I know a place where the grass slopes down to a rocky area that no one sees. There are a few stones, almost like steps, where one can climb down. And beyond these rocks lie the vast waters of Lake Chaplain.
   Here I go to play and these rocks become my house. I spend most of my time in what I have decided is the kitchen, an area with shelves and a great stone slab, which is the table.
   Occasionally some seaweed washes up, and I make a Caesar salad topped with snails from a little crack in a rock where water seeps in and out with the wash of the tide. Sometimes I pick nuts from an overhanging tree and these are a special addition to my food creations, whatever they may be. For utensils, I use mussel shells, and for plates, flat pieces of driftwood.
   The next room is my bedroom, separated from the kitchen by a tree. In the bedroom, there are two long stones, one bigger than the other. The bigger slab, I use for my bed. The smaller one is my bedside table. When I lie there, I look out on the lake and see sails waving in the wind, and I hear the cry of gulls.
   No one else knows about this place. On a hot August day, the rocks keep me cool. Private and away from view, I can play here without the noisy voices that come from above.

Annabelle B.
fourth grade

    There is a bedroom that is dark, cold, and barren. There lies a bed, desk, closet, and everything anyone has, except all is colorless, only a certain, cool gray.
    The bed is nothing except for a bunch of box springs that are popped, bobbing hopelessly. The dry, matted, sallow insulation merely scatters everywhere. The thin, dusty sheet that supposedly hides the disgrace from the eye does not seem to exist. The coarse desk is chafed on the edges and has years of wear and tear written all over. The mess that used to be on the desk now lies sadly on the floor, gazing away remotely into space. Clutters and piles that are strewn on top of the mess. In the closet hang dirty rags and nothing that appears to be anything. Sitting in the middle of the room is a chair with three legs. The other missing leg lies forlornly on the floor, buried somewhere. Sitting on the "chair" is a girl with a deep, grim frown. She inhales her cigarette deeply, letting out a cloud of smoke that curls around her head. The depression is still, lost in time. The gray picture is lost at the bottom of forgotten memories, enclosed in peeling walls.

Tracy C.
Sixth grade

    One day at the library of volcano research, l read that on the island of Nicaragua it was known that every hundred years the volcano Lavatono would strike and annihilate every living person.
    So I told my boss Tommy that I wanted to go to Nicaragua to do some research on the volcano. Tommy said sure.
    I got tickets and went to Nicaragua.
    Just after takeoff a rock hit the plane. Everybody was screaming and yelling. There was a fire in the back of the plane. I had a weird feeling that this rock had come from the volcano.
    I called Tommy at the research center. I told him that a rock had hit our plane and I thought the rock had come from the volcano. I felt that we should put the townspeople on alert. He said, "I'll send down some men to help you with your research but I don't think it's that important."
    When I got to Nicaragua I went to the top of the mountain to find out the temperature and the level of sulfur dioxide. There was not a lot of sulfur dioxide, but I thought the technical readouts from my laptop were enough to put the townspeople on alert. So I told my boss. All he said was that for one inconclusive readout he would not put the town on alert.
    The next day I decided that I needed more information about the volcano to convince my boss that the volcano was going to blow.
    I decided to wait and prove to my boss that Lavatono meant business. The next day as I was walking to the mountain, I saw a melted peasant lying there. This was weird because it made me think that lava had already started coming down. But I did not tell my boss because, as I said, I wanted to convince him that I was right.
    As I was walking back down, lava started pouring down the mountain. I started running faster, faster. I saw a truck that was almost melted and the guy inside was completely sizzled. I decided to use the truck because it was faster than running. I got inside the truck, turned the key, but no way, it wouldn't work.
    The lava was coming down really fast.
    "Help," I yelled.
    I realized that the engine would never start. I had one second to jump out of the car and I made it just in time, though, because the car got melted and fell off the cliff.
    I still had to run from the fast-dropping lava. There were chills running down my back. I ran as fast as I could and finally got back to the town.
    "Yes," I yelled.
    I was too late. As I was walking through the town, I saw that everything was destroyed. There were bones all over, and buildings were cracked. But in the vast nothingness there was one small kid, a boy who looked very lonely and afraid. I went over and comforted him. He became part of my family. Even with this sweet little kid in my life, I never got over the mistake of not telling my boss about the melted bodies. That, that one thing, stayed with me forever.

Aidan T.
fifth grade

A crisp brook is tumbling down the hill,
The water is cold, and there is ice forming on the edges.
The leaves have turned warm colors, ranging from pale yellow to
        scarlet.
Some swallows are circling around the circumference of an
        imaginary circle.
Such is autumn in Vermont.
A tree squirrel is squawking like a hawk in the branches of a red maple,
Eating away at the silence like wind chimes do on a summer's eve.
Some fog is forming in the distance,
Disturbing the crispness of a brilliantly blue sky.
Evening is falling at its early hour.
There are hills in the background, dotted with color like a Seurat painting.
The crescent moon is visible, though.
I pat my dog, who is sitting beside me, her pointy black ears
Brushing my fingertips as they pass to her neck.
She is listening to the squirrel and the swallows,
Her stubby black tail wagging slightly.
I dream of the hot mulled cider awaiting me.
I turn to go and my dog follows.
As I pass through the field, the deer are out for their evening meal,
Scampering around, ten, twenty of them.
The autumn sun blinds me as we walk along the undefined path.

