Subscribe Donate

100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


By

Memory Rock

I am the memory rock, I will keep your memories safe. I’ve been here for ages, I am a special place. Here’s a list of things I’ve heard, things I’ve seen, a few thoughts, and one request. The things I’ve heard, the things I’ve heard! I’ve heard the seagulls . . . talk, talk, talk. But my favorite song is . . . the song of the tide in out, in out, in out. The things I’ve seen oh, what I’ve seen. I’ve seen “I do’s” and the happiest kid play. As the sun sets I watch a picnic and a hermit crab play. But come close . . . let me tell you my favorite part. It’s at night when the sun sets and says good night, just for the moon to say hello. Now this beach is my home, it’s a lovely home, and I’m not the only resident. This is a home to thousands of creatures both big and small. Some in the depths of the ocean and some on top of me. You see, I am the memory rock so come see me and make a memory, I will keep your memory safe.


By

You Remember

The second-person protagonist pieces together memories of a life You know that you’re falling before you open your eyes. You are plummeting rapidly through the darkness. Nothing is around you but pure blackness, uninterrupted by color or light. You try to scream in a panic, but you can’t tell if any sound came out. The silence is too loud. You want to sit up, to grab onto something solid, but your arms are pinned to your body and you can’t move. Struggle is pointless, you realize as you continue to fall. There is nothing, there never was and never will be anything at all other than the darkness. You feel numb, like every piece of you is slowly fading away. You disappear into the darkness, you succumb and let it wash over you, lulling you to sleep. *          *          * You open your eyes. Blue, blue, blueness fills your view, and the light is so bright that you’re blinded temporarily. Blinking, you realize that it’s the clear, open sky you see above you, smooth and unblemished like a perfect china bowl. Groggily, you reach up to touch it, expecting it to feel cool and smooth. But nothing is there. Aching, you sit up, every part of you feeling like it weighs more than an anvil. As you shakily stand, a wave of heat surrounds you and the air almost bubbles as it meets your skin. Your mouth feels so dry, like it’s coated in sand. Water, every part of you is begging. Water, water, water. You stumble forward and look around. Dry, sun-parched grass sticks up from the ground in dangerous spikes, a menacing shade of yellow. A wide, boundless expanse of sky meets the flaxen grass on the horizon. Everything is flat except for a few buildings, far in the distance. Gray and plain, they cling to the earth like hunched, weeping figures, crumbling around the edges. You know you need to get to the buildings, get water, and figure out where you might be. Have you ever seen those buildings before? You reach into the recesses of your mind, but all you find is a great blankness, like an empty room swept bare. Only this most primal need for hydration moves you along. You continue toward the house, its mild destitution appearing to you like a palace if it contains the thing you seek. The buildings are easily a mile away, however, and you’re unsure if you’ll make it that far. Head throbbing and throat burning, you feel exhausted. Continuing on is futile. You fall to your knees, the sharp grass pricking your hands. You close your eyes, but respite does not come. *          *          * You are in a lovely garden, full of beds bursting with beautiful flowers. Birds sing from fruit-speckled, velvety treetops, providing a canopy of shade over the soft blue daybed on which you recline. Spreading out around you is lush green grass, soft and inviting. A little girl, clearly no more than seven or eight, with long, flowing dark curls dances around, her soft white dress billowing out around her as she spins. She giggles and smiles at you, her deep brown, sparkling eyes trusting and warm. She holds out a hand to you, and you take it, the little fingers wrapping around your palm. Pulling you up, she spins you around the garden. “Dance with me! Dance with me!” You laugh and spin her around, and she twirls and twirls, free as a bluebird, until she collapses into the grass, still laughing. You lie down beside her, and she rolls onto her back. Her fingers are still intertwined with yours. Together you look up at the trees and the summer sky. Her head nestles into your shoulder, her silky hair tickling your ear. “I love you, Papa.” You don’t respond, just squeeze her hand. *          *          * You start awake, your breathing hard and jagged. You pant for air, and then choke as you remember how hot it is. Your mind races, rushing to catch up with everything you saw. That girl in the garden, her name is Calliope. Calliope, your daughter. Where is she? You suddenly recognize an ache in your heart that you never realized had been there the whole time. You miss this child with the wild, beautiful spirit. You love her more than anything. You need to find her. Frantically you scurry to your feet, ignoring the sharp, hot flashes of pain that shoot through your legs, and you run. Racing, stumbling, and racing again. Your eyes squeezed shut, you feel the sticky air rushing through your ears. Suddenly you trip over a thick wooden beam. You snap your eyes open and see the porch steps beneath your feet, rough wood peeking through the worn whitewash. Seeing this rubs away at something in your mind. Something itches in your thoughts, but you can’t tell what. Your eyes shut again in concentration. *          *          * You are holding a box made of elegant, glossy blond wood. A small, delicate latch holds the lid flush with the base, every carved detail displaying peerless craftsmanship. You are standing on the shoreline of a beach, feeling cold waves calmly lapping against your feet. Grits of white sand and pieces of broken seashells float to your ankles, softly drifting through the tide. But the stronger feeling that is coursing through you is writhing apprehension. You feel like electricity is coursing through yourveins, and youswallow hard to fightthe waveof nausea thatsits in your stomach. Focus, you think to yourself. You ignore your shaking hands and instead run over your words that have been writing themselves in your heart for months. You hear a noise behind you, and you quickly slip the box into your satchel. You turn around and see a


