Forgotten underground. The world moves on.

Sachin Shah, Grade 8

Ash flutters from the smoking volcano.

Ian Eisenberg, Grade 7

We chat with our screens only.

Arjun Akkiraju, Grade 8

The pain inside eats me raw.

Emily Zhou, Grade 8

It was like waking up in an icy cold river, he thinks. That feeling of sinking; deeper, deeper, deeper, as he realizes that there is no air for him to breathe, and the only light is the one coming from the moon, it’s rays of light distorted and its beauty twisted by the current that is flapping softly and gently like the wings of a moth. And he yearns to reach for the light, to grope at its saving countenance with fumbling fingers, but he can’t, because the vice grip of the water’s icy tendrils have bound his slowly succumbing limbs. While he hopes for sleep, the fear of dying keeps him awake for hours and hours, and days and days, and years to come…

Luka glanced out of his window, stained with translucent, white, paint-splattered residue from the long past April rains. The sun was not yet above the horizon; it must have been about four in the morning. He stretched his arms up and wriggled his fingers, slipping his cream-colored dress shirt over his head(and of course he always buttoned it to the top). Next he slipped on his khakis, his coarse, brown vest, and his signature olive newsboy cap over his red-blonde hair. Of course, the boy’s job was a newsboy. Starting at the age of eleven, Luka had become attached to the job and kept it for the next five years: He was now sixteen. Heading out down the stairs, the bitter aroma of fresh, roasted coffee wafted its way towards his nose, and he took a sharp intake of breath.

[Read more…]

The summers of Oregon, once seemingly idyllic, were now fraught with danger. It all started because of a train ride… a train ride from Klamath Falls to Portland. Klamath Falls itself was one of the smallest towns I have ever had the pleasure to visit, where the population was so reserved and the weather was so dreary that when one asked at the hotel front counter what there was to visit or see in the town, they are temporarily rendered speechless with both confusion and shock. From this town we traverse to Portland, Oregon, a town which is far more well known and has many more sights to see. The population of Portland was by far the more extreme, seeming like a whole new species of bearded and plainly weird people.

But this story didn’t start in Klamath Falls or Portland, it starts on the train ride between these two places. My mother and I were both reading our respective books on the seemingly unending train ride, and mindlessly snacking on all sorts of junk and “attempted healthy” food, when she turned to watch the vibrant green plains of grass and spacious farms that lazily stretched over the hills.

“We should buy a farm, you know?”

“Ummm…. ok?”

“I think it would be an interesting experience,” she justified.

I could not help but grin at the thought back then, my mother and I running a farm, and thought it was a joke. So, like an idiot, I said, “If you want to, it’s fine with me.”

I had not realized, however, that my mother was a woman of her word. The day after the promotion ceremony, my mother told me to pack enough heavy duty clothes for three months, and board a train with her. Curious but excited by this suspicious behavior, I agreed and found myself on the 9:30 train to Portland. I had the weird sense, however, that something was about to go wrong, as it often does when one boards impromptu trains to unknown areas with just one’s mother for company. Having all but forgotten the prior conversation, I laughed when we once again passed the long stretch of land and farms, populated mainly by jaded cattle and a few suspicious horses. I was more surprised and amused however, when I found that this was our stop. [Read more…]

Chapter 1

Daidron sits in the ‘97 Astro, binoculars in one hand, holding a burrito with the other. His supply of canned food in the back is slowly disappearing, and the horrid smell of all of the meals contained stinks up the car. It has been 15 days since it all started, and it wasn’t getting close to an end. Guava juice sits in bulk behind the driver’s seat, Daidron’s favorite drink, leading to his nickname from his friends. Movement in the rearview mirror snaps Guava to attention, as he lifts the binoculars up to his eyes. A Bugatti Veyron pulls up into the driveway and a man in a suit is followed by a teenage boy in street clothes. Out of the trunk comes a briefcase, which the man takes gracefully as he turns to the boy. “Follow me,” Daidron hears through the parabolic microphone he has mounted on the house next door. The pair march through the front door, pausing for a second to knock. All of the microphones that are listening cannot hear this knock or anything that ensues. Something about the house is preventing Guava from gaining any idea as to what is happening inside.

Four backpacks have been lying next to the juice for the fifteen days now, waiting for their owners to return. They had all been driving home when his friend Jourman told him to stop the car. Everyone exited except for Guava, who was following Jourman’s instructions reluctantly: “Don’t follow us. If we don’t come out within half an hour, go get all of the canned food from your house, stock up on juice, and live out of your van across the street. We may or may not return within two weeks, and if we do not, you may forget we ever existed.” Daidron’s three friends grabbed identical briefcases and proceeded up to the door, knocking and entering. He had decided not to give up hope yet, as over the days, he had only become more interested in the activities that had come to pass. It seemed that every day, five to nine men in business suits walked in with identical briefcases followed by some kid in street clothes. No one had walked out of the door yet, but many had walked in.

