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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


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Free

I stood on the top of the tall mountain, relishing every minute, every second, every moment. The cool breeze against my face, the wind toying with my umber coloured hair and the warm glow of the sun warming my skin… When I was surrounded by nature, by trees, flowers, valleys, rivers, and the forest teeming with life; when I was far away from the arguments between my parents, the furniture being thrown around, and the stress of my life, then I truly felt free. I sat down. I sat for a long, long time, watching the sun climb slowly up into the sky, its warm glow radiating onto the earth. A rock wren landed beside me, cocking its head. I smiled, watching as it hopped back and forth before spreading its wings and flying off. I sighed. I wished I could be free like a bird, free of worry. I was a mute; I could not speak. However, I went to a normal neighbourhood school, where schoolmates left me alone, ignored me like I did not exist. I didn’t mind, I preferred to have my own time anyway. I would sit patiently by the river in the school garden, my hands on my lap. My observant eyes and patience caught movements commonly unnoticed. I saw the sparrows collecting twigs and leaves for their nests, leaves falling from trees, squirrels storing nuts for the winter and ants working hard to build homes, bit by bit, one step at the time. Sensing how long I had stayed on the mountain, I looked at my watch, broken from my chain of thoughts. It was getting late and I had to head home for breakfast. Reluctantly, I stood up, enjoying the magnificent scenery for a while longer before carefully making my way down. I cautiously stepped on the rocks, slippery on the surface by the melted snow in the morning warmth. Spring was approaching. After walking downwards a few steps, I paused and squatted down by the stream near me and took a drink of water. The cool, clear water felt good as it ran down my throat. After the few mouthfuls of fresh water, I continued my progress down the rocky mountain. As I reached the valley, I could see my house ahead. It was a broken down building with an untended garden filled with weeds, and a hole in the roof where rain could sleep in. I took of my shoes and held them in my hands, walking barefooted in the soft grass. The grass pricked my feet, but yet it was soft, fuzzy and comforting. As I walked on, I thought I heard a rustle in the grass. I paused for a moment. There was no sound for a while, then the rustling resumed. Silently, I edged closer to the sound. Before I could edge any closer, I heard a shrill squeal and an Andean mountain cat came into view, dashing across the grass. It clutched a small bundle in its jaws, running with a slight limp in my direction. Upon closer inspection, I realised that it was bleeding on its hind leg. It was chased by a wolf with shaggy grey fur, almost close enough to deliver another bite. I looked around frantically for something to throw at the wolf, but couldn’t find anything. The wolf was gaining on the cat really fast. Then I had an idea. I reached into my backpack and drew out my purse. It contained tools I would need for survival if I ever needed them when I went out for an adventure in the wild. The purse was hard, but not too hard to hurt the wolf. Clutching it in my hands, I waited for a moment for a good aim and flung the purse at the wolf with all the strength I could muster. The purse hit the wolf’s skull, dropping onto the ground. The wolf whimpered and paused for a while, giving the mountain cat the time to run off. Realizing who had thrown the object, it spun around and advanced towards me. Slowly, I backed off and ran home as fast as my legs could carry me, slamming the front door behind me when I reached the broken-down building. It was then it dawned upon me that I had forgotten to retrieve my purse back. From the sofa, Dad glared at me. “You’re late,” he snapped. “Breakfast is on the table, turning cold.” I trooped into the kitchen, retrieving the packet from the kitchen table before walking out of the back door. I wondered if I could find my purse-and the cat. When I reached the field, the same spot where I last saw the cat, I sat down and munched on the sandwich. After a long while, I saw the grass part and the same mountain cat streaked past me. Curious, I followed the cat to see where it was going. I tailed the cat until it reached an overhanging rock. Inside lay an adorable baby Andean mountain cat. I looked at the older cat with big, grey eyes and mewed ever so softly. The cat picked up the kitten tenderly and dashed off. I followed the mountain cat. It didn’t seem to mind. The cat disappeared into a bush in the field. I peeked in and saw a litter of five kittens, all huddled together and mewing. I was surprised to realise that beside the litter lay my purse! The mountain cat picked up the purse tenderly in its jaws and handed it to me. Here, this belongs to you, thanks for saving my life. I stared at the cat, baffled. It seemed like it was talking to me, like I could hear its voice in my head. Indeed, I am talking to you. I attempted talking back to the cat. Thanks? I tried uncertainly. You’re welcome, the cat’s reply sounded like a purr. Happy with my new discovery, I sat beside the family of six as I


