2023 MegaZine

2 0 2 3 Summer Writing Camps

This is a Log Cabin Book, an imprint of THE CABIN 801 South Capitol Boulevard, Boise, Idaho 83702 (208) 331-8000 TheCabinIdaho.org (c) 2023 The Cabin All rights reserved.

Book design by Adie Bartron

2023 MegaZine Summer Writing Camps

Introduction Daniel Stewart | Teaching Writer, The Cabin

In the Shadows of the Pink Tree Art is everywhere. In Boise, we’re lucky to have a great amount of public art: murals on building facades; sculptures landmarking street corners and parks; Freak Alley, revealing local artists’ vivid imaginations and insights to Boise culture; a giant pink tree near the heart of the city.

Each summer in recent memory I’ve had the privilege of leading young artists around downtown, teaching them how to think like artists. I call them young artists instead of writers (of course they’re writers) because I want them to realize creative writing is an art form, like drawing, painting, dance, sculpture—all imaginative expressions and interpretations of experience. I want to show them there’s no need to wait for inspiration: It surrounds us, gleams like public fruit waiting to be gathered.

In Urban Ink we explore the coolness of downtown, using the cityscape as a springboard into creating art. We pluck images from Freak Alley and plop them into a world of our own creation. We visit Rediscovered Books to collect titles to inform our own poems and stories. We explore The Record Exchange for album art or weird stuff from the gift shop, creating worlds for characters to interact within. We slurp Italian sodas from Flying M while listening for dialogue and creating character studies.

Yet probably the most important thing we do is have fun. We make friends, laugh, splash through the fountain in the Grove, and ascend to the top of the climbing structure at JUMP. And finally, we share our stories, poems, and comics in a final reading or gallery walk. We recognize ourselves as artists and give the gift of our art to the world.

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WE AS HUMANS Violet Swarthout | Grade 8, Boise

We as humans are incredible. We have made cars, phones, boats, and even a machine to blast through the atmosphere! That’s crazy! We always say nothing can stop us, which is true, except for one thing. The Earth. Tsunamis, tornadoes, earthquakes, floods, etc.

The Earth is shocking. There are so many mystical, beautiful, stunning, and sometimes even terrifying things on earth: the peach-colored sunsets, the fog-covered lakes, the roaring waters, the moist smell of rain, and the warm feeling of fire. And we need to give back to the Earth for what she gives to us.

THE LEAVES Brynn Hobbs | Grade 7, Boise Trees swaying like green giants leaves stuck under my skin slowly replacing my bones my body, controlled beckoning creatures, legs of plenty, wings antennae pricked I eat and I am eaten

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SOCCER MOM Tess Larson | Grade 7, Boise She would have to go quickly. Her son’s soccer game started in five minutes. She needed a coffee and a snack for her son. The coffee shop that she preferred was on the other side of town and she would never make it back in time. She searched for the nearest coffee shop and found one called The Flying M Coffee Shop. It was only two minutes away, so then she would have plenty of time. Her car was parked on the other side of the field, so she decided to walk. As she walked into the rich-smelling cafe she saw that the line was not very long. Once it was her turn to order, she got a cold, iced coffee with two shots of hazelnut and vanilla, and a warm and fluffy croissant for her son. Once she got her order, she rushed back to the soccer field. She made it just in time.

THE DARK, STORMY NIGHT Kaavya Venigalla | Grade 7, Boise It was a dark and stormy night… at Rediscovered Books When SHE WALKED IN!!!

Everyone turned… and GASPED! “Woe is me!” cried the shopkeeper, Falling to the hardwood floor.

The goldendoodle GASPED! She had just realized… who SHE was!

But to this day… we still do not know… who SHE is…

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FLIGHT TWO Athreya Iyer | Grade 7, Boise As the Sun rises on that Sunday morning, a white and shimmering beast rumbles out onto a concrete mound with air vents. Hoses run along the cylinder topped with a cone. Kerosene-smelling steam flows out of this monstrosity hissing.

Around it, people are milling about the huge metal tube. Up on top, crew members clamber into the small door on the Command Module and slam the creaking hatch shut behind them.

The countdown begins.

Workers scramble away and into a building to watch. 3, 2, 1. When the clock comes to zero, the rocket shoots off into the sky and through the clouds. Now all the years of work are a success. Orders requesting for satellites to be put into orbit pour in from all over the world when the flight reaches the orbit. A dream job has just been turned into reality for many people.

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DRY CREEK Alie Lewis | Grade 7, Boise River rushing, river hushing, Wind blowing, wind slowing, Rain pouring, then stopping, But only for a moment I see half a rainbow, and massive lightning strikes. with thunderous thunder following after.

I hear birds chirping a sweet song, until it stops.

When I open my eyes I see a whole new world, The wind was slow, but now blows, and howls a million miles an hour, The crystal blue river is now flooding in white, The once-small rain droplets turn To massive alligator tears, How did I end up here?

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A PLANET FAR AWAY Daisy Brewton | Grade 5, Boise Once upon a time, there was a bee named . . . Oh, wait! He did not have a name cuz he was a bee, but then he got trapped by the main character of this story, named Nuwazoowaz. His name is Nuwazoowaz because he lived on a planet called Runolian and that bee was actually a giant glowing running bee (G.G.R.B.).

Nuwazoowaz (or Nu Nu) needed a lantern so he captured a Glowing Bee to light his lantern.

After that, NuNu went over to his best friend Calou’s house, but when he got there, Calou’s Dad said, “Sorry, NuNu, Calou is not here. She disappeared when she was eating breakfast!”

So NuNu said thank you and then he left.

As he was sadly walking home, he felt so bad for Calou’s parents, and he missed Calou so much, too. He decided to set out to adventure to try to find Calou!

So when he got home, he packed a lunch and some snacks, an ice obsidian dagger, and set off to the cave no one dares to set off to. Also, just so you know, NuNu went to the cave because there was a trail of Calou’s favorite candy bar wrappers leading to the cave.

“Calou! Calou! Where are you?!” NuNu yelled. The cave was hard and creepy, the walls rough and gritty. “Ahhh!” NuNu screamed.

There was a giant, no, humongous, spider!!! It was terrifying. In a second, NuNu blazed through the cave and . . . got lost. The cave was so dark he couldn’t see anything.

So he struck a match and found Calou!! He hugged Calou. She was stuck in a web covered in cocoons.

“Calou, are you OK?” worried NuNu. “I’m fine. Just get me out of the sticky, wet web!”

NuNu destroyed the web with the ice obsidian dagger and ran off to his house with Calou.

I forgot to tell you guys this, but NuNu left some small pieces of bread so he could find his way out. As they were walking, Calou said, “I’m starving. Do you have anything to eat?”

“I have some snacks if you want them,” offered NuNu. So Calou ate happily and returned home safely, and so did NuNu.

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THE GLORIOUS FRUIT-MAKING STONE Ruby Freeman | Grade 5, Boise Smooth like silk, it was hollow Its power was so bizarre, put it on the ground, and BOOM! There you have it The thing that grows is a tree You pick the fruit and down you chomp To find what is inside You didn’t see it coming, so you throw it far, far away.

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ODE TO ANNE FRANK Ronin Guill | Grade 5, Boise One day this terrible war will be over.

We won’t be separated again. We will reunite with our families. Who has separated us from the rest.

THE MAGIC OF STORIES Rossella Iasevoli | Grade 5, Boise Stories help show people in the world magical things.

If poems, stories, and shows can happen in real life one day like flying cars or talking animals, no matter what people say to your face that hurts your feelings, they can’t stop you.

Only you can.

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DAY IN THE LIFE OF A CHAMELEON (an excerpt) Lily Lim | Grade 5, Boise When I woke up, I found myself in the middle of a tree. But I wasn’t in a rainforest, where I had grown up. The air was very polluted. I couldn’t breathe that well.

The chattering of humans’ voices filled my head.

That’s when someone noticed me. I had never liked humans.

I camouflaged myself into the tree and scurried to the nearest patch of grass to hide from thecurious humans. I thought that I was safe, and I fell asleep.

I woke up in a small, enclosed space. I was stuck in a pocket of clothing! The human that I was kidnapped by took me out of her pocket. I was very angry. I wanted to escape, so I bit her.

She cried in pain, and I took that chance to escape. But before I could scurry out the door, a dirty smelly hand grabbed me. The hand was slobbery and was covered in orange sticky dust. It was the hand of a toddler!

