Arrow Online 2025 Post #6

Hello! This post will highlight some of our terrific 8th graders’ creativity.

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by: Cadence D.

Day 4: 4:30 in the morning;

After yesterday’s debacle Nico had to wake up at 4:30 am again, to prepare for any mishaps we might encounter today. Today’s agenda is to make it to Dennistown, Maine. We can only make 3 fifteen minute stops. It will take us 17 hours to get to Dennistown, and then from there we will have to go on foot to the border opening, hopefully getting to Canada by late tonight. 

Half way through is when all of my body hurts. Everything is in pain and I don’t know how much longer I can go. Nico let us take a 30 minute break instead of a fifteen minute break. No one spoke anymore. 

We were an hour away from Dennistown when it happened. It came out of nowhere. There was something in the fire-covered woods that started coming toward us. It pounced towards us going for Lily. Nico shot out with a stick. He hit whatever this thing was, but this beast got to him first. Nico was lying there, lifelessly, on the ground, with blood covering every inch of his body. Lily is kneeling over his body sobbing. Colin went to hug her while Callum came over and hugged me. 

After a few minutes we are standing here, unknowing what to do next. 

Suddenly Colin says “We have to keep moving. We have spent too long in this one spot and Nico would want us to keep going.” Callum and I nod, but Lily, she still sits there motionlessly. Colin attempts to pick her up but she pushes him away. “Lily, we must keep going.” He whispers to her, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible.

“No! We can’t leave him.” She started to cry again. Despite what Lily said, Colin picks her up and begins to carry her when she yells “Fine, I’ll keep going, just put me down!” We get back on our bikes and begin to peddle, in full, complete, silence. 

We made it to Dennistown by 10 o’clock at night. We needed to make it to the exit tonight. We ditch the bikes and begin to walk. I feel like my feet are going to fall off when I see the exit up ahead of us. 

“Guys, look, we did it.” I say. I can no longer hold in my excitement. I ran towards it. When we all reach it it’s so thin it looks like it is about to close. Lily goes in first, then me, then Colin, and then Callum coming through last. We all hug crying from joy and pain. When suddenly Callum pulls away.

“Guys I know who created this ring of fire.” He says horror and fear in his face. “I’ve known all this whole time. Before the people who caused it left they invited me to go with them.” He looks at me and says “But I couldn’t leave you here all alone.” Colin looks like he’s about to punch Callum for not telling us sooner. 

“Who?” Colin asks, his hands curling into fits.

“My parents.” He pauses. “And your parents.” I gasp. Lily’s face turns to stone. Callum comes over to me but I push him away, processing what I just heard. He’s still talking, explaining  why but I’m lost in my own thoughts. Maybe four days ago this would have hurt me more, but now, after everything we have been through, it only feels like a stinging pain in my chest, and all I want to do now is get even. I begin to walk towards the town infront of us, refusing to look back, when I hear my name.

“Annalise!” Colin shouts. “Annalise!” He shouts again. That’s when Callum comes running up behind me and makes me face him.

“Whatever you are thinking of doing, I am going to help, no matter what.” Callum says to me. 

“I need a plane.” I said to him, “We’re going to London.”

Farewell to Farms

by: Carter H.

I was 6 months old the first time I realized that my friends were disappearing. I later learned that they were being taken to the “hissy-hissy hot oil machine,” or that was what my late mother called it. Now, with over 5 years of experience, I know it as the fryer, the endless wildfire so many friends have perished. But in my youthful shallowness, I was not content to sit by and watch. I plotted to expose the evil system: no longer would we be oppressed, our friends seized and brought to a dishonorable death with thousands treated as no better than mere unintelligent, savage creatures. However, my groundbreaking article “Chicken Frying: Exposed!” was taken off the presses and archived by KFC, never to be seen again. 

Indeed, the fast-food company Kentucky Fried Chicken has evolved into a global enterprise, a corporate monster, frying chicken after chicken, farming and killing them in the back rooms of massive restaurants. I am the lucky one: I live in a small chicken community on the edges of Kentucky, away from the center of their control. But my name, “Clyde Cluckston,” flashes on the gleaming silver box in the corner, serving as a constant reminder that I cannot escape: every day it announces the propaganda and false truths of KFC. Always at 9:00 a.m., spreading the message for every citizen of Corbin, Kentucky, may they be chicken or human, to hear. 

