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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


By

Rainbow

Brianna’s head is in the clouds, and she’s happy that way until a comment from her art teacher pushes her to change What are rainbows? People think rainbows are those colorful arched things that fade quickly. Why? Rainbows aren’t always arches. They can be all shapes and sizes. I can see rainbows anytime, everywhere. Whether it’s sunny, cloudy, or snowy, I can see them. Looking at rainbows, being able to decipher them in the atmosphere, is a thing that is very special to me. “Brianna!” I get jerked out of my thoughts by mom’s voice. It’s a sunny afternoon. I was lying on my back, staring up at the sky, as usual. “We are having dinner in twenty minutes.” I shook my head, focusing my attention on answering my mom’s voice. “What is it?” “Chicken and broccoli.” “Can’t we have pizza and ice cream sundaes?” “No!” I slumped, groaning. The rainbow in the sky shifted into an image of two slices of pizza, their cheese melted and gooey. Next to it was a chocolate-and-vanilla ice cream sundae with a rosy red cherry on top. I moaned. I really couldn’t believe it. “Stop it!” I cried. The rainbow morphed into Winnie the Pooh flicking honey at me. “Ugh! You’re making me even hungrier!” The rainbow morphed into a smiley face. Grumbling, I laid my head on the bristly grass. My rainbow persisted. It turned into two puppy dog eyes. I sighed, but slowly my face morphed into a smile. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. No one could make me laugh, except my rainbow. My rainbow understood me and actually made me happy. I wished anyone else did. None of the kids at school really accepted who I was, and I couldn’t imagine being friends with even one of them. I remembered the whispers and snickers that followed me like a swarm of angry wasps. Kids avoided me like the plague, and I had no friends whatsoever. Then there were the teachers. They looked so concerned about me and worried about my grades. I could see the disappointment they kept carefully hidden in their eyes. And parents. My mom scolded me, saying stuff like, “You need to get your head out of the clouds. Stop your mutterings about rainbows. You need to get serious, Brianna.” Other parents, though, were worse. They sent me hostile glances at pick-up and pulled their children close when they saw me pass. She said I should draw a normal rainbow. Maybe she was also implying that she wanted me to be normal. Suddenly, a mosquito buzzed past my face. The sun was starting to go down, I realized, and jumped up. “See you tomorrow!” I called up to the rainbow as I raced back inside my house. The next day, our art teacher clasped her hands together excitedly. “We will be having an art show featuring rainbows.” I couldn’t believe this was actually happening! I pulled out my rainbow sketchbook immediately, flipping through the pages until I found my favorite one. It was a cute face with a banana mouth, two cherry eyes, and a giant letter “Q” in the middle like a nose. This rainbow shape I chose was strange, but in my opinion, also beautiful. I admired it for a second. Then I started to color the background blue, with fluffy white clouds, and a small quarter of the sun. Filled with excitement, I turned in my drawing after class and eagerly waited for approval. “Is it good?” I asked anxiously. I watched as her eyebrows furrowed. My art teacher was my absolute role model. I adored her. She always understood me. I was sure that she would understand my drawing too. Great minds think alike, right? “It’s . . . interesting,” she finally said. I could see her trying to muster a smile. Finally she managed a thin one. “Oh,” I said. “Well, thanks.” I started to walk toward the door. “Oh, and Brianna?” she called after me, her eyes sincere. “Try to draw an actual rainbow next time.” I ran out the door as fast as I could. All of the students, the other teachers, the parents, they shunned me, and I didn’t care. But my art teacher was the one who understood me the most, the one who should know me the best, and I heard her back there. She said I should draw a normal rainbow. Maybe she was also implying that she wanted me to be normal. I felt so lost, like a traveler without a guide. My heart remained loyal to my rainbow, but my brain insisted on listening to my art teacher. Listen to her, my brain whispered. She is a professional. Finally, my brain won. The Attack of the Christmas Lights A few days later, after a big rainstorm, I ran outside with my rainbow sketchbook, just like before. I sat down on the still-wet pavement and started to draw the standard rainbow. I messed it up several times, my tears staining the pages. I felt like someone was suffocating me with all these rules. But I persisted. I needed to do this. Finally I got the lines shaped perfectly, and the colors in confinement. The rainbow above me lowered down and nudged me. I covered my eyes. It kept nudging me. “Stop it!” I screamed. “Leave me alone! You only give me misfortune.” As if showing my determination, I ripped out all the previous drawings of my rainbow and crumpled them one by one. Then I ran inside, closing the curtains. I would begin my life fresh and new again, starting with the rule of rainbows. The new version of my drawing was so appreciated by everyone that it made its way to the art show on the conference night. That night, as I stood in front of it, I felt the admiring looks of other students. I am quite popular among them now. “I am so proud of her improvement in school. She


