The Sound Collector

By Carolina, 7, Marbella, Malaga, Spain.

A man walked up this morning.
Dressed all in green and red.
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away.

The screaming of the children,
The splashing of the waves,
The flopping of the seagulls
And the people swimming away.

The singing of the mermaids,
The crashing of the sea
And the calling of my parents
both searching for me.

A man walked up this morning,
Without a word to say,
He walked up on his own
And never came again.
(July 2008)

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The Little Goblin From Far Away

By Lucy, 9, Gourock, Scotland

A long time ago, far, far away in a town called Jellyboo, lived a little goblin called Noshington Well. Noshington was only about 15cm and had a little bald head. On top, sat a green, pointed hat with a yellow band around the middle of it. He also wore a green waistcoat with a yellow belt tied around it. He also wore little green trousers which hardly fitted him. Jellyboo had lots of houses, which were made of jelly. There were a few cottages but only certain goblins lived in. Noshington was one of them. His cottage had a little green and black thatched roof with a door the size of your thumb. Even Noshington the Goblin had to duck to get inside! It had one window and a tiny chimmney. In Jellyboo you could live for as long as you wanted! Noshington was 285 years old!

One day, Noshinton remembered that he had to go to the antique shop to buy his mother a birthday present. She would be 884 on Saturday so he was going to buy her a gift.

Noshington opened up his piggy bank with a delighted smile on his face.

'Mother will love what i am going to buy her!' Noshington said.

He found £736.78 in his piggy bank, which obviously would be enough. Off he went. He walked politely down the street. About ten minutes later he had arrived at the Antique shop. The sign on the door said 'OPEN' so Noshington strode inside. At the desk stood an old goblin, just a few centimetres taller than Noshington. He had a name tag on and it read,'Mr Biggs, Assistant Manager.' Noshington looked around. There was nothing that his mother would want. Glasses, ornaments, televisions, a wishing chair, some jewellery.

'Wait a minute!' thought Noshington, 'A wishing chair. That sounds like fun. It looks nice and has a very interesting name.'

Mr. Biggs came over and said, 'Exuse me, do you need any help there? If you do I will be here.'

'Erm, how much is that wishing chair?' asked Noshington.

'The wishing chair is £697.50' replied Mr. Biggs, pointing to the label.

Noshington had enough money to buy it so he told Mr. Biggs that he would like to buy it.

Noshington woke up! It was Saturday! The big day. His mother's birthday! Noshington's mum lived in Ice Cream Valley which was 2 hours away from Jellybo. Noshington had an idea. He would sit on the magic wishing chair and wish for him and the magic wishing chair to be in Ice Cream Valley! I wish, I wish, I wish I was in Ice Cream Valley! There was a slight rumble and then as Noshington closed his eyes, he began to spin around. Noshington opened his eyes. Right enough, the chair worked. He was in Ice Cream Valley. But it was not like the last time. King Eldet was shouting through a megaphone to the whole of Ice Cream Valley. Everyone was staring at him.

'Can I have your attention please. Dragon Bones, the very wicked dragon as we all know, has stolen my crown. Anyone brave enough to get it back will be rewarded with one of my crowns with real jewels on it,' he bellowed.

Noshington could wish for Dragon Bones to bring the crown back! So he did.

'I wish, I wish, I wish that Dragon Bones will bring the crown back!' and at that very second, Dragon bones flew in to the town, blowing fire everywhere!

Noshington watched as Dragon Bones took the crown up to King Eldet and apologised to him for stealing it. EVERYONE cheered and danced and sung to celebrate because the crown was back. Noshington decided to make another wish.

'I wish, I wish, I wish mother likes the present!' Noshington stood still and wished that his wish would come true.

Suddenly he heard a voice.

It said,'You have used your 3 wishes. Now I must be gone!'

It was the chair that was speaking! Mum's birthday present! What was he going to do? Noshington thought for a while then he came up with a solution for his problem. He would tell his mother. She would understand.