Chapter 2

I can see Daidron so brightly. I can see his headphones around his neck, his earnest eyes prying deep into my soul. I can see his untucked shortsleeved button down shirt, his jeans, and finally his tennis shoes. I can hear his objections to my order as his jaw falls slightly open. I can hear his voice, now raspy, cutting into my heart. I can smell the pleasant odor of guava juice on his breath raising to my nose, and a slight smell of deodorant. I regret doing this to him as I pick up my briefcase and walk toward the house. He calls my name once in protest and tries to get me to come back: “Jourman! Don’t go in there!”

[Read more…]

As you enter her office, you immediately notice the skull sitting on the edge of her desk, a symbol of all the harm she can do. Whether it is a real middle schooler’s skull or not, nobody knows, though every student has a theory. She’s writing something down, so you wait there, unsure whether to stand or sit. You start to get restless, switching your weight from one foot to the other, waiting for her to finish her task. Your eyes scan the room nervously, trying to avoid looking at her. The walls are blank and cold, like a jail cell’s, trapping you inside. As you examine the office, you feel the skull’s empty-eyed gaze bearing down on you. You try to ignore it, but you just can’t. Now that you are looking, you can’t look away. You get lost in the deep blackness behind the bone, and before you know it, a minute has passed by. The principal pauses in writing her note, and turns her attention to you. “Sit down,” she says, and continues to write. Her booming voice interrupts your thought, and you do what she says immediately, fearful of what would happen if you did not. As you sit, you try your best to look calm and innocent, but inside your heart is racing and you start to sweat under your shirt. You suddenly feel hot, and want to take off your sweatshirt, but it is too late now because she is about to start talking. You decide to suffer through the heat, in fear of interrupting. You wonder what you have done to be here and replay the day in your head, frantically trying to think what has lead you to this. You cannot find a reason. You glance at her, but then immediately return to surveying her room, for if she catches you looking at her, you do not know what she will do. You glance at the clock to try to calculate how much time has gone by, but then she clears her throat. You promptly attempt to give your full focus to her, but the skull on her desk keeps on stealing it. She sees you staring at the skull and clears her throat again, forcing you once again to look back at her. “Here,” she says, handing you a small piece of paper, and then motions for you to leave. You stand up without looking at the slip, fearful of what could be on it. As you leave you brush past the skull, barely touching it. The next day you’re sick. The day after, dead.

And that’s when he gets a black eye, courtesy of the more bloodied right fist. Today didn’t start that way though. It was just like any other spring day, eating unfortunately fatty cereal while getting dressed, already daydreaming of afternoon plans to hang out by that huge vintage shop on the corner opposite of your middle school. Catching the bus with Jonathan, your irritating, skinny and blonde next-door neighbor and cousin, you continue daydreaming about the not-so-distant future.

When you arrive you head straight to first period history, catching up with Halima, her brown hair and eyes several shades lighter in the morning, and Yoko, whose black curls bounce as she skips, the two best friends in the world. After a long weekend apart, today still seemed like any other; while you whispered about the latest My Chemical Romance album, the teacher droned on about the buying and selling of land in the early 1500’s and all was right with the world. Until he announced the field trip to some interesting rock formations for science class that would be starting in approximately half an hour. Jolting upright in your seat, you whisper-shouted “WHAT?” “Remember, that field trip we had the meeting about respecting nature for? We all turned in the permission slips ages ago,” Halima assured you. “At least we’ll have time during the bus ride to study for that English test you probably forgot all about,” she chided. “Wait. English and test? Together? WHEN?” said Yoko. “You see, I’m not the only one who forgets things,” you responded. Right after that, Jonathan takes your attention by climbing on top of his desk to demonstrate what the history teacher is talking about. It looks like he’ll be too busy in detention to ride the bus home with you. Thank God. After you stop at your locker to grab your camera, you head to the bus, while fervently hoping there will be something there worth photographing.

You finally arrive at the site and get off the bus, and what you see makes all three of you gasp out loud. Sticking sharply out of the green blue water are two craggy boulders the size of your two story house, no more than ten feet apart and each perfect for climbing; one connected to the white, flat beach seems to reflect the light of the full sun. After busily snapping pictures, you turn around to pay (some) attention to the teacher and start writing the account of this morning in your journal. [Read more…]