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    THISWEEK: General writing

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont and

    New Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select

    the best writing for publication. This weeks writing is inresponse to the prompt for Generalwriting in any genre.

    Read more great writing atyoungwritersproject.organd

    in The Voice, YWPs digital magazine.

    Kristina Pretty, Essex High School

    Falling into a Google pageBYMELINANELSON

    Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    OK, so somehow, I just fell into a web page of someones computer. I dont knowhow this happened. I was at the library and I just happened to walk by; and now, here

    I am. How is this possible? I must be dreaming.Im on the Google page. I run around scared in the empty white space. Theresnothing but the Google letters. Theres nowhere to go. I notice the tabs on the topof the screen. I walk up to them and step on the second tab. Now Im in some typeof document. Thats kind of lame so I walk over to the third tab and step on it. ItsGoogle images of cats. Weird.

    I read the time at the bottom right-hand corner; its midnight and I want to gohome. I go back to the rst tab where the Google logo is. I walk over to the rst

    o in Google and lie down inside it. Its not soft, but it will do. Slowly I drift off tosleep. I awake to a clicking noise. Its 12:02 a.m. Wow! I only slept for two minutes.I look around to see where the noise is coming from. Its the cursor and its moving.

    The cursor moves to the top of the screen and closes the rst tab. The screenchanges to the document and I fall out of the o. Then it closes the second and thethird tab, until there are no more tabs and I fall onto the desktop. The cursor moves tothe start button in the bottom left-hand corner. I watch it as it clicks on it and movesto the shutdown button. This is bad, I think to myself. I run over to the cursor and

    jump on it. It starts shaking vigorously and I hold on for dear life. Then everythinggoes black. I wake up. Im in my room on my bed. Its still dark out and I cant see athing. I was right. It was just a dream. Or was it?

    FEATUREPHOTO

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont and

    New Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select

    the best writing for publication. This weeks writing is inresponse to the prompt for Generalwriting in any genre.

    Read more great writing atyoungwritersproject.organd

    in The Voice, YWPs digital magazine.

    ErasedBYWELLSMUNDELL-WOOD

    Grade 6, The Grammar School

    It all started with one mistake.One simple, ever so slight error.It appeared that it couldnt be xed, so with the ip of a switch, it was gone.Banished, erased, and there was no trace of anything having stood in its place.But life doesnt really work like that.Life is not a canvas on which we use pencilto construct our masterpieces and erasers to get rid of things we dont like.You can say so to make yourself feel betterbut it will never be true.Not all of us can usethe ip side of our pencils toerase our mistakes.And sometimesa mistake is something you have to live witheven if it meansit follows you for the rest of your life.But sometimesif you care enoughyou can turn the mistakeinto something beautiful.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont and

    New Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select

    the best writing for publication. This weeks writing is inresponse to the prompt for Generalwriting in any genre.

    Read more great writing atyoungwritersproject.organd

    in The Voice, YWPs digital magazine.

    The brown catBYMELINANELSON

    Grade 8, Brattleboro AreaMiddle School

    A brown cat named Tubbywas napping by the re in acabin during winter. Tubby

    looked like a cougar but hewas probably ten times small-er, nicer and cuter. He had noowner. He lived by himself inthe cabin he had discoveredone winter day.

    Everything was peace-

    ful and quiet, when a suddenthumping outside woke him.Tubby bolted upright and qui-etly and slowly snuck towardthe window. He cautiously looked out the window, eyes big and ready to pounce. He sawa squirrel and jumped onto the window. He hit his head on the glass and quickly realizedthat he was inside and he could not jump through a window. He trotted to the cat door andstuck his head through.

    What Tubby saw was unbelievable. He raced out the door and jumped into a largeheap of cat treats. He rolled in delight in the pile. He ate about a pound of treats until hewas full. He lay on his back, fat and plump, staring up at the sky wondering where thesetreats came from. Tubby hopped off the pile and sat in a spot where there was no snowand groomed himself because his fur was full of crumbs from the treats.

    As Tubby groomed himself, he heard a loud scratching in the distance and a rustle

    in the bushes. He froze and stared in the direction where the noise was coming from.Everything was quiet and still for a few moments. Tubby noticed the noise had stoppedand resumed grooming himself. There it was again. This time Tubby didnt wait. He wentto investigate. He got really low, his belly barely touching the ground, probably becausehe ate all those treats. Anyway, he continued on slowly, eyes wide and ready to attackanything that got in his way. When he was inches away from a bush he heard the scratch-ing again. He waited a few moments, then he leaped over the bush and there, on the otherside, was the biggest thing he had ever seen.

    To a little cat, just inches off the ground, the thing seemed to be 10 feet tall! It waswide and brown with long fur. It seemed twice as big as any human, maybe three. It had along snout and big black eyes.

    It was a bear, obviously, but Tubby had never encountered such a large being. He hadno idea what this bear was capable of. Tubby, not the smartest kitten in his litter, decidedto befriend the bear. He went up and sniffed the bears large paw. The beast growled andTubby ran back into the cabin where it was safe. He lay down near the re and soon hewas in a great slumber.

    Deidre Vanmoerkerque, Essex High School

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    THISWEEK:Climate

    THANKSFROMYWPABOUTTHEPROJECT

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont

    and New Hampshire. This week, writers respond to

    the prompt, Climate:It is 2050. Write a letter to your

    children telling them what you did in 2015 to help re-

    solve the climate crisis as part of a movement called

    To Change Everything We Need Everyone.

    YWPis supported by this news-

    paper and foundations, businessesand individuals who recognize thepower and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please goto youngwritersproject.org/sup-port,or mail your donation to YWP,12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,

    VT 05401.

    Special thanks this week to

    JANESTRUST

    Young Writers Project is an inde-

    pendent nonprofit that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, beforelive audiences and on web sites,youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vt-digger.org, and cowbird.com. YWPalso publishes The Voice, a monthlydigital magazine with YWPs bestwriting, images and features. Findout more atyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Emma Parizo, Essex High School

    YWP NEWS& EVENTS

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    How the climate

    crisis was solved

    BYWELLSMUNDELL-WOODGrade 6, The Grammar School

    Dear Todd and Celeste,Its been 18 years since both of you

    were born. Eighteen wonderful, extraor-dinary years since the two of you sprunginto our lives and showed us how two bril-liant twins could make the world so muchbrighter.

    Now that you both have reached adult-hood, I think its time I enlighten you witha story about a time not so long ago mytime, when the world was struggling withan effect called climate change.

    It all started back in 2015, when I was12 years old the age Todd was when heinvented the rough draft of Cartworld,now one of the most played video gamesin the U.S., and the age Cele was whenshe won first place in the Google Doodlecompetition and acquired a scholarship tothe college she now attends.

    This was back when climate change,an effect that warmed the planet due to toomuch burning of fossil fuels, was a seri-

    ous threat to Earth. 2015 was the year westarted to take climate change seriously people came from across the world tomarch in an event called the PeoplesClimate March, along with other majorprotests and campaigns to save the planet.

    However, though it was being takenseriously, it appeared that wasnt enough.Oil companies were taking over. Therewas a proposed tar sands pipeline thatwas estimated to distribute over 800,000barrels of oil a day, and as time went on,more fossil fuels were being burned, andclimate change became more of a threat,day by day. But one day, after trudgingthrough what seemed like miles of inevita-ble doom for our planet, there came a tiny

    icker of light: hope. This spark was developed by me

    and a few of my fellow seventh gradefriends who were just as passionate aboutstopping Climate Change as I was. Theirnames were Zoey, Julian, James and Silvia we were never particularly close, but thefive of us often sat at the same lunch table.We talked, laughed, and occasionallyshared food with each other.

    One day, when we were all seated atthe same lunch table, the topic came up.We were chatting about what we would bedoing for our iSearch projects at the endof the year (research projects on a topicof your choice). James, for example, was

    thinking he might do his on the assassina-tion of JFK, Silvia was considering doingsomething about the Great Lakes, and asfor me, well, I wasnt quite sure.

    So, I began awkwardly, one dayat lunch over a tuna sandwich, I cantdecide. Do you guys think I should do myiSearch on the origin of bottle cap collec-tions, the Rubix Cube, or the overpopula-tion of humans?

    Overpopulation, said James.Sounds most interesting.

    Bottle cap collections, Zoey inter-ected. Thats so cool and original, no

    one elses will come close to a thing likethat.

    You know what would be cool?James cut in. Maybe you could do itabout the possibility of technology over-taking the world.

    Yeah, Silvia said with a sarcasticsnort, thatll happen.

    What do you mean? Julian asked.Why couldnt it? Its quite a possibility,the use of technology has increased by,like, 15 percent in the last 10 years.

    Julian wrinkled his nose, somethinghe always did when he knew hed saidsomething smart.

    Its possible, I considered, but youknow, by that point, Earth will probablybe a huge disaster already.

    Why? Zoeys face was blank with

    wonder.Well, you know, I said, with cli-

    mate change coming into effect and all.Climate change? said Julian. You

    know that stuff is all just a big myth,right?