So Noshington explained what had happened but mum wasn't angry with him. She understood what had happened. Noshington decided to move in with his mum and they all lived happily ever after in Ice Cream Valley.

P.S. Mum found a skateboard and that, she was happy about!!!
THE END
June 2008

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United Sunset

By Lena, 13, Ventura County, California, USA

Pastel blues and light pale pinks
Color the sky as the plane dips and sinks
Higher and higher as the buildings get smaller
Higher and higher stronger and taller

Wings spread wide with ease and grace
Masterfully flying at a quickening pace
Soar through the wind, slice through the air
Gliding so quietly without a care

Looming above the thickening clouds
Which cover the ground like an immense shroud
Up in the heavens looking down at the earth
There is no way to measure what this view is worth

Sherbet orange, crimson, and gold
Atop the horizon brave, bright, and bold
Appears at my window to say goodnight
And wish me good luck and a safe flight
May 2008

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Winter Personification

By Eloise, 10, Sawtry, UK

Rain stop crying,
You make the rest of the day miserable,
The wind is making the trees dance and wave,
The chimney tops are singing,
And the letter box is rattling,
You are so sad and unhappy,
Just go away and make the sun smile.
(February 2008)

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Chasing Dreams

By Ines, 13, Coimbra, Portugal

Are dreams meant to be real? Or are they just fake? And why do we dream? Do we dream of better situations we hoped they had occurred in our past life? Do we dream about anything too spectacular? Do we even just dream?

Dreams are mixtures, composed by different chemicals. No one can modify that mixture and if someone actually does that, well, then dreams won't be the same for a while.

I could tell you tales about passionate couples or bewitched witches who lived alone for 300 hundred years. As this is supposed to be not a regular story, but a made up story about dreams and how to catch them.

There aren't any precise tools or instruments.There aren't people specialized in catching dreams.In fact,everyone can catch a dream while they sleep,as that every time you go to bed,you dream.

There are this extremely awkward intruments called dream-catchers. You stick them to the wall and they "catch" dreams. Just something made up. Because even that you think you didn't dream of anything last night,you always dream. Sometimes you just don't remember what your dream was like.

I used to have dreams about witches and princesses. Now I dream of things of my own age: problems I'm dealing with, trips, friendship or even my school crush... When we're younger, dreams are even dreamier than on my age.

If after this story you feel bored, go to your bedroom and sleep a bit. Who knows what kind of dream you might have?(November 2007)

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The Flying Carpet

By Shikhar, 7, Liverpool, UK

One day my mum and dad had come back from the carpet shop. They had got me a carpet.
I sat on the carpet reading a book when the carpet started to move. It was a hot day so the window was open and the carpet went through it. It went higher higher into the sky. It went over the sea and landed on a island.
The island was very hot so I got some ice cream .Then I went looking for a shady spot when I tripped over something - it was half a treasure map. I picked it up and carried on looking for a shady spot. I sat under the shady spot and did my homework. When I had finished my homework I got up and went looking for the treasure.
When I found a sword on the floor I picked it up and then carried on walking. Not long after I had got the sword I found fifteen pirates. I got my sword and ran away as fast as I could. The pirates were really fat so they could not run fast and often bumped into each other. But I was not fat I was fast so I got away from the evil pirates.
Then I felt brave. I felt like I could kill all the pirates on my own. I went back to the pirates ready to kill them. I got my sword out and started fighting them. One of them tried to shoot a gun at me but I ducked in time. Then one of them got out a bow and arrow and tried to shoot it at me but he did it so quickly he did it the wrong way and killed himself.
Then one of the pirates got his sword out and started to fight me but I was to quick for him and I killed him. Then the magic carpet took me back home. (August 2007)

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Our Jabberwocky

By Year 5/6, 9-11, Stamford, Lincolnshire, UK

It was misty, and the slimy trees
Did sway and rustle in the wind:
All gloomy where the forest grows,
And the groaning rats were outraged.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Dodo bird, and shun
The furious Badger's patch!"

