My Imaginary Friend
It was a brisk night, the wind making the windows whistle, and I was getting ready for bed. My parents were on a business trip and my siblings were already asleep. Abruptly , I heard a knock on the door.
It was a brisk night, the wind making the windows whistle, and I was getting ready for bed. My parents were on a business trip and my siblings were already asleep. Abruptly , I heard a knock on the door.
I was sitting at the piano in the living room, playing the same four measures of music over and over.
One morning in a small log cabin in the woods lived an old man and his dog the man's name was Justin Hunter and his dog was Scout they had been living in the woods for exactly 23 years they were out hunting one day when they found a skel
[By Thisbe McMichael, Killington Elementary School] Vespae had something to do with wasps. She could speak to the bugs. Vespae even had little shiny wings. No one knew about them but her, of course.
I have been alive for a couple thousand years.
I stopped counting the years when I was around six hundred years old.
I don’t know why I’m still alive. I still look the same as when I was ten.
Dinner tonight is turkey. And gravy. And also stuffing and cranberry sauce. But don’t worry- it’s not Thanksgiving. That was two weeks ago, and yet we still have practically the whole meal leftover. Mom makes WAY too much food every year.
I can remember a time before the timelessness came. It’s only been five years, and I’ve been alive twelve. Twelve years, four months, one week, and two days, not that I should be keeping track.
"How much sleep did you get last night?" I look up from my slumped-over position to see my friend looking down at me with her plate of food. "Uh..." I say, rubbing my eyes. I think back to everything I did last night.
The icy air blew through Alba’s long, curly white hair with streaks of blood throughout. Her bare feet felt the chill of the ice she stood on and were warmed by the crimson puddles she walked through.
Story by Helen Poe, Main Street Middle School
Persephone was tired. Tired of being nothing more than the daughter of a nearly forgotten goddess, of being a sweet innocent nymph, a girl content to frolic in fields under the sun.
Story by Chance Neun, Main Street Middle School