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Cracked by Lia Stultz (grade 7)

Attention

This story includes/mentions/contains events connected to suicide. This content has been left in as part of the story to remain true to the author''s writing. HOWEVER, please know this is a sensitive topic and may not be suitable for all readers or those impacted by this topic. Note: This story was previously credited as being authored by a different student. Thank you for bringing this to our attention!

Cracked

“See you, my dearest friend. It could’ve been a good life.”

Those were the last words my best friend said to me. And then he jumped. I never noticed how his smile would fade, how he would turn away from me and say he needed to go the bathroom when he was really crying, but I was too blind to see. I didn’t see until it was too late. Until he was gone.

I really tried. I tried to be a good friend. But now all I can think about is the days when we would fight. The days when I was too caught up in my own problems to see his. Too dumb to see how broken he really was, too dumb to see that he needed someone. That he was cracked.

I remember the day when I realized something was wrong. The day when he jumped. That day we had decided to go watch the stars. He loved the stars. They made him think of his mom. This one night was especially clear outside, and we went to the field behind my house. We ran to the spot we always did and he spread out his favorite blanket. The off white one with the tiny little orange and black basketballs all over. We were laying on the blanket, looking at the stars. They were really bright. I could see almost every constellation he pointed out to me. “You know how sometimes someone is so good at hiding how broken they are? How they can smile and laugh but it’s not real? They’re really just pretending? How sometimes their broken pieces start to stab them, but no one sees? But then they don’t want to burden anyone else, so they just let the broken shards stab further and further.” He looked at me waiting for an answer, and I just nodded, then looked away. I realize now that was his call for help. He needed me, and I wasn’t there. I should’ve done more.

He said he was just driving home. He had left his bright blue water bottle, which I knew he would need the next day. I tried calling him, but he didn’t respond. His house was 5 minutes away, so I decided to just drop it off. I turned on my car, put his bright blue water bottle into my cup holder, and turned on the radio. Before You Go by Lewis Capaldi was on. How incredibly ironic. I was singing along and driving across the bridge, the one that made me nervous. I was paying close attention because of the fear I felt. You know, those irrational fears? And that was when I saw him. Sobbing, sitting on the very edge of the bridge. I pulled to the side immediately and ran to him.

“CAMRON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I screamed those words. I can still hear them. I gripped the edge of the wood tightly. I had splinters the next day. Not that I would have known. He smiled at me. One of those sad smiles, one of the smiles that you know will be the last smile of theirs you’ll ever see. He nodded at a small piece of white paper. “That’s for you.” His smile faded away, as it had before when I was blind. “Camron please…” I whispered. “Too late.” He whispered back. He then stared at me for a while and then stood up. I should’ve called 911. Should’ve done something. But no, I didn’t do that until after he was gone. “See you, my dearest friend. It could’ve been a good life.” That’s when I realized he wasn’t cracked. He was broken. Completely and utterly shattered. And me, his best friend, couldn’t see that. And then, he jumped.

I opened the letter the next day when I woke up.

“Hey there. I must have finally let go if you’re reading this. I know that I’ve probably hurt you, jumping like I have. But I couldn’t hold on anymore. It was too much. I’ve been trying. I really have been. But sometimes the world around us is overbearing. I want you to remember me like I was before I became broken, okay? I know you’ll be asking yourself what you could have done. (there really was nothing, I’ve been gone for a while.) Just remember me as the boy who would chase you around you’re house until you fell over. As the boy who loved stars and basketball. That’s all I ask. I want to write more, but I can’t. I’m already crying. See you, my dearest friend. It could’ve been a good life.”

And then, I really, truly, cracked.

Photos by Grace Golay

Dylan Walker

Taylor Lallemand

Mykensey Loker

Scott Curran

Benjamin Morneault

Harlan Haller

Ainslie Allan

Sadira Jones

Sloane Redan

David Glaiver

Elsa Sullivan

Bridget Jacobsen

The Watch

A short story by Kate Swallow, Grade 7

The Watch

A survival story

I looked down at my used to be bright red converse. They stood strong and tall as I made my way up the Abol trail, which the park rangers told me was best.