He took his deadly sword in hand:
Long time the evil foe he sought --
So rested he by the sticky Gum tree,
Where he stood for awhile to think.

And, as in puzzled thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of death,
Came charging through the dense wood,
And demolished as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The deadly blade went whoosh and smash!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went staggering back.

"And, have you defeated the mighty Jabberwock?
Come to me, my courageous boy!
O glorious day! Wohoo! Wohay!'
He celebrated in his amazement.

`It was misty, and the slimy trees
Did sway and rustle in the wind:
All gloomy where the forest grows,
And the groaning rats were outraged.
(June 2007)

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More Than Words

By Patricia, 14, Pasig City, Philippines

'Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else.'-Gloria Steinem

Each and every one of us has our own definition of writing. Others may think that writing is an expression of emotions, while another may define it as a form of art. To me, writing is my voice. A voice when I am too shy or afraid to speak. It's like the blinds' ears. Instead of seeing, the blind hears. Honestly, I am a shy person and do not open up to people who aren't my close friends. Just like the blind, writing is my alternative for speaking.

For years, people have been using writing for battling against their enemies. A lot of Filipino heroes in the Philippines were known for their ability to use words as weapons. One of the most known writers that used his writing skills in the fight for our country's freedom is Dr. Jose Rizal, our national hero. Rizal was the founder of La Liga Filipina, which aimed for the defense against all violence and injustice of the Spaniards and the application of reforms. He wrote with pride and intellect and brought the Philippines a step closer to democracy.

Another example of a writer who used his writing skills in helping other people is Graciano Lopez Jaena - The Prince Of Filipino Orators. In 1874, Jaena wrote the satire, Fray Botod. In this literary work, he exposed the greed, laziness, cruelty and lust of friars. This infuriated the Spanish authorities in Iloilo and the friars. And some realized the inhumanity of what they were doing. Rizal and Jaena practiced their freedom of expression and used their talent in writing to fight against Spanish oppression.

That's what it's all about right? Using our God given talents for the good of humanity.

Why do I love writing? Well, aside from the fact that I get heard without actually opening my mouth, I think it's fun. I know it is strange and unusual because most teens my age think writing is boring and a waste of time. But to me, it's just like talking to a friend in a creative way. It lets my imagination run wild and sets loose the real me. Somehow, it's like the things I want to happen, (even though it's impossible) come true in another world - my sometimes black and white and most times colorful imagination.

When I think of writing, I don't believe that it is purely writing and transforming feelings into words but it is about believing in anything-from talking frogs to flying houses- and making the most impossible things seem real. It is about being optimistic when you know that the sky above you is
about to fall. It is seeing beauty in each and every one of the awful things in the universe. And it is about trying new things for the sake of learning, experiencing and having fun. Writing is about looking at things from a new angle and appreciating things around us. If you think that the most pathetic object in the world is not useful, well, it contributes to a writer's mind. It gives the writers something to write about. After all, that is a writer's job - transforming seemingly insignificant and mundane things into interesting and meaningful plots and events that complete a timeless work of art. (June 2007)

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The Real Gift

By Ria, 6.7, Santacruz, Mumbai, India

(Hello,
I am Rajita, and typing a story that Ria Shrivastava (6.7 yrs) has written yesterday.)

It was Karan's birthday and all his friends had come.
His sister had gifted him a money plant - but Karan didn't like it much, but he said that he liked it. His mom kept the plant in a glass bowl on the tableside.

All Karan's friends gifted him toy cars and other fancy things and he was so excited to have them.

After some days of playing all cars and other toys broke - Karan started to cry. But then his mom came and told him all your fancy toys have got broken but your money plant didn't break or die - it is still fresh and alive. So, your plant will be with you now.

Thank you so much, sister, Karan said to his sister Ria.

