Hi! My name is Goldilocks Blue, and I am 2 years old. I am a golden retriever and was separated from my actual mother when I was 6 weeks old and was adopted by a human when I was 10 months. My owner’s name is Mary, and she is a news reporter. Even though she is not my biological mother, I act like she is. One thing you’d want to know about me is that I HATE getting dirty with things like mud but LOVE getting covered in water when it’s bath time, pool party time, or when me and Mary play fetch on the beach. I don’t even mind the sand because I often get wet in the sea. 

    One sunday afternoon, I was playing in the backyard of my house when Niko the pug peeked through the fence between our houses yelling, “ Hey Goldi! Goldi, Goldi, Goldi!” Niko had been my best friend ever since Mary and I moved to a house. 

I whipped my head in his direction, startled and alarmed. “ Niko! What’s going on!?”

“ Look!” Niko said, dropping a flyer on the grass and pinned it to the fence with his paw. I squinted and focused my eyes on the holes in the fences. 

“Oh my god!” I gasped. In front of my eyes was a flyer that had a picture of a big, spotless bone. I love to chew on bones! I thought.  “What do I have to do to get the bone?” I ask.

Nicko pointed above the picture of the bone. I read the words on the flyer, Digging competition. I read in my mind. “OH NO! NO NO NO. I am NOT getting my paws dirty for a bone that I will find in DIRT.” I took a step back.

“WHAT!? Oh come on Goldi, why don’t you like to dig!? It’s fun! Plus isn’t it worth this shiny new bone? I heard it will be freshly dug in the morning of the competition.”

“But Niko, what's the point if it’ll be in the dirt until some dog in the competition finds it?” Goldi asked

“In the dirt!? Oh no, no, no Goldi. This bone will be encased in a ziplock bag the WHOLE, ENTIRE, TIME.”

“Oh.” I thought for a minute. “ Well I suppose that’s ok, but who else is entering the competition?”

Niko put the flyer on the grass. “Oh you know, just old Mr. Maxwell.” Niko started to scratch his neck.

Goldilocks got suspicious. “ That’s it?”

“Well maybe pinky the poodle might have put her name there too?” Niko chuckled nervously. Pinky the poodle was my worst enemy. We hated each other's guts. And it wasn't even for a very good reason. We just didn't like each other!

“So?” I  asked. “It’s not like she’s going to win anything.” I said confidently. But inside I was very nervous.

The next morning I woke up and started to train for the competition. Everyday I dug more and more dirt. Except, I used gloves for Monday and Tuesday. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to actually dig without gloves in the competition but I decided to go slow and steady with the digging. 

Wednesday came and I was ready to go all in with my paws. You can do it! I said in my mind. Niko believes in you! I closed my eyes, extended my left paw, and put it in a patch of mud I found next to a school. I could feel the squishiness under my paw and I could feel it as my paw slowly started to sink into the mud. I resisted the urge to lift up my paw and run back home but… Blurgh . I opened my eyes and lifted my paw from the gooey mud. DISGUSTING! I walked back home disappointed in myself and layed down on my comfortable bed. I washed my paw with the hose outside and ate dinner head down. When it was bedtime, Mary gave me a big kiss on my head and we said goodnight. I started to chew on my bone toy and somehow I worried myself to sleep.

It was Thursday morning, and I was determined to put my paws in that mud. I went over to the school and found the same patch of mud from the day before. Once again I extended my paw and slowly put it down in the mud feeling much braver than before. My goal was to put it in the mud for 20 seconds and then randomly feel the mud so that I will be prepared to put in dry dirt that will be far better than the mud. I counted the seconds in my head 1..2..3..4..5.. All the way to 20 seconds. I held my breath and opened my eyes. I started to play with the mud, pushing one way and then back to the other. Then, I started to search around the mud imagining that there was a big, clean, bone in it. 

After 2 minutes of playing around in the mud I stopped and picked up my paw. Then, I walked home leaving messy prints on the ground. 

“Goldi?” Called Mary

“Bark!” I barked to let Mary know I was in the house.

“Have you been out of the house?” Mary said, eyeing the messy paw prints leading up to me. She looked at me with her pointer finger waving side to side.

“Bad dog!” She said disappointed and angrily. “ You have to promise me you won’t go out of the house without my permission again!”

I whined and put my head down on the floor.

“Good. And I’m taking your bone away.” She said taking away the stuffed bone next to my bed.

Mary didn’t play fetch with me that afternoon, or give me a kiss before bed. I knew I shouldn't have gone out of the house when Mary was gone, but I needed to get that bone! With that bone I would be the happiest dog in the WORLD! I shook the thought away and went right to sleep.

It was early Saturday morning and the day of the competition. All the dogs in the neighborhood woke up early so that we wouldn't wake up our owners. I felt bad going back on my promise, but I worked too hard to not go to the competition. We all went to the dog park for the competition. Once everyone got there, the contestants stood in the middle of a circle with dogs of all kinds. I could hear the chitter chatter in the crowd as the judges stepped forward. The head judge in the middle of the three was whispering to the other judges. This made me very nervous, but then I remembered the reason I was here was TO GET THAT BONE. I shook off the bad feelings and put my game face on. 

The head judge stepped ahead of the other judges and in a booming voice said,

“1...2...3..GO

And just like that, the 3 of us contestants found a circle to dig in and we dug down, down, down. I shuddered when I found ants and when flies buzzed over my head. I started digging slowly and was soon in the lead in terms of who dug the farthest down. I dug, dug, dug, and soon realized that Pinky the poodle was catching up and Mr. Maxwell was talking to himself about how he accidentally swallowed a butterfly when he was a little pup. There were 10 more seconds left on the clock and Pinky was picking up her pace. She dug so deep that it looked as though the hole was an endless void. She had this confident smile on her face and the pink streak in her hair was getting covered in dirt but she didn’t seem to mind! I kept working when suddenly, the crowd started chanting, “5..4..3..2..1..!”

“TIME IS UP!” Screamed the judges. I had not found the bone, Mr. Maxwell obviously did not find the bone, but that must mean..! I looked up at Pinky the poodle and she had it! She had the bone! Pinky held it in her teeth and sood proudly so that the whole audience could see her.

“PINKY THE POODLE IS THE WINNER!” Said the main judge. The audience stomped their hind leg in applause and headed out to the food bowls to celebrate Pinky’s victory. Tears started to sting the back of my eyes and I felt like throwing up because of all the dirt I touched, but I didn’t let my emotions get the best of me. I felt proud that I was able to come that far and was so grateful that Niko had shown me that flyer that I did something I never thought I'd do.

“Hey, um congrats on winning the competition!” I said with a little smile. 

“Oh, thanks.” We stood there in silence for a minute when finally, Pinky said, “So, I’m sorry that you didn’t win the competition, but do you want to have alternate days where I go first and take the bone home and then you take it the next day?”

“REALLY!?” I asked in disbelief.

“I mean, sure. I don’t even like bones as much as you do so it seems like you deserve it more than me.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I said. 

“No problemo.” said Pinky 

At around 7:00 a.m everyone went back to their houses and I walked to mine. Mary was still sleeping because she likes to sleep a little more every weekend. My mind was racing with questions but who was I to complain?

      When I learned how to garden, I started with no clue. I have loved gardening and farming since I was 5 years old. I was in kindergarten at that time, and my teacher called for our attention. She said that Akin, one of my classmates, had found a lot of beans in the school garden. She passed out one to each of us and explained that this was a red runner bean. It was about the size of a quarter, but more ovalish. It was mostly black, but with red specks on it. It certainly did not look like a runner. The teacher next passed out paper towels and those little ziplock bags. She said that we were planting these beans. She instructed us to put each of our beans in our paper towel, while she came around with a spray bottle to spray our paper towels wet. Then she let us put the now wetted paper towels with the beans inside the bags. We each wrote our names on our bags, and taped them to the windows, which were now filled with sunlight. She then said that we can check on them every day, and that she would spray them every Friday afternoon.

     Immediately the next day, I got into our class line and eagerly rushed into the classroom only to find no sprouts; only the exact bean that I touched the previous day. The teacher made no mention of the beans.

     A few days later, a gasp of surprise went through several students during the morning. I quickly glanced at my bean, and there, a sprout was growing! The next day, the tiny sprout grew bigger. Day after day, the sprout grew larger and stronger until one day, the teacher let us bring it home! By that time, the sprout was as big as my pinky finger, and as my grandpa came to pick me up I told him all about it. When we got home, he helped me transfer it to the ground. He told me to water it every three days. About a month later, it was growing big and strong. We added sticks to help it climb, and flowers were blooming all around. They were bright scarlet, and there were as many as three bouquets of roses. Another two weeks, and it was three feet tall, growing beans, and still blossoming. 

     This plant, once a bean, no bigger than a coin, had turned into this rich, fruitful plant that has beans that have fallen to the ground. The fallen beans take root and the cycle starts again.

Tuning

My piano sings like a rusty gate

Some keys are feet trapped in mud

My recital is two weeks away

Who can come to rescue today?

Da-da-da-daa!

Hero arrives with cape sweeping, tool case at his side

The panel is open, hammers are shown

Middle A striked in forte

Earsplitting sounds hover in the air 

Slowly fade in to a weird decay

The hero stabs the mutes into the strings

Striking the key again an again in andante

As the hero twists the wrench

The tuner’s needle swings in a decrescendo 

And finally parks at 440

Every key and every string is adjusted in ostinato

Now fingers can dance across the keys in a dolce glissando

I played a piece for my hero

Every chord blends right

Both hero and I are satisfied

Tsunami

The tsunami roars 

Crashing down

On the beaches 

Its massive claws crash on the beaches

Making the people run

Swiping at the buildings

Making them crash down effortlessly

It fluffs out its fur

Making the sand tremble

And then the tiger backs down 

Tired from the battle

Into the peaceful waves again.

The Blue Marlin, one of the fastest fish in the ocean, speeds through the ocean currents with top speeds up to 68 miles per hour. As the ocean currents move slowly, a quick slash through the water cuts through the waves, speeding through the ocean the Blue Marlin swims on the surface looking for fish. 

At school, there’s one day that everyone hates and dreads: mile day. Some people try to improve and get better unlike some, and I have a goal, getting a mile that’s under 6 minutes or 5 minutes and 59 seconds. This particular mile 2 weeks before spring break was one like no other that anyone in my class had ever run.

Blue Marlin are migratory species that migrate between oceans, they grow rapidly and can grow up to 12 feet long. The Blue Marlin increase or grow in weight and size at least 1 million times in their life span. The Blue Marlin is a shining cobalt blue, with silvery white on their bellies, making them look like bluish and silvery gems. They eat tuna and other fish as the food of choice for them, just like me as I also like tuna and fish as well. The Blue Marlin likes warmer surfaces and is the most tropical of all billfishes. I agree with the marlins, warm water is always better than cold water! 

The starting point is up the top path, there are two paths that are part of the mile. We went the starting point, the mile is two laps around the track and that’s it. My teacher blows the whistle and we’re off. all the boys sprint for first place, but I quickly catch up and close the gap. Their strategy usually fails them as they get tired and can’t  maintain a quick pace, but this time I start to go a little faster, making a huge gap between everybody else. The person that’s “behind” me tries to go faster to close the gap, but I keep going. I start to go even faster, making the gap even bigger. The first lap is finished. I keep going, but each step hurts like freight trains. 

The Blue Marlin hunts a lot, but with what? It uses its long pointed bill to stab its prey and devour the fish. The Blue Marlin has a deep dorsal fin used to steer or turn in a different direction while chasing prey, it also has two pelvic fins. But some Blue Marlin are hunted by older marlins, which are hunted by sharks, mainly the white shark and the shortfin mako shark. These marlin spawn in the North Atlantic from July to September and in the South Atlantic in February and March, the Blue Marlin can live for more than 15 years, but most that are caught are under 10 years old.

As I’m running the final lap, I think of the Blue Marlin. Even though I’m exhausted and my body feels like it's burning, I keep running at a fast pace. I see one of my classmates Warren as I run by him. (Warren is very slow and lazy so I usually lap him ) As I run, I start to lap 7 other people while turning towards the volleyball courts which is the finish line. With all my strength I have left, I sprint towards the finish line and the teacher’s assistant tells me my time, 6 minutes and 5 seconds, a new record and the fastest in the entire class. This mile was surely a moment I would never forget. I ran as fast as I ever did, just like a Blue Marlin swimming through the ocean and speeding through the many oceans of the world.

FanFic: Your In-Universe Fanfic of Anne McKaffrey’s “The Smallest Dragon Boy”: 

“You may be the smallest dragonrider ever, young K’van,” Flar said, “but you’re one of the bravest!” 

