Saint Albans Messenger 2014-2015

City of LegendCHAPTER TWOBY KAYLA MCARTORGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Lazuka sensed the presence of the silent magicians sprinting through the shadows at her heels. Her white, tapered ears homed in on the sound of silent footsteps 20 yards behind her, with many turns and walls between them.

Her golden eyes stood out in sharp relief against the shadows, her thick, ebony mane of hair drawn back from them by the wind.

The demons pale face glowed in the black-ness of the citys moon-cast shadows, flesh

turning gray at her shoulders and darkening to black at her lower back and legs. There, the air seemed darker, her body reflecting

darkness itself. This trait was the only way one could distinguish her thin, whip-like tail streaming out behind her, adjusting itself au-tomatically so the fan-shaped spade on the tip caught the wind and allowed Lazuka to make hairpin turns.

Obsidian claws grew sharply from her hands, and now she clenched them in spite of pumping her arms in perfect rhythm with her nearly feral stride. She was in her humanoid form; every demon had both a human and monstrous form, though most could pull off a perfect human. Lazuka had too much demonic power to conceal such traits as a tail, fangs, claws, and wings.

She cursed for the three-million-one-hun-dred-and-sixth time the birth of such ghastly and wretched beings as magicians; the child-killers and enslavers of demons as they were. Especially the combat-trained and government controlled Nem. The ones hunting her wished to incapacitate her and force Lazuka to make a binding contract with, in her case, several of them, giving the magic-users full use of her powers and enhancing their own spiritual strength. Or, if they were weak, exorcise her and be done with it.

At all times, Lazuka had her demonic aura extended in a thin veil over almost the entire city on alert for Nem; now she focused in on the disturbances ahead of her.

Another smaller group of Nem was pursu-ing two human beings that were exception-ally good at masking their presence, on both a physical and spiritual level. In any case, her goal was to force the group behind her to join the chase of the other non-demons, who were undoubtedly criminals that the govern-ment wanted dead, versus an innocent demon sought after for personal gain.

Someones about to get hurt. Lazuka glanced overhead at the angelic fig-

ure gliding on her soft, feathered gray wings above her.

Who, Dusk? Speak louder, I cant hear you as well when Im running, Lazuka man-aged to say between shallow breaths.

Her clawed feet gripped the filthy cobbles

under them, working with her large, strong heart and lungs to keep her flying along at

speeds of over 60 miles an hour. She could go faster, had she unfurled her bat-like wings and took to the air. However, she needed to keep to the maze of buildings if she were to lose the Nem after her and Dusk.

A Nem, came the soft, melodious call from Dusk.

Lazuka snorted. Good. Fatal? During the pause that ensued, a whole zagged block of triangular buildings zipped by. Not for the first

time, Lazuka felt envious of Dusks smaller wingspan and greater flexibility that allowed

her to fly nearly sideways through alleys when

the buildings grew too high to skim over.I ... dont think so. Lazuka winced. Not because the magician

still lived, but because the pain in Dusks whisper was blatant. She was not a demon like Lazuka, she had simply woken up from a deep sleep five years ago with no memory of

THIS WEEK: General writing

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Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present the second chapter of Kayla McArtors series, City of Leg-end. Read the complete series at youngwritersproject.org/node/103987.

Young Writers Project is an indepen-dent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and con-nects them with authentic audiences in newspapers, before live audiences and on web sites, youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.org, and cowbird.com. YWP also publishes The Voice, a monthly digital magazine with YWPs best writing, images and features. To learn more, go to youngwritersproject.org or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

YWP is supported by this newspa-per and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwrit-ersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 47 Maple St., Suite 106, Burlington, VT 05401.

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Nate Ertle, Essex High School

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who or where she was. Fortunately for her, it had been Lazuka who had first found her. Un-like other demons, Lazuka had a vivid (albeit twisted) conscience that was more human than anything else. Her rage was contained, intel-ligence honed, and compassion extended to those with pure hearts. And of all beings in the universe, Dusks was perhaps the purest.

Although she was not a demon, she had some magic in her soul that allowed her to

sense when a person near her was about to be hurt physically. She could feel it, tell what was going to happen and, if she was close enough, attempt to act on or prevent the injury.

Along with her birds wings that were possibly grown on her as a child through powerful magic, she had a charm that hyno-tized anyone who laid eyes on her. The name closest to describing her was angel.

Are the magician and the ninja still ahead

of us? she asked Lazuka from the air. Of course they are. Wait, magician and

ninja? Lazuka lifted her nose to the wind and inhaled the night air tainted with gear oil, gun smoke, the stench of death, and magician filth.

She shook her head to clear it and instead focused on the refreshing moonlight.

Why the heck would a magician be wanted by Nem? And how did you figure

there was a ninja? Ive never truly understood the humans clans and customs, but those seem the strangest. As far as I knew, they were killed by the Nem two years ago.

Lazuka charged the wall in front of her and pushed off into the turn with her hands.

No. The ninjas werent all killed. Not all magicians are bad, either. Wind whistled through her feathers, too quiet for anything but a demons ears. The ground between them and the unlikely pair was closing, and soon ...

Aah! Dusk screamed and beat her wings rapidly, rising above the walls and shooting ahead of Lazuka.

Dusk! Cursing in a language older than the city itself, Lazuka took one long leap into the intersection of two alleyways, simultane-ously unfurling her two seven-foot wings. Straining the muscles in her back and shoul-ders in one mighty downstroke, she lifted herself to the level of the rooftop. She ignored the flicker of movement to her left; she was

accelerating fast, and all she wanted at that moment was to protect Dusk.

The angels gray wings seemed to absorb the moonlight and glow with it; with her wings and silvery hair she was easy to spot from any distance, never mind the 13 yards shed put between them. The Nem were catch-ing up; Lazukas senses were practically going haywire, sending waves of tremors up and down her spine and limbs.

Dusk! she screamed again. Fwoosh! A rush of air rolled over her body,

possibly saving her from crashing straight into the back of the hovering Dusk. She had opened up her wings like parachutes and stopped dead in the air, a move that wouldve had Lazuka plummeting to earth.

Breathing hard, Lazuka banked left and spi-raled up and around Dusk. With an expert tilt of her wingtip, she steadied herself and beat her great wings slowly, sounding like a great beast exhaling on the downstroke, inhaling on the rise, causing Lazukas body to bob slightly and her to not at first recognize the picture in

front of her.In the middle of a wide road, spotlighted by

a great shaft of moonlight, stood two figures

facing each other in a stand-off. ...(Read the complete series! Go to youngwritersproj-ect.org/node/103987)



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Kristina Pretty, Essex High School

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Dear parentsBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

You will never understand 21st century teenagers, so you might as well stop trying.

Parents ideas of being a teenager and how they think that they know what its like are wrong.

You can yell and punish your children for making mistakes and for being reckless, but the truth is, you arent making a differ-ence.

Perfect grades, perfect attitudes that is not what it means to be a teenager.

We like phones and being involved socially. Were lazy; were tired. And, gosh, were just as stressed as you. My outfit isnt right. My hair is all wrong. Will my guy friends think Im cool?

We deal with gossip, bullying, relationships and emotional triumphs. ... Going home is our break.

So, please parents, get your heads out of the clouds and realize that if you make home horrible for your kids, it will send them off the edge. Unless you want that, be more sympa-thetic.

After all, we are just kids.

City of LegendCHAPTER ONEBY KAYLA MCARTORGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Seven black-clad men stood silently in the moonlight, their bodies creating a circle around an intricate pentacle engraved in the copper road upon which they stood. They were magicians, every one battered and des-perate.