Everyone was happy.
(June 2007)

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Words

By Alisse, 11, Billings, Montana, USA

Words, words, they are interesting things.
Some like needles, others with wings.
Words can hurt and words can sting.
Words can fly and words can sing.
Some words are strawberries. Sweet, thoughtful, yet blind.
Others are diamonds. Rich but hard to find.
Some words are sharp, painful and shrill,
when others are senseless and set out to kill.
"Why do we use words?" someone might ask.
Some may use them for fun, others as a mask.
Words, words, they are interesting things.
Some like needles, others with wings.
(May 2007)

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Pursuing Liberty

By Hannah, 14, East Grand Forks, MN, USA

The sky was a beautiful shade of bright blue; the pure, cottony white clouds were scattered across the cerulean canvas and it felt as if the world and people around me disappeared. For just one second I felt as if I was free, that is until the all too familiar pain shot through my skin. The black leather of a whip became visible in my peripheral vision and I felt my body crumble to the dirt that was once beneath my feet.
I felt the same stinging agony when I tried to push my frail torso up by using my scrawny, dark arms. I quickly stood as straight as I could, which brought me face to face with the Master's son, Richard Freemont. His emotionless gaze made me flinch.
'Do I need to remind you, yet again, that you may not daydream instead of doing your work?'
'No, Sir.' You could've easily confused me for a field mouse when I talked to Richard.
'Get back to work, before you get yourself into more trouble.' He spat at me, before stomping off to harass other Negroes who he claimed were 'slackers who only wanted to sabotage the crops'. My eyes drifted to my left arm to see a crimson wound. I quickly went back to plucking fresh fruit from the orchards, trying to ignore the brutal pain resulting from the gash on my arm.
After a few more hours of sifting through plants it was finally time for rest. We all headed to the slave quarters. I was one of the last ones to enter the wooden domicile because I was too busy watching the now multi-colored sky turn darker shades of pink and orange. I wished that every human was like the sky; always changing colors so you wouldn't be able to enslave a person just because of the hue that their skin held.
When I entered the dark area I was met with the welcoming sensation of food and conversations. I smiled a little and headed to the far right cranny of the building, where I assumed my friend Bell would be. When I reached the corner of the room I was greeted with an empty bunk. Bell wasn't there. I squinted my eyes and scanned the room, yet I still couldn't find her.
'Molly! Molly!' My head snapped in the direction of the person who was calling my name. It was my brother, Timothy. I ran over to him, hoping he would have an answer to why my friend wasn't at her bunk.
'What happened to Bell?' I asked, tilting my head to one side. My dark curly bangs fell over my right eye. Tim brushed my hair back and smiled at me in a sympathetic way.
'I'm so sorry, Molly,' was all he said before walking away to the men's side of the room. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, people brushing past me every once in a while. Nessa Rose, a motherly figure to me, led me to my bed and gave me a little portion of food, telling me that I needed rest for tomorrow's trials. A few hours later when all eyes were closed and picturing beautiful images and dreams of freedom and deliverance, I was still wide awake. Bell should've been in the cot next to me, dreaming of the same optimistic views of everyone else. The whole nightfall I prayed.
I watched the sun rise through the rusted windows; I hadn't slept a wink at all last night. I sat up in bed and changed into my work rags, stuffing my stained, filthy night gown underneath the rickety, small bed. I climbed back onto the bunk and stared at the floor for a while until something caught my attention. There was a small hole on the floor between my bed and Bell's bed, some kind of parchment was sticking through the opening and I knelt on the floor quickly, pulling up the loose floorboard and retrieving the bit of tainted stationary with scribbled and sloppy writing on it. I knew it was Bell's because she had a fancy of collecting newspapers and would ask lessons from Delores, a slave who had been sold from a plantation which allowed her to learn the alphabet. I quickly ran over to Delores' bed and shook her awake.
'What d'you wants, child? Shouldn't you be 'n bed?' She grumbled, rubbing her eyes.
'I need you to read this.' I stated impatiently, thrusting the piece of paper in her hands. She squinted her eyes and read it aloud.
' 'Dear, Molly; I ran away and am hiding in the forest. Margaret is leading me to the Underground Railroad. I wanted to go first, without you so you wouldn't get in no trouble for my mistake if we was caught. If I make it, I'll tap on the window four times after everyone's sleepin' tonight. Don't worry 'bout me, I told Charlie to start a rumor sayin' that I was sold away. 'Member, four taps tonight!' ' Dolores finished reading, giving me a weak smile. I felt horrible for making her read a note about me getting away from this hell, while she would be stuck here for maybe the rest of her life.
'I'm sorry, Ma'am.' I said in a soft whisper. I felt her rough hand lift my chin up, forcing me to stare into her warm, chocolate brown eyes.
'Child, you have your whole life ahead o' you. Mine's gonna end soon, so there's not a lotta hope for me. You have to get away from this place and fight fer your freedom. Don't feel bad 'bout leavin' us behind. This is a gift from the Lord. You can't let guilt grab hold of you just 'cause your dreams have come true earlier than ours. We is all goin to a betta place after we're through with this one.' She smiled at me. I smiled back and right after I left her side, everyone else started getting ready for the day's work.
The day dragged on slowly. I tried my hardest not to day dream, but that's asking a lot of me. When the twilight appeared we all headed to the quarters for a meal and a few pleasant dreams. I spotted Timothy and realized I would have to tell him. I couldn't abandon him, though. I couldn't leave the only family member I had left.
'Molly, what's wrong? You look upset.' He inquired, handing me a plate of dinner. I pulled him aside from the crowd and began telling him about the Underground Railroad. He smiled when I told him that Bell was alright, but looked concerned after I finished informing him about the escape.
'You do realize that you could get caught?' Tim asked, lowering his voice. I nodded my head in response. He took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye.
'I want you to be free, but this is risky, Molly. You could get killed if the Feds find you,' he pointed out. My eyes shifted to my feet and I didn't dare look at my brother.
'You need a better life than this, though. You need to be free.' Tim took a long pause and then continued. 'You have my permission. Remember that I love you though.' He stated softy. I smiled and I hugged him as tight as I could. My eyes started to water and I said the same thing back to him.
'I'm gonna miss you, Tim.' I said. He smiled at me and nodded, before walking off to his own bed. This would be the hardest night of my life.
A few hours after everyone was asleep, I heard rustling outside. My heart beat quickened and then I heard the four taps on the window to my left. I threw my covers off my body and pulled my leather bag that held a water canteen and extra food from my last dinner here. I put on my ratty boots and swiftly exited the Slave Quarters. I saw the dark silhouette of Bell and another of what I assume was Margaret. The chilly summer air tickled my bare arms and I watched the dark navy blue sky that was littered with sparkling stars for a moment before I crept into the thick woods. With one step, I ended my existence as a slave and gave birth to freedom, and the dawn of my life. (May 2007)

