zazu's blog | Young Writers Project

Jan 15

zazu

mind watcher

The girl watched as a picture show of thoughts paraded their way through her imagination.
She sat in the front row of the theater as a blind person of her own making projected images onto a screen.
She sat alone and mostly in the dark in that vast, silent space. The rows, the balconies, and the isles were all empty.
One person entered. It was a person from the girl's future. She didn't notice.
People waited in a queue behind the entrance doors,
All eager to see their thoughts displayed for their own viewing and yet slightly nervous at the same time.
The girl waited. More people from her future trickled in at different points from various exits and took their seats.
The girl did not take her eyes off of the screen.
The credits began to roll down it. Of course, she knew everyone personally.

Posted: 01.15.21

Dec 21

nonfiction 0 comments challenge: A Celebration of Trees!

zazu

The tree planter

When my grandpa was in fifth grade he and his father decided to plant a Red Maple tree in their backyard in Missoula, Montana. My grandpa said he remembered how small that tree had been when it first started growing, “about as thin as a broomstick…” When he was a kid my grandpa's family moved around a lot so he didn’t have the time see that tree grow up the way that he wanted to when he was younger. Still, he never forgot about it. Even as the years went by that little Red Maple tree was tied to a special memory of him and his father doing something good together, and that was important. In fact, that memory stayed so strong in my grandpa’s mind that 50 years later he decided to go back to his childhood home and check up on that same tree.

Posted: 12.21.20

Nov 17

fiction 0 comments

zazu

The way we see Sky

Roger: I see Sky every day on my way to school. He walks by himself, but I don’t know where he lives. I never really talk to him, except for one time back in third grade when we were partners in gym class. I guess I remember him pretty well back then. He wasn’t popular, but he was okay. I don’t really think we have anything in common now. I mean he’s apparently some kind of star athlete, but I’ve never seen him play. He’s just always by himself. I don’t know why. It’s kind of weird actually. But I think he’s a good guy, even though we don’t hangout. I mean I have my own friends you know? I’m sure he’s got his too, even if they don’t go to the same school. He just looks like the kind of person you want to be friends with, even though sometimes when he’s working on a test or something I look over at him and see that his face is all angry. I figure that’s how I usually look.

Posted: 11.17.20

Oct 24

poem 0 comments

zazu

Halloween night

I feel a chill spin through the air,
and hear the autumn leaves crunch beneath my feet.
A cool breeze blows back my hair,
as the watchful trees begin to creak.
The world feels eerie, cold and still,
if only for a minute...
I come across an abandoned barn...
there's nobody in it.
I walk along this strange ghost town,
and see my reflection in the glass.
The streets are wide,
I go up and down,
knowing that memories are all in the past.
I sit down on a bench and look up at the moon, feeling absorbed in the ominous night.
I shiver and breathe what the silence means...
Halloween has taken flight!

Posted: 10.24.20

Aug 21

poem 4 comments

zazu

purple sneakers

There was a boy with purple sneakers and grey eyes.
His name was Palace.
But of course everyone knew that.
Or maybe he just assumed they did.
He didn't talk to people very much, not unless he needed to.
He assumed that if anyone wanted to talk to him they would.
Why wouldn't they?
....
Day after day Palace always hung out at the same corner downtown.
It was a nice corner. Safe...minimal traffic...a view of his favorite avenue....
He never went down his favorite avenue though...
Maybe that was because it was lined with fancy well kept up houses that were owned by rich people.
Even though his name was Palace his parents had only named him that with the hope that by some miracle he might be able to live in one someday.
But that hadn't happened yet.
But it would. Wouldn't it?

Posted: 08.21.20

Jul 18

fiction 0 comments

zazu

Little towns in the middle of nowhere

I sit out on my porch swing in the dusky evening light and the dimmed yellow glow from a street lamp, watching the occasional car or motorcycle that passes by, stopping first at the crooked, faded red stop sign on the corner of Elm Street. I see a car with kids who look like they're probably college age drive by, blasting loud music and laughing at some unheard inside joke. They seem happy. So, I smile. A car with a canoe on top and a tired looking family drives by next. I can see the parents in the front. The dad in the passenger seat glances at his phone and sighs, while the wife in the driver's seat keeps her eyes on the road. In the back, I can make out the glow from an iPad screen and two kids wearing headphones, but no one seems to be talking. Like everyone else, they drive on past. In the silence that follows, I listen to the chirp of the crickets in the tall grass behind my house, and feel a rush of air from the cool, night breeze.

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Sprout

Posted: 07.18.20

Jun 25

poem 0 comments

zazu

song of silence

All we can hear are the sounds of our feet walking on in the silence.
We tread lightly, but our thoughts are slipping away. Our feet don't stop. They keep on walking.
We don't know what might be ahead, but at least we know where we've been...
So the children looked up to the sky and began to sing...
And the people danced in the silence that followed, orbiting and spinning around like planets falling off the face of the earth,
Their true essences and dreams spiraling out into the universe... because maybe somewhere someone was listening... maybe somewhere someone wanted to hear what the people had to say,
Because maybe they were lonely,
And maybe that was enough.
So, all the people looked up at the same sky, and said their names,
Because those were the only things that belonged to them.
And the world felt a little bit closer, and the stars shone a little bit brighter,

Posted: 06.25.20

Jun 15

fiction 0 comments

zazu

The ocean highway

There was a boy who lived in the little house just off the highway.
The house with the chipped red paint and the overgrown backyard that ran wild and reckless like a jungle.
It was what the boy liked to pretend it was, anyway.
He was just an explorer in the center of it all.
It didn't even matter that he was in shorts and a T-shirt most of the time.
They were the closest thing to explorer clothes he had. They were the only clothes he had. It didn't matter.
The cars on the highway, if you listened closely, always sounded like the roaring waves of the ocean.
The boy had never been to the ocean, but he liked to imagine that's what it would have sounded like.
I think a part of him knew.
Or at least his mind was always far away.
Sometimes, when he was asleep, there would be an accident on the highway.
Then there would be a lot of voices and flashing lights.

Posted: 06.15.20

Jun 11

poem 0 comments

zazu

I remember my old block

Somewhere on that block was my house.
The one with the chalk drawings out front, that washed away every time it rained,
Or were spray painted over with the hose.
The one where my feet tapped their way down the pavement,
Inscribing the souls of my shoes in the concreat,
Sneakers shuffeling on the side walk in a game of street hockey.
I watched it from my bedroom window when I was suposed to be asleep.
The sound of feet keeping time and acustic guitar playing in the house up stairs,
Never seemed to stop.
I could always hear them,
The way I could hear my neighbor watering her plants in the early morning,
And our backyard neighbors with the highest fence,
Speaking French.
I would watch them through the fence when I got boared.
They almost always seemed to be playing their pool. I was jealous of that.

Posted: 06.11.20

Apr 25

poem 0 comments

zazu

concrete flowers

Flowers are rare in the city.
I mean the kind that grow naturally.
The kind that aren't re-potted in some flower box,
or sitting in jars on the front steps,
or cared for on rooftop gardens.
I mean the kind that grow up from the cracks in the sidewalk,
The kind that push their way up toward the skyscrapers,
with delicate stems,
and fragile petals itching for a glimpse of the sun.
Everyone should look for the concrete flowers of the world,
surviving against the odds,
dancing in the breeze,
and just waiting to be noticed.

Posted: 04.25.20

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