It was a cold winter day when I saw her. The snow was melting after last week’s heavy snowfall leaving the streets a glittering shade of black. There were hardly any cars on the icy wet streets that day. The houses along the street were so quiet I could almost hear the soft swaying of the trees. My sister, Samira, and I were looking out the window of our room on the tenth floor of our apartment building, as we often do, observing the scene on the street. We have a lovely view of Rock Creek Park and when it isn’t foggy or cloudy, we can see the National Cathedral in the distance. Ever since I was little, perched on this window sill, I had been thinking about the lives of people I saw on the street. Since COVID-19, the window had been my connection to the world. I had spent many hours seeing the world through my window. I traced my fingers along familiar scenes on the glass window—the long black road that looked like it could go on forever, the small houses along the road, the grassy patch where the streets intersected at the roundabout. I often saw people walking their dogs by this grassy patch. But something looked different today. I squinted my eyes to take a closer look. Right then, I spotted a jet black puppy with a striking red collar on that grassy patch right by the sidewalk on Eastern Avenue. I saw no owner around. “Samira, look! Do you see that puppy over there?” I exclaimed as I pointed toward the grassy patch. Samira turned her head and her eyes grew wide. It was a tiny little thing. We watched it walk around in circles for a while. We thought it looked lost. Samira and I started getting hopeful. We looked at each other and, without saying a word, we each knew what the other was thinking. Could it be that that was the puppy we were destined to have? What an incredible chance! It was like waking up from a happy dream and realizing everything you dreamt of is true already. Immediately, Samira went to go tell Mama and Baba, while I continued to observe the puppy, secretly hoping no one would show up. I watched the puppy walk around slowly sniffing the grass. It looked like it was looking for someone who wasn’t there. “Hey, little puppy, I will be here for you, okay?” I said softly, imagining that she could hear my voice. Soon my parents came into the room and peered out of the window. We watched their eyes dart towards the grassy patch. Samira and I looked at each other. It was time to implement “Operation Beg for a Puppy.” My parents were skeptical. A stray puppy with a collar did not seem possible to them. They thought someone would surely be around and we just couldn’t see them. They made us wait a little bit before going down to check on the puppy. Now, the whole family was looking out of the window in excitement and anticipation. At least two out of the four members of the family were so restless, we couldn’t keep still. You know which two. In just a few minutes, I imagined how my life would change with this puppy. I was holding her in my arms, looking into her chocolate brown eyes. I imagined her looking at me as she wagged her tail and smiled. I imagined coming back from school and having someone to always be there to greet me. Sure I had Samira, but a puppy doesn’t talk, complain, whine, screech, yell, or cry as much. I forced myself to stop daydreaming and keep concentrating on the puppy, making sure it was safe. While we were waiting, we saw a man come out of a parked car by the sidewalk with a leash who seemed to be calling the puppy. He attached the leash to the collar and carried it back into the car. Noooooooooo!!!!! The dream had ended. All our hopes shattered like a broken chandelier on a ballroom floor! There went our chance to adopt a puppy. We thought that person was the owner and they were probably going a long way and the puppy needed a little break. I guess we would never know.
