Category Archives: Student Writing
There had been times that more serious matters plagued his mind, but on this fall evening the boy was rather lucky. It was rare that he had a day to himself, spare moments even, which made this sliver of time even more enjoyable. Something to savor, not dive into and experience all at once.
The best things in life come with time, that was the saying right?
For the time being, the dark haired boy stood off to the side of the room against a counter, not quite sure what to do and too afraid to break the silence. The room was draped in shadows that stretched along the walls and crept in the corners, with a sudden burst of light running along the floor; the respite within the darkness.
With casual strides, the boy walked over to the large window and pulled back the blinds. Though window might not have been the proper word, as it was more of a glass door than anything. Standing there, it was possible to see the large expanse of yard he had grown up running across and laying in. Towards the back corner was the large oak tree he’d lain under during his younger years, getting lost in music during the day while the breeze brought goosebumps to his skin and falling asleep under the stars at night to the sound of cicadas. It was there that he had broken his arm for the first time while trying to scale the large branches. The memory brought a faint smile to his lips and, unconsciously, his fingers ghosted across his arm.
It was the beginning of fall and the leaves that were once bright and blooming green were now fading to all shades of orange and brown, littering the air and ground all around. The effervescent green of the grass still shone in spite of the changing season’s wishes. The yard was luminescent, almost sparkling with color.
The boy closed his eyes, feeling the warmth from the sun that set high in the sky and shone through the window, puffing out an amused breath at the contrast. It felt cool inside yet warm outside. Funny how much difference a small barrier could make.
He turned around and blinked in the silence before deciding to do something rather odd. The only sound was the padding of feet across the hardwood floor as he made his way to the middle of the room. There, he lowered himself to the ground and laid down.
Three quarters of his body were draped in the sun, while the other quarter was in the shadows that had been cast by the light filtering in. Part of him remained cool and chilly, while the other was warm and sunkissed. It caused an oddly pleasing feeling similar to being half submerged in water.
There the dark haired boy lay, watching specks of dust float through the sunlight, the only sounds echoing in the silence of the other world outside. Sometimes birds would fly by chittering as they went, piercing the silence, ringing in the aftermath.
However, there was a miraculous thing happening more subtly; the sunlight did something beautiful to the boy. Where there was normally dark brown hair and a pair of matching eyes, was now a luminescent array of colors. The sunlight filtering in through the glass illuminated each individual hair fiber, allowing more light to pass through, causing a golden effect. In much the same way, the sunlight turned his once fathomless dark brown eyes to a golden amber that seemed to hold the rays of light themselves. It was the type of rare beauty you were lucky enough to see in a lifetime.
He laid like that for what could have been hours or simply minutes- it wasn’t easy to tell when time so usually went by in a blur. But now, uninterrupted and enjoying the smaller, simpler things, time seemed to freeze. He faded in and out of reality and fantasy, dreaming of faded blue skies and stars while, unbeknownst to him, the fading light drifted across his body.
Only now and then did he occasionally come back to reality when the contrast between the warm sunlight and the cold floor brought goosebumps to the surface of his skin. More often than not, they were welcomed though. It enabled him to remember this was the reality, that this luxury of lying in the sunlight on a quiet day actually existed. Even if it was a little thing, it was something he needed every now and then; simply knowing it was possible was all he needed.
And there the boy with sunlight in his eyes laid until barely any of the sunlight remained, casting both rays of light and shadows across his face. On the inside he felt warm from the sun and something that ran deeper- at peace.
When you were lost and couldn’t see
You knew that you could count on me;
And when you felt your heart would break,
You turned to me to mend the ache.
When challenged with an awful plight,
You knew that I would fight your fight.
And when the fiercest winds would blow,
You knew I’d never let you go.
You knew I’d always make you laugh,
You knew I’d stand on your behalf,
And never would I moan or groan.
When you were sad and felt alone,
You knew that I was there to stay.
Until it all was changed one day-
You needed me, and though I tried
I found I’d no more left inside.
For though I’d always seen you through
You never knew I needed you.
Two lines in the sand lead to the heels of the cloaked man. They bend over the orange dunes. The twin beams of two magma suns, the later-setting one larger than the earlier, singe the dust. His head turns, revealing a set of black eyes, and gazes off into the distance, where he makes out two inverted cones of orange and grey ash, rising and twisting into cyclones. A swarm of bloated birds, black in color, hover above them. Turning back, the cloaked figure continues walking, line by line, one foot in front of the other.