The time was quickly approaching again. I turned to the box, staring innocently at me. With a dry and bitter taste lingering in my mouth, I flicked the dial with my wing, and the sound blared to life. The deceptively friendly tone greeted my ears: “Hello, citizens of Corbin. We regret to inform you that an outbreak of avian flu has hit our chicken population, and we are experiencing a slight shortage. But don’t worry! At KFC, we are incredibly dedicated to making sure our customers continue to enjoy the flavors of our special fried chicken: in fact, we’ll be expanding our production of chickens to meet your demand. Thank you for your unwavering support as we work through this minor setback.” 

The audio paused, and a click signified the end of the broadcast.

“More lies,” I thought distastefully. But then I came to a sudden realization – if they didn’t have enough chickens, how would they expand their production? The truth hit me like a cleaver to the neck. They were coming for me. For my fellow chickens in similar situations, forever trapped in KFC’s all-consuming grasp. I would be seized and taken to the fryer to meet my end. 

Before today, I had never thought much about it, but I was nearing the conclusion of my life and had accomplished nothing. Gazing around the room, I saw years spent fighting KFC, trying to give a glimmer of hope to those who would live under their hegemonic dominance for centuries to come. But the discarded articles crumpled in the trash and littered around the room only testified to my bitter failure. 

My ideas had died: once fiery and bright, they had been extinguished by the tyrannical rule of KFC. They had silenced me, crushed my ideas, and stolen my friends. 

But they had forgotten to take one thing: my spirit.

And sitting in the only chair I owned, a cheap, flimsy KFC promotional chair with “It’s Finger Lickin’ Good!” printed mockingly on the back, the fire in my belly suddenly returned. I wasn’t done yet. 

I hurried to the window and yanked it open. Across the street, KFC’s massive logo, sitting atop their restaurant, glared back at me. Their watchful guards, patrolling as always around the restaurant, blocked my entrance. But luckily, several years ago, with nothing but determination (and strong wings fueled by the hope of revolution), I dug a tunnel underground from my home leading right into the restaurant. Cursing the world for the back problems that come with old age, I struggled through the tunnel at a remarkably slow pace and groaning, pulled myself up into a dark storage room.

Standing up to my full height, a respectable 4 feet, I realized how truly massive the KFC was: its walls were as tall as skyscrapers, towering above everything around it, suffocating and trapping those below. My eyes, roving around the room, fell on a sack of chicken in the corner. I knelt in fury, swearing to avenge my fallen comrades, who had suffered quietly and in vain. 

I, alone, could not fight physically against the power of KFC. But I had other talents. Years as a writer had trained me to send a message, to sway people’s opinions. Ironically, KFC, themselves masters of propaganda, had neglected to consider the fact that this power could be easily used to destroy them.

A small button awaited me inside the media room. I knew the layout well from years of planning and failed attempts to overthrow KFC. The button, wherein lay the cornerstone of KFC”s operation, was only as large as a quarter. But behind its facade, it had unimaginably dangerous power. Behind the tiny switch lay an empire, controlling the population with carefully spun lies, censored information, and twisted facts beyond recognition. The button could rewrite minds, programming them to think and act a certain way. And if I could take control of the button…I could undo the damage KFC had caused. 

To my surprise, the door to the media room swung open with my first push. Their wide screens, stretching around the room, kept a watchful eye on the streets of Corbin. It was still early morning, and the streets were relatively quiet. 

But as I was about to take a step in, I chastised myself. I had not come so far to fail here, at the final hurdle. Naturally, it was a trap. KFC had not risen to power by underestimating their opponents. I stood back, considering the situation. 

The security camera blinked in the corner, sending a red beam around the room. It would see me the second I set foot inside the room. I glanced at the button, tantalizingly close. 

“Think, Clyde. Think.” I needed more time. 

But shouts and slamming doors alerted me that my presence had been discovered, and forced my hand. I stepped inside and ran for the button, my old bones creaking in protest. 

