission, go undercover in a suspicious school. I woke up, the first thing I thought, today is mission day. I put on my most normal outfit. Jeans, a tee shirt and a mic that nobody can see in my pocket to document the experience. I walk in and I could see why they think some future criminals could be here. The walls are run down; the other students just shrug when I interduce myself. I go to my first period, English, and we learn very normal things, like grammar. I go to my next period; we learn area and perimeter a little suspicious since students could use this to break into a building. Third period is really when I noticed something off. We had Home Ec. I thought that we would be making cakes and cookies, but we made grappling hooks and then went outside to test them out. I documented this. It’s lunch time now, the lunch was good, and normal. The next subject I have is Spanish. We learned how to say hello my name is, very normal things. After that we went to science to do a lab to see if pressure would affect your physical performance. The first time they did not give us a story line. The second time they told us that a strange man was after us, we all performed better.
While I was going to my free period, an announcement came on. It announced, “a trader is among us if you find any clues report it to the office.”
“Oh no,” I told myself. I called John. “John, I need you to come pick me up now, they know.” Five minutes later I heard this “Isabella Cieslak please report to the principal’s office. Did they know I asked myself. It was either they know, or John was here. I really hope it’s the second option. When I walked in, I sighed in relief. John was
sitting there and after he made up a fake story about a dentist’s appointment. He took me to my house. I told him I had no idea how I got caught. He didn’t want to hear it.
“You got caught. That’s the final line kid,” he told me. Then an idea popped into my head.
I told him, “why don’t instead of having humans go in with the chance of getting caught. There are already cameras there, they wouldn’t notice a thing.”
“You know what that's a pretty good idea, kid,” John replied. We went back into the clean crisp building one last time to plan how we would do this.
Chapter 4 The Final Mission
After hours of careful planning, we finally found out how we would do it. I would go into the school like normal and get all the students to leave school early. We would do this by telling them we have a half-day, the principal told me. After the students are all out, we would do the same thing with the faculty but instead tell them that if they left now then they would get a raise for all of their hard work. To really sell the idea, we were going to clone the principal's voice and announce it on the intercom. Finally, to get the principal out, we got a bunch of his favorite snacks and put 20 of them right outside of his office then lock the door behind, foolproof plan, right. I went to the school, and the students believed me right away; they left immediately after I told them. The faculty was little bit harder to fool, but the intercom really sold it. Finally, the plan that John and I were least confident in. We put out all of his favorite snacks. He went outside to get them, then we tried to lock the door. While we were finishing locking it, we felt it move a little. Oh no, he figured out it was a trap. After about 5 minutes of trying to lock it while not letting the principal in, we finally locked it. Now it was the most important part, replacing the cameras. We got right to work. After about an hour of struggle we finally did it. We escaped through the back.
Then John told me he had to ask me something very important. But first he congratulated me on a successful mission, even after meany bumps, he told me I had the drive to finish successfully. Then he asked me “Bella, do you want to be a full-time spy or live your daily life until you are 21?”
I said, “Even though this mission has been fun, it's a lot while having to balance school too I think I’ll put it off until I’m 21.” He told me that he respects my decision, and he’ll see me in 10 years. He dropped me off at my house, then since it had been a long time, I decided to go to bed. Even though I enjoy the pressure of being a spy, I would be lying if I said it’s not exhausting.
Escape of Experiment # 724
By Charlotte Davis
I woke up. I couldn’t remember anything. There were a lot of tubes with experiments inside them. I thought, maybe I was an experiment. I woman walked in with safety goggles on. She walked over to a person with wings. I wondered if they could fly. Then she walked over to someone that didn’t have any unusual DNA. “Experiment # 152, I am going to add some cheetah DNA to make you super speedy.” I was so scared. She walked to me and said, “Good morning, my newest experiment I have not experimented on you yet, but I will soon.” A shiver went down my spine.
I decided to reply, “W-what’s my name? I don’t have any memory.” She looked at me with a smirk.
“Well, you are Experiment #724. Also, it is normal to not have any memory.” I thought that if I was going to have powers of another animal it would be cool to have chameleon powers since it’s my favorite animal. Wait. I remembered something. This might mean I can gain more memory of my life. I was so excited until I noticed that I was being taken to the experiment room. I was freaking out! Calm down. It won’t hurt a bit.” The next thing I knew was I had... nothing. The experiment must have gone wrong. After I was put in the tube, the experimenter left. All the Experiments stared at each other.
One said, “Okay here is the plan, #385 will break open her tube.” I assumed #385 had super strength. “Then I will put all the security guards to sleep. Then #152 will use her super speed to get through the doors before lockdown is complete, then she will press the open all doors button, and we will escape.” I thought that was a great plan, so I decided to follow them. Then I heard all the tubes breaking. Was the escape happening now? I dashed to the door and when the doors opened, we exited the room. We had one door left, but we ran into trouble. The experimenter was awake. She was in front of the door, blocking our exit. One said, “Move, you don’t want to mess with us.” The women smirked and didn’t move. I decided to try to convince her to move.