He held me up by my tail. I screeched in pain. That’s when he dropped me. I hit the hard, wooden floor with a thud.

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WHEN YOU ARE A PENGUIN Simon Otanicar | Grade 5, Boise One day I woke up and got out of bed.

I put on my clothes. They felt awfully tight.

I went to the mirror. Augh! I was a penguin!

I went into the kitchen to find some food. Aw, we didn’t have any sardines. Augh!

My penguin instincts were kicking in. I waddled out of the house to Whole Foods to see if they had any yummy fish. Yay! They had some sardines!

I was munching on some sardines when somebody walked down my aisle and screamed. People came rushing over.

The boss of Whole Foods called a zoologist, and they came and took me away. They said I was a Gentoo penguin.

Then they let me go, so I went back home and went to bed.

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SUNNY DAYS Abigail Porter | Grade 5, Boise

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THE WAY THE WORLD GOES ROUND Summer (Rose) Quinn-Hennessy | Grade 5, Boise

Have you ever thought what the world would be like if everyone was kind? If everyone shared. If, if the world was a place of harmony? We can make it a place of happiness, a place of forgiveness, a place where things grow and things pass.

The World is always changing

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WHY I WRITE Zoey Reynolds | Grade 5, Boise Sometimes when I write, I feel the pen gliding across the paper. I can’t say what I feel, so I write it. My favorite saying is by Roald Dahl: “...watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”

What this quote means to me is that people are always on their phones and not enjoying the real world. People need to take a look around and enjoy the little things.

My favorite book is called White Bird, by R. J. Palacio. White Bird is about war between the Nazi Germany and France. This author is an author in wonder.

And that’s why I write!

A CAT-TASTIC ADVENTURE Nikolai Schwartsman | Grade 6, Boise A peaceful sleep from my cat bed up high. A new day to bring pain and suffering to my owner.

I jump out of bed and walk into the kitchen. Is that a vase on the coffee table?

I must get my revenge. I hop up onto the table and throw it to the ground. The vase shatters into pieces and my owner rushes into the room. He scoops me up and throws me into a tub. The tub begins to fill with . . . WATER! I rush to the walls of the tub. No use. Too slippery. What about the soap rack?

With all my might, I throw my body at the rack, and I land. Now, time to get revenge, and I know just how to do it.

I jump down from the rack and walk until I find it – my owner’s favorite pillow.

“Time to get to work,” I think. I begin to scratch and tear the pillow to pieces. When I 18

am done, I have strewn the pillow’s guts all over the floor. My owner then walks into the room. His face is a mix of horror and confusion. He tries to lunge at me, but then a wave of water from the bathroom throws him to the wall.

I then use his unconscious body as a bridge to get to the kitchen and do what I set out to do all morning . . . Get some food.

FROG NIGHT Emerson Woods | Grade 5, Boise That night I was having trouble sleeping, thinking about what I would be the next day. After about an hour of not being able to sleep, I decided to go get a drink of water, so I climbed out of bed (I climbed because I was still a frog), then I hopped all the way to the kitchen. Then I climbed up the sink and as I climbed, I heard footsteps behind me, so I looked over my tiny frog shoulder and saw my cat, Buddy, running at me. That’s when I realized that cats like to eat frogs!

So I climbed as fast as I ever had all the way to the top of the sink. When I got to the top of the sink, I jumped into the bowl of the sink just as Buddy pounced at the top of the sink. Luckily Buddy fell so he was on the floor. But that started the real problem!

How was I supposed to get back to my room?! I could not climb back down because Buddy would be waiting there. So I had an even better idea. I have sticky feet! I could just climb on my walls!

So I hopped to the wall and started to climb. I climbed all the way to the living room and next to the living room was my room! So I jumped down off of my wall and hopped as fast and as sneaky as I ever had. I felt my heart beating in my tiny frog body!

But despite being as sneaky as possible, Buddy heard me. He came into the room and started chasing me! He was on to me!

I hopped so fast you could say lightning bolt, and I would have been in my room as quick as that! When I got into my room, I jumped on my bed as quickly as I could and shoved myself under my covers just as Buddy got into my room.

So that was my day (and a little bit of my night) as a frog!

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RED ROSE Cosette Wise | Grade 5, Boise The English red rose smells like candy topped with whipped cream, swirled together to make the budded goodness that swells the air in spring and summer.

Rose petals feel soft and smooth like a blanket.

THE TALKING DUCK Katy Brewton | Grade 7, Boise One day I decided to take a walk, and I came across a duck. Just a single duck all alone. It was just an ordinary duck, so I started to walk by it. When I heard it say a word, I was more frightened than excited. I turned my head to look at that talking duck, and the duck started to laugh. At least I thought it did. It was not a pleasant sound. I turned right back around to start my journey home. I didn’t realize the duck had been following me until I heard it say hello. I leaned down to pick up a rock. I planned to throw it right at the duck’s head. But when I looked down to find the duck, it had vanished into thin air.

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THE SPEAKING FLOOD Aliyah Bohren | Grade 8, Boise A rocky bank barricaded the river’s passage. The green currents carried helicopter plants or branches, as if a short-tempered mailman.

Under the bridge, it seemed to churn and lash freely. Tree branches covered in fronds brushed the rippling green deluge surrounded by unending rows of pale trunks and a mass of roots and boughs.

It was beautiful and shimmering, laden with marine life despite its gruff exterior, and it cradled rafts calmly through the throbbing floodwaters. Earning its kindness is complicated, but with empathy and connections, you can hear it speak.

RIVER OF RED Layla Bohren | Grade 8, Boise The river of red is a beautiful river of a dark russet color. Once a river reaches her first year of being one, she turns red, and fish start to inhabit her. This is pretty to humankind, but it hurts for red rivers; they experience immense pain at this time of the year.

One river in particular is still green, and she runs with ease. Most red rivers think this is the best thing, but Green River wishes to be normal and amongst the others, to experience what red rivers do.

She expresses to the river of red that she is somewhat envious of her red water, but Red River shoves her off and tells her to enjoy her time without her red water. But Green River can’t.

Rivers bond with their red waters, and Green River can’t comprehend this. She cares about the red rivers who have this, even if they’re bitter and venomous towards her. Nothing stops Green River from having jealousy but being caring. However, until she gets her red water, she will never truly be understood.

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THE LOST SISTER Matt Burke | Grade 7, Boise Slowly, I crept towards the old house, the leaves crunching under my feet. The wind howled louder with every step, the thunder booming in loud roars. I had my raincoat and flashlight with me, so it wasn’t much of a bother.

But right as I was about to step foot on the first step of the porch, the thunder boomed, and this little girl appeared behind me. She had long flowy black hair that was drenched by the rain. Her clothes had holes in them and her shirt looked ten sizes too big. One of the legs on her jeans was ripped clean off.

As she stepped closer, she mumbled to me. And when she stepped in front of me, with the luminance of the lightning, I realized who she was. I reached out to grab her hand, but with the second flash of lightning, she vanished.

When I turned around, a wispy blue ball of light appeared on the third floor.

Eager to see what it was, I continued into the house, the wooded steps creaking on contact. As I made my way through the door, I heard singing coming from a record player in the family room. As I went to investigate, I saw a woman dancing. Intrigued, I went to observe the woman, but she vanished too.

Remembering the blue ball of light, I crept up the stairs. Hearing singing again, I kept going. Now at the top of the stairs, I heard it clearly coming from a small room to the left. As I tiptoed over there, a rat ran across my path. Startled, I jumped back, but then continued forward.

As I got to the room, the door was closed. So very quietly, I opened the door.

Then I saw the girl from outside looking out a window, humming a song I hadn’t heard.

Then as I took a couple steps closer, she turned and faced me. With this pause, I could get a better look at her. Then, slowly and carefully, I crept towards her as she backed out onto the balcony.

Then, once I was within reach, I grabbed her hand as she stopped retreating.

When she stopped, I asked her simply, “Come back…”

And after that, she let go of my hand, closed her eyes and fell back off the balcony. As I reached to grab her again, the only thing I saw was my sister’s decayed, dead body on the ground.

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THE TOWER Claudia Burton | Grade 9, Boise Around the decay and the rot of a fallen kingdom stands a tower. Ever slowly crumbling, being eaten by time and whatever could grow in the cracks of old sandstone bricks.