By

The Peacock

An unexpected visitor alights on the writer’s roof It just stood there, like it was supposed to be there. It might be in Asia, but not at our little white house in Henrico County, Virginia. There was a peacock on our roof. That’s right, a peacock. My sister, mom, and I were standing on the deck leading into my parents’ bedroom, morning air slapping our faces. We were watching a peacock strut on our roof, its face facing the yard. “How did it even get up there?” I asked no one in particular. How did it even get up there, seriously? Peacock But the way it was strutting could give you a thought that it owned the house, the street, even the county! Maybe even the country! And it was dressed like it too. Even though it wasn’t showing off its assortment of beautiful rainbow tail feathers, it had a sea-blue body and a large patch of green on its neck, right under a beautiful light-blue eye. It soon started calling to something in the yard. I looked into the yard to find another peacock disappearing into the trees! The other peacock looked exactly like the peacock on our roof. The peacock soon flew off our roof, and the spectacle was over. I went back into my room to get ready for school. If there is one thing I learned about peacocks from that dazzling event, it’s that they have a place everywhere, even in America, the place where you least expect a peacock to be. Jack Moody, 10Richmond, VA Sophia Zhang, 8Hinsdale, IL


By

A Beautiful Wood

Beautiful Wood: In the light of the lamp Many rocks Sitting aside Resting in place In the dark The shadows cast Lights and lamps Throughout the night Hanging down Towards the book The poems written With many hooks Worms slithering on the piece An earthquake it seems With many trees Mountains and Rain and Rivers of Color Throughout The piece of wood Many slopes With curved flat ends At the bottom. It may seem that it’s not cold. A Chord of Pine Trees in the Night. Sean Tenzin O’Connor, 5Bishop, CA