“Please move…” before I could continue, she moved out of the way. Why did she listen to me? I heard a voice say, “No way! The experimenter gave her Hypnosis power!” I opened the door and took in the fresh air Suddenly, I had my memories back. I had to get to my mom and tell her all about what happened. When I got home, nobody was there.
How
By Juliette Barker
I stare at my phone in disbelief. I call Josh hastily. This is not okay. “You’re breaking up with me? Over... text?”
“Yeah.” Josh replies. I can practically see him shrugging through the screen, and I desperately wish he were here stroking my hair. We looked so cute together. Him with his brunette curls and me with my pin-straight black hair. “Brett said your brother hates me. To be honest, he scares me.”
“How could you do this? He’ll hate you now!” I hang up. This is the last straw. Josh has seemed distant for months now. I lunge onto my bed, punching my pillow and screaming into it.
My brother Erik swaggers in, and I freeze. What is he doing here? He’s supposed to stick to his half of our rancher-style house. The kitchen is common ground, but otherwise we stay in our territory. “What the ” He pauses and sighs. “Did you dump Josh again?”
“What? No. He dumped me!”
“I doubt that, based on your obsession with romantic book characters. No one is good enough for you. We’re in high school. Enjoy it while it lasts. We don’t have to be so picky. Not everyone is a romance book character.”
I storm off. Erik acts like he’ll give advice, then says something stupid like this! He blames everything on me. All I am is your typical 9th grade girl. What does Erik know?
I trudge to Adair Charter High school and make it 20 minutes late to second period. “Nisha!” Ms. Kaczmarek, our short, blonde grammar teacher chides. I roll my eyes. As I plop myself into my seat, I can hear the gossip echoing around me.
“Did you hear she dumped Josh? How could she? He’s the hottest boy in school!”
“She was probably being shallow. It runs in the family. Didn’t Erik dump Emmie for failing a science test? He said, ‘She’s a bad influence for my sister!’ or something, right?”
I cross my arms irritably. Me? Dump Josh? What rumors did Josh spread? Before today, I was popular. Sheesh. That idiot Josh. It’s crazy the influence one stupid person can have. Well, two, if you consider Erik’s relationship with Emmie as a hindrance to my popularity.
I heavily tread to second period math. “I have an announcement!” Mr. Watley, our tall math teacher, exclaims. “Pop test!” That’s something he does. Not “pop quiz.” No, according to him, those are too easy for such an advanced class. Yeah, advanced in being stupid.
I fill out my sheet and turn it in, only for Mr. Watley to hand it back. “You should check your answers, Nisha.” I groggily flip through page after page, and the heat is beginning to get to me.
I glance up at Brett and immediately know that I’m screwed. Brett is this cute boy in our class with brown skin and blackish-brown hair, and he looks extremely stressed, but he’s the only semi-smart one in our class. To everyone else, he’s average. We’re remedial, though, and to us he’s an absolute idol
I check plenty of times and can’t find errors or anything, so I give up. I slap my paper onto Mr. Watley’s table. I sigh and lean my face onto my desk. The rest of my day passes without a hitch, and I nearly forget about the test. That is, until fourth period the next day.
“Nisha. You failed the test.” I shrug. I was expecting that. Mr. Watley looks outraged. “Your brother cared so much about grades!”
“I’m not him!” I snap.
Mr. Watley’s eye twitches, and he jumps to his feet. “Detention, Miss Pouché!”
I grit my teeth. “Fine.”
“We have no choice. It’s time for a tutor!”
I audibly gasp. No! I don’t have time! I have to do... nothing, anymore. I always went to the mall on Tuesdays and Thursdays (I called them double-T days), and the rest were movie nights and other outings. My nights all had one thing in common, though. They were with Josh.
The day passes slowly. Science, ELA, art, architecture, and history. So many classes. “Finally, a free,” I exhale during 5th period, my last period of the day. “A break.”
“Yeah, no.” Brett smiles warmly. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m your new math tutor." I wrinkle my nose.
“Stop scowling. It’s ugly.”
I scoff. “Rude,”
“Rude doesn’t matter. Your math grade does.”
I follow him back to classroom 213, the science lab. Why are we doing math in the lab? It doesn’t add up. Then again, for me, nothing does.
“Okay, so ” Brett starts. I sigh longingly.
“Can we focus on the math homework, please?” He mumbles grouchily.
“How about we focus on the... chemistry... instead?”
His eyes briefly flicker like fireworks. “I’ll think about it,” He insists. I narrow my eyes. I need him to get back at Josh and make him jealous. Then he’ll regret dumping me.
“Fine,” I pout, walking back down the hall after our session. Time for detention. Yay.
“Hey, Josh.” I want to tear him apart, but clearly, he’s too much of a stupid oaf to tell because he approaches me anyway.
“What a pleasure to see you here.” He grimaces.
I shove him. “No need to act so superior. You’re no cooler than me.”
“What did Brett tell you?” Josh presses.
I glower at him. Does he think Brett turned me against him? No. I was against him to begin with. He’s never been a great boyfriend: always doing the bare minimum et cetera.
I sit at my desk. “Shut it. We can’t talk at detention.” I imitate the corrections director, a.k.a. the queen of torture, Ms. Sadie. She’s a nice Physical Education teacher, with her smile kinder than any other, but in detention, she's a strict monster.