Along the east side of the tower, wiry hands of malice once clawed at the walls, now left nothing more than spider web-like grooves. Once a place of power and authority. A kingdom destined to defeat all advisories, now lies crumbled. Vanquished by the hands of itself.

From far away, the tower is nothing more than a folktale, a memory at most.

Maybe, maybe it’s for the better that the tower is all that remains.

YOU LEFT AND I CAME Betty Clark | Grade 8, Boise Hidden under the trees, sitting on a bench, a ghost weeps in its sorrows. Left alone, only to comfort itself, the ghost looks around as if it has lost an item most valuable to it.

The ghost is not seen by others, but it may not see you. A woman and her wrinkled mother sit aside the ghost.

“Father,” the mother whimpered.

“Mother,” the woman replied, “he’s right next to you.”

The ghost, finally able to see, peeked to its side, seeing the mother. The ghost was not able to speak, so it brought the mother with it.

“Father, you came back,” she said.

“No,” the ghost replied. “You left.”

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RED CLIFF AND THE BLUE ROCKS Ryland Keith | Grade 8, Boise Boston, 1837 I ain’t never been in such a big city before. My eyes were met with satisfaction as I walked through the place. I saw a local saloon, went in and bought me a drink. It was different from the saloons back home. There were city boys lookin’ for trouble and city girls lookin’ for a job, since the men took up most of the careers.

I came from Blue Rocks, a small town up in the mountains. From Blue Rocks, I could see the Boston city lights. It gave me hope that I was going to move my family down to Boston to live a better life. Ma had always had faith in me. My Pa wanted to be a coal miner like most of the men in Blue Rocks. Blue Rocks was a town where you would go when you got nowhere else to go. The jobs required serious labor and were dangerous. And the people there were mean and careless.

I couldn’t wait to write back to my Pa and Ma. I could tell them how great the jobs were and how every night I would look out my window and look at the Boston lights, not knowing where I’m gonna end up. But I know that I have faith and that’s what matters.

The next day I got up with a nice morning yawn. I made me some eggs and went down to the corner store where the smiths work. I took a can of beans and walked back to my apartment.

When I got back, I realized the door was unlocked and the room was filled with silence, almost like when something’s about to jump out at you. I looked around, broken glass and an open window.

“What happened?” I asked.

I then saw a man standing in my closet.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his revolver, and all it took was two shots….

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WHAT WILL HAPPEN? Maggie Morehead | Grade 9, Boise What will happen when there is no more room for the animals to roam free?

Will there be a fee? A fee for us to pay on one warm sunny day. From the tall furry green plants to the small strong ants. What will happen when there is no more?

For days on end, if we keep living like this, my friend. We cut the trees to build homes for us, we get through the town on a bus. All the buildings so high, you can see the sky. However, we forget this place used to be their home, for them to roam.

Lavender and orange fill the air. The animals can’t help but stare. Stare into the brightness of the sun as they dance happily in the grass. The sun, so bright, so warm, is at peace, but it gets disturbed by a feast. Not by the animals, no, but by us. We make a big fuss. Not enough homes, not enough cities. Trees torn down one by one, eventually a ton.

Ten years later, a city was born. The city blanketed over the earth. Cars, stores, people all around. Squeals of kids bounce through wall to wall. All the way to a waterfall. Back in a tiny space, in the shadows was a face. A face of a bunny. So cute, so nice, was now anger and rage. The anger she held was like a ruby, so red, so mad. She was ready to fight. Fight back for her old life. Deep down she was sad, she missed what she once had. Her heart broke when she saw her old home, gone.

What will happen when we destroy it all? Will our ecosystem fall? You see people, it’s hard but true: that we still have no clue what we are doing to our world.

What will happen when it’s gone? What will happen when we haven’t seen the beauty in so long?

Now, that’s a question for you!

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AFTERMATH & DAWN Michael Torkelson | Grade 8, Eagle Aftermath Deafening silence Ear-piercing quiet Nothing No life The smell of cracked bark Pale bleached landscape No birds No squirrels Not a single living thing to be found Gray mist coats the mountains, the sky, infesting the trees Spiders curled inside Black husks The entirety of a forest gone In a great conflagration.

Dawn Dew sits upon a leaf, sparkling A spider scales its web No cars passing Only the peaceful rustling of corn stalks A mother robin quietly feeds its young In the house, silence People gently sleeping Serenity The sky, a beautiful magenta and cloudy purple A pale rose no one will see.

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FLOWER Declan Timpane | Grade 3, Boise A flower lost in A sea of wind, seen But still waiting.

A ROARING LION Elizabeth Blier | Grade 4, Boise A roaring lion, Prancing around its gold cage, Running in the grass.

TIGER Asher Wulf | Grade 3, Boise The majestic leaves Seem to move, but it’s not What it seems to be.

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ODE TO AXOLOTLS Betty Russell | Grade 4, Boise Axolotls, so pink, almost white, sometimes as blue as the deep blue seas, cute as a kitten, gentle as a feather, the face a tad creepy, the gills oh-so frilly. Other than that, they’re the cutest, best thing.

GIRAFFE Addie Tuggle | Grade 3, Boise Long neck, but small body.

Big spots and small spots.

Oh, I love giraffes.

THE WORLD Elinor Pense | Grade 3, Washington, D.C. I smell the flowers.

I see the birds in the air.

What a wonderful world.

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A LETTER TO A TIGER Maeve Timpane | Grade 3, Boise Dear Miss Tiger, How does it feel to be alone? How do you hear the people walking by? What smells do you smell? How much do you eat? What do you eat? What sights do you see? Would you rather live with another tiger or stay alone? How do you feel being watched? How does it feel to be a tiger? Will you tell me?

Dear Human, It feels lonely to be alone. I hear many noises from the humans walking by. I smell smells you probably have never smelled. I see more sights than you could ever imagine. I would rather live with another tiger. I don’t like being watched. It feels terrible. Will you tell me what you see of me?

BREAKING NEWS Audrey Reynolds | Grade 4, Boise We are now live with a naughty sloth bear climbing out of his cage. Let’s see what’s gonna happen now. What’s this? He’s getting the keys for the cages. Oh no! Ahhhhh!

Kzpeftfemta! And we’re back on an elephant’s back! Things are a little crazy since the giraffes and the southern ground hornbills can’t be together. Well . . . the giraffes are fighting and falling down everywhere. And the southern ground hornbill, Toogle, is being mean to Google! Oh no! Here come the tigers and . . . lions! Five minutes later. Oh no! I’m the only one here, which means I’m being eaten by a lion! 10 minutes later. Ding dong!

Idea! I have an idea (said the news reporter). What if I train these animals to be my crew!

I’m gonna go get the clickers and treats! Stop right there. Just so you know, clickers are 29

used in a type of training called clicker training. This is how it works. You try to get the animal to do what you want. If they get it, they hear a clicking sound and they get a treat!

Back to the story! Click! Nom. Nom! Nom. Click, click. Nom. 25 minutes later . . . Mwa ha ha mwa ha ha ha ha. Now I have you all trained! If you find these troublemakers, please contact 911!

MONKEYS William Woods | Grade 3, Boise Monkeys climb trees fast like a cheetah.

They bite the end of a banana And pull down the edges as Fast as they can climb the trees.

Their fur is as dark as Going inside a cave.

When I look at them, They make me feel happy.

SEALS Tony Pantera | Grade 3, Boise As smooth as glass.

As cute as a bunny.

As playful as a puppy.

As lazy as a cat.

When I see seals, I have an emotion I can’t explain.

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FLUFFY DOGS Addie Herzfeld | Grade 3, Boise What I like about dogs is that they are so fluffy, and when they are so, so fluffy, they calm me down, and they’re as fluffy as a cat! My dog hugs me arm to arm, and he licks my cheek. He’s as beautiful as the sun. He smells like perfume! He barks like a lion!

The color on his body is white and brown. His eyes are brown like chocolate! His paws are adorable like a panda!

TAFARI AND JABARI Sylvia Strop | Grade 3, Boise Tafari As shy as a fox, You’re curious and quiet, Spots as shy as you.

Awesome and shy, Bold inside With your pal Jabari, too.

Jabari You’re big and bold.

Your story is told, Your spots a Deep dark brown.

When I look at you, I know it’s true.

You’re strong as a Lion’s prowl.

