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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


By

Within the Stars

After the death of her husband, Olive discovers the healing power of creativity. Olive didn’t know how long she’d sat on her bed staring at the stars. They were so bright that night, shining like thousands of little suns in the sky. It brightened up the window next to her bed, its paper-white curtain fully open. Olive sighed, a sound like a balloon deflating. She felt like that. Ten years ago, Olive had sat on this very bed, holding her breath and silently praying to the stars as her husband took his last breaths from a fever. They were too poor to pay for a doctor to come to their house, and going there would just take too long. That was when she lost her husband. That was when she became no one. That was when she became just an old woman with frail hands. Just. Olive wiped away a tear, staring at the full sky. The wind through the open window tickled her cheek as she stared out at the stars. She imagined that they were reaching out to her, glowing brightly. Her husband was up there too, waving at her and telling her that she would be all right, even though they both knew she wouldn’t. Not without him . . . Olive only looked down when she felt something brush against her leg. Gasping with surprise, she found her old embroidery kit, unfinished, with unraveling thread. Olive blinked, then picked up her kit, staring at the unfinished picture she had started. Her eyes welled with tears. “It’s the sky,” Olive murmured, almost more to the embroidery than to herself. “The night sky.” Memories flashed behind Olive’s head: Her husband asking her to do one of the night skies. Her agreeing. Her getting started. And now, her not finishing, not having time to finish. Embroidery was one of her husband’s favorite things to do. It would certainly be nice if Olive finished this piece for him. But she couldn’t . . . ever since his death, she couldn’t . . . “It’ll be good.” Olive hadn’t realized that the words had come from her until moments later. “It’ll be good.” She said the words again, trying to convince herself that it was the right choice. “It’ll help me.” The last words were the ones that sealed the box and sent it away. Olive would do it. It’ll help me. So Olive got to work, stitching her way through the embroidery, just like she used to. Her hands were more shaky and weak than she had remembered, but overall she was confident. Olive repeated the words inside her mind: back stitch, chain stitch, French knot, running stitch. She knew exactly what to do and how to do it. Staring at the stars for days and days on end had finally paid off. As Olive continued to stitch, she felt her insides loosen up, and all her worries and terrible thoughts began to float away from her. This feeling was what she really missed, to feel so free and creative and open. And when Olive looked down at her work an hour later, she realized that she had finished all but a little triangle of space in the right corner. She just needed to complete the final piece. Olive was finishing her embroidery and healing her broken insides with that last stitch. She knew what to do.


By

An Unusual Haircut

Carys and her family shave their heads in support of her grandmother, who has cancer. Bzzzzzzzzzzz. The clipper buzzed through my brother Noah’s hair. It was a blazing hot summer day, and I was at my grandma’s house. We were outside on the patio. I shook my legs and tapped my toes nervously on the creaky wooden floor. My grandma had lung cancer, and her hair was falling out. She had been sick for a long time, but recently, we had all decided that our whole family would shave our heads. It was a rare thing for girls to do, so it was a hard decision for my mom and me. Just a few days ago, my mom and I agreed that we would do it too. I watched sadly as my brother’s hair slowly fell to the floor. My fluffy, cute dog, Bingsoo, sniffed the hair and scurried around. “You’re done, Noah. You can come now, Carys,” my dad said calmly, wiping his forehead with his shirt. Noah hopped off the chair and went to go to the shower. My heart beat loudly. I had so many questions. What would I look like? Would other people like it? Would I like it? I had easily agreed before, but now, looking at all the sharp tools my dad had and realizing how hard it would actually be, I felt scared. There were butterflies flying around in my stomach, and I felt worried. I gulped and took a wobbly step onto the wooden floor. I stepped over piles of hair and took a deep breath. My legs felt like Jell-O, and my hands were clenched and sweaty. My heart pounded in my chest, and my teeth were gritted. I slowly advanced across the floor and carefully sat on the chair, my heart beating fast and loud. I was dripping with sweat. From the heat—but mostly because of my nervousness. My mom took a picture of me, and I tried my best to smile. “You ready, Carys?” my dad asked. I took a shaky breath. Bingsoo whined and pawed at the seat. I gave her a little scratch behind the ear. I need to do this, I thought. I looked at my grandma. Okay. I CAN do this, I thought, clenching my sweaty hands. My throat felt dry, and so did my lips. “O-okay,” I said bravely. I heard a click, and I expected to hear buzzing, but then suddenly . . . Snap! “Aaaah!!” I exclaimed, surprised. “My braids!” I said, feeling the top of my hair. Yup. They were gone! My dad handed me my braids. My family was all smiling. Why were they smiling? They were so calm, while I was having the scariest moment of my life! My heart beat fast. My mom brought a mirror for me to see myself. I was almost too scared to look at it. My hand trembled, and my toes twitched. I grabbed the mirror’s handle weakly, and I held it facedown. I looked at my mom and dad. They both looked happy. I felt reassured, and I turned the mirror around, ready to see how horrible I would look. I held it up to my face, and my eyes went wide. I looked . . . I actually looked . . . funny! I started laughing, and my mom snapped another picture. My dad continued buzzing my hair off. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz. The clipper buzzed and buzzed and buzzed. It sounded like one million bees buzzing at the same time. The smell of sweat filled the patio. Golden Muse and Sun Flowers I looked at the calm reflection of the swimming pool water. It looked peaceful. I focused my vision on the small waves in the water. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Hair fell to the floor and piled up on my shoulders and my shirt. I felt the itchiness of the hair on me. I shifted in the chair, trying to shake some of the itchy hair off. “Stay still, Carys,” my dad warned. I kept as still as I could. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. The buzzing sound broke through the air. My stomach grumbled. Bingsoo sniffed more hair and occasionally took a nibble. The sky was pale blue and with streaks of white clouds. It was late afternoon and the sun was shining in the sky. I fiddled with my fingers and made shapes with the clouds. Oh, that one’s a rabbit. Now a bird . . . I thought. I zoned off for what seemed like forever until, “Carys! You’re done!” my dad exclaimed. I looked up and saw myself in the mirror. “Wow! I look . . .” I felt my head. It felt spiky, yet furry. My body was trembling, and my heart swelled with pride. I did it. I had actually done it. I had done this all for my grandma. The buzzing sound echoed in my head. I remembered the time . . . which was only a few hours ago, my nervousness and when my braids . . . snap! Right off my head. This was a day I will never, ever, forget in my entire life. I felt a new kind of strength, for my grandma, my family, and most of all . . . myself.