Eventually, he’d reached a small town, in which the cloaked man was confronted by a young child, who was both sunburnt and deep-voiced.
“Whence do you come, robed stranger?” The boy asked.
“I remember not, child, yet I am steadfast in my pursuit.” He said. The boy could taste desiccation in the visitor’s voice.
“And your destination, traveler?” The boy said.
“Alas, child, I go to seek the end of this world, where the water must lie. It was told, in my youth, that water flows towards where there is no lower. Thus, where this arid world ends, there the pools must be. I shall bring it to my son, whom I’ve left quite alone in this world, so that he shall not longer long.”
At this, the boy’s heart grew heavy for the traveler, and refilled his empty canteen. The traveler then departed from the village. From there the traveler left he traveled many miles, before he encountered the whirlwind. Suddenly, the winds dropped a red finger down, which spun the orange dust and danced over the dunes. Too weary to outpace it, the traveler fell to his knees, looking past the twister with his solid black eyes. The twitching cone of orange and grey ash caught aflame from the friction, and pummeled towards the knelt, black-robed man. Just one sun beat down now, the later-setting one. Fat, vulture-like calls could be heard, overhead. In one or two seconds, he was swept along by the dragon tornado.
The boy awoke from troubled dreams and departed in the direction of the traveler. In his dream, two small men, including the boy, threw a hyper-saturated ball of clay back and forth, then the one not the boy began to wither into the dust. The man’s ashes slipped through the boy’s fingers, becoming one with the red/grey sand. Fearing for the old man, the boy, upon awakening, set out from the village.
After traveling many miles, the boy came across a peculiar piece of black cloth bearing his name. Miraculously, this piece had not been disintegrated by the flames. The boy began to weep. Had he known it earlier, had he recognized the man then, had he looked through the man’s burnt eyes, he would have known the face of his father.
“O, my God, this must be the end of the world, and my tears its everlasting pool, and my father’s will absolute!” He cried.
Sometimes I wonder,
In a random train of thought,
If you can hear the thunder
Of my heart as I hold you tightly
Loving you the warmth you emit
“I love you” I say in your ear lightly
I wonder if you know how much I adore,
Really, truly, absolutely adore
That genuine smile you wore
I wonder if you remember the pain I felt when you left,
Or the joy I felt when we were together at long last
You stole my heart so quickly, you should be charged with theft
I love you to the moon and back,
To infinity and beyond,
I’m so glad and blessed to have a mother like you, who truly loves me back.
Young one set down your pen
Don’t hesitate, this is not the end
Your hard work has paid off and you’ve done well
You’ve blossomed and escaped your shell,
Whether you leave for good or stick another year
We are more than happy to have you here
From novels to short stories and poetry galore
Please continue to write more and more,
I hope and pray that your ink flows
To places where no one goes
A heart like yours is born to write
To color in the black and white,
I bid goodbye our senior friends
As you leave you walk with brand-new lens
I wish you luck with words from the heart
Let your ink mark your brand new start.
It’s hard to believe the end of the school year is already here. Honestly, it felt like all the months morphed together to form one single day—I can hardly think of when I felt time was moving slow. With an entire year at our backs, the future in our sights, and the present a single heartbeat, it might feel overwhelming. I look back at this year and felt I didn’t really progress as I had wanted to. I gave up easily, I didn’t take on many new challenges, I didn’t balance my school and my writing life at all, really. I kept saying, “I’ll work on it tomorrow,” “I’ll try that tomorrow,” “I’ll begin this piece on the weekend.” But when tomorrow came, I was still struggling to make up for what I hadn’t accomplished the day before. There are still many things I am proud of, and still more challenges and experiences to come, but I do think it’s important to abolish that timeless excuse of: “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Because tomorrow may have a new challenge you didn’t anticipate, and you’ll end up never getting to do what you wanted to.
I have one year of high school left, and there’s still so much I want and need to do. If ten months felt like a blink of an eye this year, how much faster will it go next year? Probably twice as fast. Sometimes it troubles me when I feel like I have nothing to show for my growth as a writer—I certainly have felt like I’ve learned a lot this year. I learned to not hold myself to somebody else’s standard, but to strive to succeed on my own terms as a writer. I learned it’s okay to take a break if things become overwhelming—you can’t force good writing (sure, you have to force it sometimes, but the best writing comes when it wants to!). And, of course, I learned (as I do every year), that wasting your time only hinders your success. Productivity is the key, and boy do I struggle with it.