A warning gunshot blasted past my ear, and I froze. Turning, I saw two guards approaching me. Their guns closed off my path to escape.

“Well, well,” one of them sneered. “This is certainly a surprise.” They laughed, clapping each other on the shoulder.

My heart raced and I scrabbled desperately in the back pockets of my vest, searching for anything that could save me. My hand closed around a small metal device, an ingenious invention that I had created on a whim one day, which would produce loud chicken squawks, distracting people in the need of a quick escape. Thus, I had fittingly named it the Poultrygeist. 

The guards had stopped laughing. “Alright, chicken, you’re coming with-”

I whipped out the Poultrygeist and pressed its button, hoping beyond hope that it still worked. 

The shrieks of chickens exploded throughout the room. Their cries bounced off the metal walls and echoed hauntingly from every direction. The guards, shocked, dropped their weapons. Disoriented, they ran out of the room clutching their ears. But I knew they wouldn’t be distracted for long. The clucks of the Poultrygeist would only sound for a minute, and then they would return. I had to act quickly. I lunged for the button and slammed it down with my wing.

The broadcast beeped and flickered to life. The button turned green – it was on. I took a deep breath.

“Citizens of Corbin!” I yelled, my voice ringing through the streets. “The time has come to break free! You have lived under a mask of deception, swallowing the lies KFC has fed you for years. But have you ever questioned them?”

“They say that chickens are mindless. That we are commodities, no better than objects that can be owned, purchased and sold. They have trained you not to see us as living beings. KFC have buried the truth under their fabrications: their false broadcasts, endless propaganda, reassurances that ‘everything is fine.’”

“They claim they need more chickens. But do they mention at whose expense?  Their promise to keep your plates full comes at a much greater cost.”

I stood up straight, my burden having been freed, years of oppression forced into the open.

“Do not allow them to continue controlling you. Controlling the airwaves. Controlling the narrative. Take back your autonomy. Take back your lives!”

A gunshot broke the silence. A burning pain ripped through my back. My legs buckled and I collapsed to the floor. The guards had returned. But I barely felt the cold grasp of death – only the warm glow of victory.

On the screens, I watched as the silence cracked and voices swelled, crumbling the walls of KFC’s empire. Chickens rushed into the streets, tearing down KFC posters and rejoicing in triumph. I closed my eyes. I had done it.

…

The Egglysian Fields, where heroic chickens are sent after their passing, is my new resting place. Here, I can finally sink my old bones into the cushioned armchair I could only dream of on Earth.

From above, I have watched as KFC’s empire crumbled. Their massive restaurants have been torn down, their executives put on trial, and consumers now disgusted by their brand. 

And as the sun rises every morning in Corbin, Kentucky, a new sound can be heard. 

Not the hiss of fryers.

Not the hum of carefully crafted propaganda. 

But the triumphant cries of chickens whose voices have finally been freed.

Grass of Green Beyond 

by: Aila R.

Elias was away at The Expurgent Emporium when Delphina was taken away. 

             Specifically, the Delphina that was his sister. In the confederacy, there were about 3,054 out of the 7,876 inhabitants named Delphina, the other portion of the population being male, and made up of Elias’. It was a strange way of living, but the crowd of Delphinas and Elias’ got by somehow.  

What was even stranger was that no one ever questioned anything. But, then again, Why should they? All the answers were told to them, in the form of the evening programs. In fact, it was around this time, when the clock hits ⅞ o’clock that Delphina was taken away. About that time, when the man with the burgundy suit would ramble on about the security of the border, as images of the Supreme ONE visiting sunlit fields pan across the screen.  Elias opened the door to the house, careful not to touch the big red sign at the front that read “House monitored by the watchful eye.” Elias hurled his leather confederacy bag, filled with an assortment of pamphlets and papers at the cracking wall of his house, and a handful of papers spilled out onto the floor. The nearest headline proclaiming, “The Art of Unknowing, and the Joy it Brings” in bold letters.  

