A World War II veteran recalls the day he lost his best friend on the battlefield Full of regret, heavy clouds mask the gloomy sky. The war veteran, now frail and old, enters the cemetery. In front of him, perfectly lined headstones stand to salute him, and among them . . . among them is the soldier he will never forget. A path leading to the fallen—steps acting like a stairway to heaven. Tom walks gingerly, taking in his surroundings. In the distance, birds sing songs to honor the fallen. Branches bow, and their leaves rustle like sobs. Guilt fills him with each step—the more he takes, the heavier it becomes. Sorrow leaks out along with his tears. Slowly, the elderly man staggers toward the grave he wants to see most. The one he needs to see. First step: the scarred battlefield. Second step: bombs, bullets, planes. Complete destruction. Third step: the last time, the last moments with Private Shield, Joseph. His best friend. Tom stands by the grave; his fingers trail along the inscription. A jet roars past, and memories flood his head. With nothing to stop them, he falls back into his past . . . *          *          * He stood amid the dense jungle, catching his breath. The leafy, cobweb-like canopy spread out above him. Gnarled roots, rotting leaves, and dead branches littered the mossy floor. The jungle was a maze of trees, a maze that possibly had no end. Scrambling to find a place to rest, the young soldier slumped against a tree. The more Tom thought about his friends, the more he worried about them. Staring into the distance he tried to reassure himself, when through the deafening silence, Tom heard something. The sound of leaves crunching. The sound of twigs snapping. Tom tensed and unconsciously reached for his pistol. Someone was approaching. Fast. Frost Then, the click of a gun. Tom spun around, holding his pistol up to the face of the silhouette. “Show yourself!” he hissed, not wanting to draw any other attention. The person stepped forward and, through the dirt and grime, Tom saw. . . “Joseph?” “Tom!” Joseph said. Tom smiled happily and crawled closer to greet his friend. They wrapped their arms around each other, and Tom realized that Joseph was flanked by two of his fellow soldiers, Private Jefferson and Private Stone. “You guys all good?” “Yeah, for now.” Joseph chuckled under his breath. “We’ll stick together. Stay strong. Hopefully, we can survive this.” He gestured around at the thick forest. “Yes sir!” William, Private Stone, joked. They all laughed. A nice, warm feeling that felt too good to be true, thought Tom. Not under these circumstances. Then: “What was that?” asked Private Jefferson. “Probably just the wind,” Joseph said. Yet he backed up and looked around apprehensively. Branches broke. The four privates huddled together, forming a defensive circle. Their guns were out. Terror coursed through Tom’s veins. His heartbeat reverberated throughout his body. Branches and trees concealed everything around the group, but the young soldiers could still see the dark shadows around them. The enemy knew where they were. They were coming. “Stone! Jefferson! Albans!” Joseph whispered. “On three, we split up and run!” Tom took a deep breath. “One.” He stood up. “Two.” He put his bayonet away, swapping it for his pistol. “Three.” Branches and trees concealed everything around the group, but  the young soldiers could still see the dark shadows around them. The enemy knew where they were. They were coming. Not knowing where he was going, not caring where, Tom sprinted into the mesh of leaves. Ducking in and out of trees, he dashed to the closest thing he could call safe—a wide, tall tree, the type that made Tom think it was made for hiding behind. Gunshots ricocheted off trees around him. Screams echoed. “Joseph!” Tom spotted his friend and ran toward him. “Tom, what are you doing?” Joseph said quietly. “You’re gonna draw more attenti—” Joseph broke off. A bullet pierced the air, hurtling toward them as two Japanese soldiers approached. Tom tried sprinting back to his cover, but then he heard it. The bullet had met its target. He turned. Lying on the ground, barely breathing, blood pouring from the side of his chest, was Joseph. Tom sank to his knees and checked his friend’s pulse. Joseph was still alive, for now. His face was ashen, and dripping with sweat. “Take care, Tom,” Joseph managed, weakly. His last words. Exhaustion, blood, fear—which one had killed him? Tom wanted to shout for help, but he couldn’t risk anyone else finding them. Tom looked back at Joseph’s limp body. Tears streamed down Tom’s face. “Why?” he murmured “Why Joseph? Why me?” Tom’s eyes were blank, as if he were staring into the future, a future that Joseph, unfortunately, could not experience with him. *          *          * Dazed with grief, the elderly man blinks hard, trying to clear his vision. He looks at his friend’s name. “Thank you, Joseph. You did more  for me than I ever could have done for you.” Standing up, Tom salutes the white stone. “You stuck with me your whole life, and you still do now. The light may have gone out inside of you, but it continues to live in my heart. That light has guided me my whole life. Thank you, my friend.” Chamonix Fernandes, 11Singapore Sage Millen, 13Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Flash fiction pieces that speak to the mysterious pull of the wild Choices Opal took a step onto the forest path. Her posture relaxed as she centered herself on the forest path. Opal’s parents were a few steps behind her. She lightly ran ahead. Opal didn’t want the unusual hike to be filled with the sounds of her parents talking to her sternly, the sounds that filled the rest of her life. Opal made sure to stay ahead of her parents, who seemed content to talk to each other for once. She allowed herself to indulge in a fantasy that came into her head on every hike like this, where she would disappear into the forest, leaving all her problems behind. The hike wore on. Up ahead, Opal saw slabs of rock, seemingly piled on top of each other. She ran up on light feet. This was a moment that came, at one point or another, on every hike. Opal had the desperate urge to dash off the path, take a leap to freedom in the forest. Opal hovered there, caught in