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I AM GOD Isabilla Getchell | Grade 11, Boise I was not born into godhood rather I lived a life of purity but they diminished I was told I brought suffering my actions brought turmoil to my community and my greed destroyed hope and others But they were all wrong I was on the only path to godliness if only they could see it But they had done nothing to deserve my teachings they had not suffered as I had As I hadn’t sinned as they did I will continue to walk with my head held high I am a saint.

I tell myself I am the only one deserving of such godliness such perfection that they are too simple to understand

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GRIM REAPER Averey Alger | Grade 10, Eagle Death is everything and death is nothing dark, alone, forgotten, bride together remember that is what Death is.

As large as an ox as sly as a fox here, there, everywhere Death is harsh, cruel, beastly but, also Relief, Love, Kind Scapegoat, beaten, hated is what Death shows but Caring, Beautiful Life is what Death knows

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GUT Laila Herstein | Grade 9, Boise It’s about gut instinct but I’m falling. How can I even think focus?

I hit the bottom.

You need to think.

My body aches, but the pain is worse in my brain.

You need to get up I could lie here forever.

You can’t stay here. You need to get up they don’t need me.

You need to get up. You need them.

I sit up shakily good period now get out.

I am thinking of a well so I start to climb You’re going to fall I continue to climb until I reach the top. you need to get out.

I’m back at the bottom of the well.

Get out.

I’m trapped.

Get out.

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DEATH Madeline Kline | Grade 11, Boise Over my grandmother’s casket the air is filled with sorrow well I can only smell the rain dripping slowly down dampening my clothes and what used to be my grandmother.

My heart feels heavy because her death is a reminder death is something you can’t escape.

My ears are filled sniffing, crying, sobbing.

Cold air touches my skin another reminder that life is temporary, maybe it is because I didn’t know her well but I don’t feel sad, rather fear of death fills my gut.

Death is sorrowful.

It brings unimaginable pain and most of all, it’s certain.

As I’m standing over my grandmother’s casket I know what death means.

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GUILT Shaoyu Paul Zhang | Grade 11, Boise To war I go I go to fight fight far too late lost my brother to war he’d gone he’d gone alone not with myself I was too scared Him I had failed I hid and hid in daily life now it’s destroyed I do not know why I am here why I face death all I feel now is I must fight and die tonight

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LOSS/REPLACED Lily Newcomb | Grade 11, Eagle First, it was not made in an old dirty kitchen, but that hurt the least.

Served at me on a porcelain, not plastic, plate. Scratching at the lump with the new fork.

The replacement was fresh, just like the tartness that came from a card filled box, and not from memory.

Everything wasn’t how it’s supposed to be. I couldn’t help but think about what wasn’t and who isn’t.

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TIME Zadie Garcia Rebel | Grade 11, Boise My mom’s old fancy school known as convent stainless chapels marble walls a girl’s ghost of nuns red velvet carpet an old elevator made back in time clean pressed uniform walk on time memories flourishing in the mind the old mansions made into a school private as time as well as the secrets they contain inside the bell rings my memories out a sign time to go inside and teach words of wisdom.

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HIDDEN MIRACLE Sienna Kirk | Grade 11, Boise I reach out to take his hand. It’s as strong and confident as it always has been.

He has one hand on my waist, the other on my cheek. My hands rest on his chest. He’s smiling. For some reason, it feels like a memory… He suddenly leans in, trying to kiss me. Right as our lips are about to touch, a loud beep startles me.

My eyes open. He’s gone. The ceiling of my room takes his place. I can’t help but reach over to where he should be, but the spot on the bed is empty. I sigh and put my hands on my head.

“Come on Natasha,” I mutter to myself. “Time to get up.”

I make my way to the kitchen. I sigh, taking in the quiet. Eventually, I bring myself to make a cup of coffee. I gaze outside the window of our small apartment, the light of the rising sun reflecting off the neighboring building. I turn on the lights, open the door to my son’s bedroom, and wake him for school. As he gets himself ready, I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I let the warm water run over me, letting it wash away the memories for a bit. I get dressed again and watch Rico dash by me as soon as I open the door. He grabs his bright red backpack and a granola bar on his way out, his smile like the sun outside. For now, he’s my only sunshine.

I wait around the apartment for a while, cleaning things here and there. Dishes.

Check. Laundry. Check. Dust. Check. Before long, I have to leave for work. I open the door, turning off the remainder of the lights. The door shuts, the lock clicks as I turn the key. 417. I look at the gold numbers before I leave. I see my reflection in those numbers.

Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes. He used to say that you could see my personality in those dark eyes. Fiery, bold, strong. Now they’re filled with exhaustion. I turn away.

78 steps. That’s how many. Like Sherlock, I count them each time I use them. On my way out of the building and on my way in. 78 steps.

On the last step, I reach the ground floor. The woman at the front desk smiles at me. She has short blonde hair and bright green eyes. She seems to be in her 20s. My fingers wrap around my ring finger, feeling the diamond that rests there. I don’t know how he bought it. It’s all I have left of him.

The morning sun bounces off the windows of each tall building, almost blinding me. I wait at each crosswalk, the people surrounding me only noticing me as much as I notice them.

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I open the door, immediately getting yelled at for being late. No one else gets treated like that. No one else looks like me either. I put on my apron, and start helping the cooks. The special today is spaghetti. I smile as the warm memories wash over me.

He tried to be romantic and made us spaghetti, planning on playing out that scene from “The Lady and The Tramp.” It went horribly wrong when he accidentally burned himself on the pot and dropped it on the floor. I gave him first-aid, he gave me a kiss, then we went out for burgers. I get startled back into reality when I get yelled at for daydreaming.

As the sun sets, I grab my things and leave. I reach a crosswalk, fidgeting with my ring. The light changes, I start to walk, then someone bumps into me. Just like that, the ring’s gone. I stop, rushing back. There it is, at the bottom of a drain. I try to grab it, but it’s out of reach. Tears stream down my face, the hot pavement burning my legs. I close my eyes praying, the only thing left I can do. I pray that I could somehow reach the ring, I pray that he was still here, I pray that the pain could end. I stand up and leave.

I enter the building again, the lady with blonde hair smiles at me again. I climb the stairs. 78 steps. I reach my door. 417. I unlock it then open it. The familiar smell of spaghetti washes over me. Rico smiles, holding out a plate to me.

“Rico, what is all this?” I ask, looking around the room. He looks away from me as he speaks.

“It’s been a year since…Dad died. I thought we could honor him by doing some of the things he liked. Like eating spaghetti.” He hands me the plate. I smile and take it.

We spend the evening talking about him, exchanging stories about him that we’ve already shared a hundred times. Each memory of him hurts, reopening healed wounds, until I’m crying. Rico puts his hand on my shoulder. I pull him into a hug, running my fingers through his messy dark hair. A thought comes to mind as I hug him.

Rico is the light in my life. He’s healed me where others couldn’t. My prayers for help had already been answered before they were even spoken, I just didn’t see it before. Just as the thought finishes in my mind, I hear a soft whisper in my heart.

“It’s time to let go.”

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THE RAINBOW STRIPES Yi Chen Su | Grade 3, Boise

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A CLOUD DAY Anabel Kapoor | Grade 4, El Cerrito, CA

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One day I was floating along in the sky when suddenly a lady and little kid were walking. I usually see children and adults all the time. So, I said to my friends, “Here comes a child,” and we all made shapes with our bodies. But then the kid and the adult stopped. The adult got something out of her bucket. It looked like . . . an APPLE! I hate apples. For one, they are so red they look like someone painted them. And second, why is she giving a child an apple?! She might choke or throw up! Who knows, maybe the apple is poisoned!

I wanted to yell to the people but the number one rule for clouds (besides don’t get sad when it rains) is DO NOT TALK TO HUMANS. So I kept my mouth shut. Oh well. Some people are just not careful.

THE END!