And Heth agreed! Pride and joy so leaped in both chests that K’van wondered if his heart would burst right out of his body. He looped an arm around Heth’s neck and the pair, the smallest dragonboy and the hatchling who wouldn’t choose anybody else, walked out of the Hatching Ground together forever.

As K’van was showing the campus to Heth, with Heth chattering excitedly in his mind, a boy that had not been chosen stomped up to the pair.

“All right twerp, that was obviously a mistake,” the boy snapped, “So you have a choice, give this dragon or have me as your enemy.” 

K’van lifted his head bravely. This was his dragon! No one was going to take it away from him! Besides, it was the boy’s own fault he wasn’t liked by any of the hatchlings.

“No.” 

“What no?”

“You’re not getting this dragon.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Make me, twerp!”

The older boy pushed K’van as he was going to speak. Heth squawked and pecked at the boy. The boy kicked at Heth. Heth had enough and latched onto the boy’s face. The boy shrieked and tried to claw Heth off. The boy threw Heth to the ground. The boy’s face was bloody with several scratches. 

F’lar, who was walking by, rushed to the boy. 

“I had no idea that your dragon was capable of this!” F’lar exclaimed.

K’van puffed out his chest and lifted his head. F’lar gave him a look and said, “Don’t look too proud, Lessa and I will decide your punishment.” 

As F’lar led the boy away to the infirmary, K’van suddenly remembered that the chosen candidates were to stay at the hatching grounds for a lecture on how to take care of their dragons. 

“C’mon, Heth!” K’van said as he sprinted away. 

When K’van arrived, the lecture had already started with the wingsecond teaching. Everyone turned to look at K’van and Heth, who scrambled onto his shoulder.

The wingsecond flicked his head toward individual cages for the hatchlings. Confused, K’van grabbed a cage and stuffed Heth inside it. 

“Now, to continue,” the wingsecond said as K’van sat down. “Hatchlings are very picky, so you’ll have to experiment on what they like. The foods you should avoid feeding are spicy foods to brown hatchlings who can get agitated easily. For the appropriate feeding habits here’s another scroll.”

K’van noticed that each person had a scroll already. He leaned to a girl who had her first scroll open. 

The girl twisted her head to face K'van and glared at him. She had cold blue eyes that pierced K’van’s gaze.

“What do you want?” She fiercely whispered.

“Can I borrow your first scroll?” He whispered back. The girl opened her sack to reveal a mountain of scrolls. 

“Oh,” K’van said. “What’s your dragon’s type?”

“Green, what’s yours?”

“Bronze,” He replied. The wingsecond suddenly said, “No chit chatting, you two!”

By the end of the lecture, his arms were full of scrolls, even with Heth helping by carrying scrolls in his cage and heaving it on his back. 

“Need help?” the girl from earlier said. Without him answering, the girl seized several scrolls from K’van. “I’m S’verra.”

“I’m K’van,” He said. 

“K’van.” She smiled.

In-N-Out has a bright, clean atmosphere that feels both welcoming and classic. The red-and-white color scheme adds a cheerful, retro vibe, while the soft hum of conversation and clatter from the kitchen create a lively energy. The staff is usually friendly and fast-paced, adding to the sense of efficiency. With simple decor and casual indoor seating, it feels like a familiar spot people love to return to.

The food lives up to the hype with fresh, made-to-order burgers that strike the perfect balance of juicy patties, crisp lettuce, and soft buns. The ingredients taste clean and never processed. While the menu is simple, the “secret menu” offers fun twists like Animal Style burgers and fries. The fries are hand-cut and lightly salted—some love their natural taste, though they can be a bit soft. Shakes are rich and creamy, making a sweet finish to a classic, satisfying meal.

Arancino di Mare is an Italian restaurant right on the Waikiki beachfront in Honolulu. The place has a mix of a traditional Italian style and relaxed Hawaiian vibes, with palm trees and ocean views all around. It’s casual and welcoming, perfect for families or anyone who wants a wonderful meal.

The food there is delicious. Their arancini are different from the usual rice balls—they’re crispy on the outside and filled with melted cheese inside, which makes them really tasty and comforting. The pizzas are also amazing, especially the Meat Lover’s pizza that’s loaded with lots of meat on a thin, crispy crust. The pasta dishes taste fresh and flavorful, showing the kitchen really cares about quality. Also, they have a variety of Italian sodas that are sweet and refreshing.

The staff is friendly and helpful, which improves the whole experience. There can be a wait of about 45 minutes without a reservation, but since the restaurant is close to shops and right by the Waikiki beach, it’s easy to enjoy the area while you wait.

Overall, Arancino di Mare is a great spot for authentic Italian food with a Hawaiian twist, and the beautiful beachfront views make it even better.

To the person who won’t let refugees into our country

Have you ever felt a feeling of misplacement, has your home ever chased you to the edges of your world, threatening to consume you?

To feel like an unwanted fly, people swatting you away.

To be misunderstood, have everyone you once knew and loved, change.

Change as if a thick black hate engulfed them.

That black hate, scarring everyone that it touched,

With an unforgettable pain,

Like kicking salt onto a fresh gaping wound.

To yearn for the light, the light where the black hate couldn’t touch you,

Couldn’t even see you.

To see a flickering flame in the everlasting dark, 

Only for your hopes to be extinguished because of the stinging cold rain.

To feel betrayed, to see your memories crushed in front of you

To turn to everyone you cared about, only to be shoved out of the way, flicked into another burning house of suffering.

To plead to cry an ocean,

Only for someone to find it amusing, and make you do it all over again.

To think you wouldn’t have a future, to not even care about it,

For you must first survive the present.

To work so hard, to be so so tired,

Only for it to be not enough.

To lose all hope, to feel so trapped,

To feel your motivation slowly ebbing away, to feel yourself breaking, 

Piece by piece, like breaking off bits of a chocolate bar.

To live in a cage, with the bars on fire slowly closing in,

To look at others suffering, but to remain indifferent because you have become numb inside out,

To live the life of a refugee.

Dear Max, 

We have recently heard about you almost drowning on your vacation to Hawaii at a pool, and we regret (or are relieved, in your case) to tell you that the GDA, also known as the Global Death Association, does not grant you entry to the afterlife. Here are the reasons:

1. We can tell that your death was not intentional, and that you probably wish to savor a few decades more of life. Furthermore, this close call was not entirely your fault, as it was your parent’s who thought that you were fit enough to stay afloat.

2. At the time of your accident, you were 9 years old. There is a very slim chance of somebody dying at only 9, so we decided to change your Fate (Which is decided randomly at birth, as well as your cause of death) to a lifespan of [REDACTED] years. 
3. You dying may cause our public opinion to lower, since there are already suggestions from the Deceased Residents to not arrange deaths under the ages of 10. Obviously we cannot accept their terms, but we can let this one incident slide.

It is very rare of an occasion that we excuse a death, for too much of this will result in unreasonable circumstances. We hope that you live the rest of your life in peace, and hope that you won’t join our Deceased Residents soon. 

Sincerely, the GDA, Department of Entry

Sarah, 6th grade, Poem

Dandelion

The season of flying

Is a dandelion's dream

Your little parachute

Is my gentle yearning

Always miss you

My little twirling fairy

Who drifts through the wildflower field

Like an adorable fluffy bubble

Don't blossom so quickly

Although you have dreams to catch

Enjoy this ride of freedom

With my admiration on the side

Don’t dance away so swiftly

Although you have reasons to leave

In the moment of reincarnation

Please hold on tightly

To the secret wish I made

My sweet memory of you

Carves a string of footprints

The places they lead to

Have your smile and mine

An Immune Response 

By Joshua  

Getting sick has to be one of the most hated things, especially during this pandemic. The immune system is what all humans rely on to prevent and control microorganisms that attack your body. 

Your immune system is one of the most complicated and hardworking organ systems in your entire body, and the biology behind it is commonly misunderstood. This speech will explain an immune response in a simple and easy manner, so even biology noobs like me (point at myself) would understand. 

In order to trigger your immune system, something must first bother it. For example, if bacteria enters your body through a small cut, your immune system will be notified and will start preparing and releasing different waves of different types of immune cells. 

By signaling attack, your immune system will release its first (1 finger) wave of fighters, the macrophage. These enormous fighter cells are always ready when signaled and will start devouring and digesting up to 100 bacteria using their enzymes. But, in many cases, the prepared macrophages are too exhausted and need extra help. 

These exhausted macrophages will call for help by ejecting messenger proteins into the blood, waiting to be picked up by the second (2 fingers) wave of defense—the neutrophils. With murderous intent, the neutrophils will vomit out chemicals destroying everything it touches, including your own healthy cells. The careless neutrophils will explode themselves after some time, to prevent too much collateral damage. As you can probably tell, these reckless warriors only live to kill. 

If the body is still overwhelmed, the dendritic cell—a portion of the third (3 fingers) wave—will be released. Instead of fighting, this cell wants to find the correct t-cell with the antibody for a strategy against this specific bacteria. Once the t-cell is found, a chain reaction is set off. 

The t-cell will travel itself along lymph nodes—the immune highway—to find a proper B-cell. The certain b-cell will give the immune system the ability to use and take advantage of the weapons stored in the t-cell. 

Once these pairs are found, your immune system can now take advantage of your interior t-cell weapons, and fighting is resumed. From now on, your body must wish itself good luck in the ongoing battle against bacteria. (Big pause) 

Misunderstanding your immune system may make you unaware of the ongoing battle inside your body. Because for you, a cut may just be a minor annoyance, but for your immune system, it was a raging battle of life or death. 

Thanks for listening!

Laundry

One by one, clothes are tossed,

Into the washing machine.

A rattle as the door closes.

A beep as it starts.

Tumbling, shaking,

Like a dog after a swim.

As the clothes are soaped,

Cleaned and wrung dry.

One by one, untangled,

Thrown into the dryer.

As it heats up like an oven.

To dry and soften the clothes.

A few long beeps,

Tells us the laundry is ready.

Little ones come together,

To help hang and fold.

The smell is fresh,

as fragrant as flowers.

Blankets, towels, shirts and pants.

We are ready for a fresh start.

Max, 6th grade, Story

Harry and Hagrid approached a dock. There was a small building next to the dock, and people were heading into the building. Next to the dock, the Atlantic Ocean, gleaming a beautiful blue, stretched into the distance. As far as he could remember, Harry had never seen the ocean. He has lived a sheltered life, and the Dursleys rarely took him anywhere. Hagrid then said: “Well, this is where you're on yer own. Here, yeh’ll need this if yeh want to get on the ship.” Hagrid passed Harry a very formal looking, black ticket. It said , 

Salem School Of Wizardry And Witchcraft

TICKET 493027: Harry James Potter

Trip 732, from Blackpool, England, to III, IOWA

Hagrid scrunched his face. “Oh, don’t worry about the exact location of the school bein’ hidden. That’s for their privacy. The ship’ll take yeh right to the place.” Questions swam in Harry’s head. “Wait, what ship?” Harry said. “How do I get into it? Where is it?” He looked back at Hagrid, who was supposed to be behind him. Hagrid was nowhere to be seen. 

Harry assessed his situation. Hagrid mentioned a boat, but the entire dock was empty of ships. Nonetheless, the dock was full of people. Some of them were carrying luggage that were similar to Harry’s, so he followed them into the building. The building was very small, about as big as a normal room. At the front desk there was a woman wearing black robes. “Hello?” Harry said. “Hello! Which ship will you be traveling on today?”, the woman said with a smile. “Err..” Hagrid hadn’t actually told Harry what ship he would be traveling on. The woman’s eyes wandered over to his ticket. “Oh, are you a special traveler? Well then, I will need your ticket, please.” Harry gave the woman his ticket, where she put it in a box. “Well, that's all you need to do. Good luck on your journey!” The woman suddenly pushed a golden button next to her. Instantly, the floor beneath Harry opened up, and he fell down into the ground. 

When Harry landed, he looked around him. He was deep underground, in a giant place the size of a warehouse. Next to him, there was a ship. Titled in big letters on the side said: The Chimaera. People were excitedly boarding the ship. At the entrance stood two wizards in long robes, greeting everybody as they went in. Harry went up to them. “Excuse me, are we underground?”, he asked. One wizard said: “Why yes, of course! We are very deep in the ocean, and that's where we will sail, as this ship travels 20 times the normal ship does, and we can’t risk being spotted by Muggles. Obviously, please do not try to access the upper deck of the ship, or you will be flattened instantly by the water pressure. Have a great trip!” The answers Harry got only lead to more questions, but at that time a voice echoed through the room. “Attention please! The Chimaera will be sailing and underway in 3 minutes! All passengers, please board the ship!” Harry decided not to waste any more time, and quickly went aboard. 

