Stories Archive - Page 23 of 108

View:

Friends and Footprints

By Samantha Abrishani, Illustrated by Hannah Parker

Published May 8, 2018

It was precisely 3:27 am, and Melody Campbell was sitting cross legged by the beach, having stealthily snuck out of the house due to insomnia. It wasn’t a public beach with mobs and mobs of...

Echoes

By Bailey Curtin

Published April 19, 2018

It’s in my head. Bouncing around like a beach ball. Jade’s last words to me. “Shut it, Cate, and let me die in peace.” She’d smiled, squeezed my hand, and then she was gone. I’m...

Echoes

By Bailey Curtin

Published April 19, 2018

It’s in my head. Bouncing around like a beach ball. Jade’s last words to me. “Shut it, Cate, and let me die in peace.” She’d smiled, squeezed my hand, and then she was gone. I’m...

My Grandma Helen

By Sadie Perkins

Published April 19, 2018

I walk into the cold, barren waiting room. It smells like stale peppermints and dust bunnies. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, and I feel the warmth through my jacket. It’s the only...

Garage Junk

by Jerry Xia

Published April 18, 2018

Few things could make me enter the garage at night but thirst was one of them. Although the space was lit by a bright, automatic light on the garage door mechanism, the lighting always felt...

The Stone Angel

By Julia Lockwood

Published March 26, 2018

The Fence

By Lia Clark

Published March 26, 2018

Ever since I could remember, Momma and I lived alone. Just us two. She never mentioned my Poppa or any aunts or uncles or cousins, so neither did I. We were happy enough how we...

The Ride of Infinity

By Raina Sawyer

Published March 26, 2018

I wrapped my jacket around me to keep out the frigid air. It was cold and drizzly and my clothes were soaked. “The tapestry of life will outlast all of us,” my dad had always...

The Giving Stone

By Peyton Jacobe

Published February 16, 2018

I stared at my shoes as I walked to the 6th grade door. I sighed, and pushed some of my long, dark brown hair out of my face. It was a Monday, and on Saturday,...

Friends and Footprints

Story Published May 8, 2018 By Samantha Abrishani, Illustrated by Hannah Parker

It was precisely 3:27 am, and Melody Campbell was sitting cross legged by the beach, having stealthily snuck out of the house due to insomnia. It wasn’t a public beach with mobs and mobs of vacationers and gaudy umbrellas that made your eyes ache when you looked at them too long—it was more like a huge cove along the Atlantic coast, private to only Melody’s family and their neighbors.

Echoes

Story Published April 19, 2018 By Bailey Curtin

It’s in my head. Bouncing around like a beach ball. Jade’s last words to me. “Shut it, Cate, and let me die in peace.” She’d smiled, squeezed my hand, and then she was gone. I’m walking. Walking on a PEI beach in my sweatshirt and pajama pants and flip-flops with my dark hair tangled and down, with a very special something in my pocket.

Echoes

Story Published April 19, 2018 By Bailey Curtin

My Grandma Helen

Story Published April 19, 2018 By Sadie Perkins

I walk into the cold, barren waiting room. It smells like stale peppermints and dust bunnies. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, and I feel the warmth through my jacket. It’s the only thing I can feel right now. The clerk stands behind the desk, typing loudly on her giant computer. Her lips are glistening with bright fuchsia lipstick, and the mascara is clumped on her eyelashes.

Boxes

Story Published April 18, 2018 By Melina Ahmad

Ronia’s black curls bob at the edge of my vision, her toffee face connected to twisting shoulders that sweep past the bodies of sweating parents, yakking teens, and pleading children. A shiny green sign tåwinkles with a line of sunlight, the white text saying “Atlantic Ave” invisible where the light hits the bumpy material.

Garage Junk

Story Published April 18, 2018 by Jerry Xia

Few things could make me enter the garage at night but thirst was one of them. Although the space was lit by a bright, automatic light on the garage door mechanism, the lighting always felt inadequate. On one side, a refrigerator stood like a steel grandfather clock next to shelves of old junk. Nearby were a couple of tool shelves and a working table.

The Stone Angel

Story Published March 26, 2018 By Julia Lockwood

The pewter sky hung like a tapestry over the graveyard, dark clouds spilling across it. The clouds boomed and thundered like an angry beast, releasing torrents of water that drenched the gray headstones below. Lightning sliced through the air like a sword, illuminating the world for a second with its violet light. Libby liked the rain.

The Fence

Story Published March 26, 2018 By Lia Clark

Ever since I could remember, Momma and I lived alone. Just us two. She never mentioned my Poppa or any aunts or uncles or cousins, so neither did I. We were happy enough how we were. It was 1953, and we lived on the very edge of the Black District of the town. Some thought we were much too close to the White District, because only a tall, wooden fence separated us from their houses.

The Ride of Infinity

Story Published March 26, 2018 By Raina Sawyer

I wrapped my jacket around me to keep out the frigid air. It was cold and drizzly and my clothes were soaked. “The tapestry of life will outlast all of us,” my dad had always told me. “Everyone who has ever lived and ever will is a part of the tapestry. Sometimes a thread will come loose when the person it’s connected to has given up on life.

The Giving Stone

Story Published February 16, 2018 By Peyton Jacobe

I stared at my shoes as I walked to the 6th grade door. I sighed, and pushed some of my long, dark brown hair out of my face. It was a Monday, and on Saturday, the worst thing ha happened. My parakeet Willow died. Willow was my best friend; she was always there to cheer me up when I was sad, play when I was bored, or simply make me smile.

Subscribe to Our Newsletter