GALAXY by Anvivi, age 11

Galaxy

A tornado of colors                                                          

hover above the

trees.

Glittery specks

Meander through the atmosphere:

dead people holding lanterns

Lighting our way

As we play

hide and seek in a dark field.

An orange glow

smears the

Horizon.

A silhouette

of a single

bird stamps

the twinkling

Sky.

ALICE & THE MEAN GIRL by Allison, age 9

MIDNIGHT by Anvivi, age 11

Rain sprinkles onto the old castle's roof, knocking crusts of gray paint off the gutter, popping them into a batter of mud. Inside, a black widow skulks on furry feet across a wooden floor that slithers with red slime. It twirls into a bowl of popcorn, and through a fizzing puddle of Coke. It pulls us to a bedroom, its walls lined with plastic, hairless dolls. The room belongs to two sisters, Elizabeth and Amber. At night the dolls sing lullabies and twitch their eyes.

Every time Elizabeth cast a spell she’’ would remember her sister’s death. It was like yesterday that Amber died. One day when they were little, Elizabeth was trying out a new spell on their pet gecko. When she closed her eyes and twirled her fingers she heard something collapse. She opened her eyes. Amber lay on the floor, now the size of a doll. Her skin was cloth. Red stitches connected her limbs to her body. Dusty indigo buttons spun in her eye sockets. Elizabeth held her sister up to her chest, and said,“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you!” 

“I will come back,”said Amber. 

Elizabeth felt as if her heart were torn in half, as if someone turned on a faucet in her eyes, she started to pour tears. She sat her sister down on the nightstand against the lamp. Every night, her doll-sister would watch her sleep. 

Every time Elizabeth practices her spells, tears trickle down her face. She remembers that Amber said that she would come back. Elizabeth is still waiting for her sister to fulfill her promise.

Lightning cracks open the chimney walls. Purple clouds condense and form a flock of puffs in the sky. Wind blows the curtains inside the windows and green mist drizzles onto the floor. A shadow of a girl sits on Elizabeth’s bed, half of her head hairless.

Her castle suffocates with spider webs, black and gray bricks patterning the large walls. Gargoyles guarding every window. Behind the castle is a graveyard where her sister is buried.

Midnight. A subtle stampede of footsteps run up and down the stairs awaking Elizabeth. She pops out of bed to go check the hallway, leaving her sheets and blankets dangling from her bed. Red footsteps lead outside. A waft of wind blows behind her, a large framed picture of her sister falls from the wall and lands face up. Glass shattering across the wooden floor. A white shadow darts across the room. A globe of light hides under white sheets. A swoosh of song fills the room with a thick layer of darkness. The lullaby that her dad used to sing when Amber was still alive, a soft, swaying whisper that made the sisters feel like they were drifting with the ocean’s tide to shore. 

Outside the window, a little girl’s scream. Elizabeth sweeps the curtains aside. The body of girl who looks like Amber lies on the ground. Blood oozes from her forehead onto the grass, staining the green field. Patches of toasted fabric cling to human skin. Half of her head is hairless. The girl slowly picks herself up and floats to the fountain in front of Elizabeth’s castle. She sits on the edge of the fountain dusted with spider webs. Elizabeth races across the hallway down the five sets of stairs and outside. As soon as she reaches the fountain nothing remains but the fading lullaby... 

   “I’m back.”

HERE IS THE SAME STORY AS A GRAPHIC MINI-NOVEL:

JELLYFISH By Carmen & Vanessa, both age 9

Jellyfish

By Carmen & Vanessa 

Their tentacles swirl 

around the ocean, 

tangling together,

gliding through the water,

blooming like flower buds, 

fluttering and hugging their bodies.

They glow like lanterns. 

They are see through and 

their hearts 

do not look like hearts, 

they look like 

missiles 

or bullets.

A cluster of trees stares at a 

school of fish swimming

through a squiggle 

of Jello-y noodles,

wondering why 

they never 

look 

back.

AFTERMATH By Jack, age 9

SUPER-NOVAMAN By Vanessa, age 8, Angelina, age 9 & Carmen, age 9

BACKWARDS by Katie, age 9

TREE BONES by Vanessa, age 8, Timothy, Nam & Wellington, age 9 & Alan, age 10

Night Sky Photo by Tiffanie Tudor. Big Talbot beach, Florida. 