By

Butterfly

Weirdly, I find Butterflies very interesting. Butterflies are quite beautiful and elegant. Maybe I like them because they were the first things I could draw besides shapes. Also it’s because my aunt taught me how to release a butterfly. But butterflies are bugs, and I hate bugs. During summer break, I went to China and stayed at my aunt’s apartment for about a week. I learned that my aunt loved bugs and mainly butterflies. She took me outside one day to find butterfly eggs. I remember she said, “Every egg brings new life into the world and no life should be wasted.” These words were inspiring. I went to sleep gazing out the window at the shining spiderwebs that seemed to have jewels on them. I heard Pidian, my aunt’s dog coming. Pidian is old and always stares at me with a questioning expression. She gazes out at the sky with me also thinking silently. I wonder if dogs have feelings and thoughts inside. Maybe bugs do too. I observed her Butterflies and cocoons and caterpillars daily. The caterpillars were all different. Each with a unique marking. As I watched them more, I learned to like them more. I started to like them more and more. “Do bugs have feelings ?” I asked my aunt. “Well, if they have brains I suppose that they have feelings,” she responded. “Why do you help them?” I asked. “Well not all people are helpful, but small things help the world to be a better place you know,” said my aunt. The next day, my aunt took me to find more eggs and caterpillars. We finally found one which was green and sparkly. Suddenly, a downpour of water from the gutter hit the tiny thing. My aunt brought it in, hoping it would live. The next day, the caterpillar was no more. Overnight it had turned into a beautiful cocoon, leaf green with golden sparkles. It hung on a branch silently. It is waiting to go into the next part of its life. I wonder what it’s thinking about. Pidian trots in and sits next to me for a while. It too is watching the golden spotted cocoon. It trots under my aunt’s bed, tired of watching and observing. One of my aunt’s butterflies is golden. Like an angel. That one, I can tell, is very happy to have wings and a meaning in life to someday have its own babies and for them to live on. Then, finally, after one week, something happened. My cocoon had started to move. Slowly, like waking up from a deep slumber, was a butterfly. It’s wings were magnificent. They were sapphire blue with pitch black edgings, but it wasn’t free just yet. It couldn’t fly just yet. When the sun was directly above our heads, we set it free. I stuck my hand in, and it backed away as if it wasn’t sure if it wanted to leave. Finally, it cautiously walked on my hand, and I lifted it out of the box. It fluttered in the sunshine and caught a breeze to a new kind of life. I could feel myself glowing with happiness inside, and as I went inside I was sure that there was a smile on my face. Because today I learned that everything has a meaning in life. Sometimes Pidian falls and gets up or gets into some sort of trouble, but I always help it, just as I would for any other being. I know that Pidian remembers the butterfly and knows that it too, has come to this world with a purpose. ‘Butterflies’ by Moneerah Saoudy Amy Zhou, 11Skillman, NJ Moneerah Saoudy, 10Eden Prairie, MN