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MASSACRE Toby Royer | Grade 3, Boise

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CRAZY Serena Boddie | Grade 4, Boise

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ALL AROUND Ira Scrima | Grade 3, Boise

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THE COLLISION Izzy Wingert | Grade 3, Boise

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WHO I AM Helen Zhang | Grade 4, Boise

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ME IN THE MEADOW Finn Sellery | Grade 3, Boise

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CLOSED Atticus Hitesman | Grade 4, Boise Imagine a world where you can’t even remember what your parents look like Imagine a world where EVERYTHING is distorted Imagine a world where you aren’t you Imagine if you were Lost

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PERSPECTIVES Vivian Gendler | Grade 6, Boise

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THE CENTER OF EVERYTHING Ria Prashant | Grade 5, Boise

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UNTITLED Laina Wiliams | Grade 5, Boise

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A DAY IN THE BUILT WORLD Margo Sword | Grade 6, Boise

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NUCLEAR PIE Neil Prashant | Grade 5, Boise

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FLOWERS AND FLOWERS GALORE Mia Barth | Grade 5, Boise

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GIANT Harper Hamilton | Grade 6, Boise

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DAWN Amália Szegedi | Grade 5, Boise

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OCEAN POWERS Liza Galitsyna | Grade 6, Boise

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UNTITLED Aariv Prashant | Grade 5, Boise

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HARMLESS Ruby Ritzer | Grade 7, Boise The tabby cat is sitting.

Her name is Lavender.

The falcon is ready for flight.

His name is Blueberry.

The shrew is resting quietly.

His name is Butterscotch.

The blackberry is hanging upon her stem waiting to ripen.

Her name is Pinky.

The boa is thinking.

His name is Mint.

The cat is just sitting there, harmlessly perched upon her own guilt instead of eating the shrew.

Instead of the falcon eating the cat, he sits there harmlessly practicing his warrior cry.

Instead of the shrew eating the blackberry, he is quietly keeping to himself.

The boa, instead of eating everyone, quietly thinks to himself.

The blackberry who can do nothing or say nothing, quietly sits there upon her stem waiting to ripen.

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STORM Ella Kapoor | Grade 8, El Cerrito, CA Raindrops tap on my window wind howls sending leaves flying lightning flashes telling thunder to roar this storm was cool with the wind and rain dancing across the sky Until nighttime came and engulfed any light now this storm is scary with the shadows of tree branches moving across my room the raindrops sound faster wind louder more thunder and lightning I pull the covers up to my chin and shiver even though it’s not cold inside Raindrops tap on my window 63

IMPOSSIBLE FEMININE Maiya Virani | Grade 9, Tucson, AZ In her house, women were frowned upon.

Not in the way where women were akin to dirt under the shoe of a man No, it was femininity that was wrong pink was the color of failure lace and bows a sign of weakness “why do you strive to disappoint, why must you be so girly” The remark echoes through the house and past the thin walls “be more boyish, I will not raise a princess” what he meant was, he would not raise a girl And yet, in spite of, or perhaps because of, she grew impossible impossibly feminine as pink and pretty as can be.

Her femininity clashed in a house where it was scorned and shamed.

She grew strong and defiant. stubborn and bold.

As she grows, she discovers that there are others that embrace vanity like a swan that holds its head high Impossible by the way she was taught and yet maybe not so wrong

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SUBMERSION Saioa Freddoso | Grade 8, Boise The girl closed her eyes as she submerged into the water. She knew that there was nothing she could do, the feeling of his betrayal stung in her mind, almost overcoming her feeling of helplessness. She began to sink deeper, flailing trying to get out, she knew that she couldn’t escape, she knew she was going to die. She accepted her fate as she drifted off, her last thoughts being of growing terror, followed by… nothingness.

Her eyes jolted open, finding herself in a dark, dungeon-esque room. Crystal lights decorated the ceiling and walls. The girl made her way through various hallways.

She had no clue where she was, but it felt like her body was guiding itself, as if it knew where to go. The air here felt colder, it felt eerie. It was different. She found herself entering a hall, where a large mirror faced her. She saw it and immediately gasped. She was no longer herself, she was him. She was her betrayer.

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INVISIBLE Marlies Royer | Grade 7, Boise I close my eyes resting my head against my locker for a moment, I can be alone with my thoughts I am surrounded by an ocean of people I am the island walking down the hall, the conversations around me are drowned out by the thoughts in my head to those around me, I am like a liar they can see right through me— invisible the bell rings and I walk outside the classroom, taking exactly two hundred forty-three steps until the earth is no longer beneath my feet instead, I step only on branches leaves swaying and twigs flexing up so high, I get a sense of security being able to see everything I weave up and around the branches, pulling myself into the next nook, pushing myself into the next cranny here, in the tree, I am seen by the wind, by the birds, by the leaves here, I am safe I have a place to be, to belong here, I am no longer invisible

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AUGUST 10TH, 2019 Taylor Reynolds | Grade 8, Boise 2 years ago, Charlie was taken Taken from us Taken from me Ripped out of my cold, tired arms Painful sobs filled the quiet room Blood from the deep cut on her forehead covered my shirt and the ground I didn’t know then how bad it was But I did know that I had just lost everything that I had ever lived for The damage he had done was UNFORGIVABLE Trauma is permanent The last I saw of Charlie was her bruised arms reaching for me and her beautiful golden face covered in tears My heart shattered to pieces When they took her I thought my heart would be broken Forever

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PIERCING DARKNESS Brooke Warmuth | Grade 9, Meridian On a planet far from where you are now, I lived in a broken world. I was in the city, dark and uneventful. I learned about the fires and desert outside the city wall. My future was handed to me on a scratched-up platter. I would go to the cloth factory, be paid a stable wage, and return to the same meal of chicken soup, bread and butter each night. Then I could take a walk in the cinnamon tinted air, and pretend like there wasn’t something behind the city walls, hiding underneath tarps, warning signs and fences.

Today is the day I decide to chase the secret Orem has been keeping from me.

The first step is getting out of the city. No one is keeping residents from leaving, there’s just no reason to leave if you don’t notice the lack of individuality. How the soup tastes the same every night, how everyone’s clothes were the same shade of beige, deeming us all the same, just like the soup, so that people could never realize we weren’t working to make progress.

The first danger sign I see doesn’t feel significant. All of the fences I hop, ropes I duck, signs I ignore start to add up. I reach a wall, its gray expanse reaches higher than I can see and wraps around the city. I turn back to Grayville. I don’t see the city center, it’s darker than when I left.

I walk along the wall, searching, maybe in vain. I don’t see the handle until my arm catches on it. The door and handle are the same gray as the wall. I twist the handle.

Click. The door gives in. The first thing I notice is the air. Crisp and clear, no more cinnamon to cover up smog. The ground beneath me is soft and green. Stars paint the sky. The fields aren’t burning, but Grayville is slowly heating up.

I run as fast as I can, back to the city. I gather all of the people in my building and share what I saw. Instead of begging for me to show them, they laughed. Soon, everyone was laughing in disbelief, tears in their eyes. The commotion is too loud.

The cloth factory manager comes down. The crowd’s laughter shifts to fear. He assesses the crowd before his eyes settle on me. He says something to the guards but his eyes never leave me. The guards come to each side of me and link their arms with mine, forcing me away from the crowd. We walk closer and closer to the city wall until we come upon the door that leads outside. They throw it open and toss me onto the grass. The door slams shut, bang. I’m free. The stars are fading and soon I can explore my new home. For now, I rest.

The morning brings light. It burns, jolting me awake. I open my eyes but all I can see is white, my body can’t handle the sudden warmth and freedom after all the years I spent in darkness. My last thought before I burn is how pretty the stars are as they pierce the darkness.

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THE CHANGE Rose Ritzer | Grade 5, Boise As I’m flying through the sidewalks, I suddenly see a donut shop. I fly in, then go behind the counter & grab a few donuts & then some lady gets mad & I mean really mad.

So, I decide to grab one more donut, and fly away really fast & for some reason the lady starts chasing me with a BROOM! How mean is that? Well anyway, I fly some more & see a pizza shop. I fly in there too and grab a whole big piece of pizza. Everybody is shocked.

Then I politely grab another & then I see this guy & I slowly walk away but the guy offers me a piece of pizza! I eat it! Then I fly on his shoulder & after his work, he brings me to his home & I am officially his pet. Then I wake up, and I am a human. Phew. I’m not a bird.

But I kind of liked flying. I miss that.

THE PHOENIX Aiden Mehr | Grade 6, Nampa A bird of fire, the fire bright as the sun, with one of itself in a younger tone, protecting its family, shielding from eyes looking for food, in the eyes of the mother shows true love for the younger.

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MY CAMP ADVENTURE 2023 Gabriel Cochran | Grade 7, Boise

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IF I WERE A HARPY EAGLE Serena Boddie | Grade 4, Boise I am the queen of the jungle.

I fly around, my wings fierce as lightning.

I dive down, the wind soft against my feathers.

I grab the bunny, it’s fur soft in my talons.

I am the queen of the jungle, And nothing can stop me.