“The Abol trail is the best one by far!” One ranger told me, with his eyes full of excitement.

“Really? How come?” I asked as I slowed down on my bike.

“Yes!” He said, “It’s both the fastest and the most popular trail to the summit for miles around. You should look us up on Twitter, it has AMAZING reviews.”

“I’m not so sure... I was planning on going on one of the longer trails so that I could bring my bike with me” I replied, as I slowly turned around to leave. This guy was giving me the creeps, I mean who stops you and tries to make you go on a certain trail? This guy I suppose.

“Wait!” He said, with fear that I was leaving. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you climb the Abol trail and don’t like it,” he screeched out the last words. This made me stop in my tracks and think. Sure I wanted to spend my time at Baxter with my bike, but I had run out of cash at my last stop at McDonald’s and I was desperate and needed the money to get back home. If this guy was offering me money, I had to take it.

“Three hundred and we have a deal,” I said, as I glared back at the guy.

“Deal,” he said and then offered his hand in order to confirm the deal.

“Sorry, Coronavirus,” I said, backing up a bit.

“Of course, sorry” He replied, with an apologetic smile and a wipe on his pants as if it magically cleaned his hands. I knew this guy was for-real based on the empathy he showed when I called him out on safety during this pandemic. I felt bad for him, though. He must have a lot of demons to be offering three hundred dollars to me. So I walked over to the bike rack and chained my bike. My hands were shaking as I did. I remember thinking as I left my bike behind that it felt like a betrayal. A betrayal of my beautiful bright red bike to be left behind.

I walked and walked up the abol trail without my bike. Flowers and grass cluttered the edges of the trails, along with tall sturdy oak trees. I remember this as I climb closer and closer toward the summit, tears glistened in my eyes as I took the final step onto the summit. And then the tears were gone as soon as I saw the sign on top of the pile of rocks. I made it.

Happy beyond words, I smiled and looked out at the magnificent view of Baxter State Park. I stood there for a while just looking out at the view. It was so impressive and surreal. I hadn’t expected this type of wow factor. Nobody would unless they’ve been there. For about fifteen minutes I looked for familiar landmarks and mountains. I found Hamlin Peak to the north and North Brother to the northeast. Whenever I found one, I would give myself a triumphant smile and fist pump into the air. I opened my moldy color of a green backpack and grabbed myself a granola bar. I checked my map for a proper way down as I ate my granola bar. Occasionally, I looked out at the magnificent view which has, after thousands of years, stayed elegant and untouched by the human population’s growing world.

I was so busy figuring out how to get back down quickly and safely using my grid map, I barely noticed there was a big storm coming toward Baxter. Then as if my day could get any worse, when I took my watch out of my bag to check the time, I fumbled it and it landed near the very edge of the cliff. The next couple of moments were a blur. I remember walking toward the watch so that I wouldn’t stumble or cause it to fall off the cliff. I felt as if I was in slow motion, leaping onto the ground in order to grab it before it fell. I saw it fall slowly down the cliff and disappear underneath the fog. I recall laying on the ground in disbelief before a realization hit me: I had just lost my great-grandfather's watch. Not just any watch either: The watch. That watch that has been handed down through generation and generation. I decided then and there I was going to get that watch back.

I started climbing down the side of Mt. Katahdin with my scooter helmet and mouldy green backpack secured on me so that they won’t fall off. I agree, it seems like an ignorant decision to be climbing down Mt. Katahdin with no safety gear whatsoever and just my wits to guide me, but you would travel to the ends of the earth for that watch too if you knew its story...

In 1941, my great grandfather was hiding in a polish family’s attic. It had been two years since he went into hiding and the Nazis were beginning to investigate the grand countryside that covered hundreds of acres in Poland’s East. The Wiśniewskis, the Polish family that was hiding my great grandfather, were very smart and knew that if they hid my great grandfather any longer, they would be caught and all of them would be slaughtered. So, they made a plan to move my great grandfather to Britain, which was still an allied country. One night, they planned how to move my great grandfather to Prague, where he would go through Vienna and Italy and then to France, where he would then board a boat to Britain. At that point, Britain may not accept his visa and deny entry to the country, but it was the only plan they had.