Gunshots rang out, the sounds reverberat-ing through the iron walls of the city around them. They were the few who remained, un-moving, while war was waged around them, demons roaring, magicians shouting, count-less innocents dying, caught in the crossfire.

Peace needed to be restored, else the city of clockwork would tear itself apart.

The gathered magicians spread their arms out, each barely brushing the palm of the ad-jacent men; a completed circuit, their energy would combine and flow together as one.

Their one soul would reach into the ether and summon an entity to end the violence an angel whose overwhelming power of light would quench the demons spirits and heal the humans hate.

Once bound to the city itself, its energy would flow into all things alive inside its walls.

Three of the seven men, however, had black, evil taints in their souls. They felt an angel would not suffice, no matter the entitys power.

They would summon a demon, one that would, once bound inside the city walls, systematically destroy every living being and thus prevent the war from spreading.

They would feed upon the power of the others gathered, and divert the summoning when their minds were too caught up in the single entity of their power to notice such a change.

Only one individual was wise enough to perceive these flawed intentions when the chanting began, the thread that would weave the spell for good or ill.

The words of the man beside him, with whom his own energy was shared, differed from his own, uttering something with pre-cious little difference that would end up with disastrously opposite results.

Intent on stopping whatever they had planned, the fourth began weaving a spell that would counteract the demons summoning. But it was not to be completed.

Before he could completely abolish the evil summoning, the other six, three misguided and three oblivious and powerless against them, entered the final stage of summoning.

With a blinding flash, white and black en-ergy swirled in a column condensed within the pentacle. Wretched wails and shrieks sounded from the two entities within; the fourth had hastened with his spell, and, unable to prevent the demons summoning, made it so both were summoned simultaneously.

Panicked and unable to restrain the op-posing energies, the seven were forced to complete the spell and seal both ancient spirits within the city.

With a final cry from the men, the swirling spirit energy within the pentacle dissipated barely overpowered and all was silenced, including the sounds of violence within the city. For a moment, those who had sought to summon the angel rejoiced at their victory. Because they had the fourth on their side, they believed their angel would soon overpower them with four summoners as a catalyst for its power versus the three of the demon and as-sume control of the city. Alas, it was not so.

The fourth had simply impeded the de-mons summoning so it did not cancel the angels; he was not lending his power to either of the individual spells.

(continued next column)

The powers were perfectly divided; three and three. And so, both entities of extreme power now had the same strength in the physi-cal realm.

This realization came with the awful grat-ing of metal all around. Buildings rotated, rose, and fell as the angel and demon warred, bound within the metal structures.

Great heaves of the ground sent every man stumbling, colliding into spears of wire and metal shards.

Many lost their lives that night as the city tore itself in half.

By the time the sun rose, the city was re-shaped; a crater had been hollowed out under the foundation, and within it lay half of the city, stained black with demonic aura.

On top, rising out of the ground with the sun was the beautifully shining city of the angel.

Here, the violent convulsions now stilled, and non-magical people were coming out of hiding, having been protected by their peace-ful guardian entity.

But in the under-city, the demons and magi-

cians were trapped by the ancient demons wrath, never to see the sun again.

From that day on, the city was named Aut Mori, a place where you live or die. In the city of Aut, where the angel resided in the walls of clockwork and steel, normal humans led pas-sive lives, blessed by the angel in their homes.

As the sun set, however, the city morphed. A giant gyroscope balanced by the entities, Aut sunk into the ground, replaced with the rising of Mori, its dark shadows cast by moon-light alone.

Or rather, brightened by moonlight alone, as without it, the shadows would be in their true form, swallowing the beings that lived if you could call it living in its cold em-brace.

It was a place where magicians wallowed, demons thrived, and all beings were forced to kill to live, fight to live in peace, become evil to be saved.

It was the city of death, trapped in dark-ness, even as the sun rose over it again and again ...

(Read the complete series! Go to youngwritersproj-ect.org/node/103987)

RISING OUT OF THE GROUND WITH THE SUN WAS THE BEAUTIFULLY

SHINING CITY OF THE ANGEL.

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Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the prompt for General writing in any genre. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers, and The Voice.


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Encountering CupidBY SAMUEL BOUDREAUGrade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I saw him once. Sitting up on the skyscraper,preying on people with his heart-tipped arrows. The small wings on his backwere covered with slick, musty, yellow feath-ers, and he was only wearinga cloth diaper from the 1960s. I could never forget his face:young, bright, childish.The blonde curls camouflaged his eyes.

Every arrow that was shothad been accompanied bya giggle and three knee slaps. Sometimes he would miss.Sometimes he would hit the man or woman straightthrough the left ventricle. After the eighth snap ofthe bow, he looked right at me. My gaze was intense,and I attempted to fend off his stare. He reached for another arrow, as if huntinga wild boar. He placed it on his bow, and with a villainous smile,said, Youre next. I smirked and mouthed, Bring it on.

If only loveBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

His sweaty palms.Her messy hair.Neither even daredto sneak a smileIt was love, but they didnt knowas they both stood cold as snow.It was darkin that parkwhere the two stood apartand the sun didnt existunder the thick mist.They were human, separately,but perfect together.And there they stood through the weather.Maybe in the end it wasnt love.Maybe it wasnt even real.But they knew what I know.We all know how they feel,trapped in forbidden thoughts,watching their every move,hoping he or she will come closer.With his glowing eyesand her misshaped freckles,there was something like magic.If only they had noticed;if only they had found it.

BY THOMAS CUDDYGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

BOB AND JOE AND THE CAR RACEBob and Joe meet at Joes house.Bob: Hey, Joe!Joe: Hey, Bob! Whats up?Bob: I just came to ask you how much money you would give me if I won a race between you and me, with me on foot and you in a car.Joe: Id give you a hundred bucks.Bob: Alright, then lets get started.Three hours later ...Joe: Okay, so the first one to pass that line

wins. Ready?Bob: Yeah.

Joe turns on the engineBob: Wait a minute. This isnt how its sup-posed to work.Joe: Whats wrong? Did I miss a rule or something?Bob: Well, yeah. I said you had to be in a car, but I never said you could drive.

THE CAR RACE, PART 2Bob meets Joe at Joes house again.

Bob: Hello again, Joe. I have another chal-lenge for you.Joe: Hi, Bob. You mean, like the car thing you did yesterday?Bob: Yeah, sort of. But this time, you can drive. And Ill still be running on foot.Joe: So whats your challenge this time?Bob: I challenge you to prove me wrong when I say ...Joe: So what do you say?Bob: I say that I can run faster than your car.

Joe is a bit suspicious about this, based on what happened last time and tries to make sure Bob isnt pulling his leg again.

Joe: Thats it?Bob: Yep. Thats all. Theres nothing else to say, other than that the loser owes the other a hundred bucks.

(continued right column>)

The adventures of Bob and Joe

(continued)

Joe: Really?Bob: Really.Joe: Then I accept your challenge.

Three hours later ...Bob and Joe return to Joes house.

Joe: Ready?Bob: Ready.Joe: Go!

Bob runs and Joe drives. Predictably, Joe wins by a lot.

Joe: I win! Now you owe me a hundred bucks!Bob: Oh, no, I dont. See, I said I could run faster than your car. And your car didnt run, it drove.

BOB AND JOE AND THE BIG BOX BETBob arrives at Joes house to see that theres a large box in the front yard. Joe is trying to move it, but its clear that its too heavy for him.