By

Butterfly

Weirdly, I find Butterflies very interesting. Butterflies are quite beautiful and elegant. Maybe I like them because they were the first things I could draw besides shapes. Also it’s because my aunt taught me how to release a butterfly. But butterflies are bugs, and I hate bugs. During summer break, I went to China and stayed at my aunt’s apartment for about a week. I learned that my aunt loved bugs and mainly butterflies. She took me outside one day to find butterfly eggs. I remember she said, “Every egg brings new life into the world and no life should be wasted.” These words were inspiring. I went to sleep gazing out the window at the shining spiderwebs that seemed to have jewels on them. I heard Pidian, my aunt’s dog coming. Pidian is old and always stares at me with a questioning expression. She gazes out at the sky with me also thinking silently. I wonder if dogs have feelings and thoughts inside. Maybe bugs do too. I observed her Butterflies and cocoons and caterpillars daily. The caterpillars were all different. Each with a unique marking. As I watched them more, I learned to like them more. I started to like them more and more. “Do bugs have feelings ?” I asked my aunt. “Well, if they have brains I suppose that they have feelings,” she responded. “Why do you help them?” I asked. “Well not all people are helpful, but small things help the world to be a better place you know,” said my aunt. The next day, my aunt took me to find more eggs and caterpillars. We finally found one which was green and sparkly. Suddenly, a downpour of water from the gutter hit the tiny thing. My aunt brought it in, hoping it would live. The next day, the caterpillar was no more. Overnight it had turned into a beautiful cocoon, leaf green with golden sparkles. It hung on a branch silently. It is waiting to go into the next part of its life. I wonder what it’s thinking about. Pidian trots in and sits next to me for a while. It too is watching the golden spotted cocoon. It trots under my aunt’s bed, tired of watching and observing. One of my aunt’s butterflies is golden. Like an angel. That one, I can tell, is very happy to have wings and a meaning in life to someday have its own babies and for them to live on. Then, finally, after one week, something happened. My cocoon had started to move. Slowly, like waking up from a deep slumber, was a butterfly. It’s wings were magnificent. They were sapphire blue with pitch black edgings, but it wasn’t free just yet. It couldn’t fly just yet. When the sun was directly above our heads, we set it free. I stuck my hand in, and it backed away as if it wasn’t sure if it wanted to leave. Finally, it cautiously walked on my hand, and I lifted it out of the box. It fluttered in the sunshine and caught a breeze to a new kind of life. I could feel myself glowing with happiness inside, and as I went inside I was sure that there was a smile on my face. Because today I learned that everything has a meaning in life. Sometimes Pidian falls and gets up or gets into some sort of trouble, but I always help it, just as I would for any other being. I know that Pidian remembers the butterfly and knows that it too, has come to this world with a purpose. ‘Butterflies’ by Moneerah Saoudy Amy Zhou, 11Skillman, NJ Moneerah Saoudy, 10Eden Prairie, MN


By

Fall

‘Fall’ by Keira Zhang Keira Zhang, 8Los Altos, CA


By

Creatures

Soon, creatures will wake up. Soon creatures will go to sleep. Some will not wake up. Owen Sessine, 10Guilford, CT


