MIDDLE SCHOOL CREATIVE WRITING - 2013
Neha Menon, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7
Reconciliation Instead of Punishment (Category Winner)
Micalyn Struble, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7, Bury the Hatchet
Erin Wenokur, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7, The Handshake
Honorable Mention
Mojoyin Adegbite, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Abandoned
Sarab Bhasin, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Forgiveness
Chinasa Mbanugo, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Too Late to Control
Aaron Ouyang, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, A Silent Decision
Ethan Tai, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Forgiveness
Mikhail Vasilyev, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Rival Teams
Hanna Shelby, Dorris Eaton, Grade 7, The Deadly Path
David Wornow, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 7, Romeo & Juliet- Forgiveness
Varun Jain, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 8, Diamond of Forgiveness
Sarah Mardjuki, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 8, The Key of Forgiveness
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Neha Menon, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7
Reconciliation Instead of Punishment (Category Winner)
Micalyn Struble, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7, Bury the Hatchet
Erin Wenokur, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7, The Handshake
Honorable Mention
Mojoyin Adegbite, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Abandoned
Sarab Bhasin, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Forgiveness
Chinasa Mbanugo, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Too Late to Control
Aaron Ouyang, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, A Silent Decision
Ethan Tai, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Forgiveness
Mikhail Vasilyev, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 6, Rival Teams
Hanna Shelby, Dorris Eaton, Grade 7, The Deadly Path
David Wornow, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 7, Romeo & Juliet- Forgiveness
Varun Jain, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 8, Diamond of Forgiveness
Sarah Mardjuki, Dorris-Eaton, Grade 8, The Key of Forgiveness
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Neha Menon, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7
Reconciliation Instead of Punishment
“Amanda, are you ready to give your speech?” Ms. Hartwell asked.
“Yes, I’m ready,” Amanda replied, and eagerly walking to the front of the room,
she tripped over something, making the whole class laugh. Brooke Stormbrook
innocently looked at Amanda and mouthed the words oops. Gritting her
teeth, Amanda tried to forget about the incident and concentrate on giving her
speech, but the giggles were making it hard. When she got home, she reflected
on her school year. She and Brooke had been trying to humiliate each other for
months now, since the beginning of the school year. Now that Amanda thought
about it, she didn’t even know why she hated Brooke, she just knew she did.
Sighing, she opened a journal, and turned to the fifth page, where she made a
list of ideas of what to do to Brooke. She had filled it with ideas now, but
had never tried any; she wasn’t that daring. It just made her feel prepared
when she met Brooke.
The next day, Amanda was tired of avoiding Brooke. Stepping into her favorite
class, writing, she let her guard down, and relaxed in her seat. Suddenly,
water flew through the air and landed on her. Brooke smiled, innocently and
sweetly, with a look that just infuriated Amanda. Fury clouded her thoughts,
and she dumped her backpack on Brooke’s foot, which was Number 5 on her revenge list. Brooke frowned, but didn’t say anything, because then she could get into trouble too. Hopping away with her friends, Brooke threw Amanda’s backpack back at her.
That night, Amanda gazed at her Revenge list, and crossed out Number 5 on her
list with a flourish. As she looked over the other things on the list, she decided on Number 8: Fill Brooke’s bag with trash. Stuffing gloves into her bag, she headed out the door, filled with new confidence. When she went to school, wearing a devious smile, Brooke gazed at her fearfully and confusedly, before sitting down at her desk. As she turned to the front, she noticed something on the board. “Peace is Always the Solution” was the title on the sheets that were being passed out, and it was also written on the board. “Okay, class. Today, I thought we would start a different project. I would like each person to pick a partner---”
There was a rush as everybody jumped up and stood next to their friend. Amanda ran next to one of her friends, Emma, and both of them stood expectantly at the teacher.“No, this time we’ll do something different. Everyone, point to the person you hate the most.”
Amanda frowned. Her favorite class was turning into her least favorite. Now she had to work with her enemy, and write about peace? How ironic she thought.
