Once upon a time there was an Arch Magi named Fuji and a warlock named Red Eyes. (He was a wolf.) Red Eyes came from a clan of flesh-eating werewolves that attacked Kyoto every night.
    One day a man was walking in the forest when he saw a man dressed in a purple robe practicing some magic.
    "What is your name?" asked the man.
    "I am Fuji," said Fuji, and kept on doing magic.
    "You are not allowed in these forests," said the man, and he took Fuji's hand.
    It was dark when they got back, and the werewolves were attacking. "I must stop them," said Fuji, and he ran down the slope. A werewolf ran at Fuji and turned him into a mango, then set the mango on fire and threw it at Red Eyes. The werewolf went berserk. Red Eyes went into a rage and took the man's child. "No-o-o!" yelled the man. Red Eyes was about to eat him when Fuji shot a lava ball that killed all the werewolves and Red Eyes, and the town was safe.
    The next day Fuji said, "I will watch over your people always," and he turned into a beautiful mountain with a big white top with cherry blossoms sprouting out from every corner.
    Then the man said, "I will call you Mountain Fuji," and left him alone.
    And from that day forth, Fuji has been guarding Japan with all his big, giant heart.

Bennett F.
fifth grade

     Ms. Copperkettle our neighbor had lived in the same old small stone cottage for as long as I could remember. Her door had a big brass knocker shaped as a lion's head, and I distinctly remember seeing the eyes shift from time to time. My friends would never go past her house for they believed she was very strange. From time to time rumors spread around the town. Aunt Dorothy said she had seen Ms. Copperkettle making something bubbly in a big black pot once outside in the yard. She had asked her about it, and Ms. Copperkettle said she was making soup for dinner and couldn't a lady make her dinner without being questioned. And then little Elizabeth Springland said she woke up and looked out her window and saw down below a dark shape much like Ms. Copperkettle fiddling with a broomstick. We did know Ms. Copperkettle had two cats, Midnight and Moon, who we saw around the neighborhood from time to time. My mother said that if I was so curious about Ms. Copperkettle I should go over to her house and ask her about what she does. One day I decided I was too curious to stay away, so I went.
     I walked up her steps and rapped with the brass knocker three times, half expecting the door to open by itself. I waited a few seconds before hearing heavy footsteps inside the house coming toward me.
     I lived in Massachusetts and had lived there all my life. I had two sisters, Charlotte and Dina, and a brother Mark (who I paid no more attention to than I would a pebble in our driveway). My daydreaming was cut short by a friendly voice saying: "Why, it's little Katherine Perkins come to visit me. Come in my dear and have a cup of tea." I looked up, startled, before realizing where I was, and then stammered, "Hello, Ms. Copperkettle."
     "Dear, dear," said Ms. Copperkettle, "do call me Amy. That's my first name you know." From then on she was Amy Copperkettle to me, for I had never known her first name before. I followed her into a clean, cozy living room and sat down in a pale blue couch. The room smelled of peppermint, as Amy did.
     Amy was a middle-aged woman, the kind of person who always makes you feel welcome and comfortable. She wore a pale yellow day dress and a clean white apron. She lived in her house alone, and I suspected she was very lonely, though she didn't show it.
     The rest of the afternoon went very quickly, for we talked of various things. When I was leaving, Amy asked me to visit her more often, and I promised I would. Then I silently walked home, vowing never to judge a person by rumors about them again, for Amy was a wonderful person.

Slaine J.
sixth grade

Setting: The Johnston house is the house of a middle class family. The living room set-up is modest, but tasteful. There is a sofa, center stage, with a few chairs around it. There is a desk in the corner that contains envelopes, stamps, stationery and other things of that nature. The opposite corner holds a table with a radio and a few lace doilies. Across from the sofa, with its back to us, there is a small TV. This is where they get their six channels, three of which they can actually see through the fuzzy reception. There is a simple floral rug. This is all to the right side of the stage. Towards the left side of the stage, the living room turns into a kitchen which is also used as a dining room. There is a small circular table with five chairs around it. It is equipped with all the modern conveniences, but there is something about it that makes it seem as if something is missing from the room.

