My Piano
I sit at my piano. It lies in my family's living room, covered in dust. Not the neglected type of dust, but the vintage, rustic type of dust, the dust that gives the piano a...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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I sit at my piano. It lies in my family's living room, covered in dust. Not the neglected type of dust, but the vintage, rustic type of dust, the dust that gives the piano a cozy, charming feeling. I run my fingers over the old white keys. Now I run my hand over the old chestnut top, getting a handful of dust. Rain knocks at the windows and I can hear Kelsey crying in her crib.
Two girls were walking along, in sweatshirts, jeans and flip-flops, discussing the meaning of life.
". . . now, lip gloss needs to be applied liberally, every few hours or so. Do you think this eye shadow is too bright? Omigosh, I saw the cutest pair of jeans in that shop. Are those new earrings?
“You're fired!!!" Mr. Douglas said to Paul Greenhorn, a nineteen-year-old boy, after his barn had caught fire and burned to ashes. "I never want to see you on my ranch ever again!!!" he said as he walked off towards the house.
"But Mr. Douglas," Paul said as he ran after Mr. Douglas, "please give me another chance."
"No!" Mr. Douglas said, as he kept walking towards the house.
A white tail bobbed in the bushes and Samantha's ice-skate skidded to a messy stop. The girl made no sudden moves. Slowly, she lifted her head and took a cautious step towards the edge of the pond, which lay in the center of the pasture. The animal before her, a cinnamon-colored stag, stood motionless.
Sylvia wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. She dipped her fingertips into the marble fountain and relieved her discomfort by plunging both feet into the refreshing water. How she longed to be able to swim on this hot day. It wasn't fair that her four brothers got all the fun.
"Sylvia! Oh Sylvia!" came a loud voice. "Help me with the babies! Do you not want some lunch?
Eliza opened her bedroom door a crack and looked through the small slit into the tan-carpeted hallway. It was deserted. Eliza breathed a sigh of relief. She stuck her head out and listened for any noises that would signify that she was not the only person up. To the left, her little sister Emily's room was silent. Eliza cocked her head the other way to listen for her parents. Nothing.
My damp hair lies strangled on my sweaty shoulders. The air around me covers every bit of me with heat, and continues to close in on me. My hair clings and knots on my swirly tie-dyed top. It swirls along with the oranges, reds and yellows.
As we bounce up and down along the dusty gray, brown South African road, pictures of my father and sister far away bounce along with my stomach.
I gazed out from the ferry, my eyes growing big as we neared the island. It shone like an emerald in the morning sunlight, green trees waving to me in greeting. I could not help but smile. What a wonderful way to spend our vacation—my first time seeing the ocean and we were going to be right in the middle of it!
Imagine being lost in the New York City train station with people you don't know. Imagine a four-year-old kid in the middle of the stairway, scared and confused. Imagine a crowd all around you, and there's nowhere to go. Who was that four-year-old kid that got lost in the train station? I was that four-year-old, and I was alone and afraid.
I went to preschool in Chinatown.
PROLOGUE
The words were like white-hot knives plunging into Tom's skin. His mahogany eyes were flaring at his parents' shouts. "You're banned from GameCube!" "You're grounded!" "No allowance!"
All Tom wanted was to run far, far away from here. His two little sisters, Hannah and Beth, huddled in a corner, wide-eyed with fear. Tom could take it no longer.