After school, Amanda headed to the school library to start doing the project by herself. Looking through books, she finally found a quote that suited her “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves everyone blind and toothless” by Mahatma Gandhi. She stared at that quote, because it reminded her of something. Puzzled, she sat there pondering her thought. As Brooke walked in, Amanda realized that it reminded her of what was happening between her and Brooke. Both of them had been humiliating each other for a long time, without even remembering why they were fighting. As Brooke approached, Amanda spoke to her in a genuinely curious voice. “Do you even know why we’re fighting anymore?” Amanda inquired.
Brooke stared at her. “Um, actually, I don’t really remember. Isn’t that weird?”
“Yeah,”Amanda agreed. After some debate, she blurted out a question. “Do you want to, um, stop?”
“Stop what?” Brooke wanted to know.
“You know, stop embarrassing each other in front of everyone?” Amanda continued.
“Sure,”Brooke said with a half smile. “You seem pretty fun, Amanda.”
“Do you want to come over to my house and work on the project?”
Brooke smiled, a real smile. “Sure, see you soon.”
As Brooke walked back out, Amanda sighed contentedly. It wasn’t much, but
it was a start.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Reconciliation Instead of Punishment
“Amanda, are you ready to give your speech?” Ms. Hartwell asked.
“Yes, I’m ready,” Amanda replied, and eagerly walking to the front of the room,
she tripped over something, making the whole class laugh. Brooke Stormbrook
innocently looked at Amanda and mouthed the words oops. Gritting her
teeth, Amanda tried to forget about the incident and concentrate on giving her
speech, but the giggles were making it hard. When she got home, she reflected
on her school year. She and Brooke had been trying to humiliate each other for
months now, since the beginning of the school year. Now that Amanda thought
about it, she didn’t even know why she hated Brooke, she just knew she did.
Sighing, she opened a journal, and turned to the fifth page, where she made a
list of ideas of what to do to Brooke. She had filled it with ideas now, but
had never tried any; she wasn’t that daring. It just made her feel prepared
when she met Brooke.
The next day, Amanda was tired of avoiding Brooke. Stepping into her favorite
class, writing, she let her guard down, and relaxed in her seat. Suddenly,
water flew through the air and landed on her. Brooke smiled, innocently and
sweetly, with a look that just infuriated Amanda. Fury clouded her thoughts,
and she dumped her backpack on Brooke’s foot, which was Number 5 on her revenge list. Brooke frowned, but didn’t say anything, because then she could get into trouble too. Hopping away with her friends, Brooke threw Amanda’s backpack back at her.
That night, Amanda gazed at her Revenge list, and crossed out Number 5 on her
list with a flourish. As she looked over the other things on the list, she decided on Number 8: Fill Brooke’s bag with trash. Stuffing gloves into her bag, she headed out the door, filled with new confidence. When she went to school, wearing a devious smile, Brooke gazed at her fearfully and confusedly, before sitting down at her desk. As she turned to the front, she noticed something on the board. “Peace is Always the Solution” was the title on the sheets that were being passed out, and it was also written on the board. “Okay, class. Today, I thought we would start a different project. I would like each person to pick a partner---”
There was a rush as everybody jumped up and stood next to their friend. Amanda ran next to one of her friends, Emma, and both of them stood expectantly at the teacher.“No, this time we’ll do something different. Everyone, point to the person you hate the most.”
Amanda frowned. Her favorite class was turning into her least favorite. Now she had to work with her enemy, and write about peace? How ironic she thought.
After school, Amanda headed to the school library to start doing the project by herself. Looking through books, she finally found a quote that suited her “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves everyone blind and toothless” by Mahatma Gandhi. She stared at that quote, because it reminded her of something. Puzzled, she sat there pondering her thought. As Brooke walked in, Amanda realized that it reminded her of what was happening between her and Brooke. Both of them had been humiliating each other for a long time, without even remembering why they were fighting. As Brooke approached, Amanda spoke to her in a genuinely curious voice. “Do you even know why we’re fighting anymore?” Amanda inquired.
Brooke stared at her. “Um, actually, I don’t really remember. Isn’t that weird?”
“Yeah,”Amanda agreed. After some debate, she blurted out a question. “Do you want to, um, stop?”
“Stop what?” Brooke wanted to know.
“You know, stop embarrassing each other in front of everyone?” Amanda continued.