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My wish sister

By Georgia, 12, Queensland, Australia

Hi, my name is Georgia, but you can call me George. Now let me tell you a bit about myself. I have lots of friends. In fact so many friends that I sometimes get their names mixed up! Right now you're probably sitting there thinking well, what's the problem with that? WELL, I don't have a sister. I've wished and wished and tried so many things, but they just don't seem to work. But one night I was reading a book about stars and down the bottom was a title saying 'How to make your wish come true!' I read it as quickly as possible. It said if you want your wish to come true, wish on the first star in the evening - the evening star.

I looked out of my window. The evening star was disappearing. Maybe I was too late! I took a deep breath and thought as hard as I could about having a sister. Just then, something amazing happened - a little bright light shot out of the star and went right through my window and landed right on the top of my nose. I didn't know what to think. I looked around my room for a new sister, but was sadly disappointed.

I snuggled down in my warm bed and dreamt about what it would be like to have someone who would be your best friend for life - a sister of my own.
I had only just faded into my dream when something tickled me. I woke up. A little girl was sitting on the edge of my bed; she was probably only five or six years old. I was shocked and nearly fainted when she said,' Hello, my name is Emma, and I was sent here to be your little sister.'
'I see you're my little sister by the size you are!' I exclaimed.
'Yes, the wish that made me was not as clear as it could have been. I hope you're not upset about my size?' remarked Emma.
'Oh, no I'm not angry! I'm too happy to be angry!' I replied.