Bob: Hey there, Joe. What are you doing?Joe: Trying to get this box into the car so that I can bring it to my brother Dan. It has my old drumset in it, but I never use it anymore, which is partially due to the fact that its so heavy, I have a hard time getting it out.Bob: I bet I could get that box into your car in less than 10 seconds!

Joe thinks for a moment, knowing that this is normally when Bob does something that takes what he said literally and he somehow cheats. But he cant think of how.

Joe: Alright, fine then. Go ahead. What do I

get if you fail?Bob: As always, the loser of the bet owes the other a hundred bucks.Joe: Okay, go ahead and try. Ill time you. Ten...

Bob quickly runs over to the box, dumps ev-erything out of it, and easily carries the empty box into the car before Joe gets to five.

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To myselfBY SOPHIA CANNIZZAROGrade 9, Homeschool, West Glover

Because I love you,this is me telling you:I am listening.

When nobody seems to be paying attention,I am listening.

Finish that long, hilarious story about your band teacher.I wont sigh, or ignore you.

Wonder out loud about what his stomach looks like.I wont call you shallow.

Tell me all about how frustrating it can be to analyze Bach chorales.I wont act like its pointless.

Complain about how much you hate your chin.I wont tell you that you cant hate your chin just because I like it.

I will listen to you rant about how annoying your boobs are.I wont tell you that youre lucky to have them, that Im jealous.

I would be glad to hear all about how excited you are about that new search engine you found.I wont tell you that its been around for six years already.

Im listening.



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Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the prompt for General writing in any genre. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.


Derek Pham, Essex High School

YWP is supported by this news-paper and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 47 Maple St., Suite 106, Burlington, VT 05401.


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Little green fishBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I dug my faith into the ground,washed my sins, stole the town.I cried out for the broken childrenand got mad at those lucky enough to be hid-den.

The world is not mine to take.Those green fish in the lakeare not who I can blame.They didnt stainmy sidewalk with DNA.They didnt murder my good day.

I turn my mouth up to the sky,screaming out my bloody cries.Sneaky, deceiving and low,I become forgotten, alone in a placethat nobody knows.

BY ADSEL SPARROWGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

When you look in the mirror,you see something.You dont see you.You see the pimple on your chin,that blemish on your cheek,the scar on your hand,your boxy figure.You see all of your imperfections.What you dont realizeis that the pimple is just a mark,that blemish is too much blush,that scar is a line on your hand.Your boxy figure is an hourglass one.

We chide ourselves on our imperfections.We build ourselves up to a standardthat doesnt exist.

You are beautiful.You are unique.You are you.You must realize these as factsor the world will stay the way it is,a world of standards that dont exist.

When you look in the mirror

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The land behind meBY JARRIT HATHAWAYGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

The land in front of me was barren as the sands blew over with the slightest wind. That was where my fate would rest, my destiny in a hole.

It was dark, even though it was noon, dark with all the dreams I had had. Crushed.

The expanse spread over the earth, not another in sight, and I was forced to go into solitude.

But the land behind me, where I must never go back to, that is where I wanted to live, but could not.

Not turning my head, I closed my eyes that held so much regret, remembering the hills of green, the skies of blue, the trees of silver.

But I couldnt afford to go back. For the sake of my loved ones, I had to move from my old life and take the pains of others with me.

So I stepped into the sand, my feet leaving the cushion of grass for the first time in my life.

I walked on, the horizon my only goal.

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Young Writers Project is an indepen-dent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and con-nects them with authentic audiences in newspapers, before live audiences and on web sites, youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.org, and cowbird.com. YWP also publishes The Voice, a monthly digital magazine with YWPs best writing, images and features. To learn more, go to youngwritersproject.org or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

How comics changed my entire lifeBY THOMAS CUDDYGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

Life is unpredictable. I know that better than anybody. In fact, I knew it ever since the moment comics completely changed the course of my life.

Back when I lived in New York (some-where around Albany, to be specic), I lived in a large circle of apartments. They were all connected to each other, and there was a road in the middle. I loved that apartment.

Then we moved.I thought things couldnt get any worse. I

had left everything I had ever known behind. And that wasnt the end of it.

Everyone in my grade thought that I was weird. (Now I know that they were right, but I didnt agree back then.) This contributed to my lack of friends. In fact, nobody really liked me.

I tried to convince them that I was cool. I told them jokes, I acted like I thought I was cool (which I did).

I even wore a different jacket one day and pretended that I wasnt me. I was just my awesome twin cousin. But nothing worked, and eventually, I gave up.

Then one day, one of the cool kids was telling his friends that he was starting a news-paper for the class.

I got jealous and wanted to start one of my own. But everyone in that school got really mad when somebody copied someone else.

So I had a solution: Make a newspaper anyway, except not for school, for my friend, who lived across the street.

But one day, I noticed that the comic sec-tion was getting much bigger than the other sections. Then I noticed what this meant: I was particularly skilled at writing comics.

Back then, I used to talk to myself more often. (Of course, I didnt call it talking to myself. I called it, talking to anyone whos listening, who, at the moment, is nobody.)

So I was talking to myself about it at school, and the cool kid group (whose leader turned out to be my future best friend Tyler) heard me.

They seemed to be interested, and later Tyler asked to see one of my comics.

After that point, it was basically the basic, normal, predictable, and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after ending you always see in stories.

Tyler liked my comics and somehow we ended up being best friends.

Of course, life doesnt always end with that and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after ending as it does in stories.

About a year later, just as I was starting to get used to everything that had changed so quickly, we moved again, this time to a com-pletely different state.

I couldnt believe the terrible turn of events!

Finally, Id succeeded in getting friends in my new school more than I could count in a lifetime, in fact and then it all went to waste when I moved to Vermont.

But now, as an author, getting myself pub-lished in digital magazines and newspapers and stuff, I realize this life might have seemed like a big setback at rst, but if youre reading this story in a newspaper, know that Ive of-cially accomplished more here than there.

Yes, this is denitely where I belong.

Stained ten centsBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

My dirty living room window stares blankly at me,and through it I cannot see.My mother bought that stained glass window for only ten cents.I love that window.Theres an angel in white draped across the red pane.It bleeds into the purple frame.My father never did like this window too much.He thought it made us look pathetically poor.No matter what, he would never see its beauty.Every morning I sit beneath the window,looking at its grimy detail.The day my mother found it, we were walk-ing.There was a man around 50 selling junk.With one look, my mother said, Ill take it.The man gave it to us for only 10 cents.When we got home, my father scolded us.He said, What an ugly thing.But he always gets upset like that.Weve never been very wealthy.And have never felt the luxury of life,but my father always talked of it.I guess thats why he hates the window.It reminds him that we are poor.Ive heard my mother crying in front of the windowa few times before.I dont know what it was that made me cry with her.I was only 8 when we got the window,and to this day it remains one of the best days.My mother always told me that new thingswould not bring me anything but greed.Hah, that always made my father laugh.There was something about that stained windowthat made me remember things were okay.Every night I stare out the window and whis-per,Best ten cents ever spent.I make sure my father does not hear me.If he did, Id get in trouble.I love my father even though he is full of shame.And my mother is my bleeding angel lined in glass.That dirty window is one of the only things I have.And arent I lucky?

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A parking issueBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

An injustice I have witnessed is one at school among students.

It has come to my attention that there is no student parking lot whatsoever.

Yet there is not just one but three desig-nated areas for teachers to park.

Hmm ... I nd this odd because although the school promotes safety, it puts its own students at risk every day.

Hundreds of kids park along the sides of streets, and in little nooks along the roads because there is no student parking lot.

I drive to school with my brother and we have to park a block away from school.