    Dude, said James, if it was allfake, why would they have come up withsuch a big idea in the first place? I mean,some idiots are trying to convince peoplethat the world is cooling instead, and thatnever became a popular idea because itsfull of crap. The reason everyones talkingabout global warming is because its actu-ally happening.

    Julian shrugged and took a bite of his

    sandwich. It just doesnt seem likely;they discovered it, what, 10 years ago, andnothings even happened yet.

    But it could, I said, not sure whatI was going to say to support my point. Imean, theyre using so much oil and gasto make stuff nowadays, its just going toget worse and worse ... if it doesnt stop,what are we going to do in the next 50years?

    Yeah, Silvia said. And I restrainedmyself from breathing a sigh of relief;Silvia knew what she was talking about.

    If we keep burning fossil fuels tomake stuff, instead of using eco-friendlyresources like wind and solar, the planet

    will keep heating up and eventually be-come uninhabitable.Holy crap, Zoey said quietly. That

    cant be good.There was an awkward beat of

    silence, until James cut in. Hey, he said.Do you guys think we could, like, do

    (continued)

    something to stop it? Like in Spy Kids,when they use their superhuman powersto save the world even though theyre likeboth, like, 2? That could totally be us!

    Everyone laughed.Maybe we could, I said.I mean, why shouldnt we? Maybe,

    as a class, or something, we could writea letter to the President and tell him to domore to prevent climate change.

    Or start a petition, Silvia said, getthis school to start using eco-friendlyenergy.

    Ohh! said James excitedly.Recycling is a good way to keep the

    planet green, right?Lets ask if we can recycle more

    actively, have the school make sure com-postable food and paper arent wasted.

    Develop a carpooling system, I sug-gested.

    Im pretty sure a ton of greenhousegas emissions are because of transporta-tion, like trains and cars, so maybe wecould arrange to have more buses, to getkids home without everyone having to

    take separate cars.You know, said Julian. This isnt

    going to be as easy as you guys make itseem.

    A lot of people dont believe thatclimate change is bad, and its probablygoing to be really hard to convince every-one that what youre doing is actually forthe good.

    True, I said. But we can try.I look back on that single day in sev-

    enth grade, just like any other, and thinkabout how we, five quirky, awkward kidsworked together as a team to turn ourschool into an eco-friendly one.

    We began by e-mailing the principal,

    Mr. Hudge, and asking him if we couldstart a Green Team at our school.The Green Team began with just the

    five of us: Silvia, James, Zoey, Julianand me. We announced our presence at aschool meeting, and gradually over time,more and more people joined.

    We met every Wednesday afternoon

    after school, and we started petitions,organized community ideas that wouldhelp our school and the general Putneyarea become more involved with creatingan environment free of oils and gases andthings that would eventually lead to globalcatastrophe.

    We convinced the school to createthree waste bins in the cafeteria: one forcompost, one for recycling, and one fortrash, taping paper signs above each bin,reminding kids what was compostable andrecyclable and what wasnt.

    Volunteers of the Green Team wouldmake sure nothing that could be recycledor composted went to waste.

    We raised money for the school to ac-quire more buses and carpooling optionsby hosting a big yard sale at school, andconvinced multitudes of students to con-tribute some money to the school in orderfor them to expand carpooling options.But this wasnt all.

    As the years went on, the five of usstarted to drift apart.

    Most of us had switched schools or

    headed to a different high school aftereighth grade.

    But on the first day of my senior year,I recounted it all with an old friend over aweb site a web site that changed every-thing.

    Being 17, I was still very passionateabout stopping climate change, so I cre-ated a web site for kids and adults alike,all with the very same goal: saving theplanet.

    At first, it wasnt very popular, and wastaking a while to become well known.

    But one day, one of the first 25 mem-bers of the web site decided to spread theword.

    When that one person did, the web sitegained at least 300 more members, andafter that it continued to branch out; moreand more people discovered the web site,and not three months later, over 25,000people were members of the web site thatI had started to help save the world.

    WEHADDONEIT; WEHADSAVEDTHEPLANET.

    TOTHISDAY, I ALMOSTCANTBELIEVETHATWE

    ASHUMANSFINALLYPULLEDITTOGETHERANDTOOK

    ACTIONONTHISDRASTICOCCURRENCE.

    Years later, I found out that that oneperson who had really helped the web sitefly had been an old friend of mine: Silvia.

    We reunited, and together, we helpedexpand the web site.

    We wrote a well-constructed letter tothe President.

    The letter suggested that a new law becreated that would require people to signup only with heating companies that wereinvolved in wind, solar, or another eco-friendly way of living.

    Because of all the money that fuelcompanies would lose in the process, thePresident would offer those who had lost

    jobs a new job in businesses that wereinvolved with gas-free emissions.

    Many people who were members of theweb site signed a petition dedicated to thisidea, and not two years later, the Presidenthad signed the bill.

    The year after that, the use of green-house gas emissions in America hadgone down by nearly 40 percent, and a

    little over five years later, there were nogreenhouse gas emissions being producedin America.

    We had done it; we had saved theplanet.

    To this day, I almost cant believe thatwe as humans finally pulled it togetherand took action on this drastic occurrence.

    Though it is no longer a problem andfossil fuels will never again be used tocreate resources and power, we still lookback on this dark period of time, andwe admire the people who stood up andchanged everything.

    And, if you look at it a certain way, itall started with five ordinary seventh grad-

    ers passionate about saving the world.And if you think about it in a certain

    way, it could have been anyone. Not justus. Anyone who decided to stand up,speak out, and make a change.

    From the voice of someone who didspeak out, along with many others in mycompanionship, I say with love to my twowonderful children: Happy Birthday.

    FINDMOREGREATWRITINGAT

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

    &

    T V

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    FEATUREDPHOTO

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont and

    New Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select

    the best writing for publication. This weeks writing is inresponse to the prompt for Generalwriting in any genre.

    Read more great writing atyoungwritersproject.organd

    in The Voice, YWPs digital magazine.

    BYLIVIALEWIS

    Grade 6, Dummerston Middle School

    They say that being normal is good.They say that sticking out is bad.They said to never be the one who stoodout from all the newest fads.

    I say that being different is best

    because you are you.It doesnt matter how youre dressedbecause some day it will be your cueto stand up before all the othersand be recognized, unlike them,and yell out to all your sisters and brothers,and be that prized, unique gem.

    Being different

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

    Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

    THEVOICE

    READ

    THE

    APRIL

    ISSUE

    !Go to youngwritersproject.org

    to get your FREE subscription

    of YWPs monthly digital magazine!

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    THISWEEK: Photo 8

    FEATUREDPHOTO

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select the

    best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in re-

    sponse to the prompt, Photo 8:Write about this photo by

    Melissa Morris of Essex High School. Read more great

    writing atyoungwritersproject.organd in The Voice,

    YWPs digital magazine.

    Photo 8. Melissa Morris, Essex High School

    BYDANAYSAVARGAS

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    I look into my magic crystal ball.What do I see?Nothing.I see nothing.I see an empty future.

    No future,no plans.I see no love for you in the future.All I see is nothing.I see a white fog.What do you think it means?I think it meansyou have no future.

    I think your future is empty.I think your future is not going to happen.

    I think your future is lonely,if you do end up having one.Maybe youll end up having a future.Maybe everything will end in a century, ayear, a month,maybe a week, or a minute, or a second.Maybe youll get smarter.Maybe everything will end in a second.

    Youll never see your friends or familyagain.Death happens every day.You never know when everything will end.Maybe its going to end now.Poof.

    No future, just white fog

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

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    THISWEEK: Staircase

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont and

    New Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select

    the best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in

    response to the prompt, Staircase:A mysterious staircase

    appears in the hall outside your bedroom...Read more

    great writing atyoungwritersproject.organd The Voice,

    YWPs digital magazine.

    CLIMATECHANGE

    WRITINGCHALLENGE

    WRITEANDWIN!

    1st place: $100 | 2nd place:

    $75 | 3rd place: $50

    DETAILS: youngwritersproject.org/climate15

    DEADLINEEXTENDED! APRIL17

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

    Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

    Suddenly one nightBYDYLANYOUNG

    Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    I sat up in bed. I had been awakened bya thumping noise on the other side of mydoor. I figured it might be my dad walkingdown the stairs to get ready for work. Hewas a police officer, so I told myself thathe had been called in for some reason.

    I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes andclimbed out of bed. I pulled on a pair ofeans and a T-shirt and opened my door.

    The hallway was empty. At the far end,

    moonlight shone in through the window.I walked down to my parents room andknocked on their door. No reply. I knockedharder, calling out, Mom? Dad? Anybodyin there? Still no reply. I slowly turned thehandle and pushed the door open.

    Their bedroom was gone. Instead, there

    was a staircase that descended into dark-ness. The stairs were made of cherry, andthe railings were oak. There were symbolsetched into the railings, and they were allglowing bright red.