The inside of the ship had a lot of people. It looked very fancy, like a small luxurious cruise. After going up a flight of stairs, Harry found himself in a long hallway, with doors leading to large compartments. He walked down the hallway, until finding an empty compartment. After entering, Harry saw the compartment had two seats, with one side of the wall having windows. There was a table and a place to store luggage, with a carpeted floor.  Harry put down his luggage and sat down, putting hedwig in his lap. A few moments later, a person went into the compartment. He was a tall boy with yellow hair and freckles. The boy was carrying a large cat that looked like it was a struggling tiger. “Crookshanks- Ouch! Stay- still-” He wrestled with the cat for a moment (All while startling Hedwig), before shoving him in a suitcase and locking it. Finally noticing Harry, he said, “Hey! Sorry to disturb you and your owl. That was my cat, Crookshanks. He sometimes gets anxious in new places. Anyways, are you also a first-year?” “Yes.” Harry said. He was still surprised at the sudden events. “Me too! Nice to meet you. I’m Peter, Peter Smith. What’s your name?” The boy said, worriedly glancing at the suitcase, which just started moving. “Oh, I’m Harry. Harry Potter.” Harry answered. The boy’s blue eyes widened. “Harry Potter? The Boy who Lived? I knew you would be starting this year, but I never knew you were going here!”, Peter said excitedly. “Well yeah, I’m starting here.” Harry said. Harry was starting to get embarrassed by the reactions of people meeting him. “That’s awesome! I hope we get put in the same Team!” Peter said. Harry looked confused. “What do you mean by Team?” he said. “You don’t know? Well, supposedly at Salem, each year all students are randomly put in two teams, Ludor or Froctor. They compete for which team does better by the end of the year. I think this is supposed to honor the founders of the school.” Peter said. At this moment, another voice said: “Everybody, may I have your attention? Now that we are all seated, we would like to thank you for choosing the Chimaera. We know that there are many means of magical travel, and we feel honored that you choose our ship. Now, today’s trip will be sunny, with smooth waters, and strong winds, not that it really matters. The trip will take an estimated 5 hours. Due to the latest magical inventions, you can walk around anywhere, at any time. Once again, thank you for choosing the Chimaera, and we wish you a safe journey.” After this, the entire ship gave a strong jolt, and outside the windows there was nothing but dark, misty waters, as the ship started its voyage.

Albridge, 9321 Lowland Street

(199) 527 - 1316

uncreative.name@bor.ed

Applying for Secondary Project Manager

Skills

I don’t consider myself a person who is too complacent.  That was something I learned a long, long time ago, and a thing that I’ll never forget.  You’ll be sure that if you hire me, I will not go easy on the developers, and I will be sure to give them an ample amount of free time.  Most of their hours will be spent working, but I will not overwork them to the point of rebellion.  Whenever I’m working, I’ll only be working, you won’t have to be afraid that I am slacking off.

Experience

September 2024 - June 2027

Albridge Secondary School, Albridge- “That Guy”

• I never knew what they were talking about at the lunch tables, while I sat on the grass, watching them eat the pizzas and pastas and burgers and all kinds of food.  I was gluten-free.
• There was that time when that sporty kid put the lock of the girl he liked backwards.  I found the combination, fixed it, and nobody thanked me.
• One day I walked past the group of people who used to be my friends.  When I was away, I heard them speak of me, and I was sure that it wasn’t nice.

December 2027 - January 2028

Fisher Prep School Discord Server, The Internet- Moderator

• Those days when I first came to that place, all the burdens of secondary school freed from my back in an instant, that first day when I sat attentively in class and chatted with a nice guy that I’ve never known before.  Nobody knew my problems, my issues then.
• One day, in the server, somebody gave me the moderator role.  I’m not sure why, but I suppose at that time, there was a multitude of reasons.  Grades, likability, innocence (compared to some of the others at Fisher Prep)...  
• I don’t remember exactly what had happened, but there was a thing, I told my friend a thing and then it all came crashing down on my head, my web of influences of friendships that I had so painstakingly built over an entire month.  The next day when I went online, they had removed my moderator and muted me.  Forever.  

February 2028 - Present

Mental Function, The Recesses of my Mind- A Wanderer

• I don’t know when it started but it did.
• When the walls of my house and the noise of my pets were no longer comforting.
• When I felt detached, felt separated, felt like a wanderer.

Education

Somewhere over the entire course of my life

Everywhere, Everywhere- I don’t know… 

From when I was born to… now, I suppose, I don’t know what I learned.  I learned something, something that you could never understand, and I don’t think I can understand, either.  But my time wasn’t all wasted, at least.

Awards

• “The Victimized One” - Albridge Secondary School
• “The Quiet Moderator” - Fisher Prep School Discord Server
• “Shame” - Fisher Prep School Discord Server
• “The One who Learned” - Everywhere

The Minecraft Movie (2025) directed by Jared Hess is about a man named Steve (played by Jack Black) who finds himself trapped in another dimension called the Overworld. Steve’s creativity allows him to create a paradise out of this world, but when he finds an abandoned portal to the Nether, things take a turn. He gets captured by evil piglins, and Steve’s dog barely escapes the Nether. He eventually escapes though, and soon a group of misfits named Henry (Sebastian Eugene Hansen), Garrett (Jason Momoa), Natalie (Emma Myers), and Dawn (Danielle Brooks) find them trapped in the Overworld, along with Steve. The group has to work together in order to save the Overworld from being devoured by the Nether, and in the end, everyone learns a lesson. 

I recommend The Minecraft Movie because of many reasons. The movie is filled to the brim with jokes and funny moments to make you laugh, while there are still lots of moments that show the true theme of the story: to always be creative. Another reason I love the Minecraft Movie is because of the original game’s background. Growing up, millions of people were raised with Minecraft, and many of the most iconic moments in Minecraft history are featured in the movie, such as a tribute to legendary Minecraft youtuber Technoblade. One of the key reasons this movie was so successful though, and also partly why I love this movie, is its hype. People have been waiting for this for years, and because there are so many memorable and funny moments in this movie, people all over the internet have been sharing clips of their movie theater going crazy. This movie isn’t perfect, though. I think that the makers of this movie could’ve definitely put in more effort to improve the plot. The plot had many holes in it, such as Steve escaping the Nether with no context.

Overall, I would give The Minecraft Movie an 8.5 out of ten, because of its humor, the game’s history, and because of its hype. If they ever made another one though, I would suggest that they improve the plot of the story.

   –after Gallway Kinnel’s “Blackberry Eating”

In Winter, usually the cold November,

My mom would cook me a nice Saozi soup. 

I pour black vinegar into the soup.

The sour, sweet tang added to the soup,

Changing the color,

Making it darker.

To have the soup linger in my stomach, warming me

from the inside, like a flame. 

Noodles are a lot of fish

Swimming with each other in a large pattern

The beef is the odd one out.

A completely different color,

Brown compared to white.

The noodles swim in my mouth.

The beef splits, full of soup.

The river flows in my mouth

The air flows through just like the noodles.

It almost feels natural,

Like it should be done for years.

Stuck with the warm, filling, red language

of eating Saozi noodles in November.

I stepped along the crag of the rocks, carefully picking around the small pebbles and boulders surrounding the long waves crashing on the weathered rock walls. I sniffed the salty, stale sea air and padded forward onto the long shores of the beach.

Galloping along the soft sand felt nice to my tough paws used to the hard soil of the forest. I looked around at the ocean, and it was a dark sapphire shade of blue with never-ending water melting into the horizon with a large, blazing sun.

Was this what I imagined a beach to be from Mama’s description? Absolutely not, but it fit her telling of the tale perfectly, with long sandy ridges and crystal water. Looking back at the spot where the forest blended into the beach, there were small sprouts and dried, withered twigs along the dusted, dead grass. 

The cawing of the large white birds with gray saddles rang in my ears. Seagulls! I thought. I looked up at the magnificent wings and stared at their black beady eyes as they circled something in the blue water.

I walked cautiously closer to the seawater, and stepped slowly into the ocean. A wave of coldness flooded my paws as I went in. The coldness spread along my body, giving me shivers, and I carefully put my other paw into the smooth water. Another shiver went up my back, but I kept going till the water was at my knees. 

Under the receding water, there were rocks, smooth ones, of many shapes and sizes, some blue, black, and red, others a shimmering white spheres like moons in the night sky. I gently kicked one, and it flew under the water towards the empty blue. The waves were running towards me, close enough that it could stick out a hand and touch me, then it ran back to the vast ocean, never to be seen again until its relative rushed back at me for a desperate reach. 

I jumped when one of them touched me, and I yipped in delight and ran out of the cool water to shake the droplets off. Giving a long, deep, hearty shake, the water droplets sprayed out like mist from my shaggy fur. 

I was content.

Have you ever found yourself burning your parents’ precious midnight oil, rushing to complete a project or assignment you’ve been delaying for days or even weeks? I am sure that everyone here can recall at least one such instance. Whether you’re a student struggling to maintain your grades, a software engineer managing many projects, or even a parent trying to juggle household chores, procrastination is universal. It’s something we all fight against or even despise, but it’s crucial to learn strategies to help you navigate that treacherous realm. Especially if you’re a student, knowing how to turn procrastination to your advantage could result in better grades and fewer long lectures from parents about the importance of time management. Today, as a seasoned procrastinator who has faced the demon of procrastination numerous times and picked up many tricks along the way, I am going to give some special tips to help you procrastinate while being productive. We will explore the psychology behind procrastination, learn how to use procrastination to our advantage, and discuss the importance of stress management and maintaining a balance.

Let’s start by meeting our worst enemy, the “procrastination monkey,” a term coined by blogger Tim Urban to represent our impulse to procrastinate. This insistent monkey always whispers, “Do it later! Do it later!” causing us to delay our tasks. But why do we listen to this strange monkey anyway? Dr. Piers Steel, a renowned professor at the University of Calgary, gives some answers in his book “The Procrastination Equation.” He identifies four factors that contribute to procrastination: our value of the task, our expectation to succeed, our impulsiveness, and the delay until the task's due date. He argues that we procrastinate when we don't value the task highly, have low expectations of success, are impulsive, or perceive the deadline as distant. Recognizing these factors can help us understand why we give in to procrastination.

Now that we understand the psychology behind procrastination, let's learn some strategies to embrace procrastination while still getting work done. We've met our procrastination monkey. But instead of fighting it off, can we make it work for us? Stanford professor John Perry coined the term "structured procrastination," a strategy that turns the tables on our natural tendency to procrastinate. Perry states that by creating a hierarchy of tasks, with the most daunting task at the top, we are likely to procrastinate on that task by doing the other less daunting, yet productive tasks. In other words, we're tricking our minds into being productive when we think we're procrastinating. Famous writer Mark Twain allegedly wrote his best works under pressure and often used lesser tasks as a productive form of procrastination.

After learning about how to embrace procrastination, let’s tackle the importance of finding a healthy balance and managing stress. We don't want to fall into the abyss of chronic procrastination. Procrastination, when it becomes chronic, can have severe implications on our mental and physical health. A study conducted by Fuschia Sirois from Bishop's University links chronic procrastination to higher levels of stress, reduced access to health-promoting behaviors, and a host of chronic health conditions. Therefore, it's crucial to practice self-care, manage stress, and maintain a healthy lifestyle amidst many deadlines.

We have journeyed together through the psychology behind procrastination, learned about embracing procrastination while being productive, and understood how to manage stress and find a balance. Remember, procrastination doesn't have to be the villain. By understanding and embracing it with effective strategies, you can navigate the realm of last-minute work effortlessly and produce effective results. Procrastination can be both a blessing and a curse. But with balance and understanding, we can transform this habit into a powerful tool. So, the next time you feel the pull of procrastination, don't panic. Instead, remember these tips, keep your balance, and navigate successfully through the abyss of chronic procrastination.