“I’m home,” he declared loudly to an empty house. The room was filled with an unnerving stillness, the distant chattering of the evening program coming from behind a door.  Elias tentatively reached for the cold, metal doorknob of the room next door, beads of sweat forming at the top of his hairline. Elias swiped the sweat away from his plain brown hair. If he opened the door right now, he would see his sister, in her usual position next to the tv box. What could possibly be beyond the room that made him so scared? Elias dispelled the questions out of his head, as any sort of questions unanswered by the confederacy was unbecoming. Perhaps he was having recollections of the past, when his parents were taken by the watchful eye, and the big red sign on their door was placed, marking their home forever. But it was impossible that it could happen again. Mustering an air of pleasant stupidity, as was recommended by the confederacy, he calmly opened the door. The scene that lay before him was nothing out of the ordinary. However, In the place of his sister next to the tv box, lay a small sheet of white paper, marked with the symbol of the watchful eye, an obnoxious red eye that took up half the page. In place of the pupils were the regime’s catchphrases: “To know nothing is peace” “peace is solidarity.” and “solidarity in the supreme ONE.” Under the eye, in print just big enough to read, “Delphina of household 1074 has been taken for being found in possession of an anti-confederacy relict.” 

Everyone knew what happened to people who were taken. Elias’ heart sank, sinking lower than the encampment that his sister must be in now; taken by that dreadful eye. He began to pace the room. He knew something had been off the moment he set foot into his house. He looked under the cushions neatly placed in front of the TV; no sign of a fight, or even any resistance. Everything was pristine and eerily calm.  He looked on top of the cupboard veiled with dust, as if his sister could be found in any of these places. Vanished, just like his parents, gone just to fade into a distant memory; forgotten. Why should he forget? In a sudden fit of anger, he tore at his thin walls, attempting to find a sign of the watchful eye. But there never was. Some speculated that the forces of the watchful eye lived in the walls, waiting at any moment for a violation of policies. Tattered shreds of colorless plasterboard now lay across the room, as a chill crept into the room. He looked around, suddenly embarrassed and acutely aware that the eye could be watching him at this very moment. 

A small book of papers slipped out from in between the now open walls of his house, hitting Elias squarely on the head. The book landed with a thud against the floorboards, causing dust to rise up. The pages of the book flipped open, revealing the contents of the journal. Delphina must have hidden this before she was taken. Stunned, he stood in the room for some time, before he gained his composure. What lay on the floor was unheard of. A small notebook with scores and scores of musical compositions and notes. Elias’ stomach grew sick. If someone found out he still had this, he would be taken away forever as well. However, despite this fact, Elias still held onto it, as if unable to move. He didn’t want to forget. To forget the joy of his sister, of her smile, when he had gifted her those music sheets. Yes! He had gifted it to her, never thinking that they would be found, and that there would be such drastic consequences. 

Something he had found in a discarded stack of newspapers in the expurgent emporium, where he worked, pumping out newspapers for the people. She had always loved exotic, foreign things, however many people looked down upon it. How foolish he had been. To think the watchful eye wouldn’t notice. And now she was gone forever. With growing resolve, he decided he must escape. Escape this life like his sister had always wanted. Anywhere but here, where people were persecuted for individuality, for happiness! Elias placed the book into a pocket of his threadbare jacket, where it would be safe. Her words from the day before echoed within his head. “If I ever disappear, promise you won’t forget.” The words continued to echo within his head, forming a chant in his mind.  “…promise you won’t forget…”

Elias sat awake in his bed, thinking. He had never thought about escaping, and why would he? They had everything they could ever want, with only a small price to pay; their freedom, He reflected bitterly. These new creeping thoughts and questions were beginning to scare him; he had never thought so much before in all his life in the confederacy. Was there even a life beyond the confederacy? On the evening broadcasts, there was always talk about the borders, and fighting the forces beyond, yet they always forgot to mention what was beyond it. What could possibly lay beyond the borders of the confederacy? No one has ever even tried to venture to the beyond that he knew of. Everyone except.. 

