My Raindrop Journey
A young boy tells the story of living on a cloud Hello. My name is Roy. I live in a big, big cloud. One day, I felt a bump on my shoulder and other raindrops...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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A young boy tells the story of living on a cloud
Hello. My name is Roy. I live in a big, big cloud. One day, I felt a bump on my shoulder and other raindrops squeezed me tight. I had to leave this cloud. But how?
A few days later in the morning, I realized I was falling in midair! A bird came by and he tried to swallow me! The bird missed because I was falling rapidly!
A slow morning takes an ominous turn for a widow
The moment her foot touched the pavement, she stopped. She turned around, uncertain about what she was doing, the action having completely vanished from her mind. Nothing jumped out at her or returned the memory. She sighed. It had happened yet again.
A magician helps a poor peasant bring the moon to Earth
Once there was a poor peasant who lived on the outskirts of the village. Every day, from dawn to dusk, he labored in the fields—plowing, sowing, and reaping crops. His only payment was a cup of rice, which he took home for his dinner and ate in his common rice bowl.
Pearl dreams of escaping Manzular, a once-peaceful world controlled by an evil witch
Walking through our kingdom at night is usually dangerous, but now it is dangerous times four hundred. It has been a long time since a witch named Madame Lazora took over our peaceful kingdom with an army of fire at her side. Madame Lazora is kind of like a fairytale witch, but way more powerful.
Hoa wonders about the mysterious lady who is always playing the violin
The woman had always been there, it seemed from the beginning of eternity, or at least as long as my eight years of memory could recall. Though Mama said she remembered her from when she was my age. But that’s hard to imagine, because my mama has a timeless face.
A British soldier, lost in the desert, stumbles upon an enemy camp
The evening sky—infused with soft pink and purple hues of twilight from the last dying rays of the sun—was beginning to darken, and a silvery, pale crescent moon was emerging, along with the first pinpricks of light from the stars, bathing the barren landscape underneath with their warm glow.
A translation of a Turkish fable about a very forgetful man tasked with buying some “hik”
In Turkey there was a farmer. He had a servant. The servant’s name was Hasan.
Hasan was a very good man. He was very good indeed, but there was a small problem. Hasan was very forgetful. Here he hears, over there he forgets.
When they take a trip, Millie and her mother must stay with surly, strict Mr. Vinden
Mr. Vinden didn’t enjoy houseguests. Mr. Vinden didn’t like people in general—but houseguests were particularly bad. Today was one of the dreaded days that he would have a houseguest. Actually, he would have two: Mrs. Perdy and her daughter, Mildred.
A soldier reflects on the random nature of war while on the battlefield
All I could see was death. The constant shots of gunfire rattled my eardrums and sent chills all the way to my bones. A continuous torrent of fire came from behind every tree in the forest. And the blood, the blood was everywhere. It painted my uniform.
A strong wind sends the samara seed on a journey to find her new home
When the wind began to blow, the whole world seemed to be angled in the exact same way, swaying in the same gentle pattern. The clouds traveled across the gray sky, the branches of the trees bending and creaking as they were pulled to the side. Leaves and vibrant flower petals swirled through the air.