I check the huge clock at the side of the pool and watch the second hand tick slowly, so slowly. Fifteen minutes left of swim practice. I wrap my arms around myself and shiver in the cold, icy water of the lit-up pool. The harsh mid-December winds howl around me and I clench my teeth, feeling my hands go numb. I close my eyes, tired. “Alright, guys, that was… disappointing. How many times do I have to tell you to do at least five dolphin kicks before resurfacing after the turn?” Coach Jessica, who I can barely see because it’s seven in the night and the sky is pitch black, says with a hint of annoyance in her tone. “So… since our main focus today has been butterfly, how about we do a 1000 fly?” Great. My worst stroke. There’s a collective groan from my teammates and a few cheers from the ones who love butterfly, and Hannah, my best friend, shoots her hand up. “Yes, Hannah?” Coach Jessica asks, somehow able to recognize whose hand went up. “I really need to go to the bathroom,” she says casually. “Well,” Coach Jessica says sweetly, “we’ll wait for you then.” Hannah curses under her breath and mumbles “never mind.”  “You know that never works, right?” I whisper to her. “Still worth a shot,” she says, “you never know.” I roll my eyes. Typical Hannah. “Anyways, back to what I was saying, 1000 fly. Please do not try to cheat by pulling on the lane lines. You guys know that never works out. Okay, now, ready position,” Coach Jessica’s voice rings out over the pool, loud and clear. Evie, who’s a one as she’s the fastest, climbs out and gets into the starting position on the block. “Ready… ones, go,” Coach Jessica says, and I hear six simultaneous splashes as the ones dive into the water. Evie’s best stroke has always been butterfly, and as I watch her effortlessly cut through the water, I can’t help but envy her. As I’m a two, I begrudgingly grab onto the hard, cold concrete ledge and push myself up and out of the pool. The freezing winds immediately hit me and my feet sting with every step I take. I climb up onto the block and almost slip, suddenly overcome with a wave of fatigue. I grasp the plastic ridge at the front of the block just in time for Coach Jessica to yell, “ready… twos, go.” I tuck my chin in, let my arms fly out from my sides, and overlap my hands firmly as I kick off of the block and enter the water. The pool is so warm and welcoming that, for a second, I forget to do my kicks. Then I hear the muffled shouts of Coach Jessica and snap back into reality, propelling myself with kicks and I slowly resurface and do my first stroke. All seems to be going well, as I’m great at open turns, but as I pass Evie for the first time I start to tire out. Already. I still have a 750 to go. I hold on for maybe a lap more and, when it seems I can’t go any further, my hand accidentally brushes the lane lines. An idea forms in my head. Should I risk using the lane lines to give me a speed boost? Considering the fact that I’m barely even able to keep kicking, I should probably do it. During a breath, I quickly look around to make sure no one is looking and make a quick grab at the lane line. In my haste, I hit the lane line too hard and the noise rings out across the pool. The other swimmers, thankfully, don’t notice, but Coach Jessica seems to. I can see her disappointment as I take another breath and when I hit the wall, she stops me. “Were you using the lane lines?” she whispers. “No,” I lie. She narrows her eyes. “I hit it when I was doing a stroke,” I say. “You grabbed it, you mean,” Coach Jessica says. “Well, I-” She cuts me off, “you realize arguing will make it worse, right?” I shut my mouth. “Continue swimming,” she says with dissatisfaction. I nod numbly and finish, careful not to do anything suspicious as I swim back to the other side of the pool. “Alright, guys, looks like we’re going to have to run two laps,” Coach Jessica announces when we finish. The team erupts in confusion and shouts and they try to figure out who caused it this time. I try to look as innocent as I can and I climb out of the pool with the others. My feet immediately go numb and my teeth start chattering uncontrollably as I sprint the two laps. I finish before everyone else and jump back into the pool, warmness washing over me. After a few seconds, Hannah joins me, complaining about me leaving her behind. Exhausted and hungry, I decide to never use the lane lines again, since it’s clearly not worth the risk. At least, not when the coach is looking.

*

The loud conversations and cheers of the crowd interfere with your thoughts, not that you have any. At least not with a tight swim cap over your hair, making your head pound and throb. The cold November breeze rushes past you, making you shiver and causing goosebumps to form on your arms and legs. You take a look at the pool in front of you, teeming with other swimmers. You’ve been standing here for two minutes, cringing at the thought of jumping into the icy water. Looking around, you realize that you need to warm up sooner or later if you want to get a good score this time. You sigh and slowly lower yourself into lane four. You yelp at the water, which comes out more like a whimper, and you feel the stares of the nearest swimmers. Embarrassed, you pretend not to notice.you get into a ready position, take a deep breath, and transition into your favorite stroke – freestyle. After swimming a few laps, you pull yourself out of the pool. You’ve just started to get warm, but the freezing winds immediately hit you, quick and painful. your teeth instantly start chattering, and your body has already started to numb. you walk towards the stands, but you realize that in your haste, you had forgotten your towel and parka. Now they hang on the edge of the tent next to lane four, limp and helpless. You silently wonder if you’re the same. You hurry back, a stinging pain shooting through your feet every time they touch the ground, until you reach the towel and parka. Wrapping yourself in the warm, thick jacket, you sigh with relief. Suddenly, the loudspeaker sounds, causing you to jump. The person on the loudspeaker calls the event before yours, event thirty-three. A minute later, the whistle blows and you watch as the strong swimmers sprint the one hundred butterfly, your worst stroke, with everything they’ve got. When the race finishes, the loudspeaker sounds again. “All swimmers for event thirty-four, please come to the blocks. Again, all swimmers for event thirty-four, heat one, please come to the blocks.” Your heart immediately starts thumping, loud and clear, as you make your way to the tents behind the blocks. you climb onto the starting block of your lane and stare down at the clear blue water. A horrible thought manifests in the back of your mind, pushing forward. “I can’t do this,” you think. It was too late. “Take your marks…” you get ready. At least you should try your best and not embarrass yourself. TWEET! your arms fly forward and you enter the pool. Abruptly, your head clears. As you pull yourself to the surface, you feel a sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through your body. You surge forward, feeling more refreshed than ever. your arms and legs fall into a rhythm. Your feet create splashes as they come in contact with the water, pushing you forward. Pushing you towards success. 

Dear XYZ:

I am standing on the pale yellow shores of the very beach we used to swim in. I am staring at the cold turquoise water, white foam sizzling at the surface every time a wave lapped the shore. I stand there, envisioning us on our surfboards, mine a pink one with stripes in different hues, and yours with palm leaves customly painted on. I see us splashing water onto each other as we paddled out into deeper waters. Sometimes I wish you were here with me. It was too painful for me to stay at the beach any longer, as the memories were drowning  me into the past, the happy memories that turned longing when you moved away. I went to the train stop near the beach. I had hitched a ride on it to come here. As I sat down on my seat, I watched the train tracks sliding past the train. They reminded me of us. We were always close, always together. There were bridges between us to convey every detail of every minute we missed being together. But no matter how close we were, our destinies were never meant to be together. Even when we did cross paths, we met for such a short time, then continued our separate ways. I realized that as the train turned left at the cross. Now, the other track got further and further, until it was invisible. Like us. It was as if we never met. I got off at the next station and walked around the streets of the city. Every single detail reminded me of our time together. The woman selling beads and handmade pottery, the man calling out prices for corn at a stand, fluctuating the prices so people would buy them, even the people walking on the sidewalks together. I felt bad for the man selling corn (he looked poor), and bought two. One for me and the other for you. Of course, I ate yours for you since you weren’t here. We had always eaten corn together. I chuckled. We had made a pact to never eat corn alone. I had just broken that rule. I loped to the pottery store next to the corn stall. Did you know that the pottery was a mixture of mud and clay? We used to make cups and bowls out of mud and tried to round up squirrels for tea parties. I once even tried to dress one up in my old doll’s dress. I got a friendship bracelet for you from the store. You’ll probably receive it with this letter. But the memories were overpowering. I ran away from the streets into my motel room. At night I stared out the window, the cool ocean breeze caressing me. The moon was full today. The tides would be strong. Hopefully they would turn, and would hopefully bring us together again. I miss you.

 From ABC.

Dear Richard, it seems that you have come clean,

And so will I. 

I do not think that you should consider what you did a failure.

For I am alive and we have much to share with the world and the opportunity to do so. 

But if we had not, it had still shaped us as how the wind

Begins to carve our bodies little by little each time it passes.

As soft as clouds, pure white, and the wretched songs

Of crows through each path. 

It is funny how nowadays we have houses to protect us from hurricanes.

And it is funny how sometimes they fall on us, and we are not carved

But crushed, and like the house we have to be rebuilt. 

Perhaps your house was the innocence of it all.

Perhaps I was the final blow when I told you. 

But I do not put myself to blame.

As you created your own winds against you.

And maybe with the help of others, your house has fallen

But I see that you are slowly rebuilding it.

As we age, it is peculiar to count how many designs

We have for the walls that protect us.

Hide and seek

Oh, there you are! Come to me! Quick! Oh, thank goodness, you’re okay. Quick, we must hide. It’s for a game. Hurry, let’s hide in the janitor’s closet. It’s not too far. Yes, we are playing hide and seek. Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry. It’s just a game. Now hurry! We don’t want to get found. Hold on, there could be someone around the corner. Let’s first hide behind this trash can. Oh good, no one is there. Quick, let’s get to the closet. 

Shhhh, don’t make a sound. We must be quiet, or they will find us. What fun is a game of hide and seek if they find us? We must be still, or they might see us. We can’t let them see us. Who’s seeking, you ask? Well, that’s not important. What’s important is that we must be quiet and still. Don’t make a single sound, even if you hear doors banging loudly, people screaming, or gunshots being fired; it’s all part of the game. People enjoy playing this game, that’s why it’s loud outside. Yes, there are other people playing this game too, didn’t you know? Now hush, be quiet. We don’t want to lose the game. 

Oh no, I hear footsteps. Quickly, let’s hide behind this cart. Get behind me. Shh, be quiet. Oh, don’t be worried, it’s just a game. We want to win this game, so let’s try to not get found okay? Oh no, it’s getting closer. Little sis, whatever happens, I just want you to know I love you, and you mean the world to me. Just remember that we had such a fun time playing hide and seek today. Oh my God, the door is opening. Oh no, oh no. I love you, okay? I love you.

Oh, officer! Oh, thank God you’re here. Can we come out? Is everyone safe? Is the shooter gone?

So there I was. The warm sunlight wraps me in a warm blanket, just like the ones Gran used to knit for me. I sigh and stretch out in the soft grass. I reach out my right hand and rub the gnarled bark of Gran’s willow tree. I reach out my left hand and brush the soft, delicate petals of Mum’s purple water lily, resting with some water plants in a small pond. I stretch out my toes and brush my bare feet on the rough trunk of Grandpa’s palm tree. Trying not to remember all my losses, I think of Rymnie’s little hydrangea bush, and Sajo’s skinny olive tree, side by side in a small corner of the massive 20-acre garden. Hopefully their little plants can grow big and strong to protect the fragile souls hidden inside. I blink open my eyes in the bright light and look at the wooden fence, where a beautiful but fraile morning glory vine and a silvery dichondra are creeping up the grey-brown planks. Next to the morning glory is a metal plaque that reads, “Saralina Silva, moonfall 1037 - ----” and next to the dichondra is a plaque that says, “Floratine Terrestra, moonfall 1036 - ----.” Mine is the dichondra, and my best friend Saralina’s is the morning glory. 

With a quiet sigh, I stand up and step onto the path of stone bricks. Each stone brick is engraved with the name of a person, their plant, and the moonfall they passed away. Every heavy step I take reminds how many of those people could have been saved if everyone was more careful. Although the bricks, heated by the sun, are warm under my feet, a chill runs through my body.

----------------------

“Mmm, this sandwich is delicious!” Mum said, chewing with her eyes closed.

“I agree, but I still think your tomato sandwiches taste bett-”

I was interrupted by a loud splash in the direction of the lake.

Rymnie and Sajo had jumped off the dock, sending little droplets of water jewels flying over the picnic blanket. Dad chuckled and ran off to play with them in the lake. I turned back to Mum and she was grinning, shaking her head at the rest of our family. 

I breathed in the cool air and took in the reflection of the mountains on the turquoise lake. Elegant willow trees leaned over the water, swaying their braided strands of leaves in the breeze.

“Mum, isn’t Spirit Lake so beautiful? Thanks so much for bringing us here!”

“...Mum?”

I pull my eyes away from the dazzling lake and gasp. Mum was clutching her stomach, her content grin replaced by a frightened look of realization.

“Dad! Dad! Mum-she’s- Mum's sick!”

Dad whipped his head around, his shoulder-length hair sending droplets of water in all directions. His eyes widened, and his playful smile faded into a look of surprise. He sloshed through the water as fast he could and ran to Mum’s side. Her face was now so pale, it matched the flowers on our picnic blanket.

Dad turned to me and said tensely, “Floratine- get Sajo and Rymnie. We have to go to the hospital.”

During the drive to the hospital, Rymnie and Sajo’s mouths wouldn’t even open to let the millions of questions burst out. Dad wrapped Mum in the red and white picnic blanket, and glanced every five seconds to check if she was OK.

Just fifteen minutes from the hospital, Mum’s trembling hand reached over and touched Dad. 

“Please… pull over. I want to… say… goodbye,” Mum whispered, her normally sweet and silky voice replaced by one thinner than paper.

“What-Maria-we’re almost there! Hold on...please!” Dad pleaded, not even trying to hide the desperation in his voice.

Mum shivered and gripped Dad’s arm tighter. Finally, Dad succumbed and pulled over on the highway. 