    I heard a noise from down the stairway,like distant yelling. I yelled into the dark-ness, Mom? Dad? You down there?

    I received no answer. I didnt wantto go down the stairs, but it could be theanswer to where my parents had gone.

    I took a timid step onto the first stair,and nothing bad happened. I told myselfthat nothing would happen, but I was stillscared. I began my descent down the long,mysterious stairway.

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    THISWEEK:General storytelling

    THANKSFROMYWPABOUTTHEPROJECT

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont

    and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and

    students selects the best writing and images for pub-

    lication. This week, writers respond to the prompt

    for Generalwriting and the prompts from Vermont

    Writes Day. Read more atyoungwritersproject.org.

    YWPis supported by this news-

    paper and foundations, businessesand individuals who recognize thepower and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please goto youngwritersproject.org/sup-port,or mail your donation to YWP,12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,

    VT 05401.

    Special thanks this week to

    MGN FAMILYFOUNDATION

    Young Writers Project is an inde-

    pendent nonprofit that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, beforelive audiences and on web sites,youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vt-digger.org, and cowbird.com. YWPalso publishes The Voice, a monthlydigital magazine with YWPs bestwriting, images and features. Findout more atyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

    YWP NEWS& EVENTS

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Mya Burghardt, Essex High School

    NEXTPROMPTS

    WRITEANDWIN!

    First place: $100Second place: $75, Third place: $50

    FORPROMPTSANDMOREDETAILS:

    youngwritersproject.org/climate15

    DEADLINE: APRIL10

    Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy

    Education Program & Young Writers Project

    CLIMATECHANGEWRITINGCHALLENGE

    THEVOICE

    READTHEAPRILISSUE!

    Go to youngwritersproject.org

    to get your FREE subscription

    of YWPs monthly digital magazine!

    Six-word stories

    BYELIZAPRICE

    Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Feed me something tasteless and bland.Give me tepid water to drink.Give me presents I wont notice.Sing me songs I dont know.Whisper to me your boring stories.They wont be wasted on me.Ive gone numb already, long ago.You can tell me your jokes.I wont laugh; I cant anymore.I cannot tell why I stay.Perhaps my limbs have ceased working.I wouldnt notice, moving is exhausting.So Ill stay in my chair.Watching, but never feeling ... never feel-ing.

    Wrapped in plasticBYSOPHIACAPYGrade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Every day she wakes up, takes out her roll

    of Saran Wrap and smothers herself in it.She walks to school with the transparentsheet covering her bumps and bruises,covering her battle scars, covering herhopes and accomplishments and replacingthem with a thin layer of plastic.She gets to school; now she is nameless;now she is faceless.She walks down the hall, blending into thecrowd,opens her locker and takes out a book,the book,the same book that everyone has,filled with no emotion or excitement.On her way home she walks past multiplepedestrians.

    One stops her.Your plastic is peeling, he says, show-ing your true identity. I suggest that youfix that.Fake.All she is... is fake,a soulless, empty creature.But she will not be known as the girlwrapped in plastic.No one will ever look at her differently.Why? you ask.The answer is simple.She is no different than anyone else.Everyone wraps themselves in their ownpiece of plastic,hiding their own identity,

    hiding the truth.So she will be noticed,but she will never be known.

    HomeBYSHANEVINTON

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    The place I feel safe is at home.It is warm, peaceful, dry, comfortable,buried in the woods, away from every-thing.Theres a grass front yard and woods sur-

    rounding my home,and my family is inside the home.A little way away, theres a trampoline,old but fun,in the shade underneath a tree.When I get tired I can look up at the greenleaves and blue sky, daydreaming.And when summer ends and the leavesfall,everything is still beautiful in a differentway.The winter comes and when it snows,everything becomes a magnificent softplayground,perfect for skiing,perfect for messing around,perfect for a soft landing,for tricks, of course.And when the summer arrives,wildlife becomes visible.And that is the place I feel comfortable,my home.

    The magicBYVENUSFU

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    It glowed even brighter when I got closer,

    the crystal blue that caught my eye.When I finally got the courage,

    I poked it.It felt like I was swimmingin the ice cold water.Thats when I knew there was hope.

    My best friend

    BYGRACEPOWERS

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    I feel safe on the back of my horse,ust me and my best friend.

    Together, we can do anything.Its the best feeling in the world,feeling like you can fly...

    Cats perspectiveBYLILAALEXANDER

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Let me tell you about my day beforeall of this happened.

    I woke up in the morning from a long,long sleep. It was about 9 a.m., and it wasa beautiful Saturday. The sun was out andthe skies were clear.

    I went downstairs to see my family do-ing their normal morning routine.

    Lily, the youngest girl of the family,was in the living room with her dolls scat-tered everywhere. Then there were Sarahand John, eating breakfast.

    I walked to my food bowl, thinkingthis was going to be a good day. I ate allmy food and went back upstairs, planningon going to sleep again.

    All of a sudden John picked me up andran outside to the car with me. This wasright before I was about to fall asleep.

    The whole family was in the car intheir swimsuits. This made me scared.

    Late night animalsBYLILYQUINTERO

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Its midnight and, well, I just cantsleep. Ive tossed and Ive turned. Leftside, right side, on my back, on my stom-ach, I cant do it. Grrrrrr... I shut my eyes.Gosh, now? Why now?

    I decide to think about demons and thethings that could maybe, possibly, prob-ably be coming alive at this very moment.... What should I do? I gulp.

    Goody. Im thirsty. I sit up and bustlein the dark through my messy night stand.Yes! I find it! My trusty flashlight, Flashy!

    I turn on the light and shine it right atthe closet. I stand up. I push past my dirty

    laundry, my clean laundry and my stuffedanimals.I am finally at the door. Crrrreeee-

    aaaakkkkk! I flick the light off immedi-ately. Mom cannot under any circum-stances hear me, that is, if shes awake.

    I stop and listen. Nothing, nothing,nothing ... and snore, snore and moresnoring! Yes, shes sound asleep andDads in New York on a business trip.

    I smile a sly smile. Cookies, here Icome!

    I step out of my bedroom, flicking thelight back on, when a door shoots openand out hops a bunny, a cat, a dog, an or-ange dog, a cat again, a monkey, anotherdog, a fish ... wait a minute! These are mystuffed animals! How in the world didthey ...? I stop my thought when I see theyhave stopped in front of me, smiling as ifwaiting for me to do something.

    I look back down and see they havestarted going back into this door, astrange, new door. I look past it and seea staircase. It is swirling nonstop, goingdown, down, down, down, down. Wow...I gasp.

    I go down the staircase. My lightburns out. Fun! I walk for a while andthen decide to start walking back up. I amthirsty and hungry. I never did get thatcookie.

    I turn back to see nothing. I try to

    crouch down to find the staircase andtheres nothing, nothing at all.

    Where am I?! Ahhhhh! I scream. Iraise my hand and touch a string. I pulland ... pop! A light comes on and I seea door. My stuffed animals pop out andopen the door, gesturing for me to go first.I hear loud music coming from the doorand walk through. Wow! Its beautiful!

    After I walk through the door, Imjolted awake. My mom is standing thereand my stuffed animals are crowding overmy face.

    Have a long night? Mom asks.I reply, Ummm ... can I sleep?Of course. I thought youd say that.

    Yay! I say, and close my eyes.But before I fall asleep, I wonder whatwas in that room. Maybe tonight Ill goback!

    Steps to the futureBYDAVIDSHERMAN

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    I couldnt sleep. I tried to turn on mytelevision to watch TV or play Xbox. Butthe power was out.

    I decided to go for a walk. I openedthe door to my bedroom and there it was

    something that had never been therebefore. A staircase.

    It was at the end of my hallway. Therewas a powerful light emitting from whatused to be the door to the outside, butinstead, a staircase took its place.

    At first I was confused, maybe evenscared. I rubbed my eyes to see if I washallucinating. But I wasnt. There it still

    was, emitting its bright light, the staircase.I decided to go up the staircase. To mysurprise and fascination, I could see ... thefuture.

    There were flying cars as far as theeye could see. I closed my eyes, openedthem again and ... I was back in my bed-room. At that, I finally lay down and fellasleep.

    Into the deepBYROLANDDOWNEY

    Grade 12, The Putney School

    The clock burns its message into theair in glowing red numbers, blinkingslightly when a minute passes. 3:17 a.m.

    You groan quietly and roll over toface the wooden wall. Its chilly, not quitewinter yet, so the wood stove in the cornerof the room isnt yet adding its light to thered of the clock.

    Heating bills were thankfully notsomething you worried about, your one-story shack in the woods not connected toanything other than a miniature generator.

    You close your eyes and then theyshoot back open when you remember aparticularly vivid image from the StephenKing novel youd been reading beforeturning out the light.

    You try very hard not to think ofthe monsters that could have caused thecreaking sound in the other room of thehouse and try even harder not to pictureexactly which board had just creaked.

    You try very hard not to think aboutghosts or demons or vampires or thingsthat go bump in the night.