By

I Don’t Want to Run

Bird-watching helps Dante find peace after the death of his grandfather The freezing wind howled past me like a ferocious wolf, biting at my toes and fingers. A foul smell arose from the deep black garbage bags, stockpiled messily on the sidewalk. The buildings looked like metal bars, imprisoning me inside my own mind. This was New York City, not a good place to grieve or endure loneliness. The past few weeks had been weeks of sorrow for my family. My grandfather had just died and it hit all of us hard. My grandfather had died after stumbling on a treadmill. He had already been struggling with diabetes and heart problems, but none of us anticipated for him to pass this soon. At the time of the accident, my grandfather was living in California so none of my immediate family saw him before he died. The funeral had been especially tough for me. At the time of the funeral, I did not know my grandfather very well. My family didn’t visit California very often, maybe once every two years. I was nine, so that meant I had been with him only four times in my life. At the funeral, everyone was crying. I didn’t know how to feel. I was young, and this was the first major loss I had experienced. I had never attended a funeral before. The walls were lined with pink and purple flowers and the priest gave a homily for a long time. I was bewildered. What were all the crazy words he was saying, such as “congregation” and “resurrection”? What was that long red-and- black cloak he was wearing? I did not understand his job. When the pallbearers carried the casket with my grandfather’s body in it, I was too frightened to look at his dead upper body. My mom said, “You don’t have to look at the body. It’s okay.” I felt guilty anyway. I remember thinking afterwards, I should have gone up and given my final regards to him. After the services, the remainder of the funeral was a blur to me. This was the second weekend after his death and we were all still in mourning. The absence of his cheerful presence every time we called was evident. We were sauntering to Central Park on a cold autumn day. I had brought my binoculars and had decided to go bird-watching. I had been bird-watching for around a year, so I had gotten used to going every so often. I had my head down, trying not to think back to the funeral when a voice interrupted my blank state of mind. “Are you okay, Dante?” my mom asked worriedly. “I’m fine,” I replied in a dull voice. “Okaaaay,” my mom commented while raising an eyebrow. “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here,” my mom stated. The sidewalk felt stiff on my feet and my heavy clothing held me down to the ground. The sky matched my downcast mood and was gray and gloomy. I was pushing my way toward the 90th Street entrance to Central Park. Just a few more blocks in the heavy wind until I arrived in Central Park. The second I stepped into Central Park, everything abruptly changed. The giant brick skyscrapers were replaced with bright cherry blossom trees and the garbage smell became a warm earthy scent. “We’re here!” I enthusiastically remarked. “Where do we go now?” I asked. “Well the best place to go bird-watching is in the Ramble, so let’s start walking southwest from here,” my dad replied. We started strolling toward the Ramble, and I had the chance to appreciate all the plants and nature. There were spider plants, with their bright green-and-white leaves sprawled in all directions. Striking red, blue, pink, and purple flowers blooming in the spring. Towering red oak trees with their bright scarlet leaves. I loved the way the red, green, and yellow colors blended together. There were too many brilliant plants and colors to count. I also observed many different animals. There were squirrels scavenging for nuts. Sparrows seeking seeds under the benches. I felt my chest widen with all the beautiful animals and plants, all thriving in Central Park. The stroll to the Ramble took about twenty minutes, but it seemed all too fast with my eyes darting this way and that, taking in all of Central Park’s nature. I barely noticed the sign that my family had arrived at the Ramble until my dad declared, “We’re here!” “Already?” I asked, astonished. “Yes, look at the sign in front of us,” my dad replied. I took a glance at the sign and it read, “The Ramble” and was followed by a map. We walked along a rough dirt path into the Ramble and experienced another change in scenery. The trees became denser and their translucent leaves allowed little light on the ground. There were more lush bushes and the path was now completely soil. We went down a dust trail until we reached further into the Ramble. A stream trickled as we walked across the bridge over it. It was a small stream but flowing fast as it rushed and glided downhill. The chirping of birds intensified as we got closer to the center of the Ramble, but we were yet to see our first rare bird. We kept listening and gazing around for bird signs, trying to spot a rare bird. The trees and bushes all seemed still and silent around us, like time was frozen except for the plodding of our feet and the running of a nearby stream. After a few minutes of restless glancing and pacing I sensed movement in a spindly young tree next to us. I focused on the tree for several seconds before I saw a dash of red as a brilliant male cardinal showed itself.   The cardinal was striking red. Its lizard head had a dash of white and its tail also had a hint of black.