Tree Bones 

The sky’s

night light

peeks over

the horizon.

Little

stars raid

the violet night.
Tree bones

rise

from the dirt.

Wind swishes

across your face.`

Pick up as

many branches

as you can and

bury them.

Check on them

tomorrow

and see if

they

are

still

there.

PARADE OF LIGHT BY Cindy, Binh, Misu, Jack & Carmen, age 9 & Lily & Helen, age 10

Big Allaki Photo by Sergey Garifullin — National Geographic Your Shot: 
Chelyabinskay obl., Russia.

Parade of light

Fingers of green water grab a rock.

Swish!

A vine of amber light grazes the ground.

Stars

pop

in the sky like soda bubbles.

It’s as if

people

went to another planet,

leaving behind

a tree so lonely it thinks

its reflection is

a friend

reaching

for the specks

of light

above.

ORANGE GLOW by Angelina & Jack, age 9, Lily & Tony, age 10, Wisdom, age 11

Star trail and eruption Photo by Davide Castiglione — National Geographic Your Shot: 
Yesterday night, from Centuripe at my house, there was a little eruption from north-east 
crater of the volcano Etna.

Orange Glow

Sparks spread across a rain-shattered sky,

An orange glow sprouting from the mountain

as if the sun were setting

as if the sun were rising

as if you’re in a different world

where people don’t exist.

TONGUE OF AMBER by Daniel R., age 8, Ali, Misu, Jack & Emily, age 9 & Anvivi, age 11

Northern light in Iceland Photo by Gudrún Hauksdóttir — National Geographic Your Shot: 
This photo was taken on my way to Thingvellir at 'Mosfellsheiði' 8th of October 2013.

Tongue of Amber

A cloak of emerald ombré

waves

and crackles

across the atmosphere.  

Limbs of light

the color of a hummingbird’s neck

brighten the sky.

A tongue

of amber peeks

over

the horizon.

Colors race

towards a finish line

of light.

Calmness

is a thing with

flames.

NAIL SALON by Helen, Tony, Ali, Jack, Timothy, Misu, Anvivi & Binh, age 9 & Carmen, Angelina, Vanessa & Emily, age 8

Nail Salon


Chemicals drift around my nose,
and bottles of polish clatter 
and clink 
on the shelf. Clippers click,
files whisper,
dryers whir.
From beneath the sound,
Mom paints finger and toenails
the color of crashing Atlantic waves,
of morning,
of sunflowers,
of paradise,
frost 
and blood,
and a million stars
gleaming down
from a 
Saigon 
sky.

OFFICE By Misu, Binh, Jack, Tony, Nam & Timothy, age 9 & Angelina, age 8

Office
By Misu, Angelina, Binh, Jack, Tony, Nam & Timothy 

From a wire above, papers dangle.
Bandages flu er onto the floor,
and the smell of blood and Purell leaps through the air. 
Scribbled letters dance across 
white boards
that reflect
florescent light
and sunshine
piercing through the window.
Ms. Peggy slides a drawer shut 
and paper clips 
clink and scatter across her desk.
Steam rises from a mug of coffee, and when 
that kid who breaks crayons 
knocks it over,
dark liquid puddles on the floor.
Ring ring ring.
Click click click.
In the corner,
balls gobble air.

FLYING By Helen & Lily, age 9 & Anvivi, age 10

Flying
by Helen Luu, Anvivi Vong & Lily Nguyen 

My aunt
started the engine,
and we took off for Saigon.
Dust like salt and pepper in my eyes. My hair
blew
like a
flock of
butterflies.
I felt like I was
flying.

TIPTOEING SUNLIGHT By Misu, age 9

Read this story as a comic book here.

Tiptoeing Sunlight

By Misu Huynh

Creeaaak! The pale green hammock on the front porch rasped as my grandma’s arms rocked me from side to side in it, hugging me close to her chest. She stopped swinging, slipped into her ragged brown flip flops and dragged them through the dried leaves swirling around the dirt of the garden like a relentless tornado.

The back of her hand brushed against the thick leaves of a baby banana tree swaying at her knees. Then her lips kissed my forehead. Her eyes seemed to glow, even in the blazing sunlight. Antsy in her arms, I stroked the daisy she had picked from the rocky dirt. The mangosteen tree was speckled with fruit. Chrysanthemums bloomed purple and pink. Mangoes dangled from trembling branches. The leaves of every tree in the garden flapped in the thunderous wind like  wet laundry hung out to dry.