Don’t despair if you didn’t accomplish what you wanted to, if you ended up in that state of laziness that you couldn’t get out of. You have today to get working on it. Set aside some time today to get cracking. Spend time today drawing inspiration, immersing yourself, building yourself back up to the writer you were meant to be. Don’t tell yourself “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Because I have found that tomorrow became today, and like dominos, each day was knocked down without a single word written. I know it might be an overused, clichéd message. But having experienced it myself, it really is important to understand. When you work on it today, you have tomorrow to make it better.
And it’s better to have something to work off of than to have nothing at all.
I hope everyone’s summer is safe and wonderful! May it be filled with countless days of writing. I am just itching to begin!
The silver ashes of a gray wolf,
No longer is she lying broken,
But to be spread across creation,
Carried in the hands of the mighty winds,
Twilight glinting off her dead splints,
The flames reflected in the wake of her life,
Reflected onto an ocean free from strife,
Dancing ‘cross the placid planes,
Of her magnificent life, only reflections remain.
As my high school years come to a close (as do my FLVS and CWC ones), I’ve taken a long hard look at the things I’ve accomplished and learned along the way. While thinking about the CWC and how much it has been a part of me, I came to realize the real importance of writing. Although creative writing is fun and an art all by itself, I reflected on how critical writing is as a skill one should seek to master.
I admit it, my writing skills were pretty poor when I first joined CWC. I was well aware of this and challenged myself to become more involved in an activity I didn’t particularly take up on my own. On top of all the books I was reading, I figured some writing for fun would help me out. Although I was driven to challenge myself, I didn’t quite realize that my decisions to become more literate would eventually benefit me in the long run.
As many of you reading this may relate, our generation has become lazier when it comes to improving a skill we aren’t too keen on. This could be art, a particular sport, or playing an instrument, for example. However, I believe writing isn’t something we should just ignore as one of our lacking strengths. If you want to impress people (employers, coworkers, friends), then having a strong friend in writing will be extremely beneficial.
If we’re talking specific examples of why writing is meaningful, then a few would be:
- Communication. If you’re trying to get a point across but don’t know how to word your letter correctly, that could backfire when you really can’t afford it to.
- Monetary value. If you can write well, many doors open up to you in terms of making some extra money (or even a career). Software writers, creative writers/novelists, and bloggers put their literacy skills to good use in ways they can even be paid for it.
- An engaging writer grabs your attention. For example, if you have to make a presentation for work and need to make an impression, possessing strong writing competence would certainly upgrade the quality of your work.
- Speak better. By having a superior knowledge in writing, your vocabulary would have improved as a side effect (a good one!) You’ll be able to get ideas and thoughts across more easily, give and present feedback in more effective ways and get your thoughts out more clearly when you need to most.
- It can be a hobby. Everyone needs one or two things they do for fun in their spare time, and for a lot of people that’s creative writing. If you’re reading this, the odds are that you do take up creative writing for fun (woohoo!) and enjoy all the pleasures that come from forging new ideas into stories and other exciting forms of writing.
I feel as if I can’t emphasize the importance of literacy and writing enough, but I’m also aware that many, many people feel the same. On that note, keep challenging yourself and pushing to become an even better writer no matter what skill level you’re at. When you stop learning, you stop growing. Good luck, Scribblers!
You will be rejected,
And it will be okay
You will lose friends,
And it will be okay
You will stop liking
And it will be okay
Do not forget to
Try new foods
Do not forget to
Sleep every now
Do not forget to
When it is due
Do not forget to
Read a book
Do not forget
That you love to write.
A bright hazy gleam
Both solemn and giddy
Trapped inside a dazzling dream
Is this magnificent city
Air so crisp, fragile almost
Black expanses reaching past the sea
Certainly not a coast
In this stretching city
Bring your pain and sorrow
Come close as you are
For all will be gold by the ‘morrow
In this city without scars
So crowded it’s burning
Each one touches the next
Each heart filled with yearning
Inside this city’s chest
Busy as can be when things streak by
Leaving trails of sparkling dust
Painted across the night sky
In city-like gusts
This shining city is not from near
This city lies very far.
No where near here
Is this city of stars