After I had made friends or should I say sisters with Emma, I asked, 'would you like to come to school with me tomorrow?'
'What's school?' asked Emma.
. 'Well, school is where children learn all sorts of stuff like maths.'I explained.
'What's maths?' Emma said.
'Maths is when you do sums using numbers.' 'What's maths and numbers?' she asked.
'Well orrrrrrrrrr ,' I yawned. 'I think it's time for bed.'
'Where do I sleep?' inquired Emma.
'Oh I haven't thought about that. Well you could sleep with me.' I replied.
'No, you might squash me!' laughed Emma.
'Maybe you could sleep in a match box.' I laughed.
'That's probably too small, but it's a good idea.' smiled Emma.
'I know the right spot! You can sleep in my doll's bed - if it's all right with them. Yes It's OK, you can sleep there. They said it's all right. Good night Emma.'
'Good night Georgia.' replied Emma.
'Wake up Emma! Wake up! It's time for school! Emma, Emma, stop hiding!'
I looked down into the doll's cot but Emma wasn't there. Lying, sparkling beneath the sheets was a beautiful star shaped locket. I felt terrible, had I done something wrong .I picked it up and gently opened it. Inside was a picture, of my little wish-sister and me. (March 2007)

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Hero

By Margo, 13, San Antonio, TX, USA

What makes someone a hero? Is it their muscles of steel or laser vision? Is it there good looks or popularity? No. To me, a hero is much more. It is being brave and selfless. It is making a difference.
At last, the phone call I had awaited all year! Thoughts of excitement swirled through my mind as I anxiously hung up the phone. I could barely contemplate the news that I had just received. My neighbor finally agreed that I was old enough to dogsit for her! Some of the greatest veterinarians in the world began their career as dogsitters! I was beaming with pride. Anticipation shook my body like a drug. I peered at the clock and plopped on my boots. The last thing I wanted was to be late for my first day on the job.
I approached my neighbor`s backyard, bubbling with elation. Just as I crept through the fence door, a gargantuan dog pinned my body to the ground with a pounce of sheer power. Scared and dazed, I staggered to my feet. To avoid getting discouraged, I quickly found a toy that I hoped would entertain the dog. `Do you want to play fetch?` I squawked playfully. The dog`s massive body squirmed as he wagged his tail in approval. Feeling more confident now, I hurled the toy across the lawn. It wasn`t long before I found myself throwing the toy again and again until we were both too tired to continue.
The dog had warmed up to me now, and was leading the way to a green, sagging bag of dog food. His eyes were intent as I shoveled mounds of unappealing nuggets into his enormous bowl. He hastily began to scarf down his food.
Now that the dog was busy eating, I sat back and closed my eyes. The Spring breeze tickled at my neck as speckles of sunlight danced upon my cheeks. Just then, my day dreams were clogged with a cork of uneasiness. I opened my eyes and peered nervously from the food bowl to the dog. The bowl was still full, but the dog was clearly in distress. I frantically skidded to his side in concern. I could hear him wheezing and whining in desperation. A prisoner to my own inexperience, I struggled to diagnose his symptoms. And then it hit me. Wheezing, shock, blood shot eyes - that`s it! He`s choking! I threw my arms around his belly and heaved with all my might. Again, and again, and again, I pulled and pumped at him. Before I knew it, two chunks of soggy food were hurled across the deck like a pair of scampering dice. Relief swept over my like a hurricane. The weight of my joyous tears was enough to pull me to the ground. The dog in which I had saved was now at my side, showering me with kisses.
I made my way toward the fence door before pledging a farewell to my new friend. I exited the yard with my chin and spirits high. At that moment, more than ever, I knew that having to wait another year to dogsit was well worth being able to save a precious life.
So what makes someone a hero? It`s not their good looks or big muscles. It is someone who puts their heart and soul into something they want to protect. When I saved that choking dog, I had to endure one of the hardest five minutes of my life. But with pursuit and patience, I was able to accomplish my goal. Now that`s what I call a hero.