The night my great grandfather was supposed to travel to Prague, hidden underneath the floorboards of the wagon, he grew very frightened. He feared that they would be caught and killed on the spot. He was afraid to put the Wiśniewski’s, who so kindly housed and fed him, in danger. As my great grandfather began to crawl underneath the floorboards of the wagon, he hesitated. Alfred Wiśniewski, who was only a few years younger than my great grandfather and who had grown very close to him during his hiding, came over to my great grandfather. Alfred took off his watch and said to my great grandfather,

“Abram, I want you to have this.”

“Your watch?” Abram said in disbelief. “No I couldn’t, Alfred! I know what that watch means to you... to your family.”

“Abram…” Alfred said “You need it much more than me. With this watch nobody can ever harm you. Thats why you lasted so long in the attic of our house, hurting you would only hurt me. However, it does hold a certain curse where if the person loses touch within their hearts with the person who gave it to them, then it doesn’t protect the ones you love most.” My great grandfather was still not persuaded. Alfred kneeled down and put the watch around Abram’s wrist.

“Be brave Abram. Courage is the only thing they can never take away from you,” he said as he let go of my great grandfather’s wrist. Tears glistened in both men’s eyes. During Abrams' two years of hiding they had grown very close and now they may never see each other again. A moment passed between them, and then finally, with a heavy heart, Abram started to walk away. He nodded at Alfred before he crawled underneath the floorboards of the wagon.

Abram made it all the way to Britain, where they accepted his visa and let him into the country. After the war, Abram returned to Poland looking for Alfred. Unfortunately, shortly after my great grandfather had escaped, Alfred and the rest of the Wiśniewski’s died in a Nazi bombing attack...

The air grew colder and colder the further down I climbed. I was about thirty feet below the katahdin trail sign and the view was still magnificent, but I was too scared to enjoy it simply because I was absolutely petrified of heights. The fear began after a terrifying experience at funtown splashtown that will leave me scared for the rest of my life... However, that is a story for another time.

As I continued to climb, something became clear to me: Once I found the watch, how was I supposed to get back up to the summit? With no safety gear whatsoever, an oncoming storm, and not many wits to guide me, how was I supposed to get back up? Would I continue down instead, hoping I found a trail I could use to get back down to the bottom? And if I did, would I have the arm strength to get to the bottom, or was it simply safer to climb back up to the summit? I have always been prone to overthinking, but If I wanted to survive this trip to Baxter State Park, then I would have to think fast and not question myself.

Suddenly a metallic flash crossed my eye. My watch? It had to be! What other things on the side of a cliff were metallic? I climbed in the direction of the flash, towards the overhang that formed a small cave. The cave was just big enough for two people to spread out comfortably. It was surrounded by dirt and small chunks of grass here and there, unnoticeable to anyone if they weren’t climbing where I was. When I got inside the cave, a very difficult task since the overhang was very large and the cave was tucked back a couple of feet away. I saw the metallic flash again. This time, however, it came from the direction of the very back of the cave. At first, I was frightened to go over there, but I remembered the promise I made to myself earlier and I knew that I had to continue walking to the back of the small cave. I walked over to the end of the cave and wouldn’t you know? It was my great grandfather’s watch! And it was as good as new, too! I was so happy that I started punching the air in victory. Unfortunately, I was so unaware of what I was doing that a couple of my punches hit the wall. Suddenly, rocks began to fall , kicking up dust. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, I was trapped in the little cave with only my scooter helmet, my backpack filled with my supplies, my great grandfather's watch, and my wits to save me.

“Oh no,” I said out loud to nobody in particular. I was right, this was not good at all. My knuckles were covered with dark red blood, but I wasn’t thinking about that now. I was panicking and desperately needed a way out of this cave. “What am I going to do? How will I survive?” I started to ask myself. “There must be something in my bag that can help.” I crawled over to my bag and opened it. There was nothing in my bag to help me out whatsoever. “So what can I do now?” I said to myself. The panic had dialed down and now I was just looking for a way out. “Maybe, I should move the rocks…” I said out loud to myself, and realized that It was a great idea... no not just great, an amazing idea!