Rocks flattened blades of lime green grass. Pups howled and barked with joy, leaping and trying to lick my small fingertips. With each jump, their sandy brown fur spiked the air like thorns.

The next morning, I watched as the first rays of sunlight tiptoed through the leafy branches of the garden. The pond nearby rippled onto the shore. My grandma laid still in her bed, her blanket cloaking her arms and legs. Her rusted metal alarm clock sprang to life and still, no movement...

My grandma started acting unusual. The sound of her breathing got heavier and slower as each day passed. She could no longer carry me around the garden either.

After another a month or two, our family began agonizing. They worried their fingers just looking at my grandma sleeping. They lost sleep just thinking about her. Once my mom took her to the doctor, we learned that she had lung cancer. That explained my grandma’s symptoms. But this information didn’t help. It caused my family to panic even more.

That night, as the moon glowed in the gloomy night sky, I was watching TV. All of a sudden the screen blacked out. A draft whistled through the open window. Drops of rain leaked through a small crack in the wooden roof, sounding  as if it were crying. Thunder clapped, lightning bolts flashed across the sky, rain showered down, pattering, and tapping the window. Boom! Crash, Crack! Tap, Tap, Tap!

As she walked around the blackened garden, my grandma stumbled to her knees and onto her back. Bits of pebbles and dirt clouded the air. As I ran outside, drops of rain plopped onto the tip of my nose.

The sounds of my family’s sobbing echoed through my tiny two-year-old eardrums. Water from the stone fountain splashed against its edges. Slosh! Splash! Clouds slowly blanketed the moon, turning the sky pitch black except for small stars dancing and twinkling in the night above. My mom rested her arm under my grandma’s fragile back, her other hand holding me close to her chest.

The fence loomed above me, its shadow blackening the cement. A smell seeped from the rusted indigo there, a bitter smell, like rotting grapefruit.

“What is going on? Why does this have to happen?” My mom sobbed.

The ambulance sirens bellowed and a rapid sound blared from the speaker clinging to its metal roofs.  My grandpa hastened to my grandma’s side. His sweaty hands gripped the cold metal rail on the side of her gurney. The ambulance rumbled along the silent dirt road. Cars seemed to make no sound as they trailed off into the never ending freeway.

My family took a taxi to the hospital. We got there before the ambulance and waited in front. Standing next to my grandpa, my mother’s arms gripped me tight. Her black hair caressed my forehead. Suddenly, the ambulance screeched to a stop.

Everyone else zipped inside except for me and my mom. The hospital didn’t let children in. The giant building loomed above us as we waited.

After a while, my family came out, some holding back tears and others bawling, their tears cascading onto the ground. I was so young I didn’t know really what was going on. My grandpa whispered to my mom, trying to conceal his sorrow.

As she held me, I overheard their conversation. Their eyes were crimson and their noses drizzled snot. My grandfather’s eyes were squinty and rheumy. I sat there in my mother’s cradling arms, but they felt like my grandma’s, like a piece of her was still inside me. Silent, I sat there, inanimate, my eyes bulging, and drool snaking down my chin.      

About the Author

                                                                          

My name is Nhu Misu Huynh and I am nine years old. I live in San Francisco with my mom and dad. Living in Japantown, I enjoy its peaceful nights and many celebrations. I dislike the traffic that the celebrations cause, though. My birthday is October 7, 2006. Vietnam is where I was born and where my family comes from. I’ve been back there three times. At home, I speak Vietnamese. On weekends I go to the Au Co Vietnamese Center at Martin Luther King middle school and also go to practice the martial art Wushu at the Buchanan YMCA Center. One thing that I do really well is swimming. I got good at it by practicing many times every week. My favorite subject is writing. I am also the author of the poems, “How to Say Goodbye,” “Marquee,” “On the Edge,” “Blades of Grass,” “A Cloud of Dust,” “Vietnam,” “A Ruined Web,” “When You Ask Her Where She’s From,” and “Masquerade,” the graphic mini-novels, Four Thousand Steps and Silver Cliff, and the book of poetry, Masquerade.

MOM & DAD WERE MAD by Wisdom, age 11