I somehow survive detention, despite Josh, his annoying face, and letterman jacket sitting beside me. I never noticed how cliche that was until today. I guess I was used to seeing it in books I read.
“Do you want to break out of this prison? It’s double-T Tuesday, you know.” Josh offers. I clench my fist, but I’m tempted. Anything is better than sitting in this stuffy classroom. Although I’m slightly taken aback by Josh knowing what I called the sprees, I reluctantly agree.
I don’t get how someone as tall as Josh, wearing that bright red jacket, can slip past Ms. Sadie so easily, but he manages. I guess he’s doing me a favor, although it is kind of aggravating that my ex is doing me a favor and not the boy I asked out earlier today.
The mall was nice and all. Josh kept trying to use cringey pickup lines the whole time and kept trying to sound witty. An example: “Your flirting isn’t going to work on me. I have charmor.” (Then he would wink or explain that charmor was charm armor. Wow.) But no matter what Josh said, I kept finding my thoughts drifting to Brett and how he’d reply.
“You act like such a hopeless flirt,” Erik groans later when I get home. He then proceeds to fluff up his curly black hair and leaves, fishing for compliments on the college campus nearby.
“Who’s the flirt now?” I ask the air spitefully.
As I return to tutoring the next day, I wait excitedly, my leg bouncing slightly as I talk to Brett. “Well, what do you say? Is our chemistry good enough for you?”
Brett rubs his neck awkwardly and gives me a thumbs up. “Yeah.” He smiles fakely.
The rest of the day passes normally, yet again. Until detention. Josh approaches me, but out of the corner of my eye, I see a boy with a simple T-shirt. Brett. Oh, no. Things are about to go down.
“Nisha, I have something to tell you,” they say in sync. They glare at one another and then begin to yell.
“It was Brett’s fault that we broke up! He convinced me, and I never should’ve believed him!” Josh yelps.
“It’s my bad, and I’m so sorry, but I like your confidence, and I didn’t know how to show you without sabotaging Josh!” Brett screams.
“I’ve been acting terribly, just to see you in detention. I want to make things right with you! I let Brett have you because I felt overshadowed by his mind! I couldn’t keep up!” Josh continues.
“Well, I read numerous math books just to tutor you. I hate math! I hate learning! Everyone just assumes I’m a nerd because I’m horrible at football! I like badminton! I just want to be seen as fun, not helpful!”
“Feeling stupid is still worse!”
Ms. Sadie looks up from her papers. “Ooh, drama,” she whispers, but was clearly not intending to get involved.
I’m stunned. For once, I’m seeing these boys as real people. Not a quiet genius and a self-important jock, but a boy with a dream and a boy who feels tiny in a world of wit.
“Can you not fight if I choose? Just stop blaming each other and ask for help! You’re both human! I see that you’re both hurting inside, but I can’t be the cure for that.”
Silence.
I flee the room. I can’t stand this! People fighting over me, a flawed girl who hates feeling like a hopeless romantic. I honestly can’t even believe my own thought process. It was just two days ago. Using Brett to impress Josh? Why would I do that?
I’ve changed a lot over just two days, and now I understand that Brett nor Josh are truly good fits for me.
Because as much as I despise myself for it, I love different aspects of both but hate others.
I hate Brett’s manipulation in my breakup, but I pity him. I hate Josh’s bully-like manner towards insecure people, but he just feels inferior himself. I call my brother frantically. “Erik? I should have questioned when Josh said Brett said you didn’t like him. It was Brett’s fault, and I was busy ”
“Shut up and stop using ‘said’ so much in one sentence!” Erik cuts me off, “Brett and Josh are throwing hands over in the gym. You’ve been in the bathroom for hours! They’re brawling! Come and get your boyfriends to stop fighting!”
I rush to the gym. After all, I need to put things right. If things had been fixed, Erik wouldn’t be referring to Brett and Josh as my “boyfriends,” as in plural.
I arrive and spot Josh and Brett fighting. Now I realize. I don’t need to be anyone’s main character. Erik was right: I don’t need a book-perfect romance. I just need to be me. I turn my back and walk away. As I stroll home, I manage to keep my thoughts clear of the fight. Next thing I know, everything fades, and the color in my vision drains to black.
I wake with an exhale, faintly hearing sirens wail in the distance. Sirens? “It was all just a dream.” I whisper, trying to convince myself.
Then Erik walks in, fingers tapping together anxiously. “It’s still night, Nisha.”
I must seem confused, but that only escalates. Josh stumbles into my room, blood pouring from his nose. “Ha. You wish it was a dream. Because I won. Brett is gone.”
Writers’ City: Dark & Dystopian
In this section, Dark and Dystopian, you will read stories that come not from a writer’s mind. It comes from the writer’s perspective.
The writer’s perspective is what makes these stories dark, murderous, or unbelievable.
These stories might be disturbing or weird. They are one thing though: True
So, get ready to be terrified or shocked.
Get ready for the worst of the worst (scary).
Get ready for the best of the best (revenge).
Get ready for all the plots, haunts, and ambushes.
This is Writers’ City!