“Sure,”Brooke said with a half smile. “You seem pretty fun, Amanda.”
“Do you want to come over to my house and work on the project?”
Brooke smiled, a real smile. “Sure, see you soon.”
As Brooke walked back out, Amanda sighed contentedly. It wasn’t much, but
it was a start.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Micalyn Struble, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7, Bury the Hatchet
Boom!
Furiously, the sky flashed as lightning erupted in the distance. On a silent school playground in suburban Connecticut, a fight was flickering up as well. The clouds were hazy with tension, and everyone there could taste the bitter anxiety in the air. Gravel cracked on the moist cement under the boys’ feet in anticipation for what was bound to happen. Alone against an army of older boys, an expression of pure terror, from his wide eyes to his creased eyebrows, was evident on a much smaller schoolboy’s face.
“Who did you think you were, tryna shove me in the hallway?”
“I...just bumped into you?” the boy laughed nervously, and predictably felt the
first punch a few seconds later. As he staggered for backup, his whole left cheek went numb. Hopping on his toes a little, the bully grinned and waited for his opponent to try to fight him back. When he realized that the boy wasn’t even attempting to move, his nostrils flared and he shoved the boy backwards, eliciting laughter. Looking up through his shaggy blonde hair, the attacked boy stood up a little straighter and wiped the blood dribbling from his nose proudly.
“I know you all came here today to see me defeated. You all expected me to try
to fight back, even though we all know that I have no chance in this fight. Later, you’re going to make fun of me, yeah, and it’s going to make you feel real good, but I’m just going to walk away. C’mon, let’s bury the hatchet.” Awkwardly, he gave a mini salute to the open-mouthed statues gaping at his response, and he walked away with a little more spring in his step than before the fight. Swallowing quietly, the bully stared at the ground, feeling a prickle of guilt light its flame deep inside.
“I’m sorry.”Everyone, shocked, turned around, including the retreating boy. Wordlessly, the boys walked to the same place where they had stood before
as enemies. Avoiding each other’s eyes, they shook hands, smiled a little, and
then went in their opposite directions.
Five years later, a sturdy boy walked down the street kicking litter along the road, and felt a familiar, uneven haze in the air. Where he recognized it from, he knew immediately, yet why he felt its uncomfortable stickiness on his skin, he did not know. He was on his way to the nursing home to visit his grandma who was slowly dying of brain cancer to give her a bouquet of flowers. Everyday, he saw a little more of her fade, a little less of her there. Pondering somberly about her certain death soon, he did not even notice the thug with a wicked grin sauntering behind him. Silently, the vagabond ran up behind the boy, swatted the flowers from his hand, and kicked him in the back with a muddy shoe. In a second, the boy’s dreams to please his grandmother were gone, the carefully chosen flowers floating in a murky puddle on the ground.
“Oh, you mad? You wanna go?” A familiar look was behind the man’s eyes,
taunting, begging, yearning for a fight. Yet this look, this evil stare, the boy had never seen in someone else’s eyes. He only recognized it as a reflection of his own bullying eyes a few years ago on a quiet playground. Although he felt an explosion of fury in his heart, he remembered how someone else had reacted to his bullying. With a determined look in his olive eyes, he cleared his throat in a way that was scarier than any blow.
“Hey, I don’t even know you, man. You’re...just a guy looking for a fight. And, sorry, but I’m not going to give it to ya.” The man rolled his eyes and advanced towards the boy, ready to make his next move. “Whoa! I’d just like to tell you that those flowers, they were for my grandma.” He paused. “She’s dying. I hope that makes you feel worse than a punch ever will.” With those last words, the boy ran, dirty jacket flying behind him.
“Yo, wait!” The boy stopped breathlessly and looked at the speaking man.
“That was stupid. Let me replace those flowers.”
“Are you gonna beat me up for real now?”
“Listen, you can come with me to the market around the corner. Sorry.” The boy rolled his tongue over his teeth, shrugged, and accepted the apology. Together, they walked to the market.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Boom!