    Obviously, you fail. The only sure-fire way to get someone to consider howsomeone got a rhinoceros to stand stilllong enough to have been painted pinkis to tell them not to think about a pinkrhinoceros. So it is with these monstersyou think you are imagining.

    You stand up, pushing the covers intoa pile at the foot of the air mattress, andreach upwards until you find the chain forthe old light bulb. You pull downwards,and the light flickers on.

    There are no monsters, not right now.You heave a sigh of relief and head for thedoor.

    Just because there are no monstersin your room, doesnt mean there are nomonsters in the other room.

    You reach out for the doorknob, andpart of you screams, wanting to head back

    to bed RIGHT NOW before anything canhappen. You push on, however, and turnthe doorknob.

    Had you listened, you would probablybe alive right now.

    You step through the door and begindescending the cold, black marble stairs.

    CONGRATULATIONSTOWRITEROF

    THEMONTHROLANDDOWNEYOF

    THEPUTNEYSCHOOL!And see his

    story below.

    Hidden. A character discovers some-thing that has been hidden in the fam-ilys attic for years. This could change

    everything.Alternate: Pet.If your cat,dog, horse, ferret, or other pet could talk,what would be its first words to you?; orFamily.Your notoriously dysfunctionalfamily is having a big reunion. Let themishaps begin. Due April 17

    Vermont Writes Day Photo Prompt

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

    & THEVOICE

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    THISWEEK: Vermont Writes Day

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Gavyn Letzelter on Vermont Writes Day by Sophia Cannizzaro

    DreamworldBYMACKENZIESHIPPEE

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    When most people go to sleep theydream, but when I go to sleep, I live.

    I have two lives the real world lifeand the dream world life. The dream world

    is like Wonderland and Neverland com-bined. I have many questions about it still,but it doesnt bother me as much as it didin the past. In the dream world, you dontgrow old. You stay the age you were whenyou first entered it.

    For instance, I was 13 when I firstentered the dream world so therefore I am

    still 13 here. But Im really 18 in real life.The thing is, when I first came here,

    everything was dark and scary becausethats how I felt at the time gloomy andscared ... You have to be calm in the dreamworld or you dont see things the way theyreally are.

    Six-word storiesBYLIZMORSE

    Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Time is all an illusion, fake.She calls faux leather vegan leather.Back hurts after skiing this weekend.

    Weekends are my favorite lonely days.Days zoom when elderly, Grandpa cried.Crying is sad, depressing and deep.

    In its sixth year, Vermont Writes Day sparked the imagi-

    nation of thousands of writers across the state on March

    12. With Young Writers Projects seven prompts to guide

    them, students, teachers and principals stopped what they

    were doing for just seven minutes and wrote! This week,

    we present a sample of the writing YWP received. Read

    more in the next issue of The Voice!

    BYDANAYSAVARGAS

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Laughing is love; laughing is life.Smiles are amazing and are beautiful.

    CLIMATECHANGE

    WRITINGCHALLENGE

    WRITEANDWIN!

    1st place: $100 | 2nd place:

    $75 | 3rd place: $50

    DETAILS: youngwritersproject.org/climate15

    DEADLINE: APRIL10

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

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    THISWEEK: Vermont Writes Day

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont and

    New Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select

    the best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in

    response to the prompts on Vermont Writes Day, March

    12. Read more in the April issue of The Voice!

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Dylan Sayamouangkhua, Burlington High School

    Six-word storiesBYAVALONJOHNSTON

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    To see sadness in your eyes ...Hurts me more than you know.To hear you weep at night...Hurts me more than you know.As you secretly deny the pain ...Oh, how much it saddens me.

    BYDANAMIDON

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Vermont is the best state ever.I like to tap maple syrup.I love cats but not dogs.I love science; it is awesome.Soccer is the best sport ever.Trumpets are so amazing and cool.I love burgers and steak. Yum.

    Pancakes are really good with syrup.

    Prompt: Staircase. You open the door to

    your bedroom, and there in the hall, is afantastic staircase that youve never seenbefore. What happens?

    Spooky staircaseBYJAMESDOUGAN

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    Its midnight and I cant fall asleep.I open my bedroom door and see astaircase.

    Now, this isnt any ordinary staircase.This is a dark, spooky staircase, 20 to 25steps long.

    I debate for five minutes whether togo down the stairs or not.

    I choose to go down the stairs. Afterall, you only live once.

    I take one step and I trip, tumblingdown the stairs into the steel door at thebottom.

    I get up and push open the door.

    When I open the door, I see a glowingwhite light in the middle of the room.

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select the

    best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in re-

    sponse to the prompt for General writing.Read more at

    youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Carolyn Harnois, Essex High School

    Angels are real

    BYLIVIELEWIS

    Grade 6, Dummerston Middle School

    I sit on a curb. Its wet and dampens my brand-new pants. Its sprinkling lightly,

    and I cant see very far.Check my watch for the eighth time. It has been a minute since the last time I

    checked it. Its 9:02.Mom will worry about me soon. Very soon. For once I am in favor of my too-

    worrisome mom. I left at noon. I said I would be back at 9. I was supposed to beback at the hotel two minutes ago. She will worry soon. Very soon.

    I decide its time to look for the hotel, lost in a sea of too-tall, too-familiar build-ings. I stand, and go for the road closest to me. I can see light at the end. I come to a

    dead end with a small street lamp hanging from one of the buildings. I turn aroundto bump into white. I back away, saying, Sorry! I look at who I ran into. A womanstares down at me. She has a thin white dress that touches the ground. It does notlook wet or dirty, a surprise. She has long sleeves, opening up like a bell at the bot-tom. She has flawless light skin, big blue eyes, and curly blond hair down to herwaist.

    Its okay, dear, she says, and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. Ill showyou back to your hotel.

    What? She knows my hotel? This woman I havent met before? She takes myhand and leads me down the alley, and down several roads. Then she takes me to myhotel, and leaves me at the door. Just as I turn around to thank her, shes gone.

    I try to mull over the possibilities of her random appearance, her knowing myhotel, her disappearing. I cant get to bed, my mind is racing. I then go out on thehotel balcony, and lean against the black bars. I look over Boston, and sigh. My daywas eventful, and scary and very worrisome.

    I look down to the alley below. I see something spray-painted in white on the

    brick wall. It reads, Angels are real. There is a small spray-painted angel. Anangel. That woman was an angel. I look up from the paint, and look down the alley. Isee the woman walking away, her blond hair flying in the wind. I think I just met myguardian angel.

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select the

    best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in re-

    sponse to the prompt for General writing.Read more at

    youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community.

    ALSOFEATUREDINTHEVOICE

    Read Roland Downeys piece and see other great writing and

    photography in the March issue of The Voice, YWPs monthlydigital magazine. Check it out and get a free subscription at

    thevoice.youngwritersproject.org.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Meghan Smith, Essex High School

    Thats when Ill leave Vermont

    BYROLANDDOWNEY

    Grade 12, The Putney School

    When the snow is lit by apartment complexes, instead of by distant starlight,when the mountain tops no longer can sing to one another,when the trails throughout the forest are made of tarmac, instead of memories,thats when Ill leave Vermont.

    When the smallest dirt road becomes a six-lane thoroughfare,when the last ma & pa restaurant is replaced with a nationwide chain,when the final majestic moose head is mounted to a wall, instead of its own body,thats when Ill leave Vermont.

    When the last of the murky swamplands become shopping centers and grocerystores,

    when the oldest covered bridge is made up of steel and concrete, andwhen the final piece of wilderness disappears forever,thats when Ill leave Vermont.

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    THISWEEK:General storytelling

    THANKSFROMYWPABOUTTHEPROJECT

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont

    and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and

    students selects the best writing and images for pub-

    lication. This week, writers respond to the prompt for

    Generalwriting. Read more great writing atyoung-

    writersproject.org andThe Voice.

    YWPis supported by this news-

    paper and foundations, businessesand individuals who recognize thepower and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please goto youngwritersproject.org/sup-port,or mail your donation to YWP,12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,

    VT 05401.

    Special thanks this week to

    JANESTRUST

    Young Writers Project is an inde-

    pendent nonprofit that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, beforelive audiences and on web sites,youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vt-digger.org, and cowbird.com. YWPalso publishes The Voice, a monthlydigital magazine with YWPs bestwriting, images and features. Findout more atyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

    YWP NEWS& EVENTS

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

    The delegatesBYLIVIELEWISGrade 6, Dummerston Middle School

    I had just finished eavesdropping onthe delegates in the big building when aboy a bit older than me bumped into meand cursed.

    What? I asked, surprised at his rude-ness.

    Sorry. I, um, I need to hurry.He went past me, continuing to trudge

    over the wet, muddy roads. It was pour-

    ing hard and I needed to get home. I wasexpected to make dinner. But then thunderrolled. No, nota storm, I thought. I hopedwrong. Lightning flashed across the sky,reaching down toward the ground. I couldfeel the wind picking up. I wished to behome, looking at all the shops with theirwindows and lights. It was dark; the onlythings that were open were taverns, and Imustnt go there. I looked back down theroad and I remembered the boy. He wasstill on the road, walking slowly, and I justthen saw his bare feet and big bulge underhis coat. He was heading up to the bigbuilding the delegates were in.