Elias jolted awake, in a cold sweat. It was morning, and he was greeted with silence once again. The events of the evening before flooded back to him, causing him to be flooded with a sudden wave of grief. Delphina was gone. And it was his fault. But now was not the time to be caught up in grief. He sucked in a deep breath, and just like any other day, he got up, put on his brown suit, grabbed his leather confederacy bag, and walked out the door, the notebook from yesterday still sitting snugly in his pocket. What greeted him when he got out of the door was another sign, painted using jarring red paint. Underneath the original, it read “House under scrutiny of the watchful eye, further offense will not be tolerated.” He sighed. He would have to be moved to a different neighborhood again, as the confederacy was organized through the number of offences a house has. 

But it wouldn’t matter. He would be gone by the time he would be moved. By this time, Some people on his street had stopped to stare at the additional sign in front of his house. He began to walk to work. Elias walked down rows of identical houses, which looked much like his, all with identical white plaster walls, and two windows on either side of the door. Many of them had red signs on their door. As he continued his walk, he began to see less red signs on the houses. He walked by these unmarked houses for some time before he was able to see the expurgent emporium. It was a magnificent sight, with towers that rose above everything else. The glass towers ended in spires that had begun to shine in the morning light, making everything shabby in comparison. The rest of the building was made entirely out of glass as well, ingrained with the mantra “To know nothing is peace” “peace is solidarity.” and “solidarity in the supreme ONE.” People poured in and out of the main entrance as Elias fought the crowds. He entered the clear building as the cameras repositioned to look at him as he passed. He felt a twinge of fear, as the cameras scanned him from head to toe. Instinctively, he put his hands in his pocket to feel for the booklet, and he walked past the cameras, unscathed. He walked up the many flights of stairs to his office. Elias, his close friend, greeted him as soon as he walked in. “ You look tired,” he commented. 

Elias gave him a grim smile, “My sister got taken yesterday.” A look of shock spread across his face, but he quickly hid it, with an air of pleasant stupidity. 

“Well, nothing you can do about it, hope you feel better,” and abruptly got back to work, printing out long sheets of newspaper, as if nothing had happened. Of course, this was normal, as the taken were never talked about, or even mentioned in passing conversation. Elias could see the unexpressed pity in his eyes, as well as a twinge of fear. His friend understood his pain after all, as his family was taken away last month, due to an attempted escape. He was the only one who would help him escape. The only difficulty would be to get the information out of his skittish friend, as he rarely spoke anymore after what occurred to his family, and frequently sat around, thinking. Elias approached him around the usual break they had, where the broadcasting would screen the Supreme ONE, in honor of his eternal vigilance to the confederacy. Elias turned to his good friend who continued to stare blankly ahead at the broadcasting screen; the supreme ONE giving his usual words of wisdom. Elias slid over to where he was seated. “We should talk.” His friend continued to stare ahead but gave him a small nod that was barely noticeable. 

“Let’s meet at a quarter to 12/8 O’clock, peace pavilion.” The broadcasting continued, but Elias paid no attention to it. The words of his dear sister chanted within his head, like a new mantra replacing the old of the confederacy “…promise you won’t forget…”

By the time 11/8 O’clock rolled around Elias was prepared for his meeting with his friend. The Peace Pavilion was one of the many small parks commemorating the Supreme ONE and his feats protecting the confederacy. Elias still had the small booklet of music sheets in his pocket, and he tightened his grip around it, when he heard a rustling sound coming from behind a statue of the supreme one, standing in the corner of the park, the evening light casting a glow over the face of the statue. The effect was meant to be saintly, yet it appeared more sinister, the light only accentuating the shadows of his bronzed face.  his good friend stepped out from behind the statue, casting a conspiratorial glance behind him before he hurried over to Elias. “We can’t be found here,” he said in a small voice. Elias heeded his friend’s word and followed him to a corner of the pavilion hidden by a hedge where they ducked down. Elias cut straight to the point “I need to leave.” His friend, as if expecting this response, exhaled. “ I was expecting that, knowing you.” “I want to know something that will help me, can you do that?” His friend was stunned by this question, as the both of them had never heard a question expressed aloud before. “Well, I guess I could.” he laughed humorlessly. “How were you planning to escape that night?” Elias asked. Elias’s friend began to speak, and his eyes filled with a haunted look, as he told his story.