I dont mind a little exercise. What I do mind is how unfair the school is.

If the teachers get to school early, they can have a spot on campus but it should be rst come rst served.

The school puts students at risk by not let-ting them park on campus.

What if I were to be hit by a driver while crossing the many roads?

Teachers should not get special privileges over students.

There should be one student and one staff parking lot. The school needs to divide the land.

There are many other injustices at school, but there are too many to count.

THIS WEEK: Unjust & General


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Special thanks this week toNATIONAL LIFE GROUP

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present re-sponses to the prompts, Unjust: Write about an injustice you have witnessed; and General writing. Read more at young-writersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.


Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

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NEXT PROMPTSHappening. Write a poem or story

with a rst line of, I didnt know what was happening at the time

Alternates: Stranger. You know that person you always see on the bus, on the way to school, or just around town. Youre curious -- who is this person? Write his or her story as if you have followed the person home, to school or work, on errands, wherever. What do you discover? and Photo 9 (below). Due May 1

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Photo 9. Library of Congress

BetweenBY ADSEL SPARROWGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

I feel the cold,the shivering cold.Then,then comes the warmthand the light,slowly moving toward me.I feel joyful,gleeful even,and a longing a longing to leap into this light,this warmth,with my arms stretched out in welcome.I laugh,then remember.

I back away,the exhilaration gone.No, not me.Not now.I have a life.Im not ready.Theyre not ready.

I turn away, my back now facing the ball of light.The warmth recedes,bringing back the cold.But this time,it feels warm.Because standing is warm.Laughing is warm.Love is warm.Life is warm.And I want to live.

BY THOMAS CUDDYGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

Characters: Guy # 1 (G1) & Guy # 2 (G2)

G1: Hello, Ralph! Its great to see you again!G2: Only if my house were to fall down again.G1: I cant, I left my doughnut at home.G2: Probably not.G1: Yes, I agree. Its not fair.G2: Q! Q! Q!G1: Yes, but you see, dragons didnt build my car.G2: Sometimes, but unfortunately, R is the 18th letter of the alphabet.G1: Well, yes, until I nd a new cardboard box.G2: But radioactive marshmallows arent evil, are they?G1: 57.G2: That sounds wonderful!G1: Then why did you put pickles in the washing machine?G2: Because Groptvinorxable isnt a word.G1: But I dont have a green stick in my pocket!G2: Thats because its triangular.G1: Oh, yes, youre rightit must be the trash cans fault.G2: No I didnt!

G1: Actually its made of toothpaste.G2: Woah! Now thats a big chicken!G1: Why didnt you tell me this before?!G2: Yellow.G1: Hey! Thats very insulting, what you just said!G2: Its on the table!G1: I forgotwas it a pencil sharpener, a smoke detector, or a leaf blower?G2: If a worm made a pizza, it would look like a basketball!G1: No, I live in Seattle.G2: The British are coming!G1: Wheres the calculator? I need to look at a zero!G2: Give me back my teeth!G1: Do not hang up the phone!G2: Oh, no! I dropped the paper airplane!G1: You can run, but you cant hide!G2: Watch out for the bus!G1: I want my mustache!G2: I am a slipper from the Land of Mysteri-ous Totem Poles!G1: Youre under arrest for eating potatoes!G2: The buffy gave us milk! Thank you, buffy!G1: Gelatin!G2: Youve just crossed the line!

Nonsense conversation

THE SCHOOL PUTS STUDENTS AT RISK

BY NOT LETTING THEM PARK ON CAMPUS.




PHOTO OF THE WEEK

NEXT PROMPTS


Special thanks this week toPHYSICIANS COMPUTER CO.



A.J. Combs, Essex High School

My angelBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I saw her standing therewith her ashy hair.I saw her with those huge brown eyes, with her baby face unable to cry.I saw her break, bruise,and become faded, defused.I saw an angel made of statuscome tumbling down, crashing.I saw her broken heart and tempted mind,how she accused herself of innocent crime.Have you ever seen a human be so lost but so known;praised but abused on a torturous throne?I saw one, her, my transparent angel.Her screams tangledin mishapened hate.I saw a girl who just didnt knowwho to be, how to act.A 15-year-old who is painted black,glazed with lies and disgust....I saw her standing there,all alone, desperately needing repairs.I saw my angel.And how beautiful she was.

The violins melodyBY SAMUEL BOUDREAUGrade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I hear the violins rubbing calland it resonates within the thick roots of my heart. The wholesome low notesare glazed with sadness.With every stroke, the burnt-colored instrumentgets heavier and heavier, while its sound touches the darkest part of my mind.The violin sits upon every thought,and it makes me cry tears of heartache and loss,tears of desire and failure.Tears meant for the violin because it knows what the songs mean.For me, the deep notes are my life.Each pitch is a correlation of my mood. Each melody embodies my thoughts.

Let the violin play on.

Scar. Write about a scar you have, literal or gurative. Tell the story; Alternates: Zom-bies. Scary? Misunderstood? Give us your best story about the undead; or Between. You meet a man who says he is between life and the afterlife, suspended in a holding place until he gets sorted out. Who is he and what does he tell you?; or Espionage. Write about the CIAs newest spy, whos incredibly bad at his job. Due April 24

Happening. Write a poem or story with a rst line of, I didnt know what was happen-ing at the time Alternates: Stranger. You know that person you always see on the bus, on the way to school, or just around town. Youre curious -- who is this person? Write his or her story as if you have followed the person home, to school or work, on errands, wher-ever. What do you discover? and Photo 9 (see youngwritersproject.org/prompts14-15). Due May 1

InspirationsBY ADSEL SPARROWGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

Every day, there are people who inspire us, people who we look up to because we want to be like them. We want to be a best-selling author or a pro football star. We know that we cant, but we dream we can because of them. They make us want to be the best we can be and better. They make us rise to the challenge to be like them. To be just as good.

And they can be anybody. A mother, a ce-lebrity, your best friend, or even a baby. They open your eyes to a world you never saw. And now you can see all possibilities that lie before you.

But when that person is taken from your life, it feels like a piece of your soul is gone, hanging in between you and that person and none of you can reach it. A sadness hangs around you like a cloud that you cant get rid of. Even when the sun shines through the cloud, something makes you think of that person, and then cloud covers the sun once again. That world you once saw slowly fades away into a black abyss.

But you have to keep going. You have to push forward and live without them. And thats hard. Really, really hard. But its the only way to see through the sadness. That agony will always be there, but after a while, it softens and becomes a memory you look fondly upon. Youll start to appreciate the moments you did have. Youll start to see that amazing world again.

But this time, you cant let it slip away. You have to cherish it. You have to cherish them.

You cant let them go. You cant let them fade away again. Even if you want to, you cant. You have to keep them with you in your heart forever.

Lock and keyBY ROSIE BIBONAGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

We know that theres always an answer.Whenever theres a problem,we immediately know that it has to havea solution.

Unfortunately, thats not how lifeworks.

There are going to be times when we cant gure it out. Not every lock has a key. Not every scratch has a Band-Aid.

This is what we, as humans,must live with for the rest of our days.As much as we may want to solvethe issues of the world, some of them must remain.

THE VOICEREAD THE APRIL ISSUE!

Go to youngwritersproject.org to get your FREE subscription

of YWPs monthly digital magazine!


THIS WEEK: Scar & General writing


PHOTO OF THE WEEK

YWP is supported by this newspa-per and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwrit-ersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.


FOUNDATIONS

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Scar: Write about a scar you have, literal or gurative; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.