I started moving the boulders out of the way. After about twenty minutes of exhausting physical labor, which felt like hours upon hours, I had moved all of the boulders. Unfortunately with that freedom came new consequences. For one, the floor and walls of the overhang were incredibly weak and could collapse on me at any given moment. Also, there wasn’t much floor space left because the boulders took quite a lot of it when I pushed them off the side of the cliff. So, I had only one option: move! Because I knew it was going to snow soon, I put on a jacket, a pair of gloves and a hat underneath my scooter helmet. I threw my great grandfather's watch in my bag. I strapped my bag on tightly and placed my scooter helmet on my head. I was ready to climb back up to the summit.

The climb was tiring and gruesome. Half way up, it started to snow and then my hands started to get cold even though I had reminded myself to wear my gloves. The dirt and grass were almost frozen, making those sections easier to climb. The rocks on the other hand, with the snow falling down on them, were the silent killers. I slipped and lost my grip a couple of times on their icy surface and I even banged my elbow against the rocks once or twice. However, somehow I always managed to grab the frozen grass or a rock before I fell down the side of Mt. Katahdin. The snow made my long dirty blonde hair wet and icy. It made me shiver with each step. Even though the odds were against me, I slowly got closer and closer toward the summit. And then I placed a hand on the top of the summit. And then another. Then a leg. And then, finally, I pulled myself up right next to the katahdin trail sign. It was covered in ice, but I could still read it. Despite the windy and stormy cold; which would make anybody with half a brain run back down the mountain. I looked out at the magnificent view and recalled the adventure I just had. If somebody had told me that I would be fighting for my life later that day, I surely would have laughed. But it happened... And I survived it.

After the adventure I just had, I wanted to get home as quickly as possibly, so, after checking my map, I decided I would take the Abol trail down again because I already knew how to get back down. I didn’t want to get lost or have another near death experience. So, I started to run down the Abol trail to get my bike and go home.

When I reached the bike racks, I saw the same park ranger from earlier that morning. He seemed to recognize me too, because when he saw me he said,

“Aren’t you that girl that I made that deal with?” looking at me with curiosity.

“Yep, I am,” I replied.

“Yes, I remembered you with your dirty blond hair and bright red bike,” he told me.

“So did you like the Abol trail?” he asked with both excitement and fear. He worried that he was going to lose three hundred dollars.

“Oh yes!” I told him. “It was a very fun trail,” I added with a smirk on my face. It only almost got me killed, that’s all. I wanted to say to him, but I didn’t.

“Well I suppose that I owe you three hundred dollars then,” he said with a heavy sigh. He then reached into his wallet and handed the money to me. I looked at the money in my hand and instead of keeping it, I gave him half of the money back. He looked surprised.

“I don’t need it all,” I said to him. He still looked unsure and I added, “You need it much more than I do.” He smiled, and tucked the money back into his wallet as I did the same. After that, I grabbed my bike off the bike rack and started to get ready to ride back home.

“Wait!” the guy said and I turned around.

“I never got your name, what is it?”

With a smile, I replied, “Alfred... Alfred Swollow” And then with that said, I jumped on my bike and started to peddle back home.

And in case you were wondering, I still have that watch.

The end.

Moon Phases and Landscapes by Grace Golay, Grade 7

Birding photography by Anica Hickey, Grade 6

Characters by Natalie Skillins, Grade 7

Grace Golay, Grade 7

Natalie Skillin, Grade 7

MOUNTAIN

The Mountain,

Towering over the Wood,

Cold and tough,

Filled with power,

And its fury over the ones,

Who stomp and tramp on its face,

The ones who litter all over the place,

Its once beautiful heart,

Now full of darkness,

Me,

The Mountain,

Towering over the Wood

Poems by Natalie Skillin, Grade 7

ALONE

Alone

The word I fear,

I fear it most of all,

Especially now,

Sitting here,

With no one but my shadow,

I wish I was home,

Warm in my bed,

I hear footsteps behind me,

I look up with my tearstained face,

I see hands,

Warm and bright,

Like the stars

And I wake up

in my mother's arms

Safe

No longer

Alone

STAR

I see it hanging in the sky,

It almost makes me want to cry,

I close my eyes to make a wish,

I wish to fly,

To touch the sky,

The joy it brings to see it in the sky,

A star.