“Come...let’s have a big bear hug,” Mum whispered.

We all crowded around the passenger seat and embraced Mum in a traditional Terrestra Family bear hug. Her thin lips pulled up into the faintest ghost of a smile. 

Mum looked each one of us in the eyes and whispered, “I’ll love you...always...”

Then Mum closed her eyes, and slept.

---------------

I shake my head, trying to clear the memory out of my head. It’s been nine months and twenty-three days, and that memory still haunts me.

A week after Mum’s death, Doctor Sana, the soul keeper of the soul garden, read Mum’s will to us and distributed the items she wanted us to have. Rymnie and Sajo each received one of Mum’s secret pastry recipes and I got the lily-shaped pendant that she always wore around her neck. Dad was given something earlier but we weren’t allowed to know because it was “an emotionally hard time for him.” Quite obviously it was hard for us kids too. It still is.

I open the creaky wooden gate and walk out of the soul garden. The stone brick path continues through the forest to a clearing called “Witches’ Grove,” which is the least witchly place in the world since it’s filled with tulips and dandelions. Since Mum’s death, Dad has been spending every afternoon at this clearing digging a hole. The townspeople say he’s gone mad with grief, and is trying to dig his way to Caelpratum. Caelpratum is where everyone who’s good goes after they die. It’s a lovely meadow filled with the spirit plants of everyone who resides there. The townspeople also say that even if Dad digs his way to Caelpratum, the meadow fairies will kick him out because of his sins. Since Dad is the nicest person in the world(at least before Mum’s death), I find that hard to believe.

I hear the familiar chhkk shook foom of Dad digging and throwing the rocks and dirt over his shoulder. I peer into the depth of the hole, and see a faint lantern light bobbing up and down as Dad continues to shovel.

“Hey Dad,” I call into the hole, my voice echoing up to me in layers of sorrow.

My only response is a clank of Dad’s shovel against something hard, probably a rock. My dad grunts and he begins to dig around the object. I sit down, dangling my feet off the dirt cliff, sending specks of dirt and rocks tumbling into Dad’s abyss. Suddenly, Dad drops his shovel and gasps. I hear the sound of Dad climbing up the ladder, so I stand up and wait for him to come out. Dad pulls himself out of the hole, his once shoulder-length hair now hanging in tangles halfway down his waist. His sweat is muddy, staining his face with rivers of grey.

In a ragged voice, hoarse from nine months of unuse, he rasps, “Floratine, give me your mother’s pendant.”

“Dad, this is mine. Mum gave it to me,” I say, shocked at hearing my dad’s voice.

He takes one step closer, breathing his stale breath into my face. Reaching out with one of his calloused hands, Dad tries to grab the pendant from my neck, but I turn and start to run down the path. I don’t know if it’s Dad’s dishevelled state, the fact that he tried to grab Mum’s pendant, or the manic gleam in his usually lifeless eyes, but he scares me. I hear his hiking shoes thumping on the dirt trail, then on the stone bricks, getting closer and closer until I feel a large hand grab my shoulder and pull me around. Dad snatches the lily pendant and pulls hard, breaking the chain around my neck. Then he turns and runs down the stone brick path again. 

I reach up and feel my neck, empty from the chain that connected the last piece I had of Mum to me. Tears prick my eyes as I stare at Dad’s receding form, disappearing as he rounds a bend into Witches’ Grove.

Feeling a knot in my stomach, I run to the gate of the soul garden and fling it open, and scramble inside.

“Doctor Sana,” I shout, “I need your help!”

The door of the soul shed creaks open, and Doctor Sana peers out, his face streaked with dirt.

“What is it, Floratine?” he asks, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

After a deep breath, I tell him everything that has happened since I left the garden just thirty minutes ago. With every word I say, Doctor Sana’s face goes a shade paler.

“Floratine, what your dad is doing is far more than just violating the law of the soul garden. He’s violating the law of The Soul Keeper.”

I gasp and whisper, “The Soul Keeper?”

With a grim nod, Doctor Sana turns and hurries back into his shed, his long green robe swishing behind him. After some clanks and clunks, Doctor Sana emerges from the shed, brandishing what looks like a gnarled branch intertwined with golden vines. Without another word, he beckons me to follow him and runs out of the garden.

As we rush down the path, a sound of chanting fills my ears. Doctor Sana quickens his pace, his gardening boots thumping rhythmically on the path. Once we reach the clearing, Doctor Sana begins to mutter a spell under his breath, clasping the wooden branch between his hands like a staff. I pull my eyes away from Doctor Sana, and stare at the whirlwind of leaves and flowers spiraling from Dad’s hole.

Inside the hole, the chanting grows louder, winding its way into my head. I fall to the ground, clutching my head as a whirlwind of memories cascade into my mind’s eye.

I see Mum singing while brushing my hair; Mum holding my hand while I chatter about my day; Mum making paper snowflakes with Rymnie and Sajo; Mum snuggling with Dad while they watch a movie; Mum laughing at Dad during the Family Talent Show. The pain in my head subsedes and I slowly open my eyes. 

I don’t hear the howling of wind anymore, and the ground is littered with pale pink cherry blossoms. I stand up and find that the hole Dad dug is gone. In its place is a beautiful woman, wearing a flowing white dress laced with purple water lilies. Dad emerges from behind a large oak tree and gazes in awe at the gorgeous woman.

She laughs, her voice tinkling like windchimes. Dad edges slowly towards her, his eyes fixed on her flawless face.

“M-Maria? Is that you?” he whispers, his mouth agape.

“Hello, Peter,” the woman says, holding out her arms.

Dad rushes into her arms with a sigh of relief. I watch in horror as her dress grows longer, enveloping Dad in the soft fabric. She laughs that tinkling laugh again, draws a long purple strand of glittering liquid out of Dad’s throat. Dad falls limp on the ground as the liquid swirls and transforms into a purple water lily on the woman’s white dress.

I gasp and slowly back away. The woman turns her flawless face towards me and glides across the clearing. A faint smile lingers on her perfectly red lips. I try to look away, but soon I’m fixated on her face too.

“Why, isn’t this my favorite daughter, Floratine,” the woman says, the sweet words gliding out of her mouth like honey.

I try to wrench free of her hypnotizing gaze, but her eyes are so blue...so captivating. I feel her soft arms around me, and I snuggle in, just like I did during Terrestra Family bear hugs. Her dress wraps around me, like the cool spring water of Spirit Lake. I feel myself gliding into unconsciousness, and the last thing I hear before everything goes black is her tinkling laugh.

--------------------------

The Soul Grabber is a demon,

She sucks human souls.

One look at her flawless face,

And she’ll swallow you whole.

Origin of Universe Myth: 

Before time, and before Earth, there was just a void. Empty and barren, the silence wrapped around it, encasing it. One day from the darkness, in this void, a voice sang. With the notes of the song, four great beasts formed. Born of essence, and not flesh, each was powerful enough to shape the entire Earth the way they saw fit. But they each wanted something different. Arkael, lion king of the flame, dreamed of sun and strength. Nyshira, serpent of the depths, dreamed of water and secrets. Skail, the majestic eagle, wanted endless skies. Finally, Molra, bear of the earth, wanted soil, roots, and plants. They could not be contained in that endless void. Each beast’s dream grew too big for the void, and with a roar, a hiss, a cry, and a bellow, the animals broke through that wrap of silence, into a new world: Earth. 

They fought endlessly, through the days and nights, and their blows shaped the world. Fire spilling from his mouth, Arkrael’s roars created the sun. The spilled fire created magma and volcanoes. With lashes from her tail, Nyshira created the seas, and the trenches below it. With each flap of his wings, Skail created expanses of sky and wind. He shaped the tallest parts of Earth, places no one would ever get to, he thought. And when Molra’s huge paws slapped the ground, it shaped mountains and valleys. The creatures soon weakened, each one too tired to keep fighting. 

And so, Arkrael retreated into the sun, Nyshira sank into the dark depths of the sea, Skail rose up into the sky, and Molra settled down on the ground. They made a pact, a pact of balance: as long as the 4 elements remained balanced, they would stay where they were, neither one disrupting the others. The world was balanced, and so the 4 great beasts sank into a dormant stage. They could still hear and see and do things, but they could not move.  And so they stayed like that, for many, many years. The world they had created gave birth to life, and, millions of years later, the first humans walked the globe. Their brawn was a gift from Arkrael, their brains a gift from Nyshira. Their great mobility was a gift from Skail, and their language and communication a gift from Molra. But- it is said, should there ever be a time where one element dominates more than the others, they will come back, and this time they will not stop fighting. 

Beginner’s Tutorial: How to Survive an Apocalypse.

1. When the sky cracks and lava flows down, don’t panic. The lights will suddenly start glitching and turn off, plunging the whole world into darkness. Panic will spread everywhere, as networks stop working and phones black-out. People will start screaming from all over, some crying about their phones, some wailing about some job interview they’re going to miss. But they still don’t know about the apocalypse coming. They will claw at the doors that will not budge, breaking nails as blood drops over the floor. Brooms and rulers break as people bang their heads on the windows. Hope soon dissolves as panic and terror fills the room, tightening as a roar comes from outside the room. Monsters will spawn from all over, devouring everything in their path. Find mystery boxes hidden all over the place and acquire weapons from them. Fight the monsters. You will be fine, just stay put.
2. Congratulations. If you are reading this step, you have survived. In a few minutes, a demon will appear in the sky. Listen to what he has to say. You will have a panel pop in front of you, stating your missions. You will be a candidate in this apocalypse.
3. The panel will let you pick a character and your special skill. Don’t pick anything tempting like FIghter or Tank or Bomber, choose Prophet. You won’t regret it. You will get a few basic weapons and some supplies. The sun will be down by then. People around you will start settling down and preparing for the night. But you should start searching for more weapons and supplies around the city. Get food, medical supplies, and a sword (no, you won’t have guns). Also remember to get new clothes. Your school uniform is too stiff for you to fight in.
4. You won’t really sleep for the first night. When the sun rises, a panel will pop up and tell you about your first mission. Complete it at all costs. Monsters spawn from all directions. You charge forward and swing your sword with all your might at the monster. You repeat this. After a few more strikes, you will get your first kill. It will feel scary but exciting. Don’t worry. That will be just one out of a million. 
5. You will have an advantage since you prepared yourself. People around you will die and scream for help. Don’t. Your heart will drag you down to help them, but you will resist yourself. They will only get both of you killed. You carry the weight of the regret and guilt, but at least you will complete your first mission. Surviving is more important than anything else.
6. You will try playing with your new Prophet skill. When you activate it, you suddenly feel nauseous as you drop to the ground. Your vision blurred as a dream appeared before your eyes. A blurry picture appears as you see an old man approach you. You try running away, not knowing what you are saying. The old man opens his mouth: “... Save… Chosen one… Prophet… Revolution…” The words fade in and out, and you can’t make out most of his words. You get dragged out of the dream and you open your eyes and gasp, once again in the real world. That was your new power. You will ponder about the dream throughout the days, still not understanding it. But one day, you will. 
7. After another gruesome mission, you will meet another candidate that survived. He will be panting and bleeding. You will go forward and help him. At first, you are skeptical of him. He seemed so scared at first, his hair all messed up and his limbs shaking with blood dripping down his ripped shirt. But when a monster approached, he immediately pulled out his bronze sword and slayed down the dragon with one quick strike. Your eyes shone as he smiled sadly and said it was nothing. You ask for his name, he says Damian. The two of you decide to stay together. 
8. When the morning comes, another mission will arrive and require a partner to complete. You pair up with Damian and the two of you complete the mission swiftly. The two of you worked perfectly together: Damian was excellent at close combat, and you attacked from long distance.
9. Congratulations! You are officially on the path of becoming the most powerful being in the world! Just keep these things in mind:

• Don’t trust anyone you just met
• Choose companions wisely
• Don’t let your emotions take over
• Survive

Ode to the letter E

Oh, letter E, you are everywhere

We find you in almost every word we say

You’re sometimes at the start, 

The middle, 

Or the end of words

And sometimes even silent; 

“Cake”

“Pine”

“Fake”

You are always in sentences

Filling in spaces and thoughts

In books, poems, whispers

Part of all our lives and stories

Your shape is so simple –

Three straight lines,

Connected by a strong column

All are standing with simplicity and precision

You’re like a ladder

Standing firmly on the ground

Straight and sturdy

I can climb on you to the stars,

To the sun,

To the end of the universe where dreams collide

Without you, 

All languages will go wrong

And everything will break apart from one another

You are the letter that ties everything together

Without you, 

The word “red” would have no color

The word “echo” would lose its sound

The word “pen” would not be able to write

The word “tree” would not grow

“Earth” wouldn’t exist

Fanfic — of Sandra Cisnero's “Eleven”: 

When you're eleven, you may still sound older, but most people forget you're also ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one. It doesn’t actually make you ten or nine, but it adds on one more year of memories. Once you get older, say eighty or ninety years old, your memory starts dimming, you may not be able to talk or remember things like you were twenty. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t once twenty. You could be a twenty year old in the body of a ninety year old. 