    To walk home, well, that would beanother hour or longer. The big building

    was less than 10 minutes. I looked downthe road, where it just begins to becomefarmland, then back to the short distanceto the big building. I began to run downthe road after the boy. It was my turn nowto bump into him.

    He turned around and asked, What

    are you doing here? I decided to playdumb, to try to get in the big buildingbefore the storm got worse. I dont know.I seem to have lost my way, and I dontwant to be out in this storm.

    He looked at my face, at my muddydress, up at the big building, and finallyback at me. Cmon, I can get you dry.He began to walk faster than I thought he

    could to the big building, and he knockedon the door twice. A short man with an un-pleasing face, carrying a quill and a stackof papers, opened the door. Henry! heexclaimed, and then Henry, the boy, tookthe lump out of his jacket.

    Ive brought your food, Mr. Madison.Could we stay for a while, to get dry?Mr. Madison, whom I quickly identified asJames Madison, led us into the building.There was George Washington himself upat the stand, and other men at desks withpapers of some sort. They were all thedelegates who came to Philadelphia to tryto fix the Articles of Confederation. Orthats what Id picked up from eavesdrop-

    ping. James Madison, George Washingtonand Ben Franklin were the only delegatesI could identify.

    We all stayed warm by the fire andchatted. Now the idea of a new govern-ment is at hand, James Madison said. I

    said, Sir, I have a plan for government,which I did. I had been thinking about itfor the past couple of weeks.

    Do tell, he said, so I explained tothe delegates my idea: We should havea House of Representatives and a Senate.And one man who would be like a king,but had less power. We would call himthe president. They all said they wouldconsider it, and I walked away thinking Igave them help.

    The other house

    BYWELLSMUNDELL-WOOD

    Grade 6, The Grammar School

    Mom! I yell to the half-empty house. Mom, Imtaking Scout for a walk, Ill be back soon!

    I wait for a minute, and when silence lurks in the air,I sigh and figure shes busy and wont even notice Imgone.

    Scout, an antsy, 8-year-old Dalmation, jumps andstruggles in his leash. Even as a puppy, Scout was crazystrong, and when I was little I was never allowed to take

    him out because I wasnt nearly strong enough.I open the front door and kick at the screened one,which has always been a toughie, but you get used to it.Scout almost bolts out of my grasp in excitement, mysoft purple gloves nearly letting the leash slip away. But Idont let go, and we set off into the bitter, numbing cold.

    Twilight in January is almost never over 10 degreesin Vermont, so despite my many layers, the temperaturenips at my few exposed areas. Scout, being a dog, doesntseem to be affected, but Im sure hes itching to pee anddash back inside.

    We set off to the unpopulated sidewalk, and I plan justto walk to the mailbox and back, making the expeditionno more than an eighth of a mile. Ive lived here sincethe age of two or three, when we moved from Alabama,and I wonder if Im still getting used to the temperaturebecause, though I love snow, I never liked the cold. Butthats about the only thing I have to complain about.

    I love it here; the neighbors, Dot (who once cookedme four pounds of spaghetti), Mr. and Mrs. Kayden (whoenjoy playing cards with me on rainy days), and widowedMr. Greenhollow (who yells at me every time I cross hisporch, but, you know).

    I also love the architecture. The houses none ofthem, and I mean absolutely none of them have onesimilar quality. Theyre like one big group of opposites,and though (most of) the neighbors love each other, thehouses have absolutely nothing in common. But not ina boring way. Each of them seems to have one uniquequality.

    For the Kaydens, its the paint. Their house is entirelywhite on the outside, except for the door, which is painteda beautiful, vibrant red, making the whole house a sight

    from a half mile away. For Dot, its the birds. Her houseis completely normal-looking, except for these giant birdsshe makes out of paper mache and adorns her porch with.Most of the neighborhood thinks shes flat-out strange,but I think its wonderful. Mr. Greenhollow decorates hisfront porch with multitudes of Venus fly traps, which, forsome reason, remind him of his dead wife. Though hes a

    ld h h hi d hild I

    THERESAFEAR AHORRIBLE, EVERLASTINGFEAR THATEATSITSWAY

    INSIDEOFMEANDEDGESITSWAYAROUNDMYRAPIDLYBEATINGHEART...

    help but feel sorry for him. We moved here just after shedied, but Mrs. Kayden said it was absolutely devastating.The whole neighborhood had loved Mrs. Greenhollow,and Mr. Greenhollow, though I couldnt imagine it, hadactually been a bright and cheerful man before herunexpected heart attack.

    Theres one house I havent explained yet. Though

    all of them are unique, this one actually stands out fromthe rest. Its a burned house, abandoned, so its old andblack and ashy. It floods every time it rains and usuallyfills with snow in the winter because it has no door, butno one has bothered to fix it. It sits at the far end of theneighborhood; apart from all the others by almost a quar-ter mile. Ive never been, but its always been a curiosityof mine, something Im terrified of but dying to knowmore about.

    Woof! Scout barks loudly suddenly, and I realize Ivepassed the mailbox unconsciously, and weve actuallygone much farther than I planned. I beckon Scout andstart to turn around when suddenly my dog goes on anunexpected rampage.

    Woof! Woof, woof, woof-woof-woof! Hes tuggingand jumping and turning in circles like a dog possessedand before I know it ...

    Hes running. Ive let go of the leash, which is bounc-ing against his left leg, which is moving faster than avehicle on a highway.

    Scout! I shout, bewildered. Scout! Scout! Comeback! I start running after him, which is a really badidea because I should probably be getting help as fast aspossible, but at the time, Im not thinking. The only thingthats going through my head is that my dog has gonemad.

    Im sprinting now, fighting against my burning lungsand numbed fingers. Ive never really been that athletic; Ipassed most of the presidential fitness tests at school, butIm not really that good at running long distances. Now,Im running faster than I ever have, crossing the limits ofwhat I ever knew I was capable of, all the while lettingmy lungs suffer more by shouting, Scout! over and

    over again.I can see him; a small white dot in the distance thats

    shrinking more and more by the second. The neighbor-hood must be far behind us now ... were getting closerand closer to ... the house. The abandoned one, the out -cast, separate from all the others. The other house.

    Scout! I scream again, terrified. Where in the world

    And then I see it. The metaphorical gate to a deadend, because all thats beyond it is overgrown grass anda snowy ravine. I pick up speed, if thats even possible,and I could swear my lungs are about to burst. SCOUT!SCOOOOOOUT!

    He doesnt hear me. Either that, or he doesnt ac-knowledge me at all. I can barely see him, but the house

    looks as if I can spot it from a miles distance. I try to tellmyself that thats probably my imagination, but it seemsso close, too close ...

    Scout is getting closer now. Either Im speeding up,or hes slowing down. If its the former, Id be very im-pressed with myself. Who knows where my abilities willlead me?

    I give one more weakened cry before I see Scout, myever-so beloved Scout, bolt straight up the stairs into theabandoned house.

    And there I am me, right then and there, in themiddle of January, the sky a rich dark blue. Im standingbefore the house the curiosity that Id been yearningfor for so long and at the same time theres a fear, a hor-rible, everlasting fear that eats its way inside of me andedges its way around my rapidly beating heart and its

    heating up inside of me, making me forget the cold andforget anything else that exists, because suddenly its justme me, Scout, and the curiosity.

    I suddenly feel like Ive been living a lie, and aquestion ebbs in my brain, a question so dominant andpowerful that it cannot bear to be left unanswered. Justme. Me and the answer to what Ive been dreaming of mywhole life.

    What am I waiting for?I take a deep, deep breath, and exhale through my

    mouth, letting all of my childish fears tumble through mylips along with the puff of smoke that appears before me.And I walk inside.

    To be continued ...

    VERMONTWRITESDAY

    ISTHURSDAY, MARCH12!Stop everything to write for just sevenminutes! Get your school involved!Find out more atyoungwritersproject.org/VTWrites15.

    WRITE

    AND

    WIN

    !First place: $100

    Second place: $75, Third place: $50

    FORPROMPTSANDMOREDETAILS:

    youngwritersproject.org/climate15

    DEADLINE: APRIL10

    Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy

    Education Program & Young Writers Project

    CLIMATECHANGE

    WRITINGCHALLENGE

    CHECKOUTYWPSDIGITALMAGAZINEEVERYMONTH!

    Go toyoungwritersproject.org

    for your FREE subscription!

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

    & THE VOICE

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select the

    best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in re-

    sponse to the prompt for General writing.Read more at

    youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community.

    VERMONT

    WRITESDAY!

    MARCH12

    Details:

    youngwritersproject.

    org/VTWrites15.