Diaries of the Survivor
By Alex Lloyd
Dear Diary,
It was ten thirty in the city, and I was reading quietly in my room. It was a calm night, the breeze barely churning, the roads almost empty, and the silence of the shadows hung in the air. I decided to stop reading, so I got up carefully and went to bed. I was just getting comfortable, when BOOM!! I ran over to my curtain and saw a building on fire as my apartment shook. Someone was invading the city. Another bomb sounded as I ran down the escape stairs. I ran out of my building’s lobby door as my apartment exploded. I drove out of the city as fast as possible. I am safe for now, but I am going to investigate this situation if it is the last thing I do.
From, Melody
SHATTERED
By Abby Barton
I was leaving her.
Leaving her.
The world seemed to drown out – the only sound my beating heart.
My mind was stuck like a computer loading a tab.
But somehow, I still understood what I had been told. And I didn’t like it.
Tears began to trickle down my face, but they weren’t soft or slow.
They were harsh and fast as I began to sob, my eyes turning puffy and red.
Everything could be left. And I would be okay.
But there was one person I couldn’t bear to not be with.
And that was her.
I guess I asked for it – I asked my parents if I was leaving the school or not. I expected the answer to be yes.
I wasn’t dumb. I had seen the signs. But hearing the truth still broke my heart.
I was Shattered. Into pieces. Of broken glass. A fresh wound.
Bleeding out.
All over the floor.
People never know that I keep plenty of secrets, Tucked away inside.
Buried deep – things that only I know.
And never ever leave to see the light. Building up like a mountain.
Rising from the ground.
I couldn’t find the words to tell her.
So, for a month and a half, Only I knew what would happen. Because the words just could not leave my mouth. They stood at the tip of my tongue. But they never went anywhere else.
I couldn't say the words.
I couldn't tell her that I was leaving.
So, my mom told her mom.
And her mom told her.
I've never heard her cry.
Or seen her cry. But she cried.
Maybe more than I did.
Knowing she knew was worse than knowing that she didn't know. Because now she knew that we would be separated. Now we both knew. And we were both pieces of shattered glass.
Maybe it was a bit comforting, though. Because when you're broken, it's better to have someone by your side. Then you can help each other heal.
Even if the glass will never be the same again, It can still survive.
Poem Shot Down
By Lainey Stone
Please!
Can no one hear me?
Or are the words trapped under the blood welling up in my throat?
Fluttering their soaked wings but only being dragged down.
My smoking stomach, filled with bullets. Sound is ringing in my ears.
They call pain blinding. And it was. But now it’s dry ice.
So much pain I can’t feel it.
Three bullets. Lodged in my body.
They say your life flashes before your eyes.
They’re right. I remember summer. But it’s faded.
Pools of blood instead of chlorine. Nightmare.
But it’s real. Tangible. I feel my blood sliding down my torso.
The smoke stings my eyes and makes my brain foggy.
Blood spills out of my mouth, like I’m in a movie.
I crumple to the ground looking for some sign of my survival.
But there is no guardian angel.
I feel some thick abandonment.
As I drown in my own blood.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t deserve to die.
But death Doesn’t care
Three gunshots
Three bullets
One death My last gasp for air. I let go and die.
“NO, ITS MY TURN!”
By Gemma Hiemstra
-Redacted- is my enemy. Why?! Well mostly and entirely because she always beats me at thanksgiving parties; she thinks she’s all “goodie two shoes”. Everyone believes her act, but part that makes me mad is the fact that I used to be the best. However, I took my fame for granted, I didn’t notice it, I didn’t brag, I didn’t use my talents for my own gain, nor did I use my talents for my own goodLately, I’ve been wishing I did.
It all started when someone named -Redacted- came to town. She was nice and kind, and the most important part is that she wasn’t in my way, or at least She didn’t startoff that way; in fact, I paid her no mind. Her parties didn’t get manypeople; it happened slowly, at first, it was just oneperson, then another, theneven more until I had noticed it too late . My parties weren’t the talk of the town anymore; nobody talked about me, nor my parties. My breaking point was last year when nobody came to my party. I had enough, my rage had bundled up, every single positive word said about -Redacted- and every singlecompliment, was supposed to be mine . This year I would make -Redacted- feel the same pain I did.
When Thanksgiving came around, -Redacted- gave out invites. Every year I usually threw them away or tore them. However, this time I waited for her party and memorized every word on the invitation. The days went by slowly, every second felt like a day , every day felt like a month , and every month felt like a century, until finally it was time.
When I woke up that day, I got ready as quickly as I could, I wore a blood red dress. Ironic, isn’t it? I wore my hair in a bun, I wore gloves, I wore boots, and I finished my outfit with a purse. That day I would leave at 3 pm and be back at 5 pm with my plan carried out. Before I left, I looked at my house then at the neighborhood roads, knowing full well it would never be the same once I came back.
I stepped on to the sidewalk, it took a few minutes to get from my home to her house. I arrived early just as planned; I stood in the doorway that was bigger than my house, -Redacted’s- house was 5 stories high. The stairs went up to the 5th floor, and it all looked endless. It almost looked too good. If I had used my talents like she did, maybe I would have been happier.
Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder, it was her, -Redacted- spoke for a few minutes and asked me if I could help her cook some food for her thanksgiving party, I agreed, then she began talking, -Redacted- told me I had come early and such, it’ s not like I really listened to her annoying words. As soon as her obnoxious voice finally came to an end she took me to the kitchen, she spoke for a few seconds and handed me a knife, it wasn’t as sharp as I had hoped, but it would make her death last just like my pain.
Once -Redacted- let her guard down and turned her back to wash her hands, I forced my hands to raise my knife, and then I stabbed down, my hand trembled as -Redacted- fell, then I raised both of my hands on the knife.
I knew it was over for her, but I still clung on to the hope that she might have survived, as I cleaned my knife. I pondered, I realized, and I didn’t really regret it, in fact I didn’t feel what was supposed to be there. I looked at her dead body, and I knew It was all on purpose I had picked up that knife knowing it would end in a death I picked up the hydrogen peroxide knowing full well it would clean it all up, and I picked up that luminol knowing full well it would help me know if there was still a spot I needed to clean. Even though I had planned it out, I had thought I would’ve been sadder, but instead I felt better.
When I went home, I jumped on to my bed, and I fell asleep on my bread themed bed, my steps felt lighter, if killing was all it took, maybe it would become a hobby, but then I heard it, a small creak filled the air. “Creakkkkkkkk.”
Writers’ Realm: Fantasy
I looked back at the ground, Which was drifting farther and farther away. The dragon roared, Gliding elegantly on the wind.
I realized where I was going: To a place of magic. With potions and spells, Creatures big and small, Welcoming me to the world, Of fantasy.
When the Monster’s Out
By Yelie Pooda
You never know when the fateful day will come. The day that was always destined to arrive every year, when the monster comes out. If you want to see another day, do exactly as I say. Lock the doors, even though its sharp claws can easily splinter wood. Because the Monster is out. Shut the windows, even though its shrill voice can shatter the glass. Because the Monster is out. Layer up, even though the stinger on its tail can penetrate three brick walls. Because the Monster is out. Huddle in the corner farthest from all the windows and all the doors, even though its venomous glare can kill one hundred men with one glance.
This is your warning, trust me, believe me. This isn’t a trick, or a lie. Why would it be? Not like I’m the Monster.
The Voices
By Abby Barton
The kingdom calls me a thief – and yes, I am one. But I am unlike normal thieves who steal their gold or silver and their food and jewelry.
I like to steal voices. I snatch them from people as easily as plucking leaves off of trees. It’s fun for me –and it makes up for what I’ve lost. I remember little of my life before it happened. But I know the basics:
1. I did something very bad. Bad enough for the king to punish me in a horrible way. And if you think I was tortured or killed, you are very wrong.
2. The punishment was my voice being taken away. No speaking. No humming. Nothing. No sound. He used his spells to take it.
3. His spell went wrong. He didn’t know until I escaped my prison. I can take others’ voices. Not like what he did to me – he destroyed my voice, and I will never get it back. What I mean is that I can steal voices and speak in them. I can store them and switch them on and off which ones I like to use.
4. They’re after me. I know they are. But I’m too fast for them. I’ve encountered them five times, but each time I was in a different disguise and wearing a different voice. It’s funny how they have never suspected a thing.
The voices are my treasures.
Each one I take is payback – revenge – for the voice the king took from me.
The voice I lost.
The Best of Portfiesco Rosento
By Kimiya Kazemnia
This Halloween, I went trick or treating. I blinked and I was a FISH??? I was swimming around in a fishbowl. I looked over and saw a witch. “HEY!” I blubbered. “My name is Portfiesco Rosento to you little fish!” I immediately started sending signals to the other fish in the bowl. Turns out there is a whole school of fish. I just got added to the collection of her weird obsession of turning normal people into fish. Since I had a waterproof phone; it shrunk down to my size. I called my friend Lucinda to bring the police to my location. Ten whole missed calls later, and I’m starting to worry. I slept through the night and woke up to police sirens. I had remembered I sent my location to Lucinda, so she came with the police. They made Portfiesco Rosento turn me back into a human again, and then she vanished without a trace, while eating a cupcake on her broom. That night I didn’t receive any candy.
After that night, I was invited to a Halloween party! I stepped through the door, and I heard a familiar voice. “You had quite the courage to come this far, Little Miss!” It was Portfiesco Rosento, the witch who was out to get me and turned me into a fish?!
“You still have the weird obsession with turning innocent little girls into fish?!?” I yelled out at her. I looked for a door to escape from but nothing, maybe a chair or table to hide behind. Who knows what she will do to me! I looked for the trash bin filled with disgusting papers, a torn-up jacket, and banana peels to throw at her, but I was too late. I was now a fish by the flick of her wrist. Yet again my phone shrank down to my size, but it was dead. Whatever will I do without Lucinda to help me get out of this mess. Right then, Lucinda broke the wall and threw a cupcake at her hand that made her wand fly across the room making her disappear and me back to the way I was before.
“That witch really can't get enough of you, or fish!” Lucinda said as we ran out.
“I guess having too much sugar does make you an easy target!” I replied as we ran merrily back to our neighborhood.