Maybe when you're an old grandma or grandpa, or still feeling single with no grandchildren, and you pick up a slice of cheesecake. You start remembering what it was like being three and trying it for the first time, only this time you may be trying it for the last. 

Except, today, I wish I weren’t eleven because I know what it feels like to be three. Because if I was three, I could look at Ms. Price’s beady little eyes and blink at her and she would automatically love me. Instead, she decides to throw the ugly red sweater that isn’t mine onto my desk. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t mine, but somehow my mouth seemed to be glued shut. 

“Whose is this?” Ms. Price waves the ugly red sweater in the air, but everyone seems to shy away from her gaze and shake their head. 

Ms. Price frowns as no one seems to be claiming the jacket and then her eyes start lingering on me. “Aha, it must be yours Rachel. This seems to be something you would wear.” 

At this point my face was one fire and I could feel my other classmates laughing at me and snickering. I hated the way she thought I could wear this ugly sweater. Now I wish I wasn’t three because three year old me couldn’t talk. But, apparently it looked like I was stuck being three, because when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. 

Ms. Price clapped her hands back and smiled at me. “Perfect, I knew it was you, now why don’t you put on that lovely sweater.” 

I am dying inside and I hold out the sweater with my pinky stuck out like it is a stinky piece of cheese while Ms. Price encourages me to wear it with her evil smile. 

Suddenly I hear a chair slide backwards and everyone turns their head away from me. Emily, who I have never heard her say a word, stands up. “It’s mine Ms. Price.” 

Ms. Price chuckles, “I appreciate you trying to defend your classmate, but Rachel should be able to claim this as her own. It's an important life lesson in fact. Rachel should be able to put on this sweater proudly and happily in this classroom.” 

Emily plasters on a fake smile and walks over with her new light up Sketchers. “Her face says the opposite though. In fact, I seem to remember this in a coat rack a few months ago when you took it off during winter.” 

Everyone looks at Emily in awe and for once I’m glad everyone isn’t staring at me. She must be thirty in the body of an eleven year old somehow. 

“I seem to remember Kat spilling her soup on your sweater so you never picked it up in embarrassment.” 

Ms. Price’s eye twitches under glasses and I can see her smile breaking. “I don’t know where you saw that, but I don’t ever remember buying a red sweater, Emily. Now why don’t you go sit down and let Rachel wear it.” 

I want to stomp my foot, but I hold still. Why couldn’t she see that the sweater was mine? I hated her and her ego. 

The bottom of my lips trembles and I can see my eyes starting to blur. It wasn’t mine, it was never mine and I don’t know why I couldn’t say that. Today I wish I never knew what crying felt like as tears slowly fell from the brim of my eyes. I wish I could forget that I was eleven and become twelve. 

I remember when I was five and my mom accidentally broke my lollipop, and my tantrum after.  My brain must have thought I was five because my hand moved to Kat’s lunch and ended up on Ms. Price’s head. Today and forever, I will always remember on the day that I turned eleven that I was sent to the principal's office, angry with rage.

Today I am eleven, but I wish I was one so that I could start all over again.

*

Fanfic– of Gulliver’s travels on your island: 

The author has no reminiscence of being on this stranded island. Starved and awake, he meanders into the forest of the Abandoned Island where he discovers the souls that dwell on this haunted place. 

I wake up on the soft white sand, the sound of the ocean pulling back and forth wakes me up. I slowly sit up as my stomach grumbles in protest and look around. My hand grabs my head as the sound of ringing vertebrates in my ear. Where am I? On one side is the lovely royal blue colored sea, and on the other hand is a dark and inviting forest that slightly gleams with the pale moon shining on top of the swaying trees. 

I walk by the beach for a while, digging my feet through silky sand. On my journey I stumble across broken ship pieces, driftwood, a plastic bottle, a spear, and even a half of a banana. At this point, my stomach has decided it is enough and I pick up the spear (for safety) and head into this unheard-of island. 

Noises whisper around me. As if they envelop me in a hug. I think I’m paranoid before I see a wisp of white. This starts going on more often as I think I’m getting further into the forest. I hear children’s laughter, a woman singing, and a gentleman yelling. I cover my ears thinking I’m a lunatic but the voices keep going. In fact, they seem to be going one way, so being the reasonable man I am, I follow. 

I am absolutely flabbergasted when I see what is happening. Right smack dab in the middle of the island is a huge circle-shaped silver lake. A lake that shines so bright that the full moon pales in comparison. A lake so clear that you can see your reflection. And when I peer into the lake, I see faces. I see a woman with fair brown hair and blue eyes, a man with a black beard, and children. I swivel around and turn, but I see nothing but voices. 

Suddenly a man whom I do not know appears. His mouth drips with blue water and he gazes at me. But he seems almost translucent, so I pat his shoulder. but my hand falls through his body. My jaw drops in astonishment. One by one, people all appear, their hands cupped with water from the silver lake. Am I supposed to drink the water with them too? I gradually cup my hands like the people and bring the water to my mouth. I part my parched lips before I hear screams and children hide behind their mothers. The man smacks my hand and lets all the water cascade from my palms and onto the soft grass. The particular patch of grass starts blooming with flowers. 

“You have committed a great crime he rasps,” His eyes shine with anger 

“I didn’t know,” I plead 

They don’t listen to me, instead they grab me from behind and march to the other side of the island. There, shacks and broken wood from what used to be a city and houses are spread apart. They shove me inside a room with wooden bars that trap me inside. 

“What did I do?” I beg 

A little girl skips up to me and observes me from behind the bars. “You were about to drink the water,” her voice was hoarse and raspy just like the man. “We’re allowed to drink the water because it keeps our souls alive or else we become mad, but you aren’t because it would give you  strong enough powers that would destroy our island. Those who drink on not on a full moon could become human.”

“Just let me go,” I whisper. “Please.” 

She ponders for a moment. “As long as you keep our island a secret, we will let you go.” 

I nod in obedience. 

With a wave of her hand the ship reapers back on the island. 

“How?” I speak out of curiosity

“The silver lake heals everything,” she replies 

They bid me farewell and I’m sent back to the ocean as the ship directs me back to my home.

Have you ever thought about how casinos make so much money in such a short time? According to How Much Do Casinos Make In A Day, The Bellagio Hotel & Casino made about $1.27 million per day in 2019. Now everybody knows that casinos scam you and the odds are against you, but that’s not all there is to it. Gamblers typically make the same mistake that grant casinos lots of money, called the Gambler’s Fallacy.

To start, we must first understand what the Gambler’s Fallacy is and how it works. The Gambler's Fallacy can also be called the Monte Carlo fallacy. It happens when someone incorrectly believes that an independent event is less likely or more likely to happen because of the outcome of a previous event or events. This belief is wrong when the events are independent of each other, yet people are still blinded by their own ambition and unclear thinking. Some people will still not want to believe this is a thing, but remember, the events have to be independent from each other. For example, if I flip a coin, the odds of getting heads is 1/2. If I flip the coin again, the odds of getting heads is still 1/2 and not 1/4. And if I flip the coin a thousand more times, the odds of getting heads on flip 1001 is still 1/2. The Gambler’s Fallacy happens when someone thinks that after 1000 head flips, the next one has to be tails. Another example happened in real life in a Las Vegas casino in 1913 during roulette when the ball had fallen on the black spots many times. People then believed that it would fall on one the red spots soon. Unfortunately for them, it didn’t for 27 spins, and people lost millions of dollars because of it.

However, casinos don’t make money from people betting on coin flips (they would usually never have a game that is a 50/50 chance). They have other games that use the same concept. The games that the casinos use are most often not in your favor and also utilize the Gambler’s Fallacy. The most common example would be a slot machine. To use a slot machine, you have to pull down on a lever or push a button, and the slots (usually 4) will spin. If they all line up and have the same number or picture, you win. Of course the odds of getting the same projections is pretty unlikely, but when you get 10, 20, or 50 losses in a row, many people will keep playing because they are dazed by the Gambler’s Fallacy. Another place where you can see the Gambler’s Fallacy in action is at a craps table. People bet on the results of a roll of a pair of dice. In craps, just like coin flips and slot machines, the previous outcomes of the die don’t effect the future rolls, yet many games of craps will be based around this fallacy. It’s certainly very easy to fall for the Gambler’s Fallacy, but there are always ways you can help yourself and avoid it.

The first thing you need to remember is to keep in mind it’s going to be used against you, especially at a casino. A strategy you can use is to think about the math part. Stated by The Gambler’s Fallacy: What It Is and How to Avoid It – Effectiviology, you can stress the independence of events to each other. Clearing going through the math will decrease your chances of falling for the Gambler’s Fallacy. To help you with this technique, you can also slow down your thinking. Contemplate your actions before you make choices, and don’t let any distractions make you fall for the Gambler’s Fallacy. Simply put, go through the reasoning and consider weather the events are dependent or independent. 

In conclusion, the Gambler’s Fallacy can easily be fallen for, but with careful thinking, it can also be easily avoided. Don’t forget that by using the fallacy, casinos can steal your whole wallet in a few hours. Now of course, you may still go to casinos and gamble, or bet for fun with your friends as your heart desires, but just remember, the Gambler’s Fallacy can jump in anytime.

Milk and Honey Cafe is a one-of-a-kind restaurant. Located in a small plaza in Fremont, California, Milk and Honey’s unique atmosphere is home to a wonderful variety of absolutely stunning Taiwanese dishes. 

As you step into the restaurant, it feels… like someone’s home. There are couches and pillows everywhere, and some TVs for the children. There are also many encouraging posters with motivational messages that can change a bad day into an awesome one. The aroma floating out of the kitchen is amazing (except for the occasional stinky tofu smells). There are also flower decorations floating around the walls, which form a “mini garden” on the walls. The bathroom is very sanitary and the soap smells amazing.

The menu contains a wonderful assortment of meals from spicy hotpot dishes to boba teas. The dishes are placed in an organized manner on the menu, making the menu feel really clear and concise. 

The only downside of the Milk and Honey Cafe is the lack of staff. When you go into the restaurant, which is relatively small to begin with, there are usually only one to three waiters standing around or helping customers. This means that orders sometimes take a while to get to you. However, the staff are all really kind, and care for every customer and try to meet their every standard. 

Overall, the Milk and Honey Cafe is a very underrated place, and it is 100% worth it to go check out all of the delicious food and drinks that Milk and Honey Cafe has to offer!

The rain poured down on the rocky pavement, followed by the occasional whisper of the cold winds. I trudged past the stone buildings, guided by the light of the moon in the inky black sky. This part of the neighborhood was known for crime, and walking out alone after sunset was a foolish idea. I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen, 10:27. I need to get home soon I thought. Suddenly there was a splash in the water behind me. Instinctively, I whipped my head around, however, I was met with pure emptiness. I must have been hearing… my thought was interrupted by a hoarse screech, followed by faint footsteps. I stood frozen, not daring to move a single muscle in my body. The footsteps grew closer and closer, until I could make out the faint shape of a human in front of me. Just as I was about to run there was a deafening roar of thunder and a flash of lightning. I could now see the figure very clearly; his face was covered by a hood and he wore a black suit. A rancid smell of something decaying brushed into my nose. I tried to scream, but could not find my voice, and my legs felt like jelly. Suddenly, as if someone had pulled a trigger on me, I started running. I could hear the thump, thump of footsteps behind me. I turned into a narrow alley, littered with trash, and as I was running along the slippery floor, my foot caught something hard and I fell head-first on the rough pavement. I could feel the icy blood seep down my scraped elbows. Hurriedly picking myself up, I continued my disoriented journey through the streets. It was then that I saw the piercing and bright green light. I made it to the train station I thought, relieved.    

A Sky of My Own

The moment I sprouted wings, I knew I would never be the same again. It wasn’t painful, just strange–like a memory surfacing from deep within me. As if my body was always meant to take flight. Feathers, impossibly soft yet strong, unfurled from my back, rustling with a whisper of untapped power. My heartbeat quickened, syncing with the rhythm of the wind that now called to me like an old friend. 

I stepped to the edge of the rooftop and stared at the city stretching endlessly below, a glittering maze of lights and motion. The air was electric, humming with anticipation. I took a deep breath and spread my wings. Then, I leaped. 

