week10-08

The Young Writers Project is looking for great student art to publish each week! This photo illustration was done by Devin Larsen a senior at Mount Mansfield High School. Click on the photo for more. If you want to submit your photos for potential outside publication, click here for more info. Click here to see the image galleries for the last two years.

Hunting

By Christian Thompson
Rochester High School, Grade 9

My dad and I had been hunting all day and we were in our last spot until we called it quits. We had been sitting there for about a half an hour and my dad whispered “five more minutes and we’ll get out of here.”

My Name

By Bea Woodruff
Charlotte Central School, Grade 5

There I was, upstairs in my playroom, sweating like crazy. It felt like a volcano was erupting inside of me, a volcano of frustration!

Learning to write my name was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, probably in my whole entire life. It didn’t make sense, “silent-e”, letter formation. I thought the whole thing hogwash! I was absolutely sure that I couldn’t do it!

“Come on, Bea!” I urged myself on. I made a “B.” One down two to go! “Yes, Bea you did it!” I congratulated myself. I was proud, probably as proud as a fox with its prey.
Then I forgot what came next. Fierce tears burned and glittered in my eyes, like boiling water.
I finally crossed out the “B” then, wholeheartedly I wrote another “B,” then an “e.” “Go Bea!” I cheered.

I See Nothing but Black

By Miranda Shepard
Rochester High School, Grade 9

I can’t see them,
I don’t know if they notice me,
They talk of brightness, and different colors,
But black is all I see.

I want to see what they talk about,
The colors and the light,
I want to once see the day,
Instead of always seeing night.

You see, my life is filled with darkness,

I am the Girl...

By Sarah Staib
Leland and Gray High School, Grade 10

I am the girl from down the old dirt road,
with the smell of rain and the sound of birds.
From the green grassy fields,
with wild flowers in her hair.
From Speedy-Pup with Robin Hood,
when we were still young.
From ice cream in your belly,
or just all over your face.
From bright hospitals,

The Passive Serpent

By Hanna Kingston
Mount Mansfield Union High School, Grade 9

when the ruby bellied serpent slithers over brittle leaves
discarded by the slender birch and splendid elm
and laps at their many colors, that burn the crisp red of dying autumn
small wonder in the forest realm
is it magic

when his blue forked tongue wraps around the many trees

Deer Hunting Gone wrong: When Guns Attack

I was in the emergency room. I kept shaking and I couldn’t stop crying. I was so nervous; my heart was beating so fast I felt like I was going to pass out. Hang on, let’s start from the beginning — youth hunting weekend 2006, I was hunting with Dad and my sister when something terrible happened.

It was 4:30 a.m. and I was just waking up to head out into the woods. My dad, sister Jackie, and I went out with flash lights and guns in hand. I had been waiting for this day all year, especially after seeing a nice 8-point buck on a motion detector camera in the area where we were hunting. A few hours passed, and we saw our first deer. The deer was moving so I followed it with my gun, then it decided to stop behind a tree. I had a choice here, the head or the hind leg. I chose the leg and missed.

To calm myself down, I looked at the scenery around me. Then out of nowhere I saw a doe jump the brook, it was a beautiful thing to witness. I decided to take the shot. I missed the deer, but the kick-back from the rifle sure got me. The rifle scope hit me directly between the eyes. My dad, keeping his eyes on the deer, yelled at me to shoot again. I couldn’t even speak I was so dizzy. Ignoring me, he turned to Jackie to get her ready to take the shot. Finally, he noticed the “Oh My God” look on her face, and looked at me. He flicked on the safety, lowered the gun, and we were out of the woods in a matter of minutes.

When we got to the house, my mom was just getting up. She had heard our gun shots and thought we had gotten something. Little did she know that instead of inspecting a kill, she would be taking one of her daughters to the hospital.

Hunting

By Justin Joseph Iovanni
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 12

I awake early in the morning.
Still my friend sleeping and snoring.
Porridge for breakfast,
Let’s eat quick.
Until the final lick.
Throw on my boots, grab my gun.
Now its time these animals are done!
The cool damp air darkens this place.
I’ve got a scent we’ve made a trace.

Turkey Hunting

By Dylan Pratt
Rochester School, Grade 9

It was a Saturday morning at 4:45 a.m. on youth weekend. My hunting partner, Artey, and I were getting ready to go turkey hunting. We drove to Tunbridge and parked at the end of a back road. I put on my coat and loaded up my 12-gauge shotgun.

Escape

By Rachel Buhler
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

The leaves rustle
and the deer takes note
Looking all around
To see
Who’s near.
A trigger is pulled
And a shot is fired
But the deer
Ran.
Away.
And survived a terrible fate
Escaped.

Taps

By Tyler Hogstrom
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

The Soldier

By Justinah Duhaime
Hartford High School, Grade 12

The black shine in his boots are the only
part of him I can remember, as he walked
toward the faded yellow taxi at the end
of our driveway.
I remember the way his
boots danced across the concrete, the
way they fearlessly scattered the sand of the ant
hill protruding from the crack in the curb,

Where I'm From

By Emma Redden
Leland and Gray High School, Grade 10

When I was born, a new bud opened on the Red Maple
Sitting on top the hill
At the end of Chapin Road. I am from that tree.

On July 5th I became the first of three and the
Ninth of nineteen. As I am one of nineteen
I am also one of millions,
Of potatoes that fed my own when all they could
Claim was a dream of something different.
I am from Ireland.

When my own mother was only a hope of the future
my great grandmother was sending freedom,
to her own blood, trapped in the Hell of Germany.
Only Hell if you wore a yellow star.
I am from bravery.

Passing days in green fields of gold
I understood that Heaven was on earth.
My heaven existed in the beauty of
White snowflakes, orange leaves,
And sweet grass. Still a baby,
Encompassed in my own
Imagination, I held ants as if breathing
Could break them.
I am from the earth.
Saturday mornings at the park,
Sleeping on Daddy’s stomach.
As my thirst for life grew,
Sleeping no long became our pastime,
But repetitive conversation, Daddy’s bread,
Blocks, naughty smiles.
Only a million times I told daddy that
Mommy was night night.
I am from my mother.

Why when we are children can the contentment
Of friends be just as pleasing,
Even if they are invisible?
Eno and Nonie toke the credit and blame
For everything I couldn’t.
When Eno and Nonie were tired
Dru-dru took their place well,
Following Meemi and my naked self
In our explorations and adventures,
Ponds are very interesting.
Naked walks with the dog weren’t eternal,
But my imagination could be satisfied.
A paint brush, a crayon,
A pencil.
When my lungs were finally exhausted
Or everyone was done listening,
Art became a voice I could always find.
I am from my hands.

Discovering my need to move was a blessing
That only spring floors and wooden bars could fulill.
Nothing is more exciting than defying gravity,

Stella

By Emily Brooks
Shelburne Community School, Grade 5

Your sneaky cat feet
Scampering across the floor.
I’m lying on my bed.
You meow. It makes me jump.
You hop on my bed with a thump!
I pet your soft furry body.
You purr. You are very happy.