So, you may know Portfiesco Rosento from my previous crazy adventures, the witch that was out to get me since Halloween, trying to turn me into a fish. She somehow found out how to turn me into a pumpkin, and Lucinda is out of reach for a while, but this is going to be my day in the life of a pumpkin. First since it is the time of pumpkin patches, I try to hide from people who come to get pumpkins, because quite frankly I don't really want to be gutted and carved to death, I leave that to real pumpkins. For breakfast I can't really eat much, but I just imagine I'm pouring myself cereal for food. Once I gathered enough courage, I try and connect with my fellow pumpkins it never works out, always ends with one rolling away. At night I try to escape and find Portfiesco Rosento and ask her to turn me back into a human. That's all, bye!
Portfiesco Rosento. The witch who ruined my Halloween and has took multiple tries to turn me into one of her fishes and has succeeded once in turning me into a pumpkin is coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. Out of all people here, I have no idea why my mom even invited her to Thanksgiving, and fortunately her relatives are also coming. Fortunately my friends from advanced English 6-2 are coming over as well; they all arrived at the door bringing something. Olannia brought pumpkin pie, Lila brought Turkey, Kaylee brought mashed potatoes, Bella got casserole, and Alex, Caroline, Hannah, Lou, and Abby all brought dinner rolls. Then the Rosento family came over with their nasty attitudes. Apparently she has changed, but not at all. Everyone else was kind, but Portfiesco Rosento. She turned me into… nothing? That night we ate our delicious food, but she brought fried fish to the dinner table. Oh no. We’re cooked!
One day, I was going ornament shopping with my mom. When I went to one of the aisles, I picked up an ornament and it poofed. “I AM DURBOUS CRAZKEN, the magical elf. I’ve Oldest things happening to over the course of Halloween through Thanksgiving.” This must be a dream. First port fiasco Rosenthal and now this guy
“Oh well that's nice Could you please leave me be?” I said
“Oh, I guess you don't want a good word in for Santa,” he replied. Wait, no I stopped him
“What should I do to get extra gifts?”
‘”Oh, well, that's not the way to think of Christmas! Fine I'll give you a list of things to do,” he said reluctantly
“I'll do anything!” I begged.
“First clean your room, do the dishes, actually, clean the whole house!” he said with pleasure.
“Seriously! fine I won't question it again.” I rushed home and cleaned the whole house. I should have known better once I saw my mother's interesting grin, but I kept going. I went to the elf waiting in my room and told him I did it.
“Ohh you're so gullible! Portfiesco Rosento and I just made you do that! Hahaha! Unhappy unmery unchristmas! Hahaha.” he said jotting away from me and out of the window. I cried that night.
Durbous Crazken returns to the North Pole hoping no one found out about his schemes he thought he was safe until... “DURBOUS IN MY OFFICE STATION, NOW!” Santa said. He was so busted. Jarvis inches towards Santa's office and what surprised him was a video of him hanging around Portfiesco Rosento on his day off pulling all kinds of unmarried pranks. “EXPLAIN THIS! I gave you one day off, and this is what happens!?” Santa is furious.
“Santa, I promise this wasn't me! It was AI-generated. You know how real it can look right??” Durbous is making excuse after excuse.
“I believe none of your nonsense. You are forever banned from the North Pole; never return!” Uh oh, Durbous was in big trouble.
“Santa! He is gone!” What to do! Ok, I could, A: go back to sleep, or B: try to go on a Christmas adventure! I have an idea who's done this, but PR has gone back to her evil lair when Christmas had started, but that only leaves the elf Durbous. That makes sense he was in trouble with Santa, but it seems like Santa was the real one in trouble. Oh, well. Best be going on to the North Pole. It is midnight as I sneak out of my house and take my bike to The Polar Express station deep inside the woods. Just as I'm about to buy my ticket with a nickel and three dimes, it hits me. Of course DC has was banished, so to the South Pole we go.
Not very many people go to the South Pole because it is said to have misfortune and bad unmerry things, but Santa is there, and he needs my help. I bought my ticket and boarded the express. First, I got my ticket stamped and then hot chocolate. Right when you know it, we're already here! I tried to ask the other banished elves that have lived here for a way to help me find the unwelcoming, despicable lair of Crazken, but it was useless, they all speak elfish. Oh, well because it doesn't matter as I keep walking in the random direction I was going, it paid off. I found the lair buried in the snow. I went in and looked through the peep hole and saw Santa tied up with Durbous sitting restlessly on a chair next to him. Then that's when I ran outside ran inside and untied him. He's fast asleep and didn't wake up. Looks like Santa had too many cookies! Oh no! Durbous was waking up. I grabbed Santa on my back and ran out magically his sleigh that was there, and I made it home and saved Santa!
Months have passed and no sight of Durbous Crazken and Portfiesco Rosento. I'm finally having the best time of my life. No Fear February, right? Or so I thought. Valentine's Day is coming up but still no Valentine insight. I'm on my way to school with my breakfast in one hand and my lunch box in the other. I go to my locker and spin the code open not even
thinking about what I was inside dropped my banana and…. roses were flowing out like crazy! I rushed away, confused and concerned, about how this happens As I'm going to class, I hear someone calling my name. I turned around, and it's Joshua! “Can you be my Valentine?” Joshua's the kid that no one really knows, and he picks his nose all the time. Yuck! Everyone was looking, but I couldn't humiliate him! I said... Yes? He handed me a card at 7:00 PM to the movies. I go home and turn on my lamp. I grabbed a baseball cap to cover my embarrassed expression I show up at the movie theater, but he didn't show up. I watched the movie all by myself. As I'm walking back home, I take the shortcut by an alley. It is dark and cold, and I knew something was up. A pony in the voice of Joshua following me.