By

Let It Be

The writer learns a valuable lesson after bringing home a pet worm As I crawled through the lush grass, I could hear the cardinals singing a happy morning song and smell that fresh cut-grass smell that people have tried to bottle but never succeeded. I took a deep inhale to try and consume as much as I could, but ultimately it triggered my hay fever, which made me sneeze loudly. I had recently taken a liking to sneezing as boisterously as I could to scare my family. As I opened my eyes in recovery, I observed something slimy, wiggly, and tan-colored slithering in the soil. “What’s that? I said inquisitively. As I leaned in closer, my friend Annabelle screamed, “It’s a worm!” even louder than my sneeze. Now that would normally gross out the average child and prompt them to scuttle away, but I’d recently realized my life’s potential was to be a jungle explorer, following a family trip to Costa Rica. There I’d had my first taste of termites and lost my heart to a baby sloth. So, I now fancied myself the next Steve Irwin (I was born in Australia after all), and this was as close as I was going to get to the jungle in a Long Island backyard. Surely this miniscule creature needed protecting from the perils of the suburban Northeast. I needed to save this annelid from imminent threat, before a ravenous hawk or vicious adult foot ended my rescue mission prematurely. This wouldn’t be my first foray into animal rescue. I had been practicing taking care of stuffed animals at home for over five years by this point, running an animal rescue center out of my bedroom. I hadn’t lost a patient yet; a few had lost a limb or an eye, but they were all alive and well (in the bottom of my closet somewhere). I had been accumulating quite the exotic world animal collection over these years, with a kiwi bird from New Zealand, a polar bear from France (an impromptu gift from an airport shop from my Dad), an echidna from Australia, a British bulldog, and a mouse from Orlando, Florida. Surely, I was ready for the big time now. It was time to rescue my first wild animal. As I approached the worm, I played out the rescue mission in my head: As you can see, the human female is approaching the mysterious creature here in the suburban jungle, I said to myself in the voice of Sir David Attenborough (after all, I am half British). This appears to be a critter of the common earthworm variety. Above and Below “Hurry up, Billie!” My friend Annabelle interrupted my musings. “I need to pee!” I snapped out of my head and back into my body. I began to creep up on the worm from behind so that I wouldn’t startle it and miss my chance. Easy does it. Just a few more steps . . . “Worms don’t have eyes, Billie!” said Annabelle obnoxiously. I didn’t think she was enjoying this game as much as me, and before I could stop her, she pinched the worm between her thumb and index fingers and pulled it out of the ground. I watched it stretch till its head (or tail, who can really tell), sprang back out of the ground. It wiggled in one last attempt at freedom, but ultimately the stronger species triumphed. She dropped the worm into my hand. It tickled as I cupped it with my other hand and carried it toward the house. It was time for phase two of the operation: convince my parents to let me keep him as a pet. (I now know that earthworms have both male and female organs, but at this point I’d decided he was a boy.) Annabelle had now ditched me to trade Pokémon cards with my brother, so it was on me to deliver from here. As I approached the kitchen, I could detect the comforting scent of hot tomato soup bubbling on the stove, combined with the buttery aroma of grilled cheese sizzling on the skillet. My mouth started to salivate, and I almost forgot about what I was there to do, but a wiggle in my hand brought me back to the task. And what better time to present Mom with a worm on my filthy hands than when we’re about to eat? “Mom, can I please keep this worm that I found in the backyard?” I said, “Billie, I think worms are meant to stay in the wild, in their natural habitat,” she answered back. “And go wash those grubby hands!” I wasn’t about to give up that easily, “But he is going to get eaten out there, Mom!” I said gloomily. “That’s just part of nature’s life cycle,” Mom said very practically, as she often did. But I didn’t want the worm to get eaten—he was now my friend. “Just one night. Pleeeeease!” I begged. “Fine. One night only, and then tomorrow you set it free!” She never could bear my whining for too long. “Okay. Thanks, Mommy,” I said merrily. So, I had kind of accomplished phase two. I might not get to keep him as a pet, but at least he could have a sleepover. I carried him back outside to find some things in the backyard that would work to make him a home. I grabbed twigs, leaves, rocks, and on a final impulse, some flowers to brighten the aesthetic. Personally, I find brown on brown a little depressing, even for a worm. Later that night as the worm and I settled down, I sang one verse of “Rockabye Baby” to Worm, as I’d named him, and promptly fell asleep. Jungle exploration had proven to be a tiring business! I had sweet dreams about the fun Worm and I were going to have the next day. I came to the realization that the only thing that the worm needed rescuing from


By

Pieces of Sunset

Daylight fades, unravels, revealing intertwining coils of color. Dusky lavenders to emerald greens creep through the sky like enchanted vines on an old brick wall. Colors flicker and dance, candle flames lighting up the heavens. Fierce oranges and hot pinks explode like dragon fire, flooding the world with color for a mere second before the colors shatter, sending pieces of sunset everywhere. Catch one. It’s mesmerizing, but I look up just in time to see that everything has ended in stars. Sage Millen, 12Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada


By

Blink

Being a guard dragon means a lonely and difficult life I paced, on high alert, by the doorway, the rusty metal chain around my neck clunking. I growled at a rider passing by. My dark-green scales felt clogged with dirt, the spikes along my back chipped and dented. The huge castle doors behind me loomed angrily. My stomach hurt from hunger. Though my food dish still had some chunks of fresh meat, I would save those for another day. I was patient. That was something I had learned from my time as a guard dragon. When you work for humans, you tend to learn things. You have to learn things, and be smart, and strong, or you don’t survive. You are disposable. You might succumb to the harsh weather—the stifling heat of the summer, flies buzzing around your ears, or the freezing cold of the winter, snow forming drifts, and stringing icicles along your sharp spines. Or maybe the humans would find a replacement, slaughter you, and use your thick, scaly hide for armor. Another thing I learned was how to tell when someone meant trouble. The key was to read the energy around them. Some troublemakers slink in the shadows. Those are the rare kind, and the most dangerous. Those are the ones who try to sneak past the castle walls. Most humans, however, aren’t that ambitious. They’re satisfied just throwing food and laughing. I never complained. Sometimes the food-throwers saved my life, though they didn’t know it. I saved their projectiles for when the hunger was too much to bear. Dragon Eye Today, some of these troublemakers, the food-throwers, were loitering by a market stall a few feet away. They were scruffy, probably street kids. Their clothes were in muddy tatters, their hair reminding me of a robin’s nest I saw several months back. The bird had laid three light-blue eggs. Then I watched as the hatchlings grew, strengthened by the unwavering care of their parents. Then one day they were gone. The little fledglings flew away, spreading their wings on the wind and soaring out of sight. I never saw them again. But the next year, the mother returned and used the same nest as before. I watched the street kids. They inched closer. I snorted a small flame. The kids recognized the sign. That was another thing that I had learned: when someone wanted a fight or just needed a warning. The kids backed away. I lifted my snout to the sky. The sun was setting, the clouds turning vibrant reds and pinks and purples. One or two stars were beginning to shimmer against the dark blue abyss of the sky. The humans began trickling back to their homes. I curled up on the stone ground. I had learned long ago that it was useless trying to get comfortable. The nightmares still came. As I was beginning to fall into a fitful sleep, I heard a noise. It sounded like the padding of small paws. Squinting one eye open, I saw a young fox pup coming my way. She was scruffy, her bushy tail bedraggled and her fur matted. Ribs showed through her dusty pelt. She was too young to survive the night without a mother. I pretended to be asleep. I heard her creep closer, and then she quickly snatched a hunk of meat from my food dish. She glanced at me, my large pointed teeth, sharp spines along my back. I opened my yellow eyes just enough, and blinked slowly. The fox tilted her head, pricking her pointed ears. Then she curled up into a tight ball, and fell asleep. I noticed she was shivering. I paused, unsure. Finally I draped one scaly wing over the ball of fuzz. The fox yipped in her sleep. For the first time in my long life, I slept without nightmares. Lucia Osborn-Stocker, 12Browns Valley, CA Maggie McGoldrick, 9Yardley, PA