(Feb 07)

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Lucky Pencil

By H.W., 12, Seoul, South Korea

It was last Wednesday when I first found my lucky pencil.
I was cleaning up after class, sweeping the floor with a broom, when the plain yellow pencil on the floor caught my eye.
It was just an ordinary pencil, but it was a reasonable length, and since I was short on pencils then, I picked it up, and slipped it in my pencil case.
I went home as usual with my best friend James. The big test was in four days, so we had no time to play today. We said our goodbyes and went on home.
Throwing my bag on the floor, I sat down on my desk. Taking out my pencil case, I got my schoolbooks out and started studying.
That's when I remembered that we had Social Studies homework. There wasn't much time left, so I panicked. The worksheet wasn't too hard, but it was soon time for my martial arts class. I scribbled as fast as I could on it with the pencil I picked up in the classroom. I thought the answers were pretty stupid, but I shoved the sheet into my bag and went off to martial arts class.

The next day our teacher made us hand in our homework. I looked at my sheet in dismay, thinking of the low mark I'd get. But I had no choice, anyway, and handed the sheet in.
The teacher handed out the marked worksheets after lunch. I sqeezed my eyes shut as the paper landed on my desk. When I looked, I couldn't have been more surprised. A bright red A was smiling up at my stunned face. James looked equally surprised. I couldn't have missed his red C.

The pencil's luck didn't end. I summited a drawing to a contest using the pencil, and surprisingly, it won third place. Three tests using the pencil, all A's.
But soon trouble arose. No matter how careful I was with the pencil, it became shorter and shorter from use. I couldn't help sharpening the pencil regularly, it was annoying to write with a blunt pencil. I was worried, as I knew this couldn't go on.
It was the day of the big test. I reached into my pencil case for my lucky pencil, but panic arose in my chest when I saw that the pencil was no more than a nub. The eraser was flat, having had its last rub long ago.
Taking a deep breath, I took another ordinary pencil, and took the test.

The next day I was surprised once more. I had still got an A on the test! That's when I realized the truth: It was me and not the pencil, without a doubt. I felt so lucky to have found that out. All along, the pencil hadn't been lucky at all, it was me who did all the work and got all those A's.
I felt truly lucky.
(Feb 07)

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Sally the sea horse

By Zoe, 8, Leeds, UK

Once...well last week me and my brother Adam went to Blackpool to see Blackpool lights. Here is my story:
It was sunday and Blackpool beach was so empty you could fit about 40 elephants on the sand. Me and Adam ran down to the sea Adam passed me my snorkle and we dived into the cool sea. Suddenly I saw a sea horse and swam after it. The sea horse led me to...a starfish!
The starfish whistled and a dolphin, a jelly fish and an eel came round the corner.
"Sally, who is this human" asked the dolphin.
"I don`t know" answered Sally the seahorse.
"I'm Zoe" I said.
The eel invited us into her cave and we had tea and sharks eyes. Then Sally took me to the coral and showed me round.
"Zoe, time to go" Shouted Adam.
"Bye Sally" I said.
The end.
(January 2007)

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Someone special

By Crystal, 14, Ipswich, UK

For the first time in my life
I have a role model
I have a mother
a mother who shares
a mother who cares
someone I can talk to when I'm down
tell her what I'm thinking about

I've never had this before
I never had someone who cares
who tells me its alrite to be scared

She has three of her own
hasn't done it easy
but still let me in
gave me a roof over my head
made sure I didn't end up dead

There is no way I could tell her
how much she has helped
no way thank you is enough
she is the most beautiful person on the earth
I couldn't have chosen some one better to stay with

For the first time in my life
I can say I'm home and mean it
I can say I'm happy
and people can believe it...
(October 2006)

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Kingdom of Blossoms

By Annie, 13, Northborough, Massachusetts, USA

Inside the house, my palace:
A door lies between.
It opens to me -
I am a royal Queen and her party;
Wearing my regal accessories:
Garden gloves, wide-rimmed hat,
And my scepter, my gardening rake.
Trumpets blare at my arrival;
The royal gates, my kitchen door, opens to me.
My kingdom is of flora and fauna;
I greet each bush or daisy with
A gentle touch, a glance, a kiss
And I shower them with
Love and affection.