“ Myself, my twin brothers, and my father and mother, had always suffered under the marking system of the confederacy, always last to get our meat rations, and all because of the generational marking policy. My parents had dreams of escape, but never dared. However, when my brother received a minor marking from the watchful eye, they decided to actualize their dreams, a horrible idea on their part. My twin brothers and I went along with their plans, risking our lives, for the chance of escaping. Our plan could barely be called one, as all we did was walk until we reached the border in the dead of night. It was a great big, crumbling stone wall, with several small holes; a person could easily slip through. It made you wonder why no one had ever thought to escape before. As we hastened toward an opening, we saw the enforcers of the watchful eye, wearing their bright red uniform. They appeared like out of a nightmare, taking me and my family away to a horrible room. They didn’t question us, they talked to us in a friendly manner, but it was worse than anything you can imagine. They told us things. They told us of the horrible wilderness outside the border, as well as the all-encompassing freedom, far too much for us; it would consume us, making us into evil savages.” They took my family, and left me, as a warning to never cross the border.” Elias’ friend finally looked up, staring up at him directly with watery blue eyes. “The choice is up to you. The risk that freedom gives you, or the risk of staying trapped here forever.” “I won’t tell a soul about what happened here, or about what you want to do.” “I won’t forget.” 

Elias continued to turn over his friend’s words in his mind, as he took big, long strides, toward the end of the world he knew; toward the border of the confederacy. The ever-attentive cameras followed him as he walked steadily toward his destination. The constant silence of the confederacy weighed on him, like a silent apparition, trailing after him. He passed symmetrical houses with symmetrical windows and bright street lamps lighting his path. He held the notebook firmly in his clenched hand, the only possession he had brought with him. Now standing in front of him was a cracked stone wall. soldiers wearing blood-red uniforms lay sparsely spaced along the gargantuan wall. In the moonlight, the wall glowed pearly white. It was about 16/8 O’clock, time to put the plan into action. Elias’ friend appeared, several yards away. They exchanged meaningful glances, before his friend stole away, towards the nearest guard. He threw a rock, diverting their attention. The guard let out a cry of pain, pointing towards his friend’s figure in the distance. The guards ran towards him, leaving their posts, and leaving an opening for Elias to slip through. He jogged towards a wide crack in the wall and slipped through. The wind wooshed across an open plain, as thin tendrils of grass swayed to and fro. Elias felt for the notebook in his pocket; relieved to find it still there. The distant sound of a melody drifted in the wind, carrying with it the scent of rain. “Promise you won’t forget.” 

The Lightning Crown

by: Annabelle R.

Geneva, a once-beautiful city with birds filling the air, was now replaced with wretched shrieks of terror, the beautiful blue ocean now red with the blood of many. For so long, I wondered how we got here, how people allowed the horror to persist for this long. But now I understand…and know why I am the one who has to do this. 

I stand with a rifle on the edge of the castle gates, the guards too preoccupied with the rebels to notice me. I swiftly weave through the chaos with a single purpose: to assassinate the king. I pause at the open door contemplating whether this is what is right. I look to the once-blue sky to see a now-dark void. I let the rain fall on my face without a care in the world. I know what I must do. In the sky, a storm is brewing, and in a moment, lightning will strike, and bring a new light to the world. 

I walk into the castle; the air is cold and thin. The castle seems…abandoned? I have been here many times and never has it been quiet. It’s always loud and lively. I reach Charles’s Office. The door creaks as I open it. He stands with his crown on his head…looking out the window woefully. 

“I knew you would come. It was only a matter of time,” Charles murmurs. He turns to me, “I knew it would be you. With your ambition, your beliefs, your drive…you have come to murder me. Go ahead…I give you permission…my daughter.” 

I freeze. My heart stops. My ears ring. 

When I regain consciousness, my father King Charles lays deceased on the floor. I step forward, pick up the crown, and place it on my head.

As my eyes flash red, the lightning strikes. 

Stairway to Heaven

by: Jojo H.

What do you desire? Money? Fame? The tower has everything you seek. Your aspirations, hopes, and dreams can only be achieved once you reach the top. Are you up for the challenge?