By

Ma’s Riches

A poor mouse family prepares for a visit from their king and queen Corn Lily and Day Lily lived several miles from an abundant wood. They were twin mice, and their family was very poor. They lived in a small burrow, poorly furnished, on dry, cracked ground. Their mother planted little seeds every year, but the plants died before they were knee-high to a splinter. Their father walked for many hours beneath the blazing sun to gather nuts where the grass was lush and the trees tall and fruitful. But he was often exhausted by the time he got there, and never had enough time or strength to pick enough acorns and hazelnuts for his family. Day Lily and Corn Lily worked very hard, but still they were never properly fed or clothed. They might have moved to richer ground if it were not for one thing. Day Lily was very quiet and sickly, and one of her hind legs was crooked, and she walked with a limp. She couldn’t walk all that far, and a journey to suitable land would take a day at the very least. Although thin and light, she was much too heavy to carry for hours on end. Corn Lily was different. She was strong and outgoing, and a great help to her parents. “Oh, Ma,” Day Lily said tremulously one day, while sewing a shabby apron for Corn Lily. “Yes, my darling Day Lily?” Ma said quietly, catching sight of her daughter’s face. “If it weren’t for me, we might have moved to richer ground. It’s because of me we’re so poor,” the little mouse whispered, tears in her soft brown eyes. “But I’m just a burden. Just a b-burden!” “Oh, you aren’t a burden. Look at your sewing. And you cook and knit wonderfully. You aren’t a burden. Don’t cry, child.” Suddenly Corn Lily ran in. “Ma, Ma!” she cried in excitement. “King Straw, Queen Birch, and little Prince Barberry are coming! They are stopping at every mouse’s house, and that includes us!” “Good rivers!” Ma gasped. “Oh, Corn Lily!” Day Lily shouted, leaping up and grabbing her sister’s paws. Just then, Da slipped into the little burrow. “What’s all the noise?” he asked. “Slope, the king, queen, and prince are coming!” Ma told him breathlessly. Then the little mouse peered past the jewels and fine silk and studied the king, queen, and prince’s faces. They didn’t look happy, she realized. “Oh, Poppy!” Da said. He smiled in amazement, and then his smile faded slowly. “Da, what’s wrong?” Day Lily asked. “Oh, they’ll scorn us,” he sighed. “The royal family is proud. And they’ll scorn us for being poor.” “Oh, Da, they wouldn’t scorn someone who works so hard!” Day Lily cried, flinging her arms around Da’s neck. “Or someone who’s so nice like you, Da,” Corn Lily shouted. “I don’t believe anyone in the world has such wonderful daughters,” Da said. *          *          * Three days later, there was a brisk knock on the door. Corn Lily opened the door and gasped, giving a hasty bow. Day Lily looked up from her knitting and scrambled to her feet. “H-hello—I mean, Your Majesty,” Corn Lily stuttered. “Please, d-do come in.” Day Lily said, self-consciously aware that every mouse was staring at her crooked leg. “I-I’ll go get Ma. W-wait here, please.” She hobbled as fast as she could to Ma’s room. “What’s wrong, child?” Ma asked. “Oh, Ma, they’re here! King Straw and Queen Birch and Prince Barberry, Ma!” Day Lily said. “Great rushing rivers!” Ma said breathlessly, running to the door and smoothing her fur. King Straw came in first, looking sniffily around at the humble burrow and the shabby mice who lived in it. Queen Birch followed, fussing over Prince Barberry, who just kept goggling at Day Lily’s crooked leg. She felt herself getting hotter and hotter. The rich robes the royal family wore were fringed with rubies and emeralds. Queen Birch’s paws shone with rings, and a golden crown lay on King Straw’s head. Corn Lily was amazed by their fine garments, and self-consciously glanced down at her plain, russet gown. Then the little mouse peered past the jewels and fine silk and studied the king, queen, and prince’s faces. They didn’t look happy, she realized. The queen’s ears drooped, the king’s eyes were dark with gloom, and the prince’s brow was wrinkled in a sulky frown. She wondered how they could be so sad when they were so rich. The Acorn “Sit down, Your Majesty.” Ma said, flustered. They didn’t sit. “Where’s your husband?” King Straw asked importantly. “Away, sire, gathering acorns. Hazelnuts too,” Ma answered, nervous at the seriousness in the king’s tone. “Surely acorns wouldn’t grow here?” the queen said. Somehow, the surprise in her tone made Corn Lily angry. The queen knew no acorns grew here. She had asked it just out of spite! “No, my lady. He walks many hours to gather them,” Ma murmured. “He works hard?” “Oh, Sire,” Day Lily said suddenly. “Da works very hard. Very hard indeed.” “You say he works hard,” King Straw said snidely. “But then why are you so very poor?” Ma stood a little taller. “Oh, Sire, I have to say I’m much, much richer than you are.” “You are, are you?” The king smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It was a smirk, and it made Corn Lily even angrier. Prince Barberry giggled, pointed at Ma, and whispered something in the queen’s ear. Corn Lily clenched her paws tight. “Yes,” Ma answered. “I am. But not in money, Sire. In joy. My daughters and my husband and the beauty of the sunset bring me so much joy that I am richer than you—hundreds of times richer. Oh, yes, Sire. Hundreds of times richer. If joy were money, this house would be so full we wouldn’t have room to get in. If joy were money, it would