By

Facing the Hurricane

It was a stormy day in October 2016. One of the worst hurricanes since Katrina was raging New York city, and for me, the Upper East Side. Flood barriers were being broken, homes destroyed, people getting stuck. The thought of being outside was scary in itself. Yet, my dad, notorious for daring me, dared me to go outside! My dad is at an average height of 5’9, which I am close to surpassing. His hair is cropped black hair and always glimmering in the day. He is known for being upbeat and always daring me to do all sorts of things. He dared me to bike ride on the GW bridge when I was eight, and he dared me to jump off a cliff into the ocean (it was legal and not that high), but even this seemed a bit too much for him. Putting on my shoes, I felt a sudden wave of fear overcome me. I was scared as I touched the elevator’s soft button. As each floor rolled away, I became increasingly excited, but at the same time, a bit anxious. I was worried about what might happen, but also what it would look like. The soft carpet seemed to be all around me. It was on the floor and walls, surrounding me. The elevator dinged, and I stepped out into the lobby. When I turned to the right, I saw something amazing, so incredible. Our windows are huge—they’re about nine feet tall, and I can easily see through them. The winds were whipping about, my legs trembled at the sight. I heard the wind as it went through the trees and went around the cars. I walked down the first step, ever so slightly. I was feet away to my eight-year-old self’s doom. I walked hesitantly the last few steps and turned the cold handle with my sweaty hand, stepping into the small cubicle that separated the outdoors from the actual building. I heard the wind howling outside. I finally, reluctantly, turned the handle into the night. I was scared for the winds and the sound of rain, pitter pat, pitter pat, pitter pat. Our attendant, Julio, was outside. Surprisingly some people were on their terraces also watching. Suddenly I started to understand what was happening when I saw what was about me. There was no garbage, no cars were on the street, and every store was closed. Usually New York is a bit dirty, and always bustling. It was a strange sight. I was trembling, and my face was pale. “Can we go inside so I can read, dad?” I asked my dad. He responded, “Of course, man.” He opened the door and, with his hand around my small eight-year-old shoulders, led me through. I was shocked, usually he would have said something like “Oh, it’s not that bad dude,” but this time I really think he didn’t want me to feel scared or frightened. I thought back to my other times with my dad. I realize now that he would never have brought me out if the storm was that bad. Maybe he was different than I thought at the time. I was so shocked actually that I didn’t look where I was going and banged into the door. As I went up the elevator again, I was relieved it was over. I had been frightened when I went outside. Images still passed through me, like when I saw that car driving and skidding to a halt at a red light. Finally it dinged 5, and I stepped out into the hotness of my floor. I felt safe again, feeling as though I was back home, with my family. The lights illuminated the area in a mysterious way, a way that always spooked me out. I stepped in, and I grabbed The Perfect Storm by Sebastian Junger and read in my bed. I flipped the page and listened to the crinkle of the book, and the winds. As I was reading, I began to think. Did I actually believe my dad would, on purpose, let me get hurt? I didn’t think so. After all, he was my dad, and dads don’t let their children get hurt, especially my dad. I was actually regretting that I hadn’t stayed outside with my dad and experienced the hurricane more. Then, I thought maybe this realization wouldn’t have happened. I think that seeing my dad do that, my thought of me knowing everything about him, changed. I learned he does know my limit and respects it also. Justin Le Veness, 11New York, NY