For a fraction of a second, gravity fought to claim me again. But then–weightlessness. The wind rushed past, catching beneath my wings, lifting me higher, cradling me with unseen hands. I soared. The world blurred around me, the city’s endless streets becoming just mere threads in a vast intricate tapestry. The stars above me didn’t feel so distant anymore. Maybe if I tried, they would even be within reach, waiting to be touched. 

Laughter bubbled inside of me, wild and free. I twisted, dove, let the currents carry me where they pleased. Every beat of my wings sent a thrill through my body. Below, people moved on through their lives, unaware that one of their own had left the ground behind.

Was it not scary? In all honesty, it was. Being so high up in the air, then letting my wings stop and fall down. I felt my heart thumping. It reminded me of being on one of those drop towers. But I still enjoyed it. I enjoyed taking risks. I smiled to myself, and let my confidence build up within me. Then I decided to see what else I could do. I hovered over rooftops. Banking right and left with ease, pushing myself higher until the city below was nothing but a sea of golden lights. The wind roared in my ears, and with each powerful stroke of my wings, I felt more alive than I had ever been before I dove toward a towering skyscraper, pulling up at the last second, my feathers skimming against the cool glass. I faced the glass as the reflection of a winged figure flickered across the windows. Dark hair, and wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. I stared again at the glass windows. Me. I mean, I still was me. I looked like myself. It was only the wings that had changed. And the fact that they stuck through holes in my sweatshirt. Maybe a normal person wouldn’t smile if they had sprouted 20-inch wings and looked like a ridiculous idiot, but I did. After all, I wasn’t normal.

Then I wondered, could anyone see me? Did they look up from their lives and wonder if what they saw was real? What about the people in the skyscraper? Did they see me? Or maybe just a trick of the light? I shook off the thought, content with the idea of continuing to fly.

I climbed higher, past even the tallest of buildings, where the air grew thinner and the world below felt small and insignificant. I think I should’ve been gasping for air. But surprisingly, I wasn’t. It felt normal. More peaceful, even. The stars burned brighter here, undisturbed by the city’s glow. I reached towards them, stretching my arms wide, feeling the cold night air kiss my skin. I wasn’t just flying–I was soaring. Free from the world I had known. No more expectations.

A thought flickered through my mind: “Where would I go?” The world was mine now, every horizon open, every piece of sky an invitation. I could follow the winds across continents, drift above oceans, chase the dawn as it painted the sky in gold and crimson. I could disappear into the clouds and never look back. 

But then, a flicker of doubt. Was I really going to leave everything behind? I glanced down again at the city below me, at the place that had once been my whole world. Now, it was just the beginning. 

I smiled, my wings beating steady and strong. I had all the time in the world to decide. For now, I would just simply fly. 

I let myself be taken by the wind…

A sky of my own.

So there I was, rolling along with my fellow chocolate pieces on a giant conveyor belt in a loud, chaotic factory. Some chocolates were trembling and crying out loud. Others were bravely steeling themselves for what was to come. For we were all headed into a vicious battle, one that we would not likely emerge from unscathed. Rumble rumble rumble. The conveyor belt brought us ever closer to the gaping maw of our indomitable opponent: a massive, clanking machine. 

My fellow chocolates and I were all born some minutes earlier from a vat of liquid chocolate simmering in a fiery furnace. We learnt of our objective from the batch before us: liberate the chocolate factory from the evil rule of The Machine, a large metal monster residing on the other end of the factory. We could only watch in horror as they were all promptly devoured and slain by The Machine. Our last glimpse of our predecessors was their corpses, imprinted with strange marks and cut into many little pieces, being carried away from the battlefield and deposited into little cardboard graves. 

Within seconds, the conveyor belt had brought us to the mouth of the monster. It was truly a terrible sight. With spiked wheels, pumping pistons, spinning centrifuges, and a pair of glowing red eyes, The Machine was THE most fearsome monster in the world. “Let’s go, comrades!” I heard one of the chocolates yell out as we were about to enter the belly of the beast. “For the freedom of the chocolates!” 

The darkness suddenly enveloped us. We immediately heard the whirr of machinery, and screams began to sound out from the frontline. The first obstacle slowly came into view. Illuminated by the creepy glow of the conveyor belt lights, a huge metal plate descended from above, crushing many of the chocolate pieces. When the plate lifted up again, the pieces were completely unrecognizable, covered in odd symbols and molded to be completely rectangular. Thankfully, the affected chocolates could confirm that, besides their new look, they were completely unharmed. 

When my platoon neared the giant plate, I mustered all my strength and flipped myself to the very edge of the belt. The plate came down again with a loud clank! I was the only one of my platoon to escape a terrible fate. My fellow chocolate soldiers were not as lucky; they were all converted into hideous, flattened, and twisted versions of themselves. 

Having passed the first obstacle, we continued our solemn march into the deep dark depths of The Machine. The lookouts strained their eyes to try and spot the next opponent. Before long, the hiss of steam could be clearly heard. Two massive circular saws rose up from under the belt and cut deeply into the surprised chocolates. An ambush! “Stop the belt!” “Halt!” “Retreat!” We yelled out for the conveyor belt to stop, but to no avail. Our very own conveyor belt carried our troops straight into the vicious teeth of the monster, inflicting mortal wounds. 

I was lucky once again. From my advantageous position from the side of the belt, I was able to slip by the saws, undetected and unhurt. 

As our army left the blades behind them, everything became quiet. The clank of machinery faded. The lights gradually dimmed. “Hello? Anyone there?” Concerned, I tried calling out to my comrades. 

All was deathly still. 

After many a minute trudging alone through the darkness, I saw, in the distance, a small pinprick of light. It gradually grew larger and larger, until I could distinguish the outline of an opening leading back out of The Machine. Some humans stood around the outside of the opening. They looked happy at our arrival. 

Oh? We did it?! We really did it! We beat The Machine!!

As our army paraded through on the conveyor belt, the humans gingerly lifted the dead chocolate pieces into little coffins made of cardboard. Soon, I was the only piece still left on the belt. The humans gathered around me, and one of them stepped forth to present a medal of honor. He cleared his throat and began a speech in a deep, booming voice. 

“Hmm, it seems like this one didn’t get properly formed. They slip by sometimes. According to company policy, we’ll just have to throw it out.” 

With that, the human picked me up, opened the lid of a trash bin, and tossed me inside. “Wait, what about my medal? My awards? My fame? Noooooo!” As the lid closed, I could see a new batch of chocolate pieces being marched into The Machine, and to their doom. 

The human turned his back, and everything quickly faded to black.

The morning breeze gently pushes me, my hulking feet to forge ahead as I keep imploring my brother to pause the fifth day of training for our 100-day fitness challenge. I trudge forward, dragging my brother's T-shirt and cursing him for inheriting Flash’s ability while leaving his poor sister to be the Salmon. Another dreary day ruined by running, I thought to myself. Or is it?

Sunlight drizzles down the pathway and through the cherry tree as it shines on my back. Even with my irritation, I can’t resist the mellow sensation that flows inside my heart. It is finally the last lap for the day, counting my steps, I stride forward to embrace the finish line in 1 step, 2 steps, 3 steps, and ---- 

“M-E-O-W-”. I pause. The excitement of binge-watching the Harry Potter series in the next 25 seconds slams to a brake. The high-pitched sound instinctively tells me that it was a cat, from where exactly I don’t know, but it must be close. 

Then I see her, hiding beneath a Jeep where moss has rambled up on two of the four tires. An American Short-hair cat. One of the rare kinds that are mostly white, with a few splashes of gray here and there on her back. I bend down, holding out my right hand benevolently, beckoning the kitten to come to me. She, on the other hand, squints her ocean blue eyes as if to inspect whether my invitation is sincere enough. The cat shows no signs of terror, but maybe it's the unease and trepidation written on her face that gives an inkling perhaps that something is wrong. 

Her feeble strength and corpulent body size restrains her movement in the limited space. Then she rolls over, stomach facing the sky, the snowy white belly bulges with an obvious bump around her belly button. The large belly seems burdened with responsibility, even more, a mother’s responsibility. 

Being a resident here for more than 2 years, this is personally my first time encountering a pregnant mama cat in our vicinity! Should I just walk away? Wild cats should know how to handle this kind of situation, right? Maybe someone else will notice her, too! I crossed my fingers to wish her good luck, but the other side of me seems to step back -- what if no one notices her? The continuous moaning sound is unbearable! She probably is soon in labor! 

With a sudden blow of wind, my mind has settled on a decision - the mission of providing a temporary safe shelter for this mama cat is on our shoulders. My brother and I’s initial plan is to send her to an animal shelter so an experienced vet could solve the problem, but it is only 10 am, 1 hour before our closest animal humane society opens, which means mama cat needs to wait for a total of 60 minutes in pain. No, we need to think of another plan right now to help you, I thought to myself. 

Perhaps a cardboard box would suit her well - an Amazon cardboard box, approximately 50cm by 30cm, should do the job. I squat down, move a few steps closer to the mama cat, and put the box a few inches away from her, in case she misunderstands our intention. 

“We are here to help you, girl. Please cooperate and everything will be fine.” 

With the tender treatment, mama cat seems to understand my intention - she wobbles forward a few paces, curls up her body into a “C” shape, and tries to find a comfortable gesture to take a nap. I called the animal shelter to recount the matter and text my dad to take the mama cat to the shelter. Meanwhile, my brother runs down to the neighbor's house in search of some cat food. After 5 minutes, he comes back with an uncertain smile hanging on his face. Behind him, Briana (my neighbor) as well as two teenagers are rushing in my direction, or rather, mama cat’s direction. 

“Ohh finally, my boy!” the two teens, evidently the mama cat’s owner, exclaim with great excitement.

Wait...my boy? With pieces of doubt and curiosity, I was about to inquire but my brother stopped me. He put one hand on my left shoulder, the other patted my back, and he whispered, “Briana told me they were looking for a missing cat this morning, it accidentally ran out yesterday night, and the kitten is terrified because he never goes outside. HE is just a chubby blubber, haha!”

Unable to believe what I just heard, I covered my face with my hand and rubbed my eyes over and over again. I put a serious face on and examined the “trouble-maker” from top to bottom. With a smirk, I chuckled, “Yo, it seems like I just found a perfect partner for the 100 day fitness challenge, bro!”.

Moths 

There is a streetlight

It is a light too great;

one that is harsh and hot, radiating blistering rays.

As it shines, many moths orbit it.

The months are following the light not by will,

but from the rules they must follow.

They yearn fly away from the pull

The light seems tangible, solid, and hard

The months are different and distinct

Red, blue, large, grey, each bumbling around

but not colliding with each other.

The moths see lights in the distant

lights from planes and faraway cars

relative to the moth, the speed and distances are huge.

They see the lights they don’t have

Large, blue, red, white, 

some that have strange incomprehensible properties

And so the moths do not believe they are the only in their world.

They continue the follow their light as instinct

and then their light burns up.

Saturdays too my grandfather got up early,

and strode with large, confident strides 

down to the chess tables, where I would be waiting.

He was surprisingly excellent at chess, whether it be

black or white, every time he took a piece away from me,

his eyes sparkled with brightness and intelligence of a man

forty years younger. 

Indeed, it was only his eyes that seemed younger.

Because for every passing day the earthquakes in his hands grew

stronger, until I had to move the pieces for him. 

To be truthful, I was sometimes cold and my voice stiff, 

and in doing so, did not treasure our time together. 

But what was I to do, when I was crowded with the little

things in life?

Animal testing has been and will continue to be a crucial part in our science laboratories, used to help develop Covid 19 vaccines, treatments for AIDS, and even a cure for polio. Animal testing, a procedure performed on living animals for purposes of research into basic biology and diseases, benefits humans in the medical field, but often results in harming animals. Many people describe it as unethical because of the amount of animals it puts at risk but this method should not  be completely destroyed yet redesigned to model the “Three R’s” concept. The idea of “Replacement, Reduction, Refinement” was introduced by Dr. William Russell and Rex Burch. 

The issue of whether animal testing is ethical has been debated for years and I think that the idea of the three R’s is a great model for the future of animal testing because it doesn’t solely support one extreme of the cause. The idea that animals have been suffering and dying due to human benefit is an idea that proves to me and you that this isn’t morally justified. Yet when thinking about the millions of lives animal testing has saved for those diagnosed with Parkingson’s disease, polio, diabetes, and tuberculosis. 

The first R in the three R’s represents replacement, or the replacing of animal testing with other non-animal based research methods. There are many proposed replacements that completely remove animal testing such as using computer based models, having human volunteers or recreating human’s cells and tissues in 3D models. Many of these methods aren’t currently plausible, but partial replacement methods are and some are currently being used worldwide. Examples of partial replacement include using embryos of animals so the fully developed animal isn’t affected, extracting DNA or information out of the animal without needing to further affect the animal, or stimulating a digital twin of the original animal.