At Rise: Diana is sitting at the kitchen table. She has a bunch of magazines in front of her, none of which she is reading. She has a cup of coffee in front of her. The mug is decorated with a map of places that the Johnston family always promised to go to but never did. Diana is staring a the clock which reads eleven o'clock p.m. Diana is in her late thirties. She has a slim figure. Her shoulder-length, blonde-turning-into-brown hair is twisted into some sort of bun. Her face is plain and uninteresting. All it seems to hold are the wrinkles beginning to develop in her forehead. She is in a plain white nightgown. Presently, Thomas enters. He is just as uninteresting as Diana, with brown hair, about 5'8". He is tired and wears office clothes. Immediately, Diana starts to read.

Diana: (without looking up) Where have you been, Thomas?

Thomas: Work.

Diana: (looking up) Thomas, you were supposed to be back four hours ago.

Thomas: I had some things to take care of.

Diana: You could have called.

Thomas: What is this, the third degree? I told you. I had some stuff that needed to be taken care of right away. Okay?

Diana: (crosses to coffee maker) It just seems to me that you have had a lot of things that have needed to be taken care of right away, Tom.

Thomas: (crosses to her and says softly) Tell you what, baby, in about two weeks I will take some time off, and we can have some family time together.

Diana: Family time! How can you say that, Tom? You don't even know who your family is any more!

(There is a long pause.)

Thomas: So what is next, Di? Now you have a problem with me working hard as hell to provide what you see all around you for the family I love?

Diana: Thomas, it's not that I hate! It's that you work all day, and when you come home you have no energy left to spend time with your family, the thing you have been working so hard for!

Thomas: I love my children!

Diana: I am not denying your love for your children, but you don't even know them, Tom.

Thomas: I do know them!

Diana: (vehemently) No, you don't, Tom. Okay, what does Michael want to be for Halloween? Who is Teddy's favorite teacher? What part does Erica want in the school play? (She starts to cry softly.)

(There is a long pause.)

Diana: I'm going to bed, Tom. (When she reaches their bedroom door, she turns and says softly) Tom, do you remember when...forget it, you wouldn't. (She turns back and walks into her bedroom and slams the door. Lights dim. End of scene.)

Sara R.
sixth grade

        I first met him on my cigarette break outside the large, sandstone office building we worked in. He was tall and dashing and interesting and better looking than the other gray-suited officials with receding hairlines who worked in the office building. We first made small talk about the regulars who were leaning against the building, puffing on cigarettes as if their lives depended on it.

        After that, we made it a point to meet on our breaks. I would hurry down the stairs, clutching my coat around me and fumbling in my pockets for a pack of cheap Smokin’ Lights. He would lean against the building, a cigarette either dangling listlessly from between his fingers or, on his good days, wagging and drooping in turn as he talked animatedly. I would stand there, alternating puffs on a cigarette with smiles, laughs, and encouraging murmurs when he stopped to inhale the nicotine. I would leave him leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, dropping my cigarette in front of me to stamp it out with the heel of my black pumps. I came down one day to find him already on his second cigarette.
        “The whole system is totally screwed up,” he proclaimed. “I mean, I’ve been waiting for some stupid promotion for three months already. I kind of want to move on, get out of this messed-up building, this whole messed-up city. I can’t get a taxi home at night because they don’t want to drive far from their bases. It costs a fortune for a crummy studio apartment…blah, blah, blah.”
        I nodded, barely listening as I stared, transfixed, at the cigarette dangerously wagging and drooping from his lips. He must have noticed me staring because he took it out of his mouth and waved it around while he finished.
        “Damn,” he muttered when the cigarette burned down to his fingers. He dropped it, stamped it out, and lit another. He puffed on it furiously.
        I continued for him, trying to bring him back to present day. “Yeah, my boss thinks that just because I type for him, I can be his secretary. Law school at City College might not be as good as his Harvard degree, but it’s still something. He must have no sex life because his wife hates me because she thinks I’m having an affair with him.”
        He laughed bitterly. “Don’t they all.”
        “What?”
        “Nothing. When I was in college, I had an affair with my guidance counselor. Her husband, also my English professor, almost flunked me.” He laughed again. “Thanks for the memories.” He took a last puff on his cigarette, stamped it out and swaggered into the building.
        That last remark puzzled me, and for a minute I envied him, brushing shoulders with powerful men and probably owning a Yale law degree.
        Oddly, I didn’t see him as much over the following weeks. When I did encounter him, he would evade my questions. I questioned my own behavior. It wasn’t like we had any sort of a sure deal. He didn’t have to meet me. Why was I becoming so attached to him?
        The next week I found him disoriented again. Cigarette stubs were clustered around his feet, and he was fishing another out of a nearly empty pack. He sensed my presence and said, “You know about that promotion I was talking about? Well, I come into my office this morning, and there’s this memo on my desk. So, I read it, and from what I can tell, the deal has fallen through. And you wanna know what I do then? I’s goes outside and starts smokin’. I’s been smokin’ almost a pack a day now. Can you believe it?” His customary cigarette wagged and drooped, and I could tell that his groomed accent was beginning to slip.
        I nodded sympathetically and noticing that his pack of high-quality cigarettes was finished, I offered him one of my cheap Smokin’ Lights, which he took with tobacco-stained fingers. He stuck it behind his ear, mimed tipping an imaginary hat, and sauntered through the revolving doors. I saw him through the brown stained Plexiglas push the elevator button and smile at an attractive young secretary. I sighed and turned away from the scene.
        The next day he came down after me, trying to light a cigarette in the gusty wind.
        “Guess what?” he said. He reminded me of a little boy with a new toy. “I got the promotion!”
        “That’s great!” I gushed, surprised at how false my voice sounded. “Let’s go celebrate at the restaurant at the corner.”
        “Sorry. I’ve got to pack. I start tomorrow.”
        He must have seen the look of disappointment cross my face, because he flashed his winning smile and held out a cigarette to me. “I owe you one,” he explained.
        “Well...” I trailed off.
        “Gotta go!” He smiled once more and walked off towards the doors. “By the way,” he called back, turning to face me, “my name is...” But his voice was lost in the wind.