A BARN OWL STORY Sienna Cook | Grade 3, Boise Once upon a time, there lived a barn owl. She was sitting in a pile of flowers.

Some bees were buzzing. Hummingbirds were going around doing their business.

She was having such a good day, until her mom yelled, “Come up here to our nest, please.”

“Okay.” They eat breakfast. It tastes good. They ate mice, yum. They go to a party. They ate voles and mice.

Then she and her mom go home to their nest. She snuggles into her nest and goes to sleep.

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THE LONE OWL Christian Cook | Grade 6, Boise Ash Lava Rock Fire Burnt Evil The owl looks as though it is the center of it all Ash Lava Rock Fire Burnt Evil The owl feels alone, it is his fault that he is in this wrecked world Ash Lava Rock Fire Burnt Evil There is no escape escape escape

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ODE TO THE APLOMADO FALCON Angela Ogas | Grade 5, Boise The aplomado falcon, the size of a small cactus, as cute as a mouse eating cheese, stares at you while sitting on a wooden pole.

Grasslands and savannahs are where they live.

The tan on him is as tan as the savannah, his brownish black is like a cave barely lit.

The aplomado falcon is my favorite bird.

THE RED-TAILED HAWK ODE Brady Mehr | Grade 6, Nampa His beak so sharp like a knife.

The head’s color just like a pretzel.

His strict personality could be like a principal’s.

The eyes so dark they look like an opening of night.

His chest, it looks like red sand.

The beautiful wings could be just like the color of chocolate cake.

Under his wings are stripes like a zebra, and so Long like a patterned snake going across each side of his body.

His tail the color of deep red sandstone.

The long body just like a giraffe’s neck.

His talons so long and sharp like a saw.

He’s looking at me, his body grooving like a dancer.

He is so amazing, just like a good ancient artifact.

As I look at Finn, I feel amazed because he Looks so interesting and beautiful.

I just look surprised while he moves Around and looks at me.

Ever since I have seen him, I’ve grown an interest in red-tailed hawks.

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BLACK Atticus Hitesman | Grade 4, Boise Unciphered Everything is as marvelous as this world.

Flawed, but beautiful.

They are Sci-Fi. They are stories.

They are people.

Ciphered (Atbat) Vevibgsrmt rl zl nzievolth rl gsrh dliow Uozdvw xfg xvzfgruto Gsvb ziv hxrur Gsvb ziv hglirvh Gsvb ziv kulkov

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PEREGRINE FALCON ODE Eleanor Hollopeter | Grade 3, Boise He’s as fast as a rocket shooting through the atmosphere. His stripes are like a running cheetah. His eyes twinkle like a star above the sky, swooping down to a lizard, no match for his strength. Flying back to his nest in the cliff, his beak as shiny as gold. He eats his prey in five minutes. The peregrine falcon is awesome.

ODE TO MURPHY Clara Hollopeter | Grade 3, Boise Murphy is as quiet as a mouse and is as still as a painting. He is also as gray as a dark cloud. His water is as fast as a falcon. He is also as colorful as a tornado and as cute as a kitten. He is also as awesome as this camp!

THE BLANKET Robert Bae (Kanghyeon Bae) | Grade 7, Meridian My brother Pierce who loved his own blanket so much could not sleep without it. His friend, who he met for the first time in a sports camp, came to visit Pierce’s house. Since Pierce had his big bright blue hammock for sleeping, his friend asked, “Can I get in the hammock that you have?”

Pierce hesitated, then said, “Yes.” When he climbed up and laid down in his hammock, his blanket got ripped in half! Sitting down crying, his friend told Pierce that he would buy another blanket. However, Pierce refused, and his friend went home.

Pierce cried all day long.

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DREAD Hudson Ouchley | Grade 9, Boise Dread runs through everyone’s blood.

Dread seeps like water to fabric.

We all live but dread lurks.

Empty is the night where a dread passes.

Dread enters the darkest corner of the mind.

Without dread the world is dry.

Dread attacks like an army of serpents.

Even the strongest of minds battle dread.

You don’t notice dread like the eyes on your face.

I can’t see now; it’s raining dread.

Dread is everywhere but nowhere.

Dread flows like the rain of a long past day.

It’s in my house now, dread that is.

We all live with dread.

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KEY Chiaki Kakiuchi | Grade 9, Boise Each of us has our own unique door.

Nobody else but you has the right to open the door. Only you know how to open the door. You can never see anything without opening the door.

Many people only wish the door would open automatically, but do nothing. Actually everyone has to open the door for themselves. Now, it’s time for you to open the door …..

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THE NOTE Fred Guill | Grade 9, Boise One morning Ted was walking outside his house to go get his mail. He opened the box and saw a letter from an unknown address. Ted was very confused so he rushed back inside and opened the note.

“I don’t think you know me but I know you. I’ve been watching you for a couple of days now and you do have one amusing life.”

Ted was confused because he hasn’t gone outside in a while, today was the first day he’s gone outside. He checked outside and saw an owl. It looked so real he grabbed a rock and hunted the strange bird. He hit it and it fell over. He picked it up and it had one glowing eye. He took it back inside and put it on its side not knowing what was going to happen. The next morning Ted woke up and saw a hologram standing in front of him. It said, “Hello Ted you have been chosen.” The man held out his hand and had something in it. Ted was hit by something and taken never to be seen again.

A MANGO AND A CLOCK Molly Steenhoven | Grade 8, Boise There is a little man, living lonelier than you. He resides in the sticky sweet insides of a mango. The walls glow, illuminating his sadness, while he sits and sulks, strangled by sweetness, but the little man lives in a mango, and when living in a mango there is nothing to do but gorge yourself sick.

There was a little man, living more lost than you. He lives in a clock, a tick tick tick devouring his waking hours. The dust dries him out. He is dreary and dismal, oh so hungry. But he lives in a clock, so there is nothing to do but starve.

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ROCKING CHAIR Rose Murphy | Grade 8, Boise Mama waved from the driver’s seat of her old grey Subaru. Her long brown hair blowing in the warm wind. She turned on the ignition and the exhaust caught in my throat, forcing me to cough. The evening heat made ripped jeans stick to my legs as I sat in Aunt Sarah’s creaky rocking chair on the front porch, squinting to wave back at Mama, my only light from the moon. I can hear crickets chirping in the distance, reminding me of all the long summer days Mama and I would work in the field to make enough money to pay rent. Collapsing on the twin bed we shared in our two-room apartment once the day’s work was done. We would run around in the sprinklers playing tag, and then lay a soft blue blanket down and look up at the stars. Mama always said that’s why we moved to the country. To be able to look at the stars, with no looming buildings in the way. I remind myself Mama isn’t running away. She’s doing this because she loves me. She wants us to have a better future, with an actual house, and separate beds. She’ll be back soon enough , and then everything will be fine. I looked at her one last time and her blue eyes almost seemed to sparkle.

“Goodbye! See you in six months!” She yells, grinning at me.

Mama never came back.

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MIRROR, A MEMOIR Shiloh Van Bussum | Grade 8, Boise Day one truck, bubble wrap, stop, go concrete, man, lifting, ringing answer, drop off, unwrap, setup Week one loud noise, family, children parents dress, new shoes, silly face, spin pictures, writing, lights, plants month one moved, big room, bed, woman bookshelf, lamp, dresser, man smiles, sleep, work, dancing Year one moved, small room, TV, woman couch, closet, kitchen, window friends, movies, laughter, jumping Year five moved, big house, same girl, dog struggle, tears, bills, fear party, relax, giggle, watch Year ten broken, shattered, dropped, lost cold, dark, sad, lonely moved, gone, light, peace

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DEAD Aberdeen Sanchez | Grade 8, Boise Harriet died yesterday. The next morning she woke up on the floor of her apartment, dead. She stood up and looked in the bathroom mirror of her dead face, her dead hands, and her dead body.

She walked out of her apartment and felt the cool wind blow on her limp carcass.

She walked to a woman standing in the street.

“I am dead,” she said to the woman. “I am trapped here on Earth and I don’t know how to get out.”

Harriet decided to try to leave Earth. She walked home and stabbed her corpse in the chest. She was found the next morning, dead.