Grace Golay, Grade 7

Brenna Violet Lucas, Grade 6

concrete

Waking up isn’t hard if you never go to sleep.

And they tell you to count sheep

But after three cups of coffee

That doesn’t really work

Anymore.

When I was little, I thought the world would be better if we didn’t have to sleep. Eight more hours where I could invent things that would break the next morning.

You could call it yearning.

And back then, the dark was my friend. An envelope that invited me in, sealing me shut, glue sticking to my skin. But now it’s another thing that stares me down, invites the monsters (in my mind) out.

To play.

I stay awake. Trembling in the dark, making demons out of the shadows on the walls. Feeling my eyes grow dry as I drink the caffeine that pries them open. I want to let them close:

But part of me has always wanted a torture chamber.

After the movie made

The screams

Taste like ice cold

Laughter.

So I chill my heart in the august air, feel it whistle through my hair. Listen to the bass beat shatter my eardrums. Slowly. I know if I continue this way my hearing will decay like the lungs of a 40-year smoker.

But at least it lets me feel.

I guess cigarettes let them feel too.

Even if it makes them blue.

But I feel blue, even without.

I wonder how that came about.

My back breaks under the weight: stacks of books in paper grocery bags, threatening to rip and tear and tumble out of the seams, the folds under my eyes, unusual for someone my age. I avoid the nightmares, go tearing through pages, trying to find a world where I fit in, because in this small town no one listens. Even the someone I paid to pry me open, but I still snapped shut.

Trying to find somewhere where I’m good enough.

A concrete jungle is ideal,

Somewhere I’m not allowed to feel

But New York is unattainable,

So I’ll go somewhere much less flammable.

Walk to a place that feels forbidden: but it’s not.

The forest green button up is not enough, the cold stone seeps into my skin. I welcome it in. Numb is the worst feeling, I’ve decided, in the way that it is also the best. The fog of mind-consuming activities that you’re endlessly riding through, feeling like you’ll never break through, but then you do. And the sun hits your skin and for once you feel whole again:

But it burns.

Surface level inflamed

Pink and shiny and swollen

And it hurts.

So you venture back into oblivion.

When I was little, my mom used to take me to the swimming pool. I remember how I dived right in, without a second thought, not caring if I floated or not.

I knew someone would catch me.

Now, I watch the ripples echo away, choosing flight over fight as they flee from the disturbance. An aquatic cymbal, fading as time passes, sinking back into the waves. Getting lost in the orchestra again.

And I think about jumping in.

But I remember I’ve forgotten how to swim.

And I know no one will catch me.

Nine months went by and only one of my friends called me.

I guess they needed to see me every day

Hear me regret everything I say

To remember I exist.

They don’t have an ink-stained need

To watch me bleed

And ruin their dress in the process.

A cigarette, so toxic

Just like me.

My gaze wanders across covered up graffiti, sprayed on cured concrete. And I wonder why they covered it up. It was probably too much. It always is.

I always am.

And I wonder why I fantasize about the concrete crumbling down over me, one two many cars driving over me, weight cracking it open like my weight broke me.

But I’m past that now. Mostly.

Shove the thoughts to the back of my mind, something that comes with practicing too many times. Crack open an escape to a fake world instead, something I know will have a happy end.

Most of the real ones don’t.

Most times the air is smoggy

Filled with dirt and dust and rust

But today the air whistles through my lungs

Sharp and sweet and everything

I didn’t know I needed.

And the mist burns from the water as the sun fights it off. And I fight my demons to the cliffside, pushing them off and saying goodbye. And as they fall, I hear the haunting voices finally leaving my mind, but leaving one behind.

“They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you,”

And now I do.

I would stay here forever,

But it’s breakfast time

So I pack up everything else:

The exception being my old self.

And I leave it to wither away.

I mentioned before that my hearing will decay if I continue this way.

I’ve always wondered why addicts cling to the very thing destroying them.

It lets them feel.

And for a second, life is unreal.

Music is a drug, I’ve decided, in the way that it is also the medicine. It rips and tears and burns and makes me feel.

Blasting in my ears, red and raw and real.