Positive thinkingBY COLE GRATTONGrade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Life is about trial and error. You learn from your mistakes and never

give up. Sometimes things get hard in life, but its

always important to keep your head up. Stay on the bright side of things because no

matter what happens, everything will be OK in the end.

A good goal in life is to help others when you see they are in need of help. Try to put a smile on their faces and let them know youre always there to help.

Never be scared to ask for help. It will only make things better. Look at it as a learning experience.

Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

CLIMATE CHANGE WRITING CHALLENGEWRITE AND WIN CASH! DEADLINE EXTENDED!

1st place: $100 | 2nd: $75 | 3rd: $50 PROMPTS AND MORE DETAILS:

youngwritersproject.org/climate15DEADLINE EXTENDED! APRIL 17

Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy Education Program

& Young Writers Project

Who you seeBY JARAD CLARKGrade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

A bruised knuckle. A faded scar, healed. Somewhat. Is it from hard labor and days in the dirt? Of hard people doing hard work, the unsung heroes of a contemporary world? Or is it the mark of a bruiser, a punk, a vaga-bond; that hooded kid on the street corner, going nowhere, taking his time to get there? Disreputable folk best kept in the gutter, not out in the open for people to notice, to talk about, to see. A stupid kid with a point to prove, a black eye and a chest full of pride to show for it. A badge of honor, for a tall man in a military uniform with tears on his face, and ghosts in his eyes, reminding him of a time hed best like to forget. Maybe that punks cut is, too, a badge of honor, ghting for his own loves and a different freedom; that makes him a freedom ghter no less.

Six-word storiesBY GABBI WARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

The castle was tall and grand.She was on the top oor.He was outside the castle door.He dreamed of time with her.They would spin around in elds.They would run through elds barefoot.The breeze would blow her hair.They would sit under large trees.And talk about everything they imagined.Once upon a time, he said.I had a dream about you.You had run away, far away.Never to be seen, ever again.I wished you would come back.But I never saw you again.You were too happy out there.How could I stop your happiness?I knew that I could not.Id never want to stop it.Because you make me so happy.If youre sad, Im sad, too.But he knew it was dreaming.Never, ever in a million years.He could only dream of it.Dreaming was all he ever had.His dreams were better than reality.He knew they always would be.Her dreams were exactly the same.He would never know about it.

More six-word stories BY HOPE UNDERWOODGrade 10, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Once again, I was long forgotten.Stressed, depressed and a lonely mess.She was alone; he was lonely.Teach me how to love myself.Make her smile when nobody can.Loving herself was the rst step.They had something in common: fear.

A girl and a FrisbeeBY OLIVIA CHRISTIEGrade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

A little, chubby girlclutches a neon pink Frisbee.Shes alone, in light-up sneakers and overalls.She throws the Frisbee. It soars.She squints into the sunand chases her prize.Frisbee is normally a two-person game,but not for her.She stretches, reaches,pines for the disc between her grubby paws.She tumbles into the sharp gravel.The Frisbee skitters to the ground, feet away,lost.This is the birth of the scar,pink and jagged along the top of her knee,an homage to a solitary childhood.

Adventures at 3BY TANNER CIOFFIGrade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

As a child I was very active, always on the move. It was my third year in this world, and I was becoming independent.

One afternoon, sometime in the summer, I was running around the house tormenting ev-eryone as usual. I set up a chair by one of the big bay windows that look into our backyard. I wanted to locate my father who was outside doing yard work. I wanted to lend him my tiny hands with whatever help I could.

I set the tall back of the dining room chair against the window sill. This gave me the abil-ity to propel myself upwards to the top of the chair. I took a few steps back and with quick strides I tried to leap on top of the chair.

I came down just as fast as I attempted to get up. My little body felt the drop last for hundreds of feet, when in reality it was only three.

The nearby heater attacked me between my eyebrow and eye socket splitting it in two. The rounded corner of the heater did its dam-age, causing me to sob in pain for my mother who rushed over urgently with worry explod-ing from her eyes.

Who owes me?BY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Isnt it strange that people think the world owes them something like the earth and sky should be bowing at our tiny feet?The truth is the world does not owe us any-thing at all.Its our job to make good choices and stand tall.Asking a huge void to answer our complaints is pointless.And Im sorry if youve never been told this,but you dont deserve anything; you can hope to be blessedand not have overwhelming stress.But your life, and your idea of repayment is completely wrong.The world and everything in it owes nothing to our polluted bodies.We owe it our gratitude and hopeless smiles.The fact that we see the world as our worship-per is weird,especially when we are inhabiting its surface, not the other way around.I simply point out that we owe it our breath,even if it means receiving nothing in return ...

Spring feverBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I sit solemnly dipping my tiny toes into the stream.The just-thawed water swirls with steamas my hot esh enters its kingdom.My thick hair knotted up in a pink ribbon whistlesas the sky clears and sizzleswith feathers and heat.Its just cold enough to see my breathand to not feel the deathof Father Winter.My eyes become thin splintersas a buttery not yet given color ies by.It stares at me and my now purple feet and goose bumped arms.I think about taking my water colors to its white wings,to see what design I can bringto this baby butterys world.I lose comfort in myself, and decide to lie back in the muddy leaves.But thats when I sneeze.I knew it was coming,the season of hope that shines sunny,when hibernation endsand all the furry friendscome running.The scenery becomes stunningand the world has peace.Spring is near.I smell and can hearits coming.I close my eyes and smile because the time has comewhen I can dip my feet in the stream without them becoming numb.Spring is setting in.And Im ready, so, so ready!

General & Vermont Writes Day

THANKS FROM YWPABOUT THE PROJECT YWP is supported by this newspa-per and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwrit-ersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.

Special thanks this week toMGN FAMILY FOUNDATION

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the prompt for General writing and more great writing from Vermont Writes Day. Read more at youngwrit-ersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.


PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Mya Burghardt, Essex High School

YWP NEWS & EVENTS

WRITE AND WIN CASH! 1st place: $100

2nd place: $75 | 3rd place: $50 PROMPTS AND MORE DETAILS:

youngwritersproject.org/climate15

DEADLINE APPROACHES! APRIL 10

Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy Education Program & Young Writers Project

CLIMATE CHANGE WRITING

CHALLENGE

THE VOICEREAD THE APRIL ISSUE!

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A day as a lionBY JORDAN BOURDEAUGrade 6, Swanton Central School

If I was an animal, I would be a lion because then I could just go out on the streets and scare the living daylights out of people.

Say its in the afternoon and there are some tourists walking near the woods. Little do they know what is about to happen. As they are walking, a lion jumps out of the woods and roars a huge bellowing roar and they are so terried that they cant even move. After they nally regain their senses they turn heel and run as fast as they can in the other direc-tion.

As the lion continues to chase them, more and more people see the lion and it keeps going on like this until the zoo starts getting calls about a wild lion and they realize that the lion is loose and somehow in Vermont ...

If I was an animal...From students at Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I have decided to become a toucan. My friends tell me they hate birds, but I dont. I think they are magical creatures that have the ability to y around and observe. They are the watch-tower guards of the animal kingdom.

LAURA DEMARSE

I would be an elephant because they dis-play purity and peace and they have amazing, beautiful trunks.

SIERRA ROSE

Id want to be a lowland gorilla. Gorillas are a non-aggressive herbivore that rarely attack other animals, unless threatened. Id change that. Gorillas are said to be over 32 times stronger than the average human male. If I were a gorilla for a day, Id use my extreme strength to battle the alpha predators of the local jungle and create a small kingdom for myself and my band of gorillas. Id try to teach them to be a strong existing species.