Julia F.
seventh grade

   Jean Claire was walking down the cool marble steps at the Saint Agnes School for Orphans in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Everything was silent except the clicking of her old-fashioned platform heels. The sound echoed. It seemed to bounce off the steps to the stained glass windows, and back and forth all the way down the long hall that eventually lead to the courtyard. Jean Claire often walked this path. She loved to sit on the green, rusted benches, to listen to the birds sing in the trees and watch the chipmunks pluck nuts and berries. She loved to examine the statues and wonder who they were. She sometimes plucked the wild flowers and ferns to weave into halos and necklaces. She would often sit there for hours at a time, just admiring the world of the outdoors. This was all the outdoors she could get, and she took advantage of it. Most of the day she was locked up inside rooms with gray walls, maybe one tiny window if she was lucky, and a few desks with three or four chairs pushed off to the side. At night time she was called for dinner at seven p.m., which was usually cold spaghetti or cut-up, frozen hot dogs and beans. Then she would be ushered off to her dorm room. She usually stayed up late, shivering under her covers and staring down at the brown and yellow carpet, just thinking. Thoughts of guilt kept running through her mind. Sometimes she would burst into tears and cry until she had no more liquid to cry. She cried because of what had happened just a year ago. She had been at her friend's house. Her parents had gone out for dinner and were supposed to pick her up and bring her back to their house in Wichita, Kansas. By eleven o'clock her parents still hadn't picked her up. Her friend's parents suggested that they go to sleep. They did that, and Jean Claire dreamt that her parents drove off into a ditch.
   They woke up startled. The phone was ringing. It was her aunt telling her to come over to her house as soon as possible. She went. Her aunt sat her down on the couch and rubbed her back. By then Jean Claire was really upset and worried. She looked down at her hands. Her fingertips were shaking. She looked up at her aunt's mirror. She remembered seeing her eyebrows up high on her forehead with worry, her eyes wide with fright, and her cheeks pale and cold. She remembered looking down quickly, trying to avoid her aunt's eyes and then bursting into tears. She could hold it back no longer. Her aunt tried to soothe her, but she only cried harder. By then there was no need to explain. They were both thinking the same thoughts. They sat there crying over each other's shoulders. Jean Claire looked at the mirror once more. Her eyes were puffy and red, her eyelashes wet and sticking together. She remembered this so well. Her face had gotten more color in it, more redness from rubbing and crying. She knew what had happened, and worse, she blamed it on herself. She thought that through her fateful dream, she killed her parents. Her dream had come true, and she thought it was her fault.
   Jean Claire jerked her head to look behind her. She saw a head peek out, then heard a door slam. She looked down at her green, black, and white plaid skirt and at the tip of her white lace, button-down shirt. Her heart was beating fast from her startling snap back to reality. She couldn't wait to get out into the fresh air. She quickened her pace, careful not to run since she was not allowed to. Her parents had died a year ago this day. She thought about that. She longed to talk about it with somebody. It hurts more to live with your emotions concealed in you than to let everybody know. But nobody cared. Nobody cared about your specific needs. They gave you food, a place to sleep, a small education, and that was all the people around here cared about. She didn't wish her aunt was there to talk to. Her aunt cared just about as much as everybody else around here did. During the first week Jean Claire was in South Dakota, her aunt sent her a package with a letter asking how she was and telling her that she was very happy and engaged to a man after thirty years of being a widow. This didn't make Jean feel much better. In the package she received a handbag with her name embroidered on it in a fancy script. She liked this, but there wasn't much use for it. She hadn't heard from her aunt since. She had sent her a letter once, but it came back saying that no one lived there anymore. She guessed that her aunt and her husband were sunning themselves somewhere in the Bahamas.
   She opened the heavy metal door out to the courtyard. She stepped out and took in a long, deep breath of the air. It smelled like fresh rain. She looked around. Raindrops were still falling off the trees, creating puddles. She walked over to a puddle. She looked into it and saw her face wrinkle slightly as a raindrop fell onto its surface. She walked over to a row of flowers. She took notice of the little crystal drops on their petals. The flowers were duller in these places. The oranges looked slightly peach, the rose-red slightly pink, the rich brown of the soil slightly beige. She liked the feeling of noticing every little thing. She didn't take this for granted. She used to, but she learned her lesson, so she noticed everything. She looked with care, wondering what their little lives were like, trying to get out of hers.

