I’m hastily typing on my blog. Click…. Clack…… Click….. Clack. Today the city is gleaming. The sky is a perfectly clear crystal on this early September morning.  The sun has just risen and begun to beam off the skyscrapers and into the window of my office on the 76th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. All of a sudden, my sister, Rachel, intrudes my office with a sour look on her face. What could it be this time?

        "I told mom….She’s furious with you," she boasts. 

        "Wait, what? Why would you do that? You knew I wanted to be the one to tell her!" I retorted, hammering back at her. My palms are growing sweaty. Anxiously, I twirl my long brown hair around my fingers. 

        "You were the one who got yourself into that fight anyway! I had to tell her!" Rachel screams. My face is on fire, but inside I feel cold regret. 

        The room hushes, and all we can hear are the angry cars trying to navigate the cramped streets. She turns around and sharply departs my office. When she gets to her workplace on the floor above mine, I can hear her slam the door in irritation. I don’t want to forgive her, or so much as just talk to her. This is important to me, and she knows it. 

        I try to resist the urge to stomp up to her office and tell her something that would make her just as livid as I am right now. Instead, I take a deep breath, adjust my dress, and bottle up those emotions. Even though I am not happy, the city still is. I get back to work on my blog. 

        After working for a bit, I notice the clock.  It’s a quarter to nine. I decide to take a break and get myself a cup of coffee. As I’m pouring myself my third cup of coffee this morning, something impedes me. BANG!  I wonder what this roaring sound is. Hastily, I check the hallway outside my office. Nothing. It sounds like it came from outside. I rush over to the window.

        The North tower is wounded. A banner of smoke is flowing out of the wound. Flames of resentment burn its broken heart.  My stomach flips faster than any time I’ve ever been on a rollercoaster. I’m not really sure what to do. Quivering in angst, I open up my flip phone, ready to push the afflictive digits. 9…. 1….1. It rings. Someone answers. "Hello?" I shakily mumble.

        "At your service. What’s the emergency?"

        "The North Tower! Something hit it. I don’t know what, but it’s-..." I report urgently. An announcement comes over the intercom, disrupting me. 

        "Everbody…. there has been an accident in the North Tower. For safety precautions, we will start to evacuate the building," an apprehensive voice says.

        I glance down at my flip phone. The responder isn’t there anymore. I scurry out into the hallway to see some of my co-workers fleeing down the stairs. I pull my messy hair back, ensuring I'm vigilant and ready for anything.  I follow, slowly making my way down a few stories. Unexpectedly, I hear another intense noise, similar to the accident at the other tower. This time, much more deafening. The echo stings my ears.  I hear yelling coming from the stories above. "A plane hit a few floors up! Hurry and get to safety," a voice exclaims. My heart is pounding out of my chest.

        Oh no. Rachel is up there. It is so hard to bring myself back though. She makes me