GARRETT LAMOTHE

I would be a cow. Why? Because I love cows. I deal with them every day. It must be nice to lie around all day and stuff your face whenever you want and just relax and chew your cud. Their days dont change and they do the same thing every day. They dont have to worry about what we humans have to worry about. I want their life. Its easy. They have no worries.

VICTORIA BADGER

We need to go outsideBY HAILEY SAVAGEGrade 7, St. Albans City School

My school has many things other students would dream of, laptops for every student, pleasant staff, free breakfast, and many other great features. But, like almost every 13-year-old, I have things that I want to change. I would like 7th and 8th graders to get a time every day where they can go outside and get fresh air. Being stuck in a stuffy classroom for six to seven hours isnt wonderful.

I would like our school to be warmer in the winter. Our school has many doors, and when-ever those doors are opened, a cool breeze drifts in.

Career helpBY MATT FOSSGrade 10, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I think the school should help more with careers. I thought I knew what I wanted to do, but I dont. I also think there should be teams for kids who dont play as well but want to play. That way, its a chance for kids that maybe want to try a sport, but cant because they didnt make the team.

Need SAT practiceBY DEVAN BLODGETTGrade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans It has recently come to my attention that the way we are assessed on the SATs is different from the way we are assessed in any other test that we take in high school. I want our school to offer us opportunities to practice the SATs...

Snowsports at schoolBY JACOB DESOGrade 10, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I wish my school promoted skiing and snowboarding more. The teams of these sports dont receive as much recognition as other teams. The two sports are important to Vermont culture and tourism. The resorts designed around the sports provide thousands of jobs in Vermont.

I love skiing, being outside, constantly feel-ing so good. The views at the mountain are amazing. The relaxation when youre at the mountain is a great feeling. The sports should be promoted for the good of Vermont and my school.

Six-word storiesBY ADIANNA ADAMSGrade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Was the wait worth the trouble?Stop holding back; let it go.Travel, eat, sleep; do it again.My mother is my whole world.Mud season is here; lets celebrate.

BY BAILEY BROWNGrade 10, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

He took off, sprinting through crowds.Crying, they fell into the darkness.Happiness ows. Snow thaws. Its spring.

THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day


PHOTO OF THE WEEK




Sophia Cannizzaro, Homeschool, West Glover

In its sixth year, Vermont Writes Day sparked the imagination of thousands of writers across the state on March 12. With Young Writers Projects seven prompts to guide them, stu-dents, 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 April issue of The Voice!

SkittlesBY KARA FIARKOSKIGrade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Have you ever felt like a Skittle hidden in a bowl of M&Ms,and never quite tting in? On the outside you do, but the second people open you up, they realize youre not so smooth and sweet; they realize youre not what theyre looking for.Have you ever wished you were a snake so you could slither out of your skin thats so constricting, to be able to breathe as yourself, to feel free and alive? Have you ever wanted to breatheand chase the air that leaves your mouthas far as you can run because the body youre in doesnt get enough oxygen, and you just want to oat away?Have you ever had the desire to stand on top of a mountain and scream out words that have ignited themselves on re in you, and youre trying desperately to douse the ame?Whether someone is listening or not, you need to remember that, maybe, somebody likes Skittles best.

Listening to silenceBY THOMAS CUDDYGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

I slowly walk up the stairs to my bedroom, away from the distracting sounds of humans. This is the day, I tell myself. The day you nally hear it. The sound of silence.

I enter my room and close the door. I cant let the sounds from downstairs sneak in. Because thats not silence. And silence is what I want to hear.

I dont know why I care to hear what this sounds like. I dont know why it matters. But suddenly, its the most important thing in the world that I know what silence sounds like.

I take a breath and wait for my heart to stop pounding. I wish that I hadnt had to go up the stairs; it gets my heart rate up. And as long as I can hear my heart beating, I cannot hear the silence at least, not the pure, complete silence I want.

Then, nally, the pounding quiets down, and the excitement grows. Nows the time, I tell myself eagerly. Nows the time I nally get to hear it silence.

But as soon as the silence is almost com-plete, my ears are lled with a ringing sound, and the silence fades away.

Wait a minute, I say. Whats going on? Why are my ears doing this now?!

But then I notice that, as soon as I spoke, the ringing sound vanished, and suddenly I understand: Nobody is meant to hear the sound of silence.

Six-word lifeBY GRACE ADAMCZAKGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

They said I couldnt; you didnt. Youre the light to my dark.Youre the night to my light.Without stars, I wouldnt have you.Twelve years old, still feel 6.

Best inventionBY JOSEPH WILLSGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Its the year 2065 a long time, but Im still alive.The best invention of the dayis a machine that tells me what to say.I dont need to think.I dont need to speak.But it doing it for mehas made me weak.It tells me what to do dont know how.But you wouldnt believe the timeI have on my hands now!It can even tellwho I should beso I dont waste time being me!Everyone uses itand it makes my dayto see my machinetelling people what to say.Took years to invent hope you can seethis new perfect worldis all because of me!

Never alone in 2065BY CALEB WILLSGrade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

In todays world, we no longer quietly shift out of sleep by the feeling of the sun rising over the horizon. We no longer get up, light a re, and start cooking our breakfast.

Instead, we are blasted out of dreamland by the sound of alarms blaring, and we quickly heat up food and leave our homes while eat-ing. There is doubt that we are even eating what we think we are eating.

We no longer learn simple addition in school. Instead, we are forced to learn the his-tory, workings and science of our world. There is no freedom from this. We are required to do it, as it is our only purpose.

People are no longer individuals. We are interconnected, via a vast array of networks.

Our every thought is broadcast to those that we call friends, even though many of them we hardly speak to, or even see. There is no more privacy. People might think that it is a great thing to be one with all. It is not. Humans might need companionship, but this is just too much: Every thought, open to all; every person, locked together.

Where are the skateboards? Where are the board games? Where is the fun? Being a kid here is tough. You are not alone. Ever.

Spiral staircaseBY ADSEL SPARROWGrade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center

Ive been awake for hours. I cant shake the feeling that something is strange. That some-thing is going to happen tonight. Something that will change my life.

I sit up in my bed and rub my eyes. I am so tired... so tired... Then, faintly, I hear the church bells chime one by one... 10, 11, 12. Twelve oclock. How mysterious.

I slump out of bed and grab my water cup as I head toward the door. Maybe walking around will help me relax. The door creaks as I open it and I step out onto the soft green carpet of our hallway. I look around to make sure no one else is awake. And then, it catches my eye. A spiral staircase.

I blink to make sure I saw it right, and its still there. An old, wooden, spiral staircase. I set down the water glass and slowly walk toward it. The oor creaks and I stop sudden-ly. No one must know that this is here. They would all think Im crazy! I reach the staircase and I realize that it is also carpeted in the same green carpet as in the hallway. I reach out to tap the railing. Its smooth and polished, brand new. Never used before.

But someone has gone up. I can see the imprints on the carpet. Someone was here on this mysterious staircase that just happened to appear ...

The tumbleBY CADY LYKENSGrade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I awoke last night,I tossed and I turned.I had a strange feeling,for the door I yearned.I got out of bedand I walked to the doorto nd a huge staircasestraight down to the oor.I paused for a second,trying to think.My head got so dizzy,I needed a drink.So I walked near the stairsand wondered what to dowhen my nger got cutand blood started to spew.I ran down the stairsbut started to fall.My life cant be over!Im not old at all!I tumbled downstairsas I let out a cry,I will miss this world!Good night and good bye!