“IT WAS A TRAP! MUAHAHAHA! I am Petunea Spazupop!” Something tells me I'm going to have a hard time getting home tonight.
After my wicked Monday, I decided to just relax and have a normal school day for once. Me and my Best friend Lucinda, who you may know has always been on my side. She’s saved my life from getting kidnapped by a witch to being one of her fishes in her fishbowl. I walk into school with her as we talk about all the crazy things that have happened to us! We go to my locker first and she helps me unpack. When I’m done spinning the locker open the locker. A note from principal Jenkins rolls right out. Out of suspicion, I opened it right in front of Lucinda, which was a big mistake. It reads, “On behalf of oBrder Junior High you have been EXPELLED for causing way too much commotion. For further questions meet me in my office.”
“WHAT!” Lucinda screamed so loud the whole school could practically hear! I was in utter disbelief! I hadn’t ever chosen to be haunted down by a crazy witch, elf, and pony? Lucinda drags me by my hair and takes me to his office.
She kicked the door open and said, “You cannot ever expel her! She has been through so much!” Lucinda went on and on and ON about how I’ve been a fish, pumpkin, and how it all was NOT MY FAULT! “She doesn’t deserve this, please! I won’t quit until you agree with me!” It felt like Lucinda was begging for hours.
“FINE, just go! I’ll remove the charges! NOW GET OUT!!” he said forcefully. We both are jumping with joy. Thanks to my friend Lucinda, I am still here today with my crazy stories. As we leave his office, in the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a fishbowl that is quite familiar.
Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. No valentine and no end to this madness. This boy I like Josh won’t ask me to be his valentine yet! I head off to school with a drowsy apple. The same old crunch every morning. I go to school hoping maybe today will be the day. And I wanted a valentine SO BAD!! I walked to my locker, seems familiar right? I open my locker and my eyes lit up from happiness! A card, with chocolates attached to it with a bouquet of flowers. The love filled the school all week, and now it was my chance to have a taste of it! The card reads edged on the front, “I hope you like hazelnut!” I am so elated I’m beaming with joy! Sound familiar right? I opened the card and it says, “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don’t reject me again!” I dropped the card and snatched the chocolates for myself, eating them one by one. Joshua, really? Not a single time I liked him. I walked into my classroom, but I heard JOSH call my name!
“Yes Josh?” I said trying to keep cool. This must be a dream, he has a big post card that says, “will you be my Valentine?” He’s holding red candy hearts in his other hand.
“Yes, yes, yes!!!” I exclaimed jubilantly.
“Sweet. My boy Joshua wanted to be your valentine,” he said nonchalantly.
“Actually, I forgot, I’m not doing valentines day this year, galantines for life!” I tried to make up an excuse.
“Oh that’s fine, he had other options anyway, like Abby.” Wow the one time I get a chance, it gets set off. Joshua is secretly petunea spazupop, I need to tell her, but she won’t ever believe me.
Writers Celebrate: Poems & Stories in 10s
10 Sentences, 10 Lines, & 10 Stanzas
I enter the house. The door creaks open, and We burst out from behind the house, mauling the girl.
I crash to the ground with a thud. Into a cake. What is happening? Am I being kidnapped? She falls into the cake, The cake of doom!!!!!!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LITERARY MAGAZINE! <3
May your wishes of happy DrEaMs come true!
Now enjoy our SpEcIaL section specifically commemorating the magazine and all her contributors every year for the past 10 years.
Salutations, and welcome to the Celebration Section.
By Reese Bossle
One. You are part of something bigger than yourself.
Two. The world is a machine, and everyone plays a part, from a motor to a screw, and every part matters. If even one part stops functioning, the whole system stops.
Three. Don’t give up on your part, because it is more important than you know.
Four. You are not alone, you are not out of place, whatever is going on is not your fault.
Five. We all need to hear these words, no matter how you deny it. Every one of us.
Six. You are not stupid. You are not ugly. You are not weak. You are enough.
Seven. No one in existence is exactly like you.
Eight. The colors you paint the world are only your own.
Nine. Your story is important. Ten. You are broken, but not beyond repair.
The Ritual
By Chloé Young
I woke up on the ground, trees surrounding me. My head is burning; I can’t move physically. I dart my eyes; there’s blurry figures looming over me. Hands together, heads bowed and bloody robes. They’re chanting. My ears were ringing; I could barely hear my own breathing. There’s blood everywhere and dark, symbols underneath me and carved into my body. The more they chant, the more out of control I feel in my body. My eyes flashing back and forth, my head’s twitching violently, and I’m lifting off the ground. Everything goes silent as the lights snap out.
A
story about writing about writing. (wait does writing count?)