And then it stitches me together like the hole was never even there.

BY: ERICA LYNN, GRADE 8

Scott Curran, Grade 8

Mykensey Loker, Grade 6

IMG-0439 - Callum Goldman.MOV

Callum Goldman, Grade 6

Dylan Walker, Grade 6

Ella Wiley, Grade 8

Caroline McGill, 6th Grade

BOXED
Chapter 1
________________
Hi. My name is Jacob. Jacob Shelby. And this my story. The truth is, when you move into a new house, or move into a new neighborhood, the first day of school isn’t as bad as it looks in the movies. But you know what else isn’t like in the movies? You know how on the first day of school, the main character meets a new “lifelong best friend,” I’ve been at school for over two weeks, and so far, nobody gives a hoot about me. I’ve tried being all “friendly guy” to people, but after a while, I gave up. I know why they treat me this way. I have a face deformation. I've had it since I was precisely two days old. (The hospital surgeons were real screw-ups.) People can be so cruel, though. Just because I don’t look like them. Just because I don’t like what they like. Eighth grade is gonna be rough.
“Mom!” I yell. “Do I HAVE to go to school today?” “Yes, you do,” says my mom, dryly. “Ughhhh!” I think. I slowly drudge to the bus stop, and get on the bus. The ride felt extra long, as it usually does. When I got to school, there were three kids waiting at the bus stop. Two of them wore hoodies. The other, a jean jacket.“Listen, two-face.” said the kid wearing the jean jacket.“Yeah?” I mumble, immediately knowing there’s going to be trouble. “What do you want?”“Just wanted to let you know you're ugly.”I lunge over and land a punch square in the kid’s face. Blood gushes out of his nose. He doesn’t even flinch. His two thugs hold my arms while he stalks over to me menacingly.“You’re in for it now kid.” he says, and delivers a hard punch to my gut. Another to my face. They drop me, and he kicks me as I curl into a ball. I can hardly breath. I close my eyes as I lose consciousness and everything around me goes dark.
I wake up at home. Bandaged and bruised, battered and worn. I’m on the couch, feeling like the equivalent of poop. I hear my mom. “So, how DID you get so beat up.“How DID you find me, I mimic her.“Your school called me. They told me you were absent. So I went on the bus you go on, and there you were, on the ground. You gave me quite a scare. Don’t do that again.”“Mom, it’s not my fault that I got my butt handed to me, and I certainly didn’t start any fights,” I say, suddenly feeling aggravated. “Then who did?” mom asks curiously.“My face.”
That evening, I got on my skateboard to go for an evening stroll in the neighborhood, and I saw a hideous building. In the alley, there were three spray paint cans. I picked them up, realizing that they were almost full. I decided to give it a little spray on the bricks, because a little paint couldn’t hurt the ugly building before me. It only took that first whoosh of paint, when I became addicted. “Shskhhhh!” I must’ve been at it for an hour, because the sun was down, and it was only then when I saw the mess I made. Terrified, I quickly skated away, thoughts drilling through my head. Oh crap, oh crap. I’m a vandalist! I rushed home, and spoke little to my mother. I went to bed. That night, I had a nightmare that I kept vandalizing buildings, and I was being chased by the cops. The next morning, I went down to breakfast, and my mom was watching the news. I went to watch my share when I realized what was broadcast. An ugly brick building with graffiti. My graffiti. Disgusting horror washed over my face. I am now a criminal. My mom and my reputation can’t take a blow like this. I need to hide- to run, to cry, but I can’t do any of them. I need to finish my schooling, and I need to find a way to get rid of the bullies. I could run away- be free, and enroll in a new school with my aunt and uncle, but my mom would never allow that. I feel so boxed up. I want to run away and never come back.
________________

BY: JACK VERVILLE and JOEY MURPHY, GRADE 6

Past Submissions

Motley 2020 Cover Design Contest!

Vision and Voices of FMS

Student Photography | Spring 2020

Flowers from Anna G.

Butterfly creation from Joanna R.

Spring Super Moon from Fernando G.G.