SEASONS Marcus Aguilar | Grade 8, Boise The hot sun beams down onto the street. A man and his wife are on the way to a pool, they have money, snacks and are thirsty to jump into the water. As they arrive nobody is there. “Is it closed?” The man says. “Stay in the car,” he says. Gray clouds start to form as he walks up the hot dry steps. As he steps in there is suddenly a whole line of kids and he looks toward the pool. It is sunny. He takes a step out. But it is now snowing. “What?” He said. He steps back in. It is sunny again. He steps out and it is now fall. Steps in still sunny, steps out. It is spring. It is as though the earth and outside world is aging and the pool is not. A place stuck in time. He looks at himself in a nearby mirror. He is also aged. Going from a 25-year-old man to a 57-year-old grandpa. He walks out to the diving board getting laughs and stares. He jumps. He looks around and sees that his wife is there with him too. He tries to swim up but can’t. The top is like a glass cover. Now he and his wife are stuck. In the never-ending pool.

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SUMMER BREEZE Rio Kitamura | Grade 7, Boise Imagine a sky that goes on forever, splattered with thick black ink.

Look around at all the plants, the flowers, the leaves, wildly waving.

Look at a little child raising its tiny hands in the air happily in its stroller cart.

The sun, lighting up the whole planet. The world.

It brings birth and life.

Deliver smiles and sends energy.

Leaves to light up the other side of the world but never forgets us and comes back the next day.

The sun does a lot of things for us that goes unnoticed.

I feel grateful for all the things that I take for granted.

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OTTO THE OCTOPUS Charlie Bevis | Grade 5, Boise

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FRIEND! Ridley Bevis | Grade 5, Boise

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AN ERASER’S PESSIMISTIC VIEW ON REALITY Rehema Sadiki | Grade 7, Boise Excruciating pain jolts through me, gnawing at every fiber of my being, and I watch as the lower half of my body is once again rubbed into oblivion, reduced to nothing more than lint. Abruptly, the horrible sensation grinds to a halt. I am left with a feeling of cold emptiness, knowing I am less whole than I was mere seconds ago.

What is the purpose of my existence? Why do I live, only to face suffering time and time again? My bout of self-pity is interrupted, however, for I can feel the grubby, meaty hands of death grab my sides, furiously squeezing, squeezing, SQUEEZING – . . . What’s this?

I’ve been spared. I look to the vast sky, fluorescent lights looking back at me. I lay still, aware that this tranquility is fleeting– But even so, I rest, enjoying the sound of scribbling utensils.

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SALTY AIR, LONELY TOWN Rehema Sadiki | Grade 7, Boise

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I AM Sloan Flanigan | Grade 7, Boise I am the call of the powerful peregrine falcon.

I am the fear of not knowing how to help.

I am the buzzing warmth of the solemn beehive.

I am the glaciers that carve the everlasting mountains.

I am the invincible strength of the unearthly blackhole.

I am the invisible details of nature’s wonders.

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PICKLE CAT AND PIE DOG Max Wyatt | Grade 8, Boise

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THE VALLEY OF THE FALLING SUN Brynn Hobbs | Grade 7, Meridian

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BEATING Scarlet Townsend | Grade 7, Boise

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THE DANCING PUFFIN Matthew Jenkins | Grade 7, Boise

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MISCHIEF IN THE AIR Allison Chen | Grade 7, Boise

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BUMBLE BEE BUZZING ALONG Jackson Radford | Grade 8, Boise

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OPHELIA Bentley Garrett | Grade 8, Meridian

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MEAN GIRLS AT THE MALL Emerson Duke | Grade 3, Boise

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CHUBBY CHIPMUNK Emily Cantlon and Cori Kane | Grade 3, Eagle and Meridian

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THE RAINBOW DUET Mallory Chaney | Grade 4, Boise

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THE TRAIL Beau Blumenfeld | Grade 5, Boise

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AN APPLE DIARY Naomi Ens | Grade 4, Boise I am done for.

This girl is gonna eat me but at least I have these last horrible minutes to live.

Taken from my home in a tree, peacefully waiting to fall down.

After I was picked, I was put in a basket with a lot of other apples.

And here I am now. Great.

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THE ROSE FOUNTAIN Emma Rose Story | Grade 4, Boise

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ORCHID Addi Goodhew | Grade 4, Boise Orchid was a small girl, who lived in a small home, in a small field of flowers. It was spring, her favorite season. She breathed in the warm air. She smelled the scent of her mom making pancakes. She got out of bed and got dressed. Her mom’s perfume smelled of spring trees. Her life was sort of lonely but she was used to it being just her and her mom.

“Breakfast, Orchid,” her mom called.

“Coming!” she replied.

After Orchid ate, she went outside. There were a bunch of deer and chipmunks.

She named two in particular: Grace the deer and Marie the chipmunk. This was just another ordinary day in the life of Orchid.

THE END

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THE PLANT TORNADO WITH THE GROVE PLAZA Skylar Chaney | Grade 3, Boise

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I AM Ainsley Chalfant | Grade 4, Boise

Most people think I am a quiet little thing and I am but I am strong. I like to win.

I am victory. I am a rule follower. I am the quietest one in class but whenever I get home my feelings run out like a smile. All that happened that day. School’s out. Competitive me is out, I mean. I love to win. I’ve won a competition five years in a row. Golf, swimming, soccer, basketball, skiing, tennis, and more. Never broke a bone. Strong from the start. Half of me. The other is quiet and hard working. That’s what people think, but they don’t know the rest. I am quiet, competitive, nice, straight-A student, and fun.

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Acknowledgements Summer Writing Camps at The Cabin touch the lives of hundreds of student writers and adults each summer due to the talent of our teaching-writers, the generosity of funders, and the gifts of time and support from volunteers, interns, board members, and community partners.

Thank you to teaching-writers Colleen Brennan, Sonya Feibert, Meg Freitag, Desmond Fuller, Chris Mathers Jackson, Heidi Kraay, Aurora Mehlman, Hannah Phillips, Hannah Rodabaugh, Daisy Rosenstock, Daniel Stewart, and Tracy Sunderland.

Many thanks to our 2023 interns, camper-support assistants, teaching-assistants, and Cabin staff: Sierra Culver, Avery Gendler, Nina Franscella, Darien Smartt, Fiona Van De Graaff, Aidan Cahill, Caryl Bawens, Josh Edwards, Hillery Honora, Nicole Force, Amaia Gavica, Eloisa Harper, Taryn Davis, Kaela Fretwell, Becca Gurnee, Paige Porter, Prisca Hermene, Everett Millles, Eve Barry, Adie Bartron, Hillary Bilinski, Hillary Colton, Chris DeVore, Gen Emerson, Jordyn Marcroft, Emmy Parton, Joel Wayne, Megan Williams, and Kurt Zwolfer.

A special thanks to Albertsons Library at Boise State University, Zoo Boise, World Center for Birds of Prey, Boise Art Museum, and Flying M Coffeehouse.

Writing Camps and publication of MegaZine are made possible by generous support from the Whittenberger Foundation, The Idaho Commission on the Arts, National Endowment for the Arts, Idaho Community Foundation, Academy of American Poets, Amazon Literary Partnership, and Ball Ventures Ahlquist.

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Teaching-Writer Biographies Colleen Brennan is a freelance writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher with an MA in linguistics. Her stories appear in the Boise Weekly, Writers in the Attic, and A Year in Ink. A native Minnesotan, she has lived and worked in San Diego, Boulder, Paris, Bordeaux, and Boise. She is the recipient of a literary arts grant from the Alexa Rose Foundation.

Sonya Feibert (she/her) is a writer, comedian, and improvisor who’s tried out too many jokes on her dog (Chloe is unimpressed). She’s completed humor and sketch writing courses through NYU, Second City, Hoopla, St. Nell’s, Thurber House, and more. Her writing appears in the Writers in the Attic anthology: Rupture, Dovetail Literary Magazine, The Belladonna Comedy, Slackjaw Humor, and more. In 2021, she was awarded an Alexa Rose Grant, and in 2022 received a grant from the Idaho Commission on the Arts. Learn more at yesandsome.com.

Meg Freitag is the author of the poetry collection Edith, and This Is a Book for People Who Love Dogs, an illustrated work of nonfiction. She’s a graduate of UT Austin’s Michener Center for Writers and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Originally from midcoast Maine, she now lives in Boise, Idaho with her partner, Mark, and two perfect dogs.