By Gemma Hiemstra
I was writing about writing, not just writing, I was writing about writing about writing. Wait! Does writing about writing about writing count as writing? Well, I guess, I was writing about writing about writing. No that means I am still writing about writing about writing about writing. I guess that counts. Let me rephrase that. I was writing about writing about writing about writing about writing. Hm. I guess I was writing, that counts right? Again, I was writing about writing about writing about writing about writing. No, wait does writing count? Let me go back to the beginning.
What Writing Is
By Abby Barton
Writing is more
Than words on a doc
Or a sheet of paper. It's more than typing on keys And holding a pen Selecting each word carefully. What writing is Is escaping
Into whatever world you want
And losing reality.
10 years ago, I was first changed.
First year of pre-k.
Three years old.
Learning numbers over one hundred.
Arts and crafts.
9 years ago, I grew.
Second year of pre-k. Four years old.
Gathering the whole pre-k. My first graduation.
8 years ago, I met the best. Kindergarten.
Five years old.
New school.
New friends.
7 years ago, it all began.
First grade.
Six years old.
Happy days.
One of my best friends.
6 years ago, I prepared. Second grade.
Countdown of Nostalgia
By Lainey Stone
Seven years old.
Cataclysm was coming.
Two weeks stretched out.
5 years ago, I locked up.
Third grade.
Eight years old.
Quarantine.
Eating oreos and google meet.
4 years ago, I returned. Fourth grade.
Nine years old.
New group.
Old games.
3 years ago, I learned my worth.
Fifth grade.
Ten years old.
Six percent of the whole class.
I just wanted to get out.
2 years ago, I readjusted Sixth grade.
Eleven years old.
New school.
No support.
1 year ago, I shifted. Seventh grade.
Twelve years old. Lost and confused. Something is coming.
Now.
Eighth grade.
Age thirteen. My lucky number. I am whole.
Rewind and Reflect
By the Writers’ Replay Editorial Staff
IsabellaV.
Now we come to a close.
But don’t fret, this is not the end.
The paper will always be there
The words
The ink
The memories.
BrynnW.
Days seem to swing by without even existing in my mind.
They sit for a while, but they seem to disappear the next day.
I talk with friends to escape reality and laugh to hide my pain.
When I get home, I start to cry for all the weight from the day has broken me
I hope I can recover
EvelynC.
Years passing by
Hours, weeks, days, minutes, seconds
Gone like the wind
Swept away into a sea of memory
Hidden somewhere in the deep ocean
Lost to the sands of time
JulietteB.
And yet despite the speed as the world spins round
Faster – faster – rotating and revolving hundreds of miles per hour
The days seem to pass undeniably s l o w l y
Because I know people are counting on us, standing with us, cheering us on to the finish line
We’ll all remember this experience one day
Whenever we see a cake or a meme or anything Harry Potter
We’ll remember
• Mrs. Cahill
• Writing Club
• And the unity that we forged
Together. <3
AbbyB.
It’s not easy work, because being a writer brings Joy but stress
And the nonstop spinning of my mind.
Then I look back at my work but feel lost,
Because I don’t want it to end.
But in my heart, I know, It won’t end.
For words live forever.
LaineyS.
Three years.
Learning how to survive on paper. Pure chaos
And the magnificent disorder that comes with joy. It’s been a delight and a real pain.
I’m really going to miss it here.
YelieP.
It’s been an honor to serve as editor,
And I can’t wait to see what you all do next,
As those who follow use the blueprint I’ve helped shape,
But let’s not jump too far ahead,
First let’s embrace the grace of this anniversary year ChloéY.
3 years down,
They go by so fast.
Now I must leave the club that’s been a blast,
I’m excited to see what you think of next, It means more to me than I can write in this text
ReeseB.
Worn pages and ink not yet dry overlap and crease and fold
The unbeaten path stretches on, through desert heat and blizzard cold
Authors, poets, soldiers, students walk together side by side
To forge a world of ink and pen where fact and fantasy collide
Those we've lost watch from beyond as a winding road sprawls below
With problematic family close, who’s to say where the winds may blow…
As long as we remember us, this storybook will never close.
Thank you, my eternal pen pals.
Mrs. Mac
Thank you for this beloved trip down memory lane, Celebrating 10 years of your words gracing the page.
Thank you for this rewind, inked with heart and soul,
But now press play, it’s time to go, your story to unfold.
Loving Mrs. Cahill
By Zuri Goetz
Mrs. Cahill is my best friend,
But that will never end.
The time has come when she will go away, She’ll never come back, not even to play.
I love Mrs. Cahill very much,
I’ll love her forever even when I start to hunch. I went to chapel and Mrs. Tolj had a frown, I heard the news and turned my world upside down.
Mrs. Cahill will never come back, But one day our vision will go black.
We’ll wake up in a beautiful place,
With Mrs. Cahill right in our face.
The future’s a mystery, no map to show the way, No globe or compass, just the dawn of a new day. We came to her class with a prayer, And we always end with trust and dare.
Lord Jesus, help us trust in your sovereignty, fill us with your joy and peace so that we may dare to step out into the world, anchored by our faith in you and empowered by the holy spirit. Enable us to serve others and be examples of your everlasting love. Amen. Your funny little friend: Zuri Goetz