Tired Wounds
A grieving child is locked in with his great fear It was frail. Old too. It had hair like twigs rotting in winter’s wrath. Easy to snap. Its body was made of a corpse of...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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A grieving child is locked in with his great fear
It was frail. Old too. It had hair like twigs rotting in winter’s wrath. Easy to snap. Its body was made of a corpse of something beautiful, something fragrant. It was weak, lying there in the corner of the room, moonlight slowly spilling onto it.
There was a child too.
The narrator finds himself in an unfamiliar life
I awoke on a dusty attic floor, old boxes surrounding me. The attic was otherwise barren, triangular with one opaque window across from me. I stood and opened the window to let some light in and a musty odor out.
Carefully, I stepped down a ladder into what looked like my bedroom.
Fid must prove to her clan that she’s focused enough to be a hunter
I sniffed the air. The fresh stench of prey filled my nose. I could identify it as a tiny mouse. Suddenly, I heard a little squeak. My eyes shot toward my target. I cautiously aimed my bow and . . .
“Fid!” my father said. I sighed. That was my name. In my clan, “fid” means “fight.
A group of friends become trapped in a computer scientist’s digital utopia
Dr. Murray lay in the hospital bed, breathing heavily. He was surrounded by wires and IV bags which were plugged into his body. The nurse stood by checking his faint heart rate.
“I’m sorry, sir, we’ve done everything we could’ve done for you.
Two farmers learn the value of the animals they once rejected
Deep in the rolling hills and vast open land beyond Berlin, Connecticut, in a medium-sized farm called the Hard Rain Farm, there lived a respected farmer who went by “Father Tom” or “Grandpa Tom” and his loving wife who went by “Grandma Carol.” They owned many a creature that ordinarily occupied a farm.
The wind wreaks havoc in the forest
The green forest trees swayed with the force of the wind as it whistled through their branches, tearing leaves from tender twigs.
“The spirits are fighting again!” the wind shouted, as he grabbed at the earth- brown branches and grass-green leaves.
“My children, my children,” wept the wild willow, reaching after her leaves.
Misha and his mother flee their war-torn home in Ukraine
This is the final installment of Alice Pak’s novella, which we have been publishing over the course of three issues. If you are a new subscriber, you can read the first two installments online in the March/April and May/June 2024 issues.
A meek hermit crab is fed up with the bully crabs at school
I wake up to the mechanical beeping of my alarm clock. I sit up rubbing my eye stalks. I climb out of bed and take off my scratchy abdomen cover.
I quickly put on a moss-cotton and coconut fiber one, and then I put on a white shirt with a tree on it, and the four-legged jeans I always wear on my visible legs, and I shove on my blue so...
After the loss of her mother, Elara discovers her true birthright
It was all a blur. The tears, the confusion, the stupid sympathetic but awkward “What do I do now?” looks on the doctors’ faces as they watched my face drop, and the tears start spilling out. I couldn’t even cry anymore, the truth had burrowed into my brain and now just sat there. No emotions, no thoughts, just “Oh.
An elf girl tries to stop a dragon attack on her kingdom
“What should we do about these attacks?” the knight said to his co-worker. “I don’t know . . . They’ve only happened in the outskirts of the kingdom so far. Not a lot of people have been hurt yet . . .”
The other knight responded. “Nevertheless, those dragons have to be stopped.