Fiction

Her eyes were not fixed on god but rather on the large taxidermied moose head fixed above the choir on the wall across from where she sat. It may as well have been him.

The ocean pulls forward and back in a rhythmic motion, lying beneath a spectacular sunset. We marvel at the sight of the setting sun, leaving traces of pink and gold along the clouds, tracing its paint-brushed fingers along the sky.

“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.