    Haley Thon, Essex High School

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Bad example

    BYLIVIELEWIS

    Grade 6, Dummerston Middle School

    She was a very bad example for theyounger kids. She got poor grades, shepranked her teachers (including stick-ing clear Super Glue on Mrs. Lawftonspen), and she was too involved with her

    own personal life to put any thought inher school work. Well, thats what Mrs.Lawfton thought. Sam was 16 years old,and she was a prankster.

    She had red hair that fell down toher shoulders, green eyes, freckles, anda splintering stare that seemed she wassearching your soul, deep down, finding

    out your secrets. She was different thisway. And she was quick, clever and afast learner.

    This was Samantha Skylar Dee,daughter of that really rich surgeon andlawyer, the ones that own that big houseat the end of the street. And Sam wasntproud of that.

    Sams best friend, Allison, was thegirl that everybody wanted to be friendswith. Flawless, blonde, curly hair, sky

    blue eyes, a perfect face, and a slim,hourglass figure. Allison was the girlwho wasnt ashamed of her wealth.

    She wore expensive clothes, the new-est makeup, and always had the newestApple product, and she had it early.

    Sam, for some reason, liked Al-lison. She was an amazing friend, kind,generous and outgoing. Sam was dark,let down her friends, and would steala babys candy without even thinking

    twice.But they were friends.Sam was sitting at lunch, eating her

    usual gourmet meal made by their cook.Today it was steak, a salad and rice, andfor dessert, a mini cake ...Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-

    ect.org/node/110047.

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select the

    best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in re-

    sponse to the prompt for General writing.Read more at

    youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community.

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    youngwritersproject.org & The Voice, YWPs digital magazine

    InextinguishableBYWELLSMUNDELL-WOOD

    Grade 6, The Grammar School

    Poetry is the type of thingthat ignites a fire inside of you,a fire so luminous, so fierce;inextinguishable.

    To call yourself a poet is to claim youare capable of riding the wavesinstead of swimming from them,

    to stroll through a battlefieldand embrace the turbulence.

    But poetry is not about fearlessnessor even courage.Poetry is not a thing to be explained;its simply undefined,and an attempt to define it would be

    feeble.But,dear reader,there is one thing of which I am abso-lutely certain.Poetry is not an art,but an emotion.

    Mya Burghardt, Essex High School

    MARKYOURCALENDARS!

    Vermont Writes Day is Thursday,

    March 12! Its the day we stopeverything to write for just seven

    minutes! Details at youngwriter-

    sproject.org/VTWrites15.

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    THISWEEK:Penny &General

    THANKSFROMYWPABOUTTHEPROJECT

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont

    and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and

    students selects the best writing and images for publi-

    cation. This week, writers respond to the prompts for

    Generalwriting; and Penny: Tell the story of a penny

    from the time it was minted until it reached you.

    YWPis supported by this news-

    paper and foundations, businessesand individuals who recognize thepower and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please goto youngwritersproject.org/sup-port,or mail your donation to YWP,12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,

    VT 05401.

    Special thanks this week to

    MAINSTREETLANDING

    Young Writers Project is an inde-

    pendent nonprofit that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, beforelive audiences and on web sites,youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vt-digger.org, and cowbird.com. YWPalso publishes The Voice, a monthlydigital magazine with YWPs bestwriting, images and features. Findout more atyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

    YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT

    WRITERSAREALSOAT:

    youngwritersproject.org

    VPR at vpr.net

    VtDigger.org

    WINTERPHOTOS

    MomentumBYROLANDDOWNEY

    Grade 12, Putney School

    Its about what you say when your poemis over.But before you can finish the poem, youhave to begin it.And beginning a poem is the same asbeginning a movement; difficult.

    Its an adrenaline-rushing, heart-stoppingclamber over the summit of your brainsmountain of fear and denial that lets youstutter out your beginning few words.

    The rest of the poem is easy, its just gain-ing the momentum thats hard.But if the momentum has been buildingfor more than a century, why are we notfree yet?

    Should we not be pushing harder to reacha dream once dreamed?Should we not be taking this movementtowards freedom more than one step at atime?Should we not be rushing towards equalitywith the same speed at which we go downthe highway? Way too damn fast?Or are we scared of the recoil, are wescared that our rocket of peace will blowup right here in our faces?Are we scared of admitting that we dontknow where to go from here?

    /NO?/

    Then where is the movement?Where is our momentum?Where is the freedom?Before we can reach the end of the poem,we have to begin it.

    Roland Downey is a longtime mentor on

    youngwritersproject.org, and has been

    writing with Young Writers Project for five

    years. This poem is also featured in The

    Voice, YWPs digital magazine, and on VPR.

    net and VtDigger.org.

    Mya Burghardt, Essex High School

    Penny powerBYLIVIELEWIS

    Grade 6, Dummerston Middle School

    I awoke to light. The cash registeropened, and I yawned, getting ready to goback to sleep.

    Nobody needed me, a measly penny.No, nobody liked Abraham Lincoln. Hewas outdated. Too old. Stupid. Nobodyhas time for Abe.

    Then, when the hand reached in andgrabbed me, I was startled. I was onlyused on rare occasions. This was the fifth

    time I was passed off in a sale.I was handed to the small palm of a

    young girl I could smell the dirtiness Icould see the face. Round, with brightgrey eyes and short brown hair, kind ofin a sweep towards the side. She lookeddown at me with her big eyes, and with asingle finger stroked me.

    It felt weird. I was not a dog. I wasAbraham Lincoln, 16th president of theUnited States, official penny.

    Then the girl whispered, Youre mybest friend, Abe.

    She patted me some more, then put mein a pocket of a pair of jeans. I was tossedaround in darkness, and I could hear the

    girl talking. Dont worry, Abe. Well beat my house soon, where I can fix youup.

    I guess I was a bit of a bad penny Iwas placed on a train track, a little bit ofme crushed by a train.

    I was scratched I couldnt even tellwhich year I was made in anymore. I hadweird slime stuff stuck on me I was abad looking penny.

    I sat there, in the pocket of this girlseans, and finally, I was taken out. I was in

    a small room, with a bed, desk, and book-shelves. The girl placed me on the desk,and looked at me.

    We need to get you all ready. Niceand pretty.

    She went into a small room, probablya bathroom, and turned on a faucet. Thenshe took me into the room, which was abathroom, and placed me next to the sink,which was filling up with water.

    She put her hand under the faucet.Nice and warm, she said, then pickedme up.

    Hold your breath, Abe, she said,then fully submerged me underwater.

    It was warm and comforting, but whatshe didnt know was that us pennies canbreathe underwater. I breathed there, asshe scrubbed me nice and clean and Icould feel the sticky slime coming off ofme, the feeling of cleanliness very invit-

    ing.Finally, she took me out, and picked at

    some slime still covering my date.She put me back underwater, scrub-

    bing me with soap. The soap smelledfruity and yummy.

    She took me back out and exclaimed,1923?? Youre an old penny!

    Then she set me down and dried meoff with a small towel. She took me intoanother room, where somebody had ahammer. Oh no. They placed me on ametal block.

    This might hurt a lit tle bit, Abe, shesaid, then a hammer whacked me.

    It knocked the wind out of me, but I

    felt strangely refreshed. I was bent back tomy original state!The girl took me once more into the

    bathroom, and she put out a towel, and puton gloves.

    She took a small wooden block, placedit on the towel, and put me on the block.She grabbed a can, which was coloredmy original color (now I am a little bit ofsilver) and she sprayed me with it. She didthat and did that and finally was done.

    She placed me on a window sill , andsaid, Okay, Abe. Dry off.

    Then she left me. I fell asleep, feelingwarm and cozy.

    The girl woke me up a couple of hourslater, and carried me into her room.

    Ready, Abe? she asked.I said, Yes, but I dont think she

    could hear me.She put her hand over me, moved

    around, then whipped her hand off of me.I was in front of a mirror. I could see

    myself. I was shiny, new, and looked like Iwas just made.

    She looked at me, and said, Good asnew!

    I agreed with her. Ah, the power apenny can have.

    YWP NEWS

    NEXTPROMPTS

    Stardust. Youre exploring in-tergalactic space and come across avoyager selling stardust. Write yourconversation.Alternate:Regret.Isthere something you wish you haddone, but now its too late? What isit and how do you deal with it? DueFeb. 13

    Listen. Click on the audio link forthis prompt onyoungwritersproject.org. What do the sounds evoke?

