Fiction

“Come, come,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” she said. One of my adventures she added silently
“Yay!” the kids exclaimed.
“Roar”.

“Gather ‘round the fireplace, kids,” Grandpa said.

Back in the 1970s when logging was a common thing in the woods of California there was a logging deck that was deeper in the woods than any other.

Fourteen miles to 432 Carolina Street, that was the only thing standing between Joseph Palmer and free pizza. It was also the only thing standing between me and a stern talking to by my boss.

“Rosie! Wait up! Rosiiiieee!”

“What?”

“I..need….to tell….you something.”

“What?”

“Okay, this might be kinda long. It’s, like, a whole story.”

In the small town of Bristol, where the sun dipped behind the rolling hills in hues of amber and gold, there lived a man named Chip McAllister. Known by his students and the community as "Mr.

Author's note: I was practicing some character design/development, and jumping off of the character I created I wrote this. I have yet to decide if I will take it farther. Enjoy!

“What happens beyond life?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, after we die.”

“Well the point is that we don’t know.” 

“But what do you think will happen?”

By Edie Taylor, 10, Montpelier, submitted by Lauren Chabot, Main Street Middle School

The sounds of the rickety Volvo clanked along through the snowstorm–the dim headlights peered past the first house of the town, lighting a sign that read “Welcome to” with the town name shrouded in a thick coating of t

Looking back at it now, I know that it could’ve been different. I could’ve been different. Instead of turning away, I could’ve yelled: “Come back!” I could’ve changed the events that followed when I turned away. But instead, I gave up.

I hardly knew her at all, wasn’t expected to. She was just a kid at the High like anyone else, who had no car. She was sitting stubbornly on a bench, determined to get a ride.