Furiously, the sky flashed as lightning erupted in the distance. On a silent school playground in suburban Connecticut, a fight was flickering up as well. The clouds were hazy with tension, and everyone there could taste the bitter anxiety in the air. Gravel cracked on the moist cement under the boys’ feet in anticipation for what was bound to happen. Alone against an army of older boys, an expression of pure terror, from his wide eyes to his creased eyebrows, was evident on a much smaller schoolboy’s face.
“Who did you think you were, tryna shove me in the hallway?”
“I...just bumped into you?” the boy laughed nervously, and predictably felt the
first punch a few seconds later. As he staggered for backup, his whole left cheek went numb. Hopping on his toes a little, the bully grinned and waited for his opponent to try to fight him back. When he realized that the boy wasn’t even attempting to move, his nostrils flared and he shoved the boy backwards, eliciting laughter. Looking up through his shaggy blonde hair, the attacked boy stood up a little straighter and wiped the blood dribbling from his nose proudly.
“I know you all came here today to see me defeated. You all expected me to try
to fight back, even though we all know that I have no chance in this fight. Later, you’re going to make fun of me, yeah, and it’s going to make you feel real good, but I’m just going to walk away. C’mon, let’s bury the hatchet.” Awkwardly, he gave a mini salute to the open-mouthed statues gaping at his response, and he walked away with a little more spring in his step than before the fight. Swallowing quietly, the bully stared at the ground, feeling a prickle of guilt light its flame deep inside.
“I’m sorry.”Everyone, shocked, turned around, including the retreating boy. Wordlessly, the boys walked to the same place where they had stood before
as enemies. Avoiding each other’s eyes, they shook hands, smiled a little, and
then went in their opposite directions.
Five years later, a sturdy boy walked down the street kicking litter along the road, and felt a familiar, uneven haze in the air. Where he recognized it from, he knew immediately, yet why he felt its uncomfortable stickiness on his skin, he did not know. He was on his way to the nursing home to visit his grandma who was slowly dying of brain cancer to give her a bouquet of flowers. Everyday, he saw a little more of her fade, a little less of her there. Pondering somberly about her certain death soon, he did not even notice the thug with a wicked grin sauntering behind him. Silently, the vagabond ran up behind the boy, swatted the flowers from his hand, and kicked him in the back with a muddy shoe. In a second, the boy’s dreams to please his grandmother were gone, the carefully chosen flowers floating in a murky puddle on the ground.
“Oh, you mad? You wanna go?” A familiar look was behind the man’s eyes,
taunting, begging, yearning for a fight. Yet this look, this evil stare, the boy had never seen in someone else’s eyes. He only recognized it as a reflection of his own bullying eyes a few years ago on a quiet playground. Although he felt an explosion of fury in his heart, he remembered how someone else had reacted to his bullying. With a determined look in his olive eyes, he cleared his throat in a way that was scarier than any blow.
“Hey, I don’t even know you, man. You’re...just a guy looking for a fight. And, sorry, but I’m not going to give it to ya.” The man rolled his eyes and advanced towards the boy, ready to make his next move. “Whoa! I’d just like to tell you that those flowers, they were for my grandma.” He paused. “She’s dying. I hope that makes you feel worse than a punch ever will.” With those last words, the boy ran, dirty jacket flying behind him.
“Yo, wait!” The boy stopped breathlessly and looked at the speaking man.
“That was stupid. Let me replace those flowers.”
“Are you gonna beat me up for real now?”
“Listen, you can come with me to the market around the corner. Sorry.” The boy rolled his tongue over his teeth, shrugged, and accepted the apology. Together, they walked to the market.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Erin Wenokur, the Dorris-Eaton School, Grade 7
The Handshake
At last, face to face, we will meet. Oppressor and oppressed will finally see eye to eye without the chains of bondage and subservience obscuring our view. Many a night I spent awake, staring into the dark oblivion pondering about this day, if it would ever even come. Would vengeance be sweetest or would kindness be the harshest punishment of all? As I gazed into the starless night, my mind traveled back to another black night on another continent in another age, the night my life was to be changed irrevocably.
The night they came was a night like all other nights. We sat down to dinner at 7:30 like every other Friday night of memory. The succulent chicken emerged from the oven, aromatic with herbs and my mother’s love, but the feast never came. Our melodic voices rose in evening prayer, then a strident rapping on the door interrupted the ceremonial song. There was no time for response, only a horrible wail as the door came down, and a menacing black boot emerged through the hole. At that moment, everything I loved was torn away from me and my life became an interminable nightmare.