CLIMATE CHANGE WRITING CHALLENGE

WRITE AND WIN! 1st place: $100 | 2nd: $75 | 3rd: $50

PROMPTS AND MORE DETAILS: youngwritersproject.org/climate15

DEADLINE: APRIL 10

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING ATYOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

Walking on my old,Vermont dirt roadBY KAYLA MCARTORGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy

I love to walk along my old, Vermont dirt road in winter. When it snows, I sometimes shield my eyes.For either way, I can be blinded. But at least on my own terms, I feel safe. Each snowake has its own little impact: some compress under my feet, leaving prints to keep track of where Ive been. Some sparkle and catch my eye, make me smile with the purest, simplest form of joy. However, often the snow sugarcoats the roads condition, like the sweet grains it reminds me of. Of course, it also reminds me of salt, which it is often mixed with anyway. It can ll the space between the ruts, make a pothole appear shallow, or render a sheet of glare ice invisible. So of course I slip, usually not too much; a stumble here, an unbalanced moment caused by an unexpected hole there.I try not to fall, but when I do I must get up. My pants may be wet for the rest of my walk, but its far better than sitting in the mud and snow, not going anywhere.I cannot predict these things; the road changes every day.It could be gouged with ruts a foot deep one afternoon, and the next I nd the grader has come and made it as smooth as the white bark of an observing birch. When walking my road, Im cautious about the turns where I cannot see beyond the trees. If a car comes, its common sense to stay away from it, of course. But if it comes with-out warning, around a curve, I would at least be startled by it.I hope nothing worse than that ever happens to me, but I know theres no guarantee; so still I tread carefully. I tend to watch my feet as I walk, mindlessly taking step after step. But I need to look up more often. Because when I do, when I let myself drift for a moment, the view is breathtaking.Each snowake falls around me, so different, so cherished. The sun smiles; if not, even the clouds form fantastic shapes to delight me. My mother tells me that even when shes old and relies on a cane, Ill still see her out walk-ing these old, Vermont dirt roads. And I believe her. Ill surely see you, walking along your own road. Or perhaps well meet along the same one.Either way, well all keep walking, day after day. As for me? Ill look ahead, to where my old, Vermont dirt road meets the interstate. To the horizon, where the promise of a new road awaits as the sun rises. And to the snowakes I may or may not care about, recognize, or even know exist. So I may cherish those that fall on my road, or on my tongue, where I can taste the sweetness of winter.Ill try to see through the snowakes that hide obstacles along the way, to avoid the areas where the snow looks too deep for me. One thing is certain: I wont stop walking my old, Vermont dirt road until the road ends.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

YWP is supported by this newspa-per and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwrit-ersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401. Special thanks this week to

THE BAY AND PAULFOUNDATIONS

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the prompt for General writing and Vermont Writes Day writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.


Dylan Sayamouangkhua, Burlington High School

In 2065BY CALEB WILLSGrade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

In todays world, we no longer are quietly shifted out of sleep by the feeling of the sun rising over the horizon. We no longer get up, light a re, and start cooking our breakfast.

We instead are blasted out of dreamland by the sound of alarms blaring, and we awaken to quickly heat up food, and leave our homes whilst eating. There is doubt that we are even eating what we think we are eating.

We no longer travel miles to school to learn simple addition. Instead, we simply arrive, and are forced to learn the history, workings, and science of our world. There is no freedom from this. We are required to, as it is our only purpose.

People are no longer split individuals. We are interconnected, via a vast array of net-works.

Our every thought is broadcast to those that we call friends, even though many of them we hardly speak to, or even see. There is no more privacy.

People may think that it is a great thing to be one with all. It is not. Humans may need the companionship, but this is just too much.

Im luckyBY ELIZABETH MAGNANGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

I am the Lucky One.I have both parentsand they live together.I have never seen someone die.No one I know has ever been shotor shot at.I have never been shot at.I have a warm house to live in.I never go to bedor to school hungry.I go to school.I ski.I get to spend the summerat a house on Lake Champlain.I go tubing, kayaking,swimming and Jet Skiing.I laugh.

I am the Lucky Onebecause so many kids never get to do or to havemany of these things.

So many kids ...live in a war zone,have been raped/sexually abused,have been physically abused,dont go to school,have seen someone they love die,have had a near-death experience,dont know when their next meal will be,dont have a house to live in,dont have shoes.

I have had a perfect lifecompared to them.Why cant they share my luck?Why do they have to suffer?Why am I the Lucky One?

Cold embraceBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Protect me from your cold embrace.Cover my heart, hide my face.Hurt is something I must never feel,so help me shieldout your vicious temptation.As the wind dies from its creationand the sea rises with fear,let my innocent tearswash you away.Let me stay, let me stay.I walk, I sprint, and bleed away from you.And the clouds turn blueas we try not to admit how cold you areand how farI must go to escapeyour embrace.

VERMONT WRITES DAY 2015Every thought, open to all. Every person, locked together.

Where are the skateboards, where are the board games, where is the fun?

Being a kid here is tough. You are not alone. Ever.

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YWP NEWSCLIMATE CHANGE

WRITING CHALLENGE

WRITE AND WIN! First place: $100

Second place: $75 | Third place: $50


DEADLINE: APRIL 10



Unjust. Write about an injustice youve witnessed or experienced. What should be done about it? Alternates: Lists: Write two lists your top 10 likes and top 10 dislikes; or General writing in any genre. Due April 3

THIS WEEK: Manual & General


PHOTO OF THE WEEK


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Special thanks this week toVERMONT BUSINESS

ROUNDTABLE

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Manual: Write instructions on how to be a human being; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.


Molly Noel, Essex High School

PainBY KATIE LABELLEGrade 8, Faireld Center School

You say youre ne, but I know that when youre away from the prying ears and watch-ful eyes, youre really not.

Whenever we ask if youre okay, you say yes, but you never quite nd any of our eyes.

Youre hurt. I step toward you. I want to take away the pain, so maybe next time we ask, youll look me in the eyes.

It kills me to see you fading away like this, pretty soon youll be gone, consumed by the pain.

But you push me away again. All youve ever done is push me away.

Simply beBY KAYLA MCARTORGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Eh-hem! Alright, folks, lets get on with it. You want to be more human, yes? Yes, yes of course you do, why else would you pay to take my class? Anyway, I wont bore you with all the complex details. That is for next semester... Now, what do you think is the most important part of being a human being? Yes? You in the back.

Um ... having emotions?Ha! Just having emotions? Elephants, cats,

dogs, almost all living things have emotions. Sure, most are backed by instinct, but hey! Im sure a lion can hold a grudge well enough.

No, the key to emotions is identifying them. Ill give you the answer to my question since I like the track you put the class on with your own answer: to be a human being, you need to be able to think about yourself. Did you know that on this earth humans are the only creatures that study themselves? We are even now trying to unlock the secrets of our own brain. Philosophy. You wont see a cat stop and think, Oh, gee, I wonder why I just coughed up a hair ball? But I digress. I want you all to practice thinking about yourselves. Look at your body and ask questions. You see a freckle, ask, Why do I have a freckle? If you see a hair, ask, Why is that there? Then I want to have a few of you give examples of what you came up with.

What purpose do my eyebrows serve? What is happening in my mouth when I chew? Why does my nose stick out of my face?

I want to know why Mitchell is so ugly.Now class, how would a human respond

to such an insult?That was an insult? I thought it was a

valid question.No, my dear student, that was not directed

at yourself, now was it? That was directed at your friend. Or is he even your friend? Are you merely pretending to be friends with him, or are you such good friends that it doesnt matter what you say to each other, you know, you love each other anyway?