Migration Story

Noran Saeb

“Screech, Screech!” I wake up to the awful noise of scraping on the door and then followed by my german shepard, Peach. I jump up and wonder who would be at our door at three in the morning! “Mom?” I say. I hear no reply. I brush it off thinking the scraping noise is the neighbors cat. I go back to sleep, and awaken in the morning to the sound of screaming outside. I shot out of bed and went to turn on the light, but it wouldn’t turn on. “It’s probably just a dream.” I thought. I go down the stairs, looking for my parents, but they were nowhere to be found. “They’re probably at work” I thought to myself, but just to make sure, I grab my phone to call them, but there was no service. I start to worry and I immediately run upstairs to my little sister Lola’s room to see if she was okay. Thankfully, she is okay and is still sleeping. I realize that it is around 9 am, so I wake Lola up to eat breakfast. As I go back downstairs to make her breakfast, I open the blinds because it was very dark, since the power went out. My jaw dropped at the sight of what was outside… My neighborhood was filled with zombies. At first I didn’t believe what I had seen, but then I remembered the reports of zombie attacks on the news. “Lola! Get down here! Fast! We need to get out of here!” I yelled.

“What’s going on?” Lola asked rubbing her eyes.

I look around the house and think about what we should bring outside. “Go get the first aid kit and a flashlight in the top drawer, upstairs. And get a backpack. Quickly!” I run around the house packing everything we might need. Peach starts growling at the front door… I slowly and cautiously walked towards the door to make sure the door was locked, thankfully, it was. But then, I hear a big bang, at the door, and the lock breaks off. I start shaking and I'm frozen in place, as a zombie walks through the door. Peach immediately takes action and jumps on the zombie, knocking it back out the door, hitting its head on the bricks’ steps. I slam the door and grab the first chair I saw and tucked it under the doorknob. Lola starts coming down the stairs, and I grab her and ran towards the garage, Peach following close behind. I jumped in the car, and started the engine. I take a deep breath and open the garage door. Without thinking I slam the gas pedal and I start driving down the street, not knowing where I should go. I remember the island we went to for summer vacation last year, so I turn on the GPS and quickly punch in the address. I jump on the highway and start heading south.

By the time we arrived, the sun was setting. Just as we entered the Island, I spotted a vacation rental. I stopped the car and we all ran into the house. Thank god the door was unlocked. It was a pretty small place, but at least we had shelter. I open the cabinets to see if there were any food we could eat. Beans, Pretzels, an old banana. I don’t think we’ll be able to make lunch with these. Who knows if they’re expired or not. I look over at Lola. “We don’t have any food to eat. I think I'm going to go and look for some food. There’s got to be some grocery store somewhere.”

Lola takes out her backpack and takes out a lot of food. My eyes open wide and I say, “You brought food? Smart!”

She smiles and nods. Wow. I felt a little stupid at this moment. My little sister remembered to bring food, (one of the things we would need in order to survive) and I didn’t even think about it. It seemed that this food would last us about a week. I look out the window, searching for any humans, (or zombies of course) there were none to be found. We were on an island after all, and people probably heard about the zombies, and hid in their houses, or chose to stay somewhere else. I take my phone out of my pocket, and there was still no service.

“Oh shoot!” I think. “My phones at 3%!” I grab my backpack, taking out everything inside of it, looking for a charger. There it is! I plug my phone in and then remember that the power was out! I didn’t know what to do at this moment. “At least I brought a flashlight.” I thought.

I knew I had to still go to a grocery store, to get “healthy” food. Not marshmallows, candy, etc. I put on my purple, worn out shoes and say, “Lola, I need you to lock yourself in the bathroom. I’m going to go look for a grocery store. If you hear anything, stay in the bathroom.”

She nods but looks scared. “Can I please go with you?” she says.

I smile at her and say, “You’ll be okay. It’s not safe out there. Remember, your sister took three years of karate, so she’ll be fine.”

She enters the bathroom, and I hear a little “Click!” the door made when she locked it. I take a deep breath, and unlock the front door. I step out, and hear a low growl. I see something, big, gross looking staring at me. I was completely frozen! I didn’t know why I couldn’t run and go back inside! The zombie comes closer towards me and I start shaking. Why couldn’t I move? The zombie grabs me and I.. I wake up! I was so confused! No way had this all been a dream! I ran as fast as a cheetah could go and go into my parents’ room. They were in there!