Now sixty years later as the plane takes off to my destiny, my future which so compelled me to survive is hazy, a blur of past and future colliding violently. The wispy clouds soar free in the sky, ephemeral, not bound to anyone or anything. I wish I could join them, but baseless hope beckons within me, and I must answer its call. To live with a heart trussed by the strings of my former home is to live with blackness seeping into my soul. I must reclaim my heart in order to truly belong to myself, to be liberated of the manacles that tied me down to the roots which I so desperately tried to cut loose.
The plane is landing now, it dips and sways like a puppet coerced by invisible thread. The master summons, and, in turn, the vast metal monster returns to the ground. It does not have the clouds’ fate, it cannot float without a care, it cannot live with a soul, with a heart, with free will. Once, this was my destiny too, but soon I will share my joy with the clouds. Around me spread the verdant fields of my childhood, where I once played and frolicked, carefree and careless. Disembarking, I stand to my feet, unsteady and unsure like a newborn colt. Memories swirl around me like a tornado whirling round and round, the pinwheel of time.
I hoist my bag and exit the plane. My erratic breath rises in my throat, choking me from the inside. My thumping heart beats wildly in my chest, an eternal drumbeat. My nervous hands flutter in the cool air, but I find nothing on which to grasp. Eventually, I locate his face in the wall of strangers. Those melancholy grey blue eyes penetrate my soul, weakening my knees, sparking my perpetual fury, yet somehow I find the strength to continue. We walk towards each other, feelings of confusion and contempt churning madly. He looks directly at my face, and, at last, we shake hands.
______________________________________________________________________
The Handshake
At last, face to face, we will meet. Oppressor and oppressed will finally see eye to eye without the chains of bondage and subservience obscuring our view. Many a night I spent awake, staring into the dark oblivion pondering about this day, if it would ever even come. Would vengeance be sweetest or would kindness be the harshest punishment of all? As I gazed into the starless night, my mind traveled back to another black night on another continent in another age, the night my life was to be changed irrevocably.
The night they came was a night like all other nights. We sat down to dinner at 7:30 like every other Friday night of memory. The succulent chicken emerged from the oven, aromatic with herbs and my mother’s love, but the feast never came. Our melodic voices rose in evening prayer, then a strident rapping on the door interrupted the ceremonial song. There was no time for response, only a horrible wail as the door came down, and a menacing black boot emerged through the hole. At that moment, everything I loved was torn away from me and my life became an interminable nightmare.
Now sixty years later as the plane takes off to my destiny, my future which so compelled me to survive is hazy, a blur of past and future colliding violently. The wispy clouds soar free in the sky, ephemeral, not bound to anyone or anything. I wish I could join them, but baseless hope beckons within me, and I must answer its call. To live with a heart trussed by the strings of my former home is to live with blackness seeping into my soul. I must reclaim my heart in order to truly belong to myself, to be liberated of the manacles that tied me down to the roots which I so desperately tried to cut loose.
The plane is landing now, it dips and sways like a puppet coerced by invisible thread. The master summons, and, in turn, the vast metal monster returns to the ground. It does not have the clouds’ fate, it cannot float without a care, it cannot live with a soul, with a heart, with free will. Once, this was my destiny too, but soon I will share my joy with the clouds. Around me spread the verdant fields of my childhood, where I once played and frolicked, carefree and careless. Disembarking, I stand to my feet, unsteady and unsure like a newborn colt. Memories swirl around me like a tornado whirling round and round, the pinwheel of time.
I hoist my bag and exit the plane. My erratic breath rises in my throat, choking me from the inside. My thumping heart beats wildly in my chest, an eternal drumbeat. My nervous hands flutter in the cool air, but I find nothing on which to grasp. Eventually, I locate his face in the wall of strangers. Those melancholy grey blue eyes penetrate my soul, weakening my knees, sparking my perpetual fury, yet somehow I find the strength to continue. We walk towards each other, feelings of confusion and contempt churning madly. He looks directly at my face, and, at last, we shake hands.
______________________________________________________________________