Umm...Or maybe you are in love with Mitchell,

as in have a chemical attraction to him that makes your stomach utter and heart race whenever you are near him?

Well, I heard humans are usually attracted to pretty people, so...

Or perhaps you simply dont recognize the symptoms of love. Wait, perhaps symp-toms wasnt the word I was looking for. Signs would be a better one. Alright class, lets go over how you know when youre in love, as experiencing love is a major part of being human!

Teacher, Im still not solid on the whole, thinking about self thing. Can we go over that more?

Oh, teacher, I was actually wondering about the signs of anger? I heard they were similar in some ways to love, and I think I experienced anger a while ago.

Good question, what does the rest of the class think ...

Teacher, I want to move on to other emo-tions like love right away.

And what about the hierarchy of human families? Oh, and high school social groups! Social groups in general. They seem so com-plicated!

Class, please ...And the whole bonding with animals thing

is weird.And the fear of death! How are we even

supposed to approach that concept?Raising children! ...Enough! Being a human is complicated,

yes, but you cant learn how to be one this way! One simply has to be. Be what you are! That said, my job is impossible and obsolete. I quit!

Whats going on?BY BRIANNA SALERNOGrade 8, Faireld Center School

Time to get up, Max! Youre going to be late for your last day of school! Remember you wanted to be there extra early!

Oh Mom, if you only knew Ive been up for hours planning a few little tricks.

I grab my bag and head downstairs. Mom has left me my usual breakfast of eggs (sunny side up), two pieces of toast, buttered thought-fully, and three pieces of sausage. I eat my breakfast a little faster than normal and chug my O.J. I say goodbye to my mom and run out the door. I meet up with David to discuss our devious little plan.

Hey dude! I greet him and we do our special handshake.

Sup, my man? David says.You got the props?Heck yeah!You got the plans?Yeah. I pull out several pieces of paper.Nice, alright, lets see what weve got

here: Girls bathroom: check. Principals of-ce: check. Mrs. Bratlees room: nice, check. Main ofce: check; and library, ha! check!

Okay you get the principals ofce with the glue and feathers and Ill get the girls bathroom with the ketchup and paint. Then well meet up in Mrs. Bratlees room, con-tinue to the main ofce and then the library where well do our Grand Finale. Got it?

To be continued...

ImageBY JULIA REMILLARDGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

If people stopped loving society,and started loving themselves,then our world wouldnt we so worthless.It would maybe, actually, be beautiful.

YWP NEWS THE VOICE

READ THE MARCH ISSUE!Go to youngwritersproject.org to get your FREE subscription



WRITE AND WIN! First place: $100

Second place: $75 | Third place: $50


DEADLINE: APRIL 10



Safe. Where do you feel safest and most comfortable? Describe this place. Alter-nates: Slam. Rant and rave! Write your best slam poem and make a podcast! or Photo 8 (below). Due March 20

Vermont. Vermont is maple syrup, Ben & Jerrys, Green Mountains, skiing/snow-boarding, farms, right? Now, describe your Vermont. Alternates: Life. Write a crazy story about what would happen to the rest of your life if a certain major event had gone differently the more earth-shattering, the better; or Message. You send a message in a bottle. What do you write? Who do you want to nd it? Due March 27

Photo 8. Melissa Morris, Essex High School

THIS WEEK: Vermont & People


PHOTO OF THE WEEK


Special thanks this week toPHYSICIANS COMPUTER CO.

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New Hamp-shire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to a prompt to write about Vermont; and People: Write about a hidden people that most of us never know. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.


Eric Wakim, Essex High School

THURSDAY, MARCH 12: The day we stop everything to write! This is Young Writers Projects sixth Vermont Writes Day, and rst proclamation. Its a day when students, teachers & principals write for just seven minutes to one of the seven prompts below. YWP will open a special web site, vermontwritesday.org, where writing can be posted directly, only on that day. Writing can also be submitted on youngwriter-sproject.org or with pen and paper.

The best writing of the day will be published in this newspaper and in a special issue of The Voice, YWPs digital magazine. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org/VTWrites15.

SAMUEL BOUDREAU, a senior at Bellows Free Academy St. Albans, has been invited to read the following poem at the Vermont Statehouse on Thursday as a representative of Young Writers Project when March 12 is proclaimed Vermont Writes Day.

Vermonts hearthBY SAMUEL BOUDREAUGrade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

The winding trail to the peakof French Hill overowswith intense and vibrantred hues of the sugar-lledmaple trees.

I notice how their colors intensifyagainst the evergreens.

The maple tree harbors many leaves:unique, optimistic, rustic;while the evergreenhas millions of identical needlesstuck to its branches.

The maple trees innardsgo best with a stack of pancakes.The only quality evergreen sap exempliesis its exceptional ability to stayon your hands after the 37th wash.

I stare at the beauty ofthe maples swaying hair.Back and forth itfollows the gentlebrush of the wind.

After the few nal glancesare encapsulated in mymemory, I descend downFrench Hills hidden trails.

Mother Nature has paintedher masterpieceon Vermonts canvas,and these orange mountainsare the hearth to my home.

VERMONT WRITES DAY

THE PROMPTS 1. 2065: Its the year 2065. Describe the coolest invention of the day. Tell a story

about how you use it.2. School. What do you wish your school would do or provide that it doesnt do/pro-

vide now?3. Animal: Youve been granted a wish to be transformed into an animal for 24 hours.

What animal would you be? Why? Tell a story of what happens.

4. Staircase: Its midnight. You cant sleep. You open the door to your bedroom and there, in the hall, is a fantastic staircase that youve never seen before. What do you do? What happens?

5. Six: Write as many six-word stories as you can.

6. Free Write: Write about anything! Tell a story!

7. Photo: Write from the perspective of anyone, or anything in the photo, right.

Guardian aliensBY KAYLA MCARTORGrade 9, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans

Dont tap my shoulder to ask for directionsWhen Im all but staring and my back is hunched.My blank expressionWill be the rst signYouve already seen too much. Ill have to take you somewhere secludedWhere you wont ever reveal my secret.Youll go willinglyBecause you wouldnt refuseA vacation like none youd forget.Ill take to my home, a place far awayWhere youll get to know the ways of my people;How at rst we are scary.Thats why we stay hidden.But without us, your day would prove fatal. Ill sense that truck driver falling asleep,Reach out with my senses to wake him beforeHe crashes intoA young mother and babe.Of course at the same time Ill prevent even more. When Im all but staring, my back hunched over,Im actually intensely focused.Im reading the futuresOf the people around me,Preparing to help, while remaining unnoticed.So dont go asking why I look normal, but rarelyAct like the human Im impersonating.An outcast of society,A true wallower.Because just that is a big realization. If humanity found out theyve been invaded,Theyd skip to shooting without asking ques-tions. Id be dead.Soon youd be nixed, too,Your protectors gone, future no longer predes-tined. Human nature is a predictable trait.Its proven to be untrustworthy the last thou-sand years.Its faulty, starts wars,Relies on false strength.So be thankful Im hidden, hidden right here.

YWP NEWS & EVENTS

WRITE! WIN CASH! DETAILS:

youngwritersproject.org/climate15

DEADLINE: APRIL 10


THE VOICEREAD THE MARCH ISSUE!Go to youngwritersproject.org to get your FREE subscription


THIS WEEK: Listen & Photo 6


PHOTO OF THE WEEK / PHOTO 6

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Saint Albans Messenger 2014-2015

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Transcript of Saint Albans Messenger 2014-2015