more stories: Zaneita Pereira, Tess Pedeprat, Adam Zoubi, Alex Xu, Daksha Vaswani, Josh Schnessl, Rebecca Hoopmann, Jade Cass, Orianne Montaubin
Walking on By
He held his breath and the door for her, then inhaled deeply as she sashayed past, cloaked in clouds of perfume and her aura of perfect superiority.
Short tight skirt, big mink coat, she was big spender with a million dollar smile. The smile that sent the masses swooning. The smile that swept him off his feet, that had caught him – hook, line and sinker.
He held his breath and the door for her, all his hopes shining in his eyes.
He held his breath and the door for her, and she walked through without a glance.
As always.
by Zaneita Pereira
Grade 10
I stared blankly at the options in front of me. The first door, slightly leaning to the right, was a luscious, alluring pink with patterned circles of sky blue. The second door looked aged, a faded copper. It stood tall with rounded silver handles. The final door’s stoutness was greatly exaggerated. It represented a whirlwind of confusing thoughts.
I took a large sip from my Pepsi, to finish it off. This was no place to take any drinks. So, I chucked it into a nearby bin. I took a step forward and went through the third door to ride the rollercoaster.
by Tess Pedeprat
Grade 9
And Life Passed By
It’s 4 in the morning. I lie in bed thinking about what will happen at school. Soon after I start thinking about who I will be when I am a senior. My thoughts soon stray to when I’ll be in college or if I’ll even go to college. My heart begins to beat faster because soon I’ll be an Adult and I’ll have responsibilities… But soon after that I’ll be on my deathbed… and who knows if there is a white light at the end of the tunnel or just secluded isolation. Well, the bus is here it’s time to go
by Adam Zoubi
Grade 9
Staring out into the night at the age of 93, I look back into the past. Loved ones lost, new generations born, changes in the world, all the things I can ponder, sitting on the front porch.
I sigh… This is the very spot my grandfather had laid when he was a young child, watching the stars, the one thing that hasn’t changed. New roads houses and the parks have appeared, destroying all I have grown up with, everything except this farmhouse, and the stars. Here comes my great-granddaughter, I wonder if she will someday look into the stars and remember me.
by Alex Xu
Grade 10
“I can’t do it.”
“Just try!”
“Will you catch me?”
“Of course I will.”
“What if you miss?”
“Then you die.”
“I don’t want to die!”
“Then I won’t miss.”
I jump.
He misses.
by Daksha Vaswani
Grade 9
Vinyl turned.
Afternoon filtered in through blinds. Suspended was golden dust, which turned as the world and the record turned and the musty sheen recalled Sundays gone in a wave of heat which overwhelmed the soul in surreal occurrence like the sticking sweat of dreams engendered by those high fevers powerfully disturbing and yet so common in the weak whom we collectively pity.
From dust he materialized. Music, lo-fi. Tension was supposed to build but it didn’t. He fell with the album. Retro. The Velvet Underground was ready when the spinning record slowed but he was dead.
Later the dust settled.
by Josh Schnessl
Grade 11
In their hands they hold their hearts.
He holds his gently, protecting it yet allowing it freedom. She grips hers tightly, afraid of letting go.
When he sees her, his heart skips a beat. She does not notice him at all. His heart lives for her. Hers belongs to none but herself.
He offers her his heart. She condescends to take it. Yet she knows she does not deserve it, so she decides to return it. But when she gives it back it breaks.
He gathers up the scattered pieces and turns to ask her why, but she is already gone
by Rebecca Hoopman
Grade 9
Pure-living
The girl gracefully walks to the river. She balances a brightly coloured clay pot elegantly on her head. It will soon quench the thirst of her family, and the pouch of berries drooped round her breasts will stay their hunger.
Swaying freely, her long black hair emulates the motion of her full hips. Beads, tightly secured to the ends of her braids, gently brush her smooth lower back.
Beautifully simple and pure-living a beautiful life filled with innocence and joy, she glows with the natural goodness of humankind, and allows it to shine.
by Jade Cass
Grade 11
Time
Time. Slow. Fast. Tick. Tock.
You can just sit there and wait as it trickles by. Or cause turmoil, if you want. Rolls out just like the rush of flood waters. You’re too late. You just missed the mark. What do you do now? Turn it around? How? Things fall down. They don’t fall up. Time moves forward. It does not move back. Now you are stuck. Stuck between the past and the present. The present and the future. Where are you? Look around. Nothing. A silent clock. Smiling. Mocking. Staring at you. So you wait.
Time. Slow. Fast. Tick. Tock.
by Orianne Montaubin
Grade 10