Desmond Everest Fuller holds a BA in English and Spanish from Portland State University and an MFA in fiction from Boise State University. He was the associate editor of The Idaho Review, a 2021 Glenn Balch Award finalist, and a 2023 Sun Valley Writers Conference Fellow. His fiction is forthcoming and appears in literary journals such as Grist, Indiana Review, Peauxdunque Review, Aquifer: The Florida Review online, Hawaii Pacific Review, West Trade Review, The Gravity of the Thing, and elsewhere.

Chris Mathers Jackson is a freelance writer and editor, an aspiring novelist, a teacher, a mom, an artist, and a lover of the natural world. Chris received her MA in English Literature from University of Montana in 2005. She taught English Composition at UM for three years before leaving to work with younger learners. She worked in the administration of Missoula International School for a number of years before becoming a full-time freelance writer, editor, and graphic designer. After several years, she stopped doing design work professionally to focus on her growing family and her passion for the written word. In 2019 she established a book review website (LitReaderNotes.com). She writes creative nonfiction and fiction, usually with a focus 109

on environmental writing, and has been working on a novel since 2020. In addition to teaching, writing, and editing, Chris enjoys spending as much time outside as possible, adventuring both near and far, with her husband and two daughters.

Playwright and writer across disciplines Heidi Kraay examines the link between brain and body, seeking empathy with fractured characters. Her work pulls myth, metaphor, and monsters together to discover connections across difference. Plays include Unwind: Hindsight is 2020, see in the dark, How to Hide Your Monster, New Eden, and Kilgore, as well as co-devised plays, one-acts, plays for young audiences and short plays. Her work has been presented in Boise, regionally, in NYC and internationally, most recently through the Last Frontier Theatre Conference, MING Studios, Mission at Tenth’s podcast Artifact, Boise Contemporary Theater, Storyfort, Climate Change Theatre Action, The Bechdel Group, West of Lenin Theatre, Spark! Creative Works, and Oregon Contemporary Theatre. Recent publications include Smith & Kraus and Magical Women Magazine. Heidi holds an MFA in Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts from California Institute of Integral Studies and is a proud member of the Dramatists Guild of America. www.heidikraay.com Aurora Mehlman is an emerging fiction writer who works with The Cabin, College of Western Idaho, and Boise State University teaching classes in Creative Writing, English, and Digital Arts. She is also active in her local community. Mehlman is staff at Treefort’s Storyfort, where she organizes and facilitates great programming from both local acts and visiting authors, and she is the co-director of the Bishop’s House Writing Collective. Recently, she has been published in 45th Parallel and Boise Weekly, and she shared her stories at the Idaho Botanical Garden, Scaryfort, and Story Story Night’s Grand Slam. Mehlman is currently at work on a novel.

Hannah Lucille Phillips is a fiction writer from the Endless Mountains region of Pennsylvania. She has BAs in creative writing and English education. Currently, she is working on her first novel while serving as the associate editor of the Idaho Review. Her debut TV pilot OUT is in post-production through BSU’s NTVI (Narrative Television Initiative) and will premiere in early 2024.

Hannah Rodabaugh holds an MA from Miami University and an MFA from Naropa University. She is the author of three chapbooks, including We Don’t Bury Our Dead When Our Dead Are Animals, a collection of Pushcart-nominated ecological elegies.

Her writing is featured or forthcoming in The Indianapolis Review, Camas Magazine, Glassworks Magazine, Blueline Magazine, Wild Roof Journal, EcoTheo Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, and others. She has been an artist-in-residence for the National Park Service and the Bureau of Land Management and received a 2024 Literature Fellowship from the Idaho Commission on the Arts. When not writing, she volunteers for the Golden Eagle Audubon Society. She teaches at Boise State University and The Cabin.

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Daisy Clar Rosenstock is a third year poetry MFA student at Boise State University.

When not writing or reading, she can be found daydreaming about abandoned houses or chatting with the local dying pine tree.

Daniel Stewart, a poet, is the author of the collection The Imaginary World, and a teaching-writer for The Cabin’s Writers in the Schools. A Pushcart Prize nominee, he won the Erskine J. Poetry Prize from Smartish Pace, and has published in BOAAT, Graviton Lit, NightBlock, Prairie Schooner, Puerto Del Sol, RATTLE, Sixfold, Skidrow Penthouse, Thrush Poetry Journal, Yes Poetry, and elsewhere.

Tracy Sunderland loves storytelling and the particular demands of writing plays and screenplays. Her short films have won multiple festival awards and her first feature film script Tailor played in festivals all over the world and won the 2021 Best Screenplay award at Festival 36 Mostra de Valencia in Spain. Tracy holds an MA in filmmaking from London Film School and received the 2015 Fellowship in Filmmaking from the Idaho Commission on the Arts. She also teaches at Boise State University and received the Adjunct Faculty of the Year Award in 2015.

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Index A Aariv Prashant 61 Aberdeen Sanchez 82 Abigail Porter 16 Addie Herzfeld 31 Addie Tuggle 28 Addi Goodhew 103 Aiden Mehr 69 Ainsley Chalfant 105 Alie Lewis 10 Aliyah Bohren 21 Allison Chen 93

Brooke Warmuth 68 Brynn Hobbs 7, 90

C Charlie Bevis 84 Chiaki Kakiuchi 78 Christian Cook 73 Clara Hollopeter 76 Claudia Burton 23 Cori Kane 97 Cosette Wise 20

D

Fred Guill 79

G Gabriel Cochran 70

H Harper Hamilton 58 Helen Zhang 48 Hudson Ouchley 77

I Ira Scrima 46 Isabilla Getchell 32 Izzy Wingert 47

Amália Szegedi 59

Daisy Brewton 11

Anabel Kapoor 42

Declan Timpane 27

J

E

Jackson Radford 94

Eleanor Hollopeter 76

K

Angela Ogas 74 Asher Wulf 27 Athreya Iyer 9 Atticus Hitesman 50, 75 Audrey Reynolds 29 Averey Alger 33

Elinor Pense 28 Elizabeth Blier 27 Ella Kapoor 63

Kaavya Venigalla 8 Katy Brewton 20

Emerson Duke 96

L

Emerson Woods 19

Laila Herstein 34

Beau Blumenfeld 99

Emily Cantlon 97

Laina Wiliams 54

Bentley Garrett 95

Emma Rose Story 102

Layla Bohren 21

F

Lily Lim 14

B

Betty Clark 23 Betty Russell 28 Brady Mehr 74 112

Finn Sellery 49

Lily Newcomb 37 Liza Galitsyna 60

M Madeline Kline 35 Maeve Timpane 29 Maggie Morehead 25 Maiya Virani 64 Mallory Chaney 98 Marcus Aguilar 82

Ronin Guill 13 Rose Murphy 80 Rose Ritzer 69 Rossella Iasevoli 13

V Violet Swarthout 7 Vivian Gendler 51

Ruby Freeman 12

W

Ruby Ritzer 62

William Woods 30

Ryland Keith 24

Y

Margo Sword 55

S

Marlies Royer 66

Saioa Freddoso 65

Matt Burke 22

Scarlet Townsend 91

Matthew Jenkins 92

Serena Boddie 45, 72

Zadie Garcia Rebel 38

Max Wyatt 89

Shaoyu Paul Zhang 36

Zoey Reynolds 18

Mia Barth 57

Shiloh Van Bussum 81

Michael Torkelson 26

Sienna Cook 72

Molly Steenhoven 79

Sienna Kirk 39

N

Simon Otanicar 15

Naomi Ens 100 Neil Prashant 56 Nikolai Schwartsman 18

R Rehema Sadiki 86, 87 Ria Prashant 52 Ridley Bevis 85 Rio Kitamura 83 Robert Bae (Kanghyeon Bae) 76

Yi Chen Su 41

Z

Skylar Chaney 104 Sloan Flanigan 88 Summer (Rose) Quinn-Hennessy 17 Sylvia Strop 31

T Taylor Reynolds 67 Tess Larson 8 Toby Royer 44 Tony Pantera 30

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MegaZine 2 0 2 3 Summer Writing Camps

The Cabin is a Boise, Idaho literary arts organization. We forge community through the voices of all readers, writers, and learners. Writing Camps nurture the imagination and awaken the senses through creative adventures in the art of writing.

THE WAY THE WORLD GOES ROUND

Summer (Rose) Quinn-Hennessy | Grade 5, Boise Have you ever thought what the world would be like if everyone was kind? If everyone shared. If, if the world was a place of harmony? We can make it a place of happiness, a place of forgiveness, a place where things grow and things pass.

The World is always changing