After all, what is a gardener than
A Queen to her Kingdom of Blossoms?
(October 2006)

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Prejudice

By Annie, 13, Northborough, Massachusetts, USA

You see a girl - isolated.
Her skin is different, her hair is different,
She speaks an alien tongue.
What do you do?
Will you ignore her, in fear of change,
Of someone who is not the same?
Will you speak cruelty,
Taunting her skin, mocking her complexion
And her differences in a uniform world?
Or will you accept her - offering friendship,
Kindness, and companionship,
As you should?

We are humans: we are scared.
We are afraid of difference,
And to cover it, we harden our hearts.
But what is gained?
What is accomplished,
On this earth filled with differences?

Look past the mask of coloration, hair and skin.
I see a beautiful heart, of purity and innocence;
I see a diverse heritage,
A varied history behind those cool, calm eyes.
I see a blossoming rose of friendship,
Whose seeds of love will blow in the wind,
Spreading those seeds to all the earth
And blocking out the weeds of prejudice.

When you look at that girl,
What do you see?
(October 2006)
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Trip to a mysterious Island

By Marius, 7, Freeport, Illinois, USA

I stepped out of a elevator and found myself on skull island. There were huge dinosaurs. The dinosaurs tried to get me but I was to fast on the vines. In the forest you could not see through one single tree because they were so thick. The island should have sunk years ago but the dinosaurs are still there today. The insects on Skull island are as big as people. The swamp is filled with danger because there are things that come up and get you. There is a wall that keeps danger out. We are getting closer to the secret of Skull island. The secret of Skull Island is that the huge ape roars. The hot breath of the ape comes out and all you here is another roar. This is the time that I ran to the boat. The boat is surrounded by a deep curtain of fog. On most maps Skull island is not on. When I got off the boat from this long journey, I ended up in Madagascar. I got all my food from the rainforest.
(August 2006)

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Caught in the shadow

By Avanti, 16, India

Having a key to the door that won't open is frustrating especially if the key is in my dreams and the door is in reality and it's not very often that the two worlds meet. That feeling haunts me and makes me wonder if I could ever get to a point in my life where I belong and where I truly want to be. I don't want to wallow in ignorance of reality for the rest of my life; but when the reality partially seems like a dreadful dream, all I can do is dream of what reality could be. Lying helpless in the hands of fate is what the regret's all about at the end; knowing everything could have different if the truth was not over shadowed by judgments and expectations.
Being caught in the crazy cycle of the fear of acceptance and boundaries has always been the reason for people to follow patterns even the ones that they don't understand. Most of such people nearing the end of their journey have to rudely accept the regret of living in ignorance which they swore they'd never do, but life has its twists and turns of events and unfortunately they strike to be different people altogether. Most of the time this makes me think and believe that I would be better off in places where identity and judgments wouldn't be at my tail and I could be whoever I wanted to be without getting badgered with the perceptions others have of me. The questions in life for everyone are the same just like a test but the answers are all up to us; either write them by the book or just write it your way but at the same time making sense of it is important.
Breaking free from the chains, finding a way back to light is the answer if I ever want to feel my soul living, which in a way is to feel the unlimited forces of joys and sorrows which otherwise don't seem to curb me emotionally. So I am working on this 'piece' called life and hoping it could be a masterpiece of truth, consideration of oneself and others, and by that, also hope to create a lasting and sustainable end to this journey. I am just waiting for a windy day to break free and just blow away to a real world of dreams.
(July 2006)

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