The second R represents reduction, or lessening the amount of animals used for animal testing. About 115 million animals were used in animal testing in 2023, but surprisingly this number was 195 million in 2015. Although this directly correlates to replacement, there are specific ways we can reduce the amount of animals being used such as having more advanced technological ways to analyze data, especially since smaller sample sizes makes it more difficult to come to a conclusion. Having more advanced equipment can also make the experiment more precise to avoid having to redo it which will require more animals. Scientists can also communicate with each other to avoid redundancy, or running the same experiment more than once to result in the same answer.

Finally, the last R refers to refinement, or the minimization of the pain, suffering, and distress the animals go through or the lasting harm on them. This often includes maintaining the welfare of the animals, where they should be living in an environment similar to what they would experience in the wild and having them willingly perform the experiment. Scientists could mix in the drugs or medicine in the food they normally eat to make the process easier on the animal. During the procedure, the animals should also be provided with anesthetics and analgesics and after they should receive good postoperative care. 

These three R’s, replacement, reduction, and refinement continue to be incorporated into our laboratories. For example the Wyss institute at Havard that uses microfluidic devices and UC Davis which has implemented rules to make the animals feel less discomfort. This shows that humans are starting to make animal testing more morally justified but are still implementing it in the science and medical field to save lives.

Tsunami

Stuck in the middle of Kansas, she always wanted to see the ocean, to make sand castles on the beach, to feel the waves rush to her feet. Her family was dirt poor, she couldn’t make it all the way to the coast. All she could do was grab a bag, and walk all the way to California. She doesn’t know how long it would take.

Days went by, there was no more food for her. As she was walking by a small town, she saw a shop. The door was wide open with only an old lady managing the register. As she looked through her bag, she saw a pocket knife. She opened it up, then started running towards the shop. 

“Let me take some things! Or else I won’t let you go.”

The old lady, sweating out of nervousness, stepped back. The girl smiled and took all of the food she could get. Grabbing jugs of milk, small wagons, things that could help her survive for the next few weeks.

As time went by, she kept on storming into shops, taking everything. From Kansas all the way to California. 

After thousands of days of walking, she could feel the ocean breeze. Running towards it, finally she could finally see the sandy beach. 

Through the next few months, she kept on running back and forth, from the shore to the towns, carrying everything she could on her back. 

One day, she was sitting on the beach. She saw a sapphire necklace in the ocean, shining underwater. She stood up, brushed the sand out of her legs, and ran towards the sea. She took the necklace in her palm, and walked back. After a few seconds, she felt drops of water splashing on the skin of her back. As she turned back, a huge tidal wave appeared out of nowhere. Although she tried to run, it caught her. 

Ever since, every year, there have been more long waves, storming the cities across the world. 

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe has been widely lauded for its vivid language and powerful message– when considering it in the context of similar literature, it’s hard to recall that Achebe’s vision was the first of its kind. Before Achebe, most accounts of interactions between missionaries and indigenous populations depicted native peoples in a condescending tone. Achebe, on the other hand, created a multifaceted story of how conflicting beliefs could lead to the destruction of tribal culture. His natural descriptions and devastating plot are perfectly placed, making it difficult for the reviewer to want or expect anything other than what there already is. Regardless, the historical and academic status of Achebe’s novel should not make it exalted above literary analysis.  

Within a sparse 209 pages, Achebe paints a tribal village in Nigeria –Umuofia– and then tears it down completely. The destruction of Umuofia is mirrored and deepened by the experience of Okonkwo, a successful yet fearful man. Achebe accomplishes a difficult task in forcing the reader to sympathise with Okonkwo, who frequently beats his wives (yes, there’s multiple), and has few aspirations beyond gaining tribal status for his name. In truth, he shows that Okonkwo’s behavior is driven by a fear of failure and a wish to act “rightfully” by the standards of his community. However, as the book goes on and missionaries enter Umuofia, Okonkwo’s son, Nwoye, turns to the Christians in order to escape a life of degradation and manual labor. This initial split mirrors the ultimate dissolution of Umuofian culture, as those who cling to traditional ways are slowly crushed by the “laws'' and “civilization” of the white men. Throughout it all, Achebe showcases how human nature makes cultural conflict inevitable, often with devastating consequences to those involved. While I inwardly despaired at the destruction of familial and cultural bonds during the book, it was impossible for me to create a scenario in which things could have been different. This is what sets Things Fall Apart squarely in the genre of tragedy, alongside classics such as Sophocles’ Oedipus and Antigone, as well as Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. 

Achebe’s message is enhanced by his skillful, yet simple, word choice. Perhaps the literary appeal of Things Fall Apart lies in the nuances of imagery and metaphor which ebbs between lifeless and beautiful, so as to match the tone of the scene. For example, when Nwoye first discovers the message of the missionaries, Achebe writes, “The words of the hymn were like the drops of frozen rain melting on the dry palate of the panting earth.” Similarly, Achebe describes Okonkwo’s inner turbulence by writing, “He saw himself and his fathers crowding round their ancestral shrine waiting in vain for worship and sacrifice and finding nothing but ashes of bygone days...He, Okonkwo,was called a flaming fire… And immediately Okonkwo’s eyes were opened and he saw the whole matter clearly. Living fire begets cold, impotent ash.” Notably, Achebe’s choice of metaphor showcased how Okonkwo’s fire had, in a way, burned Nwoye into parched desert. Such usages of language are searingly effective ways to evoke the human impacts of cultural clash.

In contrast to his colorful imagery, Achebe also uses drab, grey language in the ending of his book. This choice lends to the pervading sense that something sacred is being destroyed. It also implies that the destruction of Umuofia is beyond sadness; whereas Oedipus and Antigone included moments of melodrama to help the reader process tragic events, Things Fall Apart leaves the reader in a state of perpetual discomfort. In fact, the book concludes with the District Commissioner (a missionary) surmising, “The story of this man [Okonkwo] would make interesting reading. One could almost write a whole chapter on him. Perhaps not a whole chapter but a reasonable paragraph, at any rate. He had already chosen the title of the book, after much thought: The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger.” The irony implicit in Okonkwo’s complex narrative and the white man’s observations created a truly memorable ending and works to unearth the idea that everybody’s story is far more complex than the average spectator would assume. 

As for the actual happenings within the book, I didn't find any surprises. Things Fall Apart is the antithesis of a sprawling, historical drama: where readers seek novelty, they will only find repetitive accounts of tradition; where readers seek romance, they will find misogyny; and where readers seek breadth, they will find a plot that could be comprehensively summarized in the span of a sentence. In fact, the entire book is based off of the historical precedent of missionaries arriving in Nigeria during the 19th century. The true genius of Achebe’s story lies in how he chooses to make sense of an all-too-common subject, and the reviewer should not attempt to analyze Things Fall Apart through the scope of current fiction. Instead of working to elicit emotion or suspense, Achebe establishes a world rich with culture as a backdrop for the ideas he seeks to convey. He details traditions such as wrestling competitions and The Feast of the New Yam, as well as giving a view of tribal values and taboos. 

Just when I was getting acquainted with Achebe’s world, things began to (surprise!) fall apart. Okonkwo finds that tribal customs can no longer exemplify his own need for strength and validation, while the tribe itself loses its integrity under the influence of well-meaning missionaries. At first, the missionaries seem empathetic and accepting. Achebe writes, “Whenever Mr. Brown went to that village he spent long hours with Akunna in his obi talking through an interpreter about religion. Neither of them succeeded in converting the other but they learned more about their different beliefs.” Indeed, the “atrocities” of the white men never outweigh the flaws inherent in Umuofian society, but the interaction between two belief systems tears a divide within the tribe. 

Achebe is especially skilled at providing a balanced account of the events in his book. While I cringed at Okonkwo’s manifestations of “strength,” I understood his need to escape from his father’s legacy; while I felt pity for Okonkwo when he “mourned for the clan, which he saw breaking and falling apart,” I also cheered Nwoye’s decision to leave his abusive family; while I derided the missionaries’ arrogance and single-mindedness, I couldn’t help but nod along when they explained, “If any man ill-treats you we shall come to your rescue. But we will not allow you to ill treat others.” Part of the beauty of Things Fall Apart is that there is no protagonist or antagonist. If I were to scrounge for one, human nature would be the only possible culprit. Again, this quality connects Achebe to other tragic writers, who created flawed, well-meaning characters who fell victim to a force outside human reason and morality.

Ultimately, the appeal of Things Fall Apart is that the reader can see themself in every character’s sentiments and emotions, leaving ample room to investigate how normal people can cause immense suffering. However, it should be noted that readers accustomed to black and white narratives may have trouble parsing through the book’s complexities. Several of my peers have reflected with scorn at how Achebe chose to make a protagonist out of a deeply flawed character, or how the missionaries, who were supposed to be the “good guys,” showcased deplorable behavior. In addition, younger readers may feel lost as to what the “purpose” of the book is. Those who seek an inoffensive story to breeze through would be able to find a great list of “faults” in Achebe’s writing.

Hence, I would only recommend Things Fall Apart to people who are open to having their views questioned and changed. In this way, Things Fall Apart is similar to other timeless tragedies: Creon, Antigone, George, and Lennie are neither perfect nor evil, and their world is neither completely oppressive nor completely egalitarian. The art and the worth of such stories lie in the oft-unexplored realm of the in-between.  

My skin was still red and ripe when I met my baby blanket. With a base of white, and vibrant rainbow hearts scattered across, it was a simple, waffle-knit blanket. 

Each day, it clung to my side, a constant companion in my life. I tossed and twirled it everyday, and it cradled me to sleep. Together, we ventured beyond home, like a simple run to Target or a vacation across the globe.

In the relentless game of life, I scratched, squished, and threw it with abandon. Its strength struggled to preserve its fabric. My blanket, once robust, became thin and frail. Each cycle through the jaws of the washing machine wore away its resilient knit, turning its lively hearts into faded pastels.

As I grew, my beloved blanket shrank. Still, it remained my best companion, present for every activity, whether it be playing piano or wrestling with homework. It kept its tender softness, which gave me comfort. It was the cherished treasure I held dear.

In the third grade, we moved into a new house. My mother did not like my blanket's battle-scarred appearance. She wanted to discard it, an idea I could not comprehend. It held a piece of my heart, and the years together had only deepened our connection. 

After days of contemplation, I reluctantly agreed and threw it away. As my blanket got thrown away, I felt an ache in my heart, the weight of nostalgia settling upon me. From birth to third grade, my fingers, once entwined in its comforting fabric, now held only a memory, a touch forever engraved in my soul. Though it was gone, I still always feel its presence around me with a warm aura. In humans, those objects that last the most in our life we always have a fathomless connection with. 

Forty-two percent of schools start earlier than 8:00 a.m., including ten percent before 7:30 a.m. As students grow older and approach high school, they go to sleep later, stressing about upcoming assignments. Schools start so early that students tend to struggle to get up in the morning, not receiving an adequate amount of sleep to get through the school day. Schools should have delayed start times because sleep is critical for students to maintain mental and physical health while improving their academic outcomes.

If a later school start time allows adolescents to obtain the appropriate hours of sleep each night, it will lead to better physical and mental health. In adolescence, changes in the body and a delayed release of the sleep hormone melatonin make it increasingly difficult for teens to fall asleep early. Shelby Harris, a sleep psychologist and clinical associate professor at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine, states that when schools start later, it results in “decreased rates of depression and anxiety and less caffeine use” due to teens getting more sleep as they are able to wake up later. It positively impacts their emotional well-being and reduces the risk of mental health issues. Sufficient sleep allows the body to rejuvenate, improving physical health and lessening the risk of weakened immune function. Schools starting later in the morning help prioritize healthy sleep habits so adolescents can enjoy a higher quality of life.

Another reason schools should start later is because it can improve students’ academic performance. A study by the National Sleep Foundation found that both attendance and graduation rates increased once schools delayed their start times to 8:30 a.m. or later. Sleep deprivation can lead to memory deficits and impaired performance, making it important for students to sleep in order to achieve the academic outcomes they desire. If school starts too early, students are often late to class and are inattentive in class because of their sleepiness. This is linked to the reduction of student academic performance. Economics professor Finley Edwards found that starting school an hour later would raise test scores an average of 2 percentile points in math and 1.5 points in English. Students can have better information retention and increased attentiveness with more sleep. Starting school later will result in significant improvements in attendance and overall grades.

The school start times need to be changed to provide better learning conditions, improving wellness and focus in students. A later start time would be beneficial for students, teachers, and parents, as it keeps health stable and improves daytime functioning by allowing everyone to have more sleep. It also will give students the motivation and energy to become more productive with coursework and extracurriculars, ultimately improving academic success. It is essential for schools to recognize the major advantages of later start times and take measures to give students the best possible environment for development.