    Alternates:You.Someone wants totell you something because yourethe only one who will understand.What is the story? Who is tellingyou? How does it affect you?; orGeneral writing. Due Feb. 20

    Tunnel. You find a tunnel inthe ground. How did you stumbleupon it and where does it lead?Experiment with character, point ofview and setting.Alternates:Law.Change one fundamental law ofphysics (how our world works) anddescribe what would happen withoutthat law in place, e.g., funky gravity,spontaneous reordering of brokenobjects, solid objects becoming gas-eous/gaseous objects become solid,or make up a new law;or Photo 7(Seeyoungwritersproject.orgfor thephoto.)Due Feb. 27

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    THISWEEK: Love

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont and

    New Hampshire. This weeks writing is in response to the

    prompt, Love: Write the sweetest, sappiest love poem you

    can. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil,

    online community of writers.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    Memories

    BYRUBYDIAMONDSTONE

    Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    I realizedI realized it wasnt loveat allwhen I looked into your eyesand I only saw the memoriesbecause I was notI am notin love with youI am in love with our memoriesI am in love withthe laughsand the comfortbut babyoh babyI am not in love with youIm sorrybecause I fell in love with your wordseven when I knewthey were a white maskfor your stained and smeared actionsthey were a cloak

    to cover the person you werebehindyour dazzling green eyes

    Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

    THEVOICE

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    THISWEEK: Reporter

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. This weeks prompt is Reporter: Write about

    getting your first big story when everything seems to be

    conspiring against you. Find out more at youngwriter-

    sproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    MOREGREATWRITINGAT

    youngwritersproject.org & The Voice, YWPs digital magazine

    Brady Blow, Mount Mansfield Union High School

    Typical day in New YorkBYADELINEBATEMAN

    Grade 6, Dummerston Middle School

    Computer? Check. Makeup? Check. Jeans and sneakers for after I get out of myfancy news clothes? Check. Lucky flying pig underwear? Check. Okay... Okay...Okay... Umm... Oh! I need money for the taxi, money for the taxi... Or should I takethe subway? Subway? Taxi? Subway? Taxi? Okay, money for the taxi. Check.

    I step out the door and breathe in the odor of a thousand cigarettes. Strands ofhair come loose from my clip. Its cold, gray, and just the right temperature for theSouth Pole to start importing extra penguins.

    I stick my non-gloved hand out into the traffic-jammed street and wait for a taxi.One drives up, nearly knocking me into the slushy puddle which is also mildly soak-ing through my shoes.

    I open the door, and it hits me in the face, the smell of pot. I had put on myresume that I was a little accident prone, but I got the job anyway. I am crossing myfingers that I will not have an accident today that ruins my face for my first day onTV ... I get in the taxi and say, 6th Avenue. Drop me off at the first burger place yousee.

    I buckle up and he steps on it. I wait for the painful whiplash that often comeswith sudden acceleration in a taxi, but it doesnt come.Wont start. Wait while I call my boss. He speaks in a gravelly voice. And now

    Im stuck here while I think about being late for my first day on the job and gettingall worked up. Typical ...

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    THISWEEK: General

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. This weeks prompt is for General writing in

    any genre. Read more great writing at youngwritersproj-

    ect.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    NEXTPROMPTS

    HAPPYHOLIDAYSFROMALLOFUSATYOUNGWRITERSPROJECT!

    WELLBEBACKWITHMOREGREATWRITINGONJAN. 10.

    Emma Parizo, Essex High School

    Statue. Youre walking through an empty park and pass a statue. To your sur-prise, the statue strikes up a conversation with you. Tell the story of the statue andwhat it says. Alternates:Dark.Are you scared of the dark? Why?; orHouston.You are an astronaut. Describe a moment floating in space. Due Jan. 9

    Salida del sol

    BYSOPHIEGUERRINA

    Grade 9, Bellows Falls Union HighSchool

    What I see is darkness,a manifestation of the unknown.The scent of fear waffles in the airaround me, strong and uneasy.Curiosity tears through me.

    A shift in my seat causes a shift in mymind.For in an instant, my fear is demolished,replaced by optimism.A soft glow;pinks, reds.Rising ahead,my journeys end,ushered by the sunrise.

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    THISWEEK: General writing

    THANKSFROMYWPABOUTTHEPROJECT

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont

    and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and

    students selects the best writing and images for pub-

    lication. This week, we present a short story in re-

    sponse to the prompt for General writing. Read more

    great writing at youngwritersproject.org.

    YWPis supported by this news-

    paper and foundations, businessesand individuals who recognize thepower and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please goto youngwritersproject.org/sup-port,or mail your donation to YWP,12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,

    VT 05401.

    Special thanks this week to

    AMYE. TARRANT

    FOUNDATION

    Young Writers Project is an inde-

    pendent nonprofit that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, beforelive audiences and on web sites,youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vt-digger.org, and cowbird.com. YWPalso publishes The Voice, a monthlydigital magazine with YWPs bestwriting, images and features. Findout more atyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

    YWP NEWS

    THEVOICE

    CHECKOUTYWPS

    MONTHLYDIGITALMAGAZINE

    Go to thevoice.youngwritersproject.org

    Enjoy! And get your free subscription!

    FEATUREPHOTO

    Secret ingredientBYWELLSMUNDELL-WOOD

    Grade 6, The Grammar School

    My mother had always idolized JohnLennon. She idolized other people, too,not singers, but writers, for the most part.Like Harper Lee and Emily Dickinson andShakespeare.

    She liked people who created a me-teor in this world. A meteor that hurtledthrough space and landed on Earth withsuch force that it left a mark. A permanent

    mark, one that would last throughout therelentlessness of eternity, one that wouldnever be forgotten, no matter how manyreplacements were created to destroy it.

    She liked people who taught a lesson,who believed, who endured so much, yetplowed through it like a snowblower ina blizzard. It was almost always a writerthat caught her attention, because sheloved to read.

    She wore cat earrings and rolled-upeans with holes. She loved to cook. She

    had a certain chair that she always satin, that she wouldnt let anyone else laya hand on, because it was hers and hersonly. It was a red chair, cushioned, tall.She was almost never in that chair when

    she wasnt engrossed in a book.She loved writers, but for some reason,

    though she never kept in touch with mu-sic, John Lennon was her favorite famousperson.

    She didnt love his music or anythinglike that. But she idolized him completelybecause of this quote she loved:WhenI went to school, they asked me what Iwanted to be when I grew up. I wrotedown, happy. They told me I didnt un-derstand the assignment, and I told themthey didnt understand life.

    She always repeated this to me, thoughit was long, when I felt down or unhappy.She told me not to lose track, like she did,that as long as happy was all I tried to be,Id find something one day that I loved.

    She told me that when I did, cherishthat thing, do not take it for granted or useit wrongly in any way, or it may run awayand I would never be happy again.

    She told me not to make the samemistake she did ever. Because when itcame to happiness, every person only getsone shot, most people blow it, and mostpeople are never happy again.

    It wasnt until she died that I realizedthat most people meant herself.

    My mother had always seemed like arelatively joyful person.

    She was single, but she never appearedto let that get to her. She made dinneroften and cooked us (Caleb, my littlebrother, and me) salmon almost everynight, with a side of delicious mashedpotatoes.

    But the salmon was the real magic. Ittasted unreal, heavenly, though my mother

    never told us her secret ingredient. Ever.She always made us say a prayer be-

    fore dinner, to be grateful for all we have,and then she would repeat the John Len-non quote, and tell us, for the millionth-gazillionth time, to enjoy the salmon andnot let one bite go to waste.

    She would tell us that one day, at somepoint in our lives, we would understandwhat her secret ingredient was, though weboth doubted it because neither of us had apossible future as a cook.

    She never talked about her divorcewith my dad, so I couldnt tell you any-thing about it. If it made her sad, mad,regretful, she didnt show a thing.

    My first day of preschool seemedlike forever and a day ago. The memory isvague, and as I get older it may taper offlike all the other memories of my mother.

    When we were in the car, I rememberfeeling that she was always glancing backat me in the rearview mirror, to see myexpression, how I was feeling, a typicalmotherly thing. When she pulled into theparking lot, we had a small, nearly one-sided conversation on her part. Its terriblyhard to remember, but I think it wentsomething like this:

    You ready, Kate? This is your firstday of real school. Are you excited?

    I shrug nonchalantly, because Im not,really.

    Now, sweetie, youre going to needto go in on your own. Youll see a lady,Mrs. Heather, and shell lead you to yourclassroom, alright?

    I look at her, dazed. Why is she mak-ing me go in by myself?

    She reaches across the drivers seat toundo my seatbelt, then presses a button tounlock the doors so I can get out.

    You ready?I say nothing. I am a s tubborn kid,

    and eventually shell figure out that myunresponsiveness means that Im refusingto go in without her.

    We sit in silence for what seems likea while, because my moms not going to

    force me to go in, but she was stubborntoo, so shell wait a while. But Ill winthis eventually.

    Suddenly she says, Now, Katie, Iknow you dont want to go in alone.

    But you have to understand that asyou grow up, youre going to face some

    WHENI WENTTOSCHOOL, THEYASKEDMEWHATI WANTEDTOBEWHEN

    I GREWUP. I WROTEDOWN, HAPPY. THEYTOLDMEI DIDNTUNDERSTAND

    THEASSIGNMENT, ANDI TOLDTHEMTHEYDIDNTUNDERSTANDLIFE.

    John Lennon

    Sometimes youre going tohave to be brave, and some-times youre going to have tohold on to what you have and

    face what you dont.It might be hard, but youcan do it.

    And remember, youllsee me in the lobby the secondschool ends, alright? Here.

    She hands me a little Post-itnote, and written on it, in theneatest of handwriting, is alittle note.