the moment between two possible futures. She looked back. For a moment, her eyes caught the eyes of her father. With one swift movement, Opal turned and slipped into the forest. Her parents, listening, heard swift light footsteps running away into silence. Witnesses A girl opened the door, looking quickly back before stepping out and shutting it behind her. It was night, but the moon was full. If the squirrels in the trees around her had been watching, they would have seen the girl’s eyes fill with tears that reflected the moon like a mirror. She shook her head as if shaking away her thoughts, then walked in among the trees. A doe saw the girl reach her destination, a small clearing surrounded by dense trees and bushes. The girl sat down against a tree and put her head on her knees. The doe ran off through the forest, leaving the silent stars and the bare branches as the only witnesses when the girl began to weep. Oren Milgrom-Dorfman, 12Brooklyn, NY

On a field trip to an old spooky castle, Lola meets a mysterious girl The castle loomed large and ominous above me. I heard the tour guide blabber on about some people who had died inside the castle, probably trying to make it appear scarier than it was—something about ghosts and people hearing screams when no one was there. I wasn’t scared; I just didn’t want to be there. All I wanted to do was go home and be with my cat, the only being I felt I could trust. A feeling of loneliness washed over me as I watched the girls in the class huddling up and whispering about how creepy the castle was. The way the girls all had their secrets reminded me of my old best friend, Olivia. We used to be like that, always sharing inside jokes. When we were in fifth grade we began drifting apart, but honestly, she started drifting away. Every time I wanted to hang out with her, she would push me aside. She stopped inviting me over, stopped calling me, and before I knew it, we weren’t even eating lunch together. After that, I felt completely alone. By then everyone else had already formed cliques. The tour guide showed us through the door. As soon as we walked in, I noticed how dim the castle was. Engraved details covered the walls. I watched a mouse scurry from one hole in the wall to another. There were so many different passageways. The group paused to look at a painting of another one of those old rich guys from the 1800s. “Arthur Livingstone.” He was the master of the castle, and he had been the seventh-most wealthy man in America at the time, the tour guide explained. I didn’t care. My eyes wandered, looking for anything more interesting than this. It was then that I noticed a dark passageway with a black piece of tape blocking off the entrance, and a sign saying DO NOT ENTER. Do you know that feeling when you are being drawn toward something even though you know it’s wrong and every bone in your body is telling you not to do it, yet the pull feels stronger than you? That’s what I was feeling right then. The doorway grabbed my attention and pulled me in, just like a spider grabs its prey. I couldn’t look away. I stood there awkwardly staring at the hallway. I should stop now, I told myself. Just turn around and go back to the class. But my feet kept walking. One of the girls came up to me. “Staring off into space again?” She turned around and whispered to her friend, but loud enough so that I could hear: “Super weird.” I had to get away. I hated this tour. The hallway seemed inviting, like a kind of escape. Plus, it wasn’t like anyone would notice I was gone. I wondered why it was closed off: was it just under repairs, or had something bad happened down there? It might sound weird, but in some ways I identified with the passage, separated from the rest of the castle, all alone. Doorways lined the dark and dusty hallway. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, almost concealed by the carvings. Before I knew it, I felt surrounded, trapped. Did I hear footsteps behind me? Was someone there? I turned my head to make sure no one was following me. I took a deep breath and kept walking. The hallway was becoming more ominous. I felt the urge to scream to hear my echo, but I didn’t. Shivers ran down my spine as I made my way through the darkness. I should stop now, I told myself. Just turn around and go back to the class. But my feet kept walking. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was scared, but I noticed I was shaking. It felt almost as though I was at war with myself and being pulled in two different directions. Part of me wanted to turn around and go back to the tour, but the other part of me wanted to keep going. I wondered what this passage led to, and what it had been used for back in the day. I imagined a servant girl walking through here holding a duster and stopping at one of the bookcases nailed to the wall to dust off shelves. This hallway reminded me of when I was little and my family would drive through a tunnel. I would feel that the tunnel went on forever. I would ask my parents over and over how much longer, but they would brush off the questions and tell me we were almost there. That’s what this passage felt like, except no one was there to assure me that everything was going to be okay. Looking ahead, a door caught my eye; it seemed to be glowing. I fastened my eyes shut and reminded myself that it was just a door. When I opened my eyes it still seemed to be glowing. Was I going crazy? I walked toward it and noticed the dark-brown wood. It was curved at the top and covered with an immense amount of detail, swirls upon swirls tumbling on top of each other and making it hard to focus on one part; the swirls were intertwined, resembling vines or knots of messy hair strewn together. I wondered what was behind the door. Did it lead somewhere else? I imagined walking inside. Maybe I would find some stairs that led to a series of underground tunnels? Walking away seemed out of the question—I had to take one quick look. It was different from the other doors: more intricate, more menacing. I was fascinated. My eyes searched for a doorknob. Instead, there was an old-fashioned door knocker. Every creak of the door made me flinch. My stomach was in knots. As I pulled open the door, I took a step back and realized