Short Stories
My Encounter with Nelson Mandela, a short story by Olivia Shekou, 12
My Encounter with Nelson Mandela Olivia Shekou, 12 Just last week, I flew to New York to visit my aunt, a lawyer for the United Nations who speaks three official languages of the United Nations. She allowed me access to the United Nations’ library for the day while she was working on an international human rights case. So, there I was, sitting at an ornate wooden desk at the lavishly decorated United Nations library. The soft glow of the tabletop candelabra illuminated the book that sat right at my fingertips. I was surprised to discover it was a copy of Laaren Brown and Lenny Hort’s biography of Nelson Mandela. As I questioned whether I was dreaming or awake, I reached for the biography to find out whether it was tangible or just an illusion. As soon as I reached for it, Nelson Mandela suddenly stepped out of the biography like a holographic Star Wars action figure. The sixty-year-old man’s brown eyes and chocolate skin gently framed his white hair. When he smiled at me, I noticed three creases on his forehead and around each eye. I gaped in awe, unable to believe what I was seeing. Was this really him or was I hallucinating? He reassured me that he wasn’t a holographic transmission but that he had time-traveled from South Africa from the year 1980. But how was this possible? Nelson Mandela was born on July 18, 1918 in the village of Mvezo in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Had he been alive today, he would be 102 years old! He passed away at age 95 in December of 2013 and since then, the United Nations commemorates his birthday as the Nelson Mandela International Day, celebrated each year on July 18th in his honor. But there he was standing before me, cerebral-looking yet casually dressed, while smiling and radiating a warm peaceful glow. He was wearing a colorful shirt, matching shorts, and looked as if he had just come back from a tropical vacation. He reminded me of my grandfather, with his slightly hunched posture and his friendly handshake. I looked Nelson Mandela in the eye and he returned my gaze. Diverting my gaze to his feet, I noticed his bright blue flip flops. Had he just come from a peace rally in a tropical destination? Who exactly was this man? Nelson Mandela lived a long purposeful life combatting apartheid and racial segregation in South Africa. His 40-year battle against segregation began in Johannesburg, where he faced backlash from the government for protesting against apartheid laws that segregated the Black citizens of South Africa. Nelson Mandela was known for his peaceful protests against apartheid through an organization called the African National Congress. The government banned his organization, forcing him to create a secret army called “Spear of the Nation,” and he became South Africa’s most wanted fugitive. He was hunted down by the police and had to hide and disguise himself. In 1962, Nelson Mandela was arrested and sentenced to life in prison on the brutal Robben Island for conspiring to overthrow South Africa’s government. Nelson Mandela overcame many hardships while confined to a small cell without a bed or plumbing, all the while being subjected to hard labor in a quarry. During his time at Robben Island, he was only allowed one visitor a year and was restricted from writing letters more than once every few months. However, he stayed committed to stopping apartheid by leading protests from within prison while also demanding better conditions for inmates. Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in prison. In 1990, he was finally pardoned from prison and, by 1994, all Black people in South Africa were able to vote for the first time. He is considered one of the most significant political figures today because of his efforts to end racism and apartheid. And here I was looking right at him with my mouth gaping wide. I knew of Nelson Mandela as a peaceful visionary who could see the big picture as well as the end goal of what he was fighting for. He was also forgiving and showed the world what forgiveness looks like. I asked him about his time in prison and how it felt to be treated as a criminal for fighting against racism and apartheid. “As I walked out of the prison door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison,” he said. Nelson Mandela was a freedom fighter to his core, fighting for the freedom and democratic rights of Black citizens of South Africa. In doing so, he had to let go of his own anger toward his wrongdoers in order to stand for his cause. He didn’t seek revenge or self-glory and didn’t hold on to anger. He used nonviolent protests against the South African government and its racist policies, setting the ultimate example of a nonviolent civil rights activist. Nelson Mandela was also a fearless leader. Leaders everywhere should study him, his conviction to fairness and his ability to peacefully protest against the injustices of apartheid. He had all the characteristics of a great leader that helped shape a more democratic South Africa. Even from prison, he never accepted failure or defeat. For this reason, he is one of the most significant and impactful political activists of our recent past. In honor of Nelson Mandela’s memory, Mr. Ban, Chief of the United Nations, said that “Through his extraordinary life, Mr. Mandela showed that tyranny and oppression never have the last word. That is the heritage of hope he bestowed upon every one of us.” “What’s going on and why are you here?” I inquired. “Well, when you opened the biography of me, you brought back my 62-year-old self who had lived out eighteen years in prison. I had a bad feeling about the year 2020 and felt that the American people needed me. Plus, I needed a