19 years, 3 months, 27 days I have endured endless suffering alone. But when the letter came, I knew I needed to risk everything for a chance. A chance to be free from this life. So here I am, climbing for something—everything.

step 

             after 

                           step

There are no windows or doors, no sense of time or sanity in this tower, just steps climbing up. I pass a sign labeled“1,263” and continue ascending. It does that, the signs; I don’t notice them anymore.

thud thud thud

My blood ran cold. Who’s there? I thought there was no one else insane enough to risk their life like me. “No way,” I thought as I hastened my pace. No one deserves this chance like I do. I begin to run, faster, bounding up the stairs. My heart races as my steps and theirs echo throughout the tower.

But finally, my prayers were answered; a light parted the desolate path I’ve followed for hours. “The end,” I thought; this light was the answer to my suffering; I counted the stairs with each step faster than the previous.

18…10…8

“That must be it!” I thought. I kept going, running over and over again. But once I got to the final step, I froze. My prayers, hopes—my life—all shattered. On that lonely step with the sign labeled “0” was just a broken dream. A window and another letter reading:

What do you desire? Money? Fame? The tower has everything you seek. Your aspirations, hopes, and dreams can only be achieved once you reach the top. Are you up for the challenge?

Learning To Swim

by: Norah M.

Every morning, Mommy and I ride the M-17 bus. Every morning, as I gaze at shimmering Mobile Bay, I make believe that our bus is the ocean, and we are all swimmers. Every day, there are scary parts of our swim through the glistening waters. Those are the parts that scoff at us as we go past. Give us dirty looks. Whisper under their breath. Those are the parts that try to push Mommy and me under the water.

“Mommy, can we sit in the front of the bus today?”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“Why not?” A man wearing a grey sport coat paired with matching slacks looks us up, down, then right in the eye. His cold, shark eyes pierce through my goggles, sending a stream of hot, salty water down my cheek. He mumbles under his breath, replaces his pipe between his ferocious teeth, and continues reading his newspaper. My mother keeps her chin up high as her pride and continues swimming through the center aisle as if nothing happened. She never lets anything pull her under, and floats her only daughter by her side. 

“Next stop, Hamilton Avenue.” The M-17 slows to a stop, and Mommy and I begin to swim down the center aisle, through the rows of seats we cannot sit in filled with people who force us below the surface. A woman’s blowhole ejects water as she scoffs at one of my curly buns brushing against her. Another reaches out her tentacle, preparing to sting. Pull my own tightly to my sides. Mommy squeezes my hand. 

“Never let anyone close your clamshell. Let them see the pearl inside.” I exhale. I practice holding my head up high, keeping it above the surface, and follow in Mommy’s footsteps as they make their way off the M-17.

⏅

by: Raine L.

Mom hands me a sheet of paper. “Equations,” she explains, a smile on her face. “I know it’s the holiday season, but you can still do some work.”

I groan. My sister groans beside me. 

“Hey, don’t be so quick to sigh!” Mom chides us. “First see what’s on the paper!”

I look over the sheet of paper, and Mom’s positivity spreads. “Cloud plus ice equals…”

“Go ahead!” Mom encourages me. 

“Snow, Mom,” I tell her. “Snow.”

Mom smiles and points out the window. “Guess what?”

My sister dashes to the frosted glass. She gasps. “Snow!”

Little flakes dance to the ground from gargantuan white clouds. The landscape outside is quickly dusted in a light layer of shining snow.

I look up at Mom. She reads my mind. “Yeah, sure. Make sure to grab coats first!”

I rush to the door, yelling to my sister to grab a coat for each of us. She yells back and tells me to get my own coat. I ignore her. It can’t be too cold out.

“It really is cold out!” Mom calls.

“Fine,” I grumble, going back for a coat. My sister laughs at me, all bundled up by the door. She kicks the door open and charges out. 

“Have fun, kids!” Mom calls out after us. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot her gathering up her “equations”, a smile on her lips. 

My sister and I dance with the falling snow. Inside, Mom puts decorations up on the walls. I smile, the first snowflakes of the year sprinkling my hair. 

“Winter’s here,” I whisper.