    I couldnt read then, but Iwas a smart kid. I knew she hadwritten the quote from JohnLennon because she repeated itover and over at dinner.

    And it wasnt until later thatI realized what shed meant.

    When Mom died, in the hospital, withmonitors beeping and computer screenssurrounding the bed, at first I thought shewas just sleeping because her eyes wereclosed and she looked as peaceful as ever.

    I hadnt realized that the monitors hadstopped, that the screen that displayed her

    Caleb and me with tearyeyes full of sorrowful pity.

    Im so sorry, children, she said,embracing both of us in a hug. She wassobbing now. ...So sorry you have to gothrough this all.

    At first, I was confused. And then I re-alized why she was sorry And it all came

    riptide. Not that my very ownmother was dead in a hospitalbed. But why she had kept re-minding me all those times to be

    happy. To get through it.She had been happy once.She had a husband, two kids, aperfect family. A wonderful lifewith nothing to lose. And thenshe let go. Of everything. Of thatsomething shed always told meto cherish, to hold forever in mygrasp until it vanished with me.

    She had let go, she had saidall that stuff so that I wouldntfollow in her footsteps.

    And then I realized whather secret ingredient was, inthe salmon. It wasnt a physi-cal product. It came from whatshe gave me, where she led us.It was my mother that made the

    salmon so miraculous.So I start waiting for that something,

    that thing that I will cherish for ever andever and not let go. I start waiting for it tocome along and knock on my door.

    Deanna Davis-Kilpatrick, Essex High School

    Ian Ballou, Essex High School

    THESALMONWASTHEREAL

    MAGIC. ITTASTEDUNREAL,HEAVENLY, THOUGHMYMOTHER

    NEVERTOLDUSHERSECRET

    INGREDIENT. EVER.

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    THISWEEK: Winter

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. This weeks prompt is Winter Tales: Write

    about winter. Selected pieces will be performed as part

    of Winter Tales at FlynnSpace in Burlington Dec. 10-14.

    Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.

    What Ive been told

    BYLIVIELEWIS

    Grade 6, Dummerston Middle School

    Kind and warm,mean and cold.This is a winter storm,or so Ive been told.It means no school,a day of cold fun.In this play day, there are no rules,and there is no sun.I am told that these days are fun.I dont know why they are,but there is a white blanket so far.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    NEXTPROMPTS

    100 Miles.You get lost and end up walking 100 miles through thick, bug-infestedwoods. When its finally over, you cant believe whats waiting for you in a clearing atthe edge of the forest Alternates:Online.Somehow youve fallen into the Web pageyouve been browsing. Whats happening?; or General writing. Due Dec. 12

    Sorry. Write a story or poem that incorporates the sentence, Im sorry ... Im sosorry.Alternate:Cyborg. Write a story about a cyborg (part human, part machine).Due Dec. 19

    CHECKOUTTHENOVEMBERISSUE

    OFYWPSDIGITALMAGAZINE!

    Go to thevoice.youngwritersproject.org!

    Jonathan Palmer, Essex High School

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    THISWEEK: Winter

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

    dred submissions from students across Vermont and New

    Hampshire. This weeks prompt is Winter Tales: Write

    about winter. Selected pieces will be performed as part

    of Winter Tales at FlynnSpace in Burlington Dec. 10-14.

    Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.

    Crunch

    BYLUCYSZPILA

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    White as a clouddives from the sky,lightly falling on your tongue.With a crunchyour footplunges throughdeepinto the fluff.The coldchokes your breath,leaving fog in the air.Snow.

    PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

    NEXTPROMPTS

    Invention.Youve just invented the next big thing! Pitch it to the head of the mostinfluential company you know. What is it and what does it do?Alternates:15, 10,5. Create a short dialogue of three characters. The first can only speak 15 words, thesecond 10, and the third just five words; or Author.Write in the style of your favoritewriter. Due Dec. 5

    100 Miles.You get lost and end up walking 100 miles through thick, bug-infestedwoods. When its finally over, you cant believe whats waiting for you in a clearing atthe edge of the forest Alternates:Online.Somehow youve fallen into the Web pageyouve been browsing. Whats happening?; or General writing. Due Dec. 12

    CHECKOUTTHENOVEMBERISSUE

    OFYWPSDIGITALMAGAZINE!

    Go to thevoice.youngwritersproject.org!

    Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

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    THISWEEK: Photo 3 &Complicated

    THANKSFROMYWPABOUTTHEPROJECT

    Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

    hundred submissions from students across Vermont

    and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and

    students selects the best writing and images for

    publication. This week, we present responses to the

    prompts, Photo 3and Complicated:Some days ev-

    erything goes wrong. Write about it.

    YWPis supported by this news-

    paper and foundations, businessesand individuals who recognize thepower and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please goto youngwritersproject.org/sup-port,or mail your donation to YWP,12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,

    VT 05401.

    Special thanks this week to

    LANGWATERFAMILYFOUNDATION

    Young Writers Project is an inde-

    pendent nonprofit that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, beforelive audiences and on web sites,youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vt-digger.org, and cowbird.com. YWPalso publishes The Voice, a monthlydigital magazine with YWPs bestwriting, images and features. Findout more atyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

    WaitingBYMALCOLMTOLENO

    Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School

    I walk in between the tracks,and find solacein the perfectly straight lines.I come here often,ust waiting,

    waiting,some days longer than others,biding my time,until one day,

    it will come.The train,pressing onwards north,carryingsouls. Mine, strappedon tight,for fear of being torn awayand thrown into a desolate, arid wastelandof all the soulsthat didnt survivethe drudging ridefrom there to here.There being death,and here being life.Suddenly, there is a faint lightfrom the tunnel.

    The wind ferociously howls,and I dart off the tracks.The rumbling train comes to a full stop,andoff they come.One by one,they pour out,and all but one

    utter offin search of their new body.That oneis mine.It floats toward me,and is gone.I feel it, softly beating.A heart.

    And I am whole.

    The bridgeBYMAIAMCNEIL

    Grade 7, Brattleboro Area MiddleSchool

    Every morning at precisely at 7 a.m.,the cuckoo clock in the hall would gocuckoo, waking up Yortis Qualls.Each day she was responsible for wak-ing up her younger brother Toby andmaking sure he didnt die while theirparents were working, and she took her

    job very seriously.Toby and Yortiss parents were very

    busy people, getting up at 4 in themorning. Then getting home anywherebetween 6 and 12 at night. Their par-ents were both lawyers who worked forthe same company and unfortunatelythe companys motto was, Help any-one, anywhere, any time. And whenthey said any time they meant anytime.

    The Qualls family lived at the edgeof the small town of Petersburg, Ohio,in a cozy old mill. Their small yard hada little creek going through the yardwith a brick bridge going over it fortheir driveway and was surrounded bylarge expanses of woods.

    Their yard had no garden since there

    was never any time for gardening, butYortis did have a little rock covered inmoss that she liked to think of as herown little bug forest.

    On the weekends after Yortis andToby got their breakfast, they were re-quired to do at least five things to helptidy up the house before the could play.

    On rainy days they would stay insideand read or make forts, but on sunnydays when the only clouds in the skywere the white puffy soft ones thatlooked as if angels slept there theywould go to their secret place.

    Yortis had discovered the bridge oneday while walking alongside the streamthat ran through their yard trying tosee how far it went when she stumbledupon a large abandoned metal bridgethat went across the creek that, withouther realizing it, had slowly become asmall river.

    The strange thing about the bridgewas not the fact that when she tried to

    look closely at itthe whole bridgesparkled or that itlooked like it wasmeant for trains,but she had neverheard of therebeing any traintracks around thisarea, but the factthat there were notracks on eitherside.

    She walked toboth sides multipletimes, carefully in-specting each sidebut there werenteven any remnants of tracks. She got tothe end of the bridge and the tracks juststopped.

    Later she brought Toby to the bridgeand they spent the entire afternoon puz-zling what the bridge was for.

    Was it supposed to be a nesting placefor the swallows? There certainly werea lot of swallows. Was it a sculpture?Was it for hiking?

    Finally before they decided it wasthere so that they would find it.

    The next day they went back andplayed a game of make-believe, pre-

    tending that the bridge was the Himala-yan mountains and they were scientists,lost deep in the mountains, lookingfor a plant that would cure a deadlyvirus that was spreading throughoutthe world. Their game ended with themfinding the cure just before Yortis wasassassinated.

    Next weekend they went back, firstpretending to be spies searching fora top secret file that could prove theirclient innocent before he was sentencedto 47 years in prison. Then the bridgewas their haunted castle and they weredetectives.

    Yortis and Toby continued to visit

    the bridge each weekend for the rest ofthe year until one day while they werehunting a zebra to put in their circusToby fell and twisted his ankle.

    Yortis supported Toby as he limpedhome. Not a half an hour after theygot home Mr. Qualls got home to findhis 7-year-old old son sitting on their

    couch, eyes red, with his swollen anklepropped up on the coffee table.

    He immediately jum