Rachel I.
sixth grade

    Once upon a time on a far away planet, in a galaxy so far away it hadn't been discovered yet, some three millenniums ago, there lived a family of aliens: a father, a mother, and a little girl named Cinders-on-the-Face (not Cinderella). One day the mother was driving around town when she accidentally crashed into a CO2 hydrant and died.
    Poor Cinders-on-the-Face grew up into her teens without a mother.
    Then her father was remarried to an alien from another planet. After they married, they moved back to the stepmother's home planet.
    The stepmother's name was Zarvox and she had two ugly feet. Now, these weren't just any feet, they were nasty metatarsals. Her peds suffered from trench foot, planter warts, and crooked toes.
    Upon arrival at the spaceport they met Zarvox's sons, Limberger and Cheese. Now, Limberger and Cheese had inherited the same smelly feet as their mother. Boy, did those feet smell. They all got in their hovercraft and went on their way.
    "Why, it looks like it's been around for one hundred light years!" exclaimed Cinders-on-the-Face, looking straight at the house.
    "One hundred and fifty, actually," said Zarvox.
    Years went by, and unfortunately the maid left because the smell from Zarvox's feet got worse and worse. Then two more terrible things happened to the family: the father died, and the house became horrid looking again. So with no maid, Zarvox put Cinders-on-the-Face to work. That's how she got her name. She swept and cleaned and got cinders and soot all over her. All day she would have to scrub the floor, do the dishes, and especially wash her stepmother's and stepbrothers' feet. One day there was knock at the door.
    "Hey, Cinder-Face. Get the door, will ya? I'm busy taking a foot bath!" shouted Limberger.
    "Who is it?" asked Cinders-on-the-Face.
    "Telegram from Prince Alarming and the Princess Charming.
    "Thank you," she said, and when the messenger left she opened up the envelope. Inside the envelope was a invitation for a dinner party at the Palace. So Cinders-on-the-Face, accompanied by Limberger and Cheese, went to the party to meet their fate. At the first sight of Cinders-on-the-Face an alarm went off in the Prince's head. He knew he was destined to marry her. At first sight of Limberger and Cheese an alarm went off in the Princess's head, too, but this was not an alarm of love but an alarm of fear. She knew she was going to have to run away from these characters for the rest of her life.

THAT'S THE TRUTH!!

Jonathan H.
fourth grade

   As I lie in the flower garden, I look up at the sky, at the beautiful, sunny day. Arsoc, my fiancé, comes along and lies down next to me. It’s so quiet that you can hear the wind blowing.
   “It’s such a marvelous day,” I say.
   “Only if you like it that way, I mean, if you really like cloudy winter days, then this day isn’t that marvelous. But if you like it the way you like it, then it is a marvelous day,” Arsoc says.
   “Dear, you always have to have the last word, but in a nice way,” I say sweetly.
   “Darling, will you marry me?” He hands over a diamond ring.
   “Listen, you just asked me to be your fiance last week. Can’t you give me a break?”
   “Okay, I’ll give you an hour.”
   “No, not that kind of break.”
   “Then what kind of break? A food break?”
   “Noooo, a couple of months, maybe a year.”
   “I can’t wait that long,” Arsoc says.
   “Well, then, be patient.”
   I get up and walk to the house. Arsoc follows me.
   “We’re not playing follow the leader.”
   “Well, I’m just spending time with you for a couple of months to a year.”
   “Are you ever going to grow up?”
   “Maybe, maybe not. It’s none of your business,” he says in a Kermit-the-Frog voice.
   “Fine with me.”
   “Want to go out with me tonight?” Arsoc asks.
   “Maybe, maybe not. It’s none of your business,” I say, imitating Arsoc’s voice.
   “Shut up,” Arsoc says in an Elmo voice.
   “You just love Sesame Street, don’t you?” I ask.
   “Well, you should try. We watch it every morning.”
   The rest of the afternoon goes by really quickly.
   The next morning I go back out for my nap in the sun.
   As usual, the same thing happens. Arsoc comes out and asks me to marry him.
   He says, “I waited a long time.”
   “You’re a dog,” I say.

Karima H.
fifth grade

    “Big game, kid. Dis ya first?”
    “Yeah, how much?” I said, looking at the $3.50 sign.
    “Four bucks, kid. Pay it up.”
    I saw the arrow pointing to sections 30-38, smirked, and turned the corner. There was a small bump. I staggered momentarily, but continued toward the distant light. The light narrowed as I reached the end of the tunnel. Vaguely, it lit up the sides, which seemed to be closing in on me. As I toed the border it suddenly opened up and for an instant the once glimmer of hope became a reality.
    Its arms opened up and enveloped me as I crossed the threshold, and the green expanse seemed like the whole world as it spread out among the many spectators. The sun shone down on my face. I squinted but not in pain, in pure joy.

Dylan T.
seventh grade