By

Automat by Edward Hopper

It doesn’t look like an automat, just a building that reeks of steel and machinery and aching backs, with a corner in which a woman sits at a table, invisible to everyone, scowling into her cup of tea. She had given up on pounding on doors long ago, knowing that nobody would let her in; she depended on her green jacket for comfort, occasionally peeking down, past the yellow banister, to the dark room from which she heard laughter. They did the best they could, said one brown lock of hair that curved around her shoulder, tickling her neck—but the other said in her ear, Go downstairs, and throw your fruit at the ungrateful people in the basement.  The bowl of fruit appeared, but she kept still and made no comment—she heard nothing, only the sound of the rain outside, and the teacup against the blue table, and the moths banging against the flickering yellow lights. The laughing people came upstairs and stopped in front of her table. Still chuckling, they said, Give us a smile! Give us a smile!


By

Explosion in a Shingle Factory

The stairs collapsed beneath her and as she fell, she prayed for her body not to be seen, not painted by a brush, she saw the sun, then the moon, nighttime descended as splinters of wood flew into her eyes, poured out of her mouth, sinking past an assortment of floating objects— a banjo is her head, her torso is a Picasso painting, her legs are brooms, sweeping the air, her arms are cut-up cloth. Curious eyes peek over the crumbling banister, which a disembodied yet still whole hand holds on to, but soon the skin peels away, leaving only bone, which also disappears—everything is still and dark, alone and quiet, somewhere the nude is still falling.


By

Indiana Wind Farm

Through the afternoon In a blue Honda Fit In toward the wind farm We shall go. As the wind turbines spin In the afternoon wind Shadows on the ground Like a fidget. In the high winds You feel like you can touch it But cannot Car shadows go. Spinning shadows Of the turbines Night and Day Out in the plains. Glow of the farm Of the sunlight Beating down The wind farm spins. Through the wind farm We shall go The sun goes down Driving toward Illinois. Spinning turbines In high winds The shadow spins On the highway. Spinning very fast Fast as you go The wind shall blow Is how the turbine goes.


By

Just Imagine

Trees instead of poles Mountains instead of buildings Rivers instead of roads Boulders instead of cars Flowers instead of litter Grass instead of stores Forests instead of parking lots Sunsets instead of smog Oceans instead of cities Lakes instead of concrete Dolphins instead of ships Meadows instead of machines Mechanical things devour the earth like a fox hunts a rabbit, making their own islands while crumpling the world to pieces. The moon stares down upon us with love. The trees give us their shade with kindness while all we see is an ax. The earth is not a huge clump of metal. We must see it in a different way, like the beauty it is. That’s the world we should be. That’s the world we should see.