Ideas
I sighed, a blank sheet of paper before me. It was almost as blank as my head at that moment. One article every month. I had taken for granted that I could keep on travelling...
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I sighed, a blank sheet of paper before me. It was almost as blank as my head at that moment. One article every month. I had taken for granted that I could keep on travelling to get ideas. But ever since unpredictable COVID lockdowns began, that had gone. We could not plan anything especially to coincide with my term breaks.
Attack of the Invading Virus
Natalie Yue, 8
A prickly ball of red spines
Smirking, pesky, buggy, careless,
You know what I’m talking about:
None other than Coronavirus.
Affecting many lives each day,
Covid-19 is in our way
“It doesn’t matter” some people say
But this virus isn’t okay.
Tick. Tick. Tick. The passing of mere seconds seemed eternal that night.
The sea was dark and still; its waves rolled peacefully, quietly. On its surface, the only motion exhibited was the dainty reflection of stars on the water, which twinkled much like their counterparts in the sky; and the horizon seemed invisible; the sea and sky were the same on this night.
It was Christmas night
with the stars twinkling.
all the lights shining bright
the crowd of people thickening.
Singing Christmas carols through the town
“We wish you a Merry Christmas”
“We wish you a Merry Christmas”
shrill voices made me frown
In a small corner
under the dull flickering street light
trying to look harder
as the words in my book lit on fire
Noises echoi...
Stars By Peri Gordon, 11
A star. A crystal, with a life of its own. White spikes gleaming, dancing, smiling in the sky. Teasing the moon, competing with the other nighttime jewels. Flashing silver, flashing gold. Brightening the sky for hours without tiring. Showing, disappearing, colorful, plain. Glimmering with life.
Becoming A True Hero Ruby was an 11 year old trained warrior. She had glossy red pinkish hair with beautiful soft, pure skin, and shining emerald eyes. One evening, she was lying down on her bed thinking about what she could do to be a better warrior. Then she heard her mother scream.
Write in an ode in honor of something or someone. Maybe it’s your grandmother, your cat, or even just your favorite chair.
‘Vignette. What is a vignette? Why does it matter so? Why must we write one? Vignettes are not poems, vignettes are not stories, vignettes are, simply, vignettes.’ RetirW thought. Soon, RetirW’s dreaded writing teacher everybody said was named Sir came, his wooden leg clunking against the floor.
Flipping the light switch up and down, back and forth a number of times in order to brighten the dimmed ceiling light at the center of my bedroom, I began the day as I had all others before. White walls empty of any life or decoration were bathed in a dull gray tint of morning rain. Suddenly, I feel trapped, as if the corners of the room are beginning to close in on me.
The room was bright and cheery this Christmas Eve; the fireplace lit, giving off a warm, soft aura, the Christmas tree covered in blinking lights and colored ornaments. The cat behaved pretty well on the whole, at least not ripping up the rug. The stockings hung on hooks, filled almost to the brim with presents from family and friends, a few presents under the Christmas tree- the children could no...