A Vacation, an Idiom, and a Wedding, a short story by Joyce Hong, 11
Joyce Hong, 11 (Oakville, ON, Canada) A Vacation, an Idiom, and a Wedding Joyce Hong, 11 Todd slowly exhaled and pressed the button on the radio. Maybe there would be some song or some old nostalgic tune that would cheer him up for a bit. Allard was still at the university in some neuroscience graduate classes that Todd, graphic design major who’d graduated years ago, would never be able to understand. At least he had some time to himself before Allard would be coming back. The radio burped before letting out a few long, miserable notes: “Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead…” He smacked the button to change the song. “We don’t talk anymore, like we used to do…” Click. The radio belched once more. “You told me you love me, why did you leave me all alone…” “Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name…” “We go, breaking up like cell phones, when I speak—” Todd picked up the radio and promptly tossed it onto the floor. While it didn’t seem even remotely broken, the music did stop. Maybe there was something broken inside. Like how there was something broken inside Todd. He had to fix this. Because Allard was a good guy, and he didn’t do anything wrong, and Todd didn’t want to hurt him. And if Allard began to realize that Todd didn’t love him anymore—of course, he meant, if Allard began to believe, inaccurately, that Todd was falling out of love with him, Todd wasn’t sure what he would do with himself. Because then it would be his fault. So. He had to fix this. Now, the only question was how. “Sam, my man—” “I’m not your man.” Beep. “Melia, I need your help, my lobelia—” “Did you just compare me to a flower?” Beep. “Rowan McGowan, you must be knowing—” “That is a pathetic rhyme, and you know it.” Beep. “Rochel, don’t hang up!” A few moments of silence. Beep. “THIS IS NOT MY DAY!” Todd threw his head back, slamming the phone back on the holder. “Why is everyone being so—so annoying today?” Slumping down into the chair, the door creaked closed behind him even though he hadn’t opened it in the first place. As Todd spun around in his chair, Allard gave him a sweet, puzzled smile. It was the type of smile that used to make Todd weak at the knees. Cute, but it didn’t make his knees feel weak anymore. “I hope that everyone doesn’t include me.” Allard said, slinging his bag off his shoulder and dropping it onto the rug. Todd studied him in silence, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Allard’s face was beginning to look increasingly concerned, his smile faltering a bit as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. “Todd? You alright?” Letting out a small, sharp laugh, Todd nodded vigorously. “Course, Ally. Course. Just… Everyone was hanging up on my calls. ALL OF THEM. Sam, Mel, Rowan, Rock. I haven’t even tried to call Bill yet, but I’m sure that he’ll hang up, too.” “Well, actually, I saw him at uni today, and he’s going to his fiancée’s brother’s place in Trinidad for their wedding! He was actually supposed to pack weeks before, but he’d procrastinated and now he’s really hurrying and hoping that Amanda won’t catch him. So, Bill probably won’t pick up at all!” Allard’s shoulders went back, his expression so innocent, so proud of just knowing this, but again, his smile faded quickly. “Well… I guess that didn’t help much.” “Well, you know, I’ve always told you that your optimism is infectious, hm, love?” Todd fell back into the chair. Going to his fiancée’s brother’s place in Trinidad… “And besides, speaking of going on a trip, I’ve decided to go on a vacation! Alone!” Todd slapped his thighs. “Whaddya say?” “Todd, it’s the middle of the year. And alone? Do you remember what happened last time?” Todd did remember what happened last time. Seven years ago, when Allard had been twenty, and Todd had been twenty-one, but still he remembered. How could he forget? “Todd, you’re not looking so good.” Allard gave him an adorably worried look. “You want to get off the boat before it starts?” Allard thought Todd didn’t see him, but Todd had been watching his every move as he’d glanced furtively at the speck that was Long Island. He was not going to ruin Allard’s birthday. “Nah,” Todd said, lifting his chin up. “I’ll be fine.” He was, of course, lying. His stomach lurched as the boat began to move. Involuntarily, Todd felt his hand grip the side of the boat tightly as his other hand threaded naturally between Allard’s fingers. He’d mentioned before that he got seasick, but… He. Was. Not. Going. To. Ruin. Allard’s. Birthday. “How long until we reach the island?” Todd said weakly. “Bout ‘one hour twenty minutes,’ I think they’d said,” responded the tall, spectacled girl sitting next to them. This was the girl that would eventually become one of their closest friends. Melia. She peered more closely at them. “You okay? You’re looking a bit green.” Todd smiled at her placidly, trying not to let himself seem too ill. He decided that not responding would be the best option because if he were to open his mouth, he was afraid he’d hurl immediately. Casting a sympathetic look at Todd, Allard squeezed his wrist, relieving a bit of the nausea. He’d remembered. Well, of course he’d remembered. Allard had always been the better boyfriend. Todd had just reached into his pocket for his seasickness medication and opened the box when the ferry rode over a high wave. Allard reached over, sweeping Todd’s hair away from his face as he yodeled out his lunch. “I’m sorry,” Todd said earnestly to the girl. In silence, she handed him a vomit bag that had seemingly spawned out of thin air. He took it