“Mom?” I say with a confused look on my face. “Was there a zombie apocalypse?” I felt like that was the dumbest question i’ve ever asked, but I had to know! She laughs and says, “What type of question is that? Of course there hasn’t!” I let out a sigh of relief.

The next day, I had been watching TV, when my parents turn on the news. I hear someone mention a zombie apocalypse, and I freeze. Oh no. This can’t be good.

Fall

Ava Walker

Pieces of fall, fall from the trees

Blanketing the frosted ground.

Letting out their last breath

Before they perish

Behind a white facade

Of winter skies and snow.

By Ava Walker

The tragedy of Pearl

By YuAnne Lin

Pearl ascended the throne, she assured the Fire kingdom 1 year of abundant food to keep Queen Aqua’s tragedy a secret. The last thing Queen Pearl wanted, was to show everyone how vulnerable they were. She wasn’t sure why she was appalled, yet she was here rocking in the vast sea. She sensed her guards eyeing her. She hugged her knees close, where she felt her heart beating vigorously. Her loyal guard, Monsoon, ushered her away from the edge, frightened she would fall. She had come for vengeance. Though she was afraid of what her own hands might do. She would do it for Aqua. The scene that haunted her nightmares, the powers tingled in Pearl’s hands as she winced thinking about it. She glanced up to see what she was waiting for, as the boat lurched against the rocks while the water became shallow. A dangerous viper rose out of some collapsed cave ruins. The viper hissed as if it knew Pearl was coming. Monsoon hesitated for a second, aching to pull Pearl away, but Pearl dropped out of the ship. The viper shot forward at a speed so astonishingly fast, that some would say it teleported. It hurled into the boat, shattering it into pieces. Pearl’s face full of shock and devastation, threw her hands toward it and the boat rebuilt itself, teleporting back to the kingdom. Please stay safe She thought. The viper started circling Pearl. The viper shot out a burst of fire as Pearl shot a rupture of ice. She blinked sadly, but this had to be done. She created this powerful magic around her. With full force, she ran towards the viper, crashing into it and killing it. I have achieved what I came here for Queen Pearl thought and then darkness engulfed her.

Letting Go

By Oliver Black

“Hey…” I ignore his attempts to talk, hugging my knees tighter. Instead, I focus on the rushing of the cold water below me. He sits next to me and takes a deep breath. I glare at him maliciously. I never asked for pity. I never asked for anything from him. Not now. “Look, you need to let go. It isn’t your fault he’s-” “He’s not!” I feel my eyes tear up and I look away from him, holding back. “He’s not..I know he’s not..” We sit in silence, allowing me time to think. I still remember how I first met him seven years ago. The breeze was soft and steady, the park was covered in leaves of all different shades and colors. I picked out a fallen leaf from my hair and started toward the river. The park was always calm in the autumn. My favorite time to go. No one was there. I had time to imagine and get away from the world. But that day was different. A boy was sitting at the waterside, feeding any fish or duck that approached him. I was curious. Why would someone want to come here without any other motive but to feed fish? I looked behind me and tried to walk away. “Hello.” I turned to him again, startled. I never expected to have a conversation with anyone most of the time. But this boy was different. He looked at me and put his hand out. I hesitated before taking it. His name was Matt. He was a very bright boy, with dark brown eyes and sandy hair. His face was splattered with freckles. Matt was a very interesting person. He was always buried in a book, hardly reacting to me. It was exactly what I needed, though. A friend who doesn’t need words to communicate. But I also didn’t mind when he was very loquacious, talking about his favorite books. He had a very distinctive view of everything. There was always one specific memory that I thought of when it came to him. The day on the roof. The day he finally confided in me. Although, he wasn’t there to tell me himself. Not for long. I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. I tried to deny it for too long. Thinking about him falling, knowing no one could catch him. Knowing I couldn’t catch him. “I understand you don’t want to believe it, Sage, but it isn’t fair to yourself. He’s gone.” I know. I know he’s dead. A single leaf falls off of the tree above me, into my hair. This time I don’t bother.

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