Zelda F.
seventh grade

I remember when I was really young,
I was running down an aisle of a supermarket,
a big red balloon bouncing behind me,
its string tied to my wrist,
going towards the glass door.
I stepped out and looked around me—
I was looking for my brother.
I started turning in circles until the
birches and sparrows of the suburbs
mixed, and I was in the city,
five years later,
on top of my roof, straight after the bell rang,
staring at Manhattan.
No one else knew I went up there, but it was my favorite place to be,
with the Hudson wind blowing hard at my
pink knuckles on a gray day.
A little lonely,
but with a cup of Lapsang Souchong
I didn't miss the people below.

Lauren L.
eighth grade

        I stretched out on the leaves and yawned. The stream was flowing along beside me, snapping twigs as it went. In the distance, the sun came out and parched my throat. I needed a drink, but I was feeling too lazy to get up. Finally, I gathered up my strength and rolled over. I got up and slowly stepped over to the stream. The sky above me was so blue and clear, it was like a blanket covering me. This was the kind of weather I thrived on. Slowly, I lapped up the water with my tongue, and it slid down my throat, cold and crystalline. I picked my head up to gaze through a window of leaves and had to squint to shield my eyes from the sunlight. I jumped into the water to take a swim. I could feel my fur absorbing and being weighed down with the water. It made me silky and smooth. I came up for a breath, and then all of a sudden, "Bang!" I was overcome with fear and pain. I fell onto my back and kicked my feet up, flailed my arms about, but it was too late; there was nothing left in me to live. I laid my cheek on the cool grass and went to sleep.

        The sunset was falling over the horizon as we tramped through the forest to see what we had shot. We peeked through some leaves and all of a sudden we saw the carcass of a deer! It looked peaceful lying there, despite the blood coming out of it, as if a rainbow had fallen over to protect it. Because of this, we did not bring it home to eat, just left it lying there in the forest.

        It had been a long day, as I trotted along next to Mama to keep up with her. We had gone looking for food and had let Addison stay at home. As we reached our forest, I began to relax. I couldn't wait to see Addison; even just a day without her had been tough. She just had such a sweet personality, so caring and generous. We went into our shelter of leaves, and all of a sudden I saw a carcass. Her carcass! I knew what had happened. It had to happen one day; I had known it did, but to Addison? No! I'd rather it had been me. I plunged into the stream and stayed there, holding my breath. Then an image of Addison flew through the air, right over me. I reached up to hug her, felt the soft fur, and snuggled in.

Elizabeth H.
seventh grade