By

Morning. Sunset. Night.

The Morning is here and the children all let out a cheer. The Sunset said goodbye. He yawned. The children said good night. It’s dark and scary. But I am brave. Drop after drop we look outside. Nothing comes back.


By

Astrophe

A cat tries to avoid a trip to a fearful place I was having a lovely nap on the Flat-Bit-Where-The-Warm-Stuff-Shines when I smelled the dreaded cage of Strange Moving Enclosures and Sharp-Things- With-Wet-Stuff-in-Them-Handled-by-Tall-Tail-lesses-in-White. No. Don’t go down the Up-Down-Boxes. Don’t. The Tall Tail-lesses were trying to bring me to the Bad-News-Place. And I hated that terrible place. It had visited me in bad dreams many times. My friend in the next Big-Hard-Walls-With-See- Through-Bits had told me of it. He had described it as “a terrible place, where there are many other cats and many Tall Tail-lesses.” But then I smelt my food and heard it being scooped into a bowl. Did I want the food even though I smelt my cage? Or would I just stay up here? I decided to investigate. I jumped to my feet and went down the Up-Down-Boxes. As I reached the end of the Up-Down-Boxes, I saw the food holder was in the cage. Then, as I was approaching the food holder, hoping to drag it out, the Tall Tail-lesses leaped out from behind me! I started to run back up the Up-Down- Boxes as fast as I could. But they were already behind me and making chase. Wow, they are really fast! I thought. I ran and ran. Sometimes I ducked under them, but they were always behind me! I ran up and down, left and right, but they were very insistent with their chasing. I heard the cage door rattling. Suddenly, the cage was in front of me. I stopped instantly . . . but they had me cornered. These weird Tall Tail-lesses! Why can’t they just understand what I say to them? I ask for food, they brush me. I tell them I’m thirsty, they pat me. And now, they were trying to put me in the Dreaded-Cage-of-Strange-Moving-Enclosures- and-Sharp-Things-With-Wet-Stuff-in-Them-Handled-by-Tall-Tail-lesses-in- White! The taller of the two was making noises, but I couldn’t understand them. Why do they do that? As the shorter Tall Tail-less grabbed me round the middle I growled: “No thank you. I would rather sleep on the Big-Soft-White!” The shorter one almost dropped me. Both Tall Tail-lesses looked at me, silent, their mouths open wide. After a long moment of silence, the taller one made a funny noise like “soh ree.” Then they picked me up gently, carried me up the Up-Down-Boxes, and put me carefully on the Big-Soft-White. What strange creatures they are!


By

Lighthouse and I

I gleamed across the ocean, As I stood up on the lighthouse. Before I realized anything, A light shined on me. The sound of waves Scared me I had to rush inside. As usual, I purred.