By

Only an Ocean Away

I had always lived on the floor above my best friend. I lived on the 29th floor of our building, and she lived on the 28th. All I had to do was ride the elevator down one floor. But now it’s different. Now I have to cross an ocean to see my best friend. Abigail and I had been friends for as long as either of us could remember. You would never see me without her, or her without me. We would stick together, as if glue kept us that way. We were inseparable. We were sisters. We were best friends. It all started on a crisp spring afternoon. The leaves were green; the flowers were blooming; and the sky was blue. I could feel myself smiling as I skipped to the swing set in the yard of my building. I knew that Abigail would be waiting for me there, like she always would back then, three years ago, when we were eight and in the second grade. I started to sprint over, imagining the fun we would have in my mind. Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. My stomach twisted into a knot. I saw Abigail’s tear-streaked face, and I ran towards her. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. That moment I knew, just like you know that it’s going to snow long before the first snowflake lands on your nose, that everything was about to change. I gazed up at the leafy trees and the ice blue sky. It was as if the sky didn’t care that everything was changing. Slowly, I walked over to Abigail. I crouched down next to her, careful not to step on her trembling hands. “What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing her back, which was heaving from her sobs. I looked into her large, brown, almond-shaped eyes. “Please don’t be mad,” she pleaded. “Why would I be?” “Because,” she started to sob, “this is going to change everything.” “Wha—,” I started, suddenly concerned. “I’m moving,” she blurted out, hiding her face in her jet black hair. “To Korea.” At that moment, I felt like crying. My head started to pound, and a faint dizziness came over me. I buried my face into my hands, vigorously shaking my head. No, this can’t be happening, I thought. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I just sat there, frozen in place. I blinked rapidly to stop the warm tears from escaping my eyelids. Moving? To Korea? I asked myself over and over again. “You can’t move! No, please don’t leave,” I pleaded between heavy sobs. “I need to go. My dad got a new job. Everything’s all planned out. I don’t have a say in this. And, uh, we’re leaving in two days!” She explained, with a hopeless look in her eyes, while she pulled her shiny hair into a ponytail. “Two days?You can’t just leave me! It’s not fair! Wait a second, why didn’t you tell me?!” I could feel my face growing hot and red. “I tried to! You’ve got to understand! Please understand. I don’t have any control over this!” she said, her voice breaking. “Well, I don’t understand,” I told her, my voice growing louder by the second, “Friends don’t leave each other.” “Sometimes they have to. Sometimes things need to change,” she spoke, placing her hand on my shoulder. I pushed it off and turned away, my face flushed with anger. “No, they don’t need to change,” I argued. Things are fine as they are. Why do we need to change it? How could she do this to me? Friends don’t abandon each other, I thought. “Why can’t you be happy for me?” she asked, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. “Why should I be happy for you?” I snapped back. “How could I be happy for you when you’ve betrayed me like this? You’re abandoning me.” “Betrayed you? You’ve got to be kidding!” she shot back. But I didn’t hear her. I was too busy storming away from her. I hate her. I’m going to hate her forever. How does she think I feel? I thought. That evening passed in a blur. I don’t remember anything from that night. Just being too angry and shaken to speak, eat, or sleep. Thoughts swam around in my brain as I laid under my covers. How does she think I feel? I asked myself again. All of a sudden, I could hear someone creeping into the room. I buried myself underneath my blankets and laid still, as if I were asleep. “I know you’re awake,” I heard a voice whisper next to my bed. “There’s no use faking it.” I knew that it was my mother. I could recognize her gentle footsteps, sneaking closer. “Abigail’s mom told me about their move,” she spoke, frowning sadly, “You’re going to miss her so much! But change happens.” “Why does everyone keep saying that?” I burst out. “Because it’s true, Evelyn. I know how hard this is, and it’s only going to get harder. Whether you like it or not, things change. People change.” I groaned, and rolled my eyes, “It’s all her fault. She ruined a perfectly good friendship.” “What happened?” My mom asked, slowly. “None of your business,” I replied, yawning. “Listen, sweetie,” my mother said, attempting to give me a kiss, “you need to go to sleep. But tomorrow, you are telling me all about what happened between you and Abigail.” “No, I’m not,” I argued. “Just come to me if you need me,” she told me sweetly, blowing me a kiss. “I love you.” “Love you too,” I muttered, half asleep. The next morning, I stared at my shoes as I walked to school. When I arrived at the classroom, I greeted my teacher, Myra, with a plastic smile and clenched teeth. Usually I would be genuinely happy to see her, but I was still upset from the previous day’s events. I glanced around at


By

Candlenut Tree

Angry labored breath All I can hear Angry labored breath I don’t remember what I’m angry about Something Doesn’t matter… I turn back to my math book One problem left I can’t think, My mind Crowded by a radiating heat, Like lava ready to explode into the air I need clarity I stand from my recumbent position Dad asks me something about where I am going I barely hear him And don’t answer I rush through the front door Rough concrete hits my feet, Shocking me back to reality I hit the ground running, running It feels like a few miles It is only a few feet The spiky grass of the front lawn Grabs at my feet Tripping over the exposed roots, closer, closer to my beloved tree, My clarity I grab the bark and lift up, My limbs flying over practiced handholds and footholds Climbing higher Higher Not registering the rough, sandpapery bark Scratching I finally reach the branch where I sit Dream I let out my breath Not realizing I had held it Scalding hot tears hesitate At the edge of my eyes… Unsure of what to do A stinging sensation I stare down at my hands, Red and scratched I close my eyes Lean against another branch The anger leaves me Tears trickle down my face Cooling down the red sweaty mess My face has become My crowded head clears Leaving a glowing radiance of clarity For a moment there is nothing, but the brilliance of silence Shared by the tree and the wind Christiana Joiner, 11Kihei, HI