By

Valerie Li & the Library of Alexandria

https://stonesoup.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/Valerie-Li-and-the-Library-of-Alexandria-Video_-Jubilee-Sung-.mp4 A clever, determined girl builds a time machine and visits the Great Library of Alexandria Prologue Some people think I’m brave, but I think everyone is amazing by accident sometimes. Hi! I’m Valerie Li. I’m 12 years old, and my proudest achievement is making a time machine. I’ve only made one because my parents got really upset about all the spoons, tape, and tin foil I used and screeched, “Where did our stuff go?” To be honest, I don’t think they liked it when I cried, “To another dimension!” Thankfully I don’t care, because I’m shameless! Chapter 1 “Valerie Mei Li! Come down here right now!” Mom screeches. Welp, I’m definitely in big trouble—Mom is using my full name. I sheepishly tiptoe out of my room and down the cold wooden stairs, mentally preparing myself for a long, long lecture. It’s been a while, but Mom is still fiery-inferno mad because she has no spoons to eat her Cocoa Puffs. That’s why I’m hiding out in my bathroom tub with my cat, Mr. Jiggles, trying to figure out how to make Mom less mad. Really it’s her own fault for not providing me with a handy younger sibling to torment. Being an only child is so boring, and it also means I get way too much attention from my parents. I keep telling my parents, “If you give me a sibling, I could annoy him instead of you.” But so far, none have appeared. “Mr. Jiggles,” I moan. “What do you think about all of this? It’s totally Mom’s fault for not getting me a human sibling, right?” Mr. Jiggles looks at me with supreme indifference, then leaps out of the tub and attempts to eat my shower curtains. He’s always been jealous of my curtains because they feature a mountain of dogs and cats taking a bath. He wants to be the only animal in my life. “No, Mr. Jiggles!” I cry, trying to pry the curtains from his jealous dagger teeth. But it is too late. My beautiful curtain already has a giant, Jiggle-size hole in it. Mom is going to kill me! She’s already in a bad mood, and now there’s a hole in the bath curtain? Even worse, she’ll never believe it was Mr. Jiggles. Soon the noise of our battle will attract her and she’ll part me from my iPad forever! Desperate, I frantically try to put the missing curtain piece back, but when the sunlight hits it, I notice it looks eerily like a picture I saw of the Great Lighthouse of Alexandria, torch and all. That’s when I get a lightbulb of a crazy idea. What if I try making a time machine again—but this time with the trash my parents were going to toss? Chapter 2 I quickly stirred my plan to action by making a poster to let my neighbors know I crave their trash. It looks like this: Hi, Neighbors! GIVE ME YOUR TRASH I’m Making a Time Machine (No Moldy Food, Please) Your Neighbor, Valerie Li   Now I just need to wait to get some trash . . . Chapter 3 Ding dong, the doorbell is ringing! Someone must have trash! I run downstairs to open the door, but Mom gets there before me. “Val, why is Mrs. Nolan here? What did you do?” Mom asks, her eyebrows scrunching together like two menacing thunderclouds. Uh-oh. I guess I need to explain . . . “Umm . . . I kinda need trash to make a new time machine. I’m sorry, Mom—I just didn’t want to take all your spoons and restrict you from eating Cocoa Puffs.” Her eyes soften a bit. She probably realizes if I start making time machines, she might finally have the house to herself again. After all, I’d be in another timeline—running from dinosaurs or something. “Why didn’t you say so? We have a bunch of recyclable trash right here. You didn’t need to bother our neighbors. Why, what must they think of us not giving our dear daughter enough trash?” “Good point, Mom. I’ll take my poster off our roof.” “The roof? How did you get it there?” Mom exclaims in shock. “A magician never reveals her secrets!” I cry, rushing upstairs to escape Mom. From my room, I can hear Mom explaining to Mrs. Nolan I have all the trash I need for ten centuries. Later today, Dad comes home to a mess of a house. “What happened here? Why is there trash everywhere?” “Sorry, Dad! I’m just building a time machine so Mr. Jiggles can visit other worlds . . . and I can go back in time and buy stock in Apple.” “Oh . . . that’s nice, honey,” Dad says, his nose already buried in his paper. He never really listens, but he’ll see. Once I can go to the past, he will be so shocked his eyes will pop out and he won’t be able to get distracted ever again. Muahahahaha! Chapter 4 “Finally, it is done! Ladies and gentlemen, marvel at my amazing creation!” I say to no one in particular. This often happens to me—talking to no one in particular—because there’s no one in this house who really listens. I think I even bore Mr. Jiggles, judging by his current fascination with a dust ball. This is why I am making a time machine. I am bored and need to find an adventure . . . and a way to make money. I am thinking with a pile of money I could buy more cat food to bribe Mr. Jiggles to stay with me so I don’t end up alone. They usually say women are afraid to end up alone with cats but personally, I wouldn’t mind it. I would love to be a crazy cat woman! Anyhow, back to my mind-blowing machine—it’s finally done! It’s mostly made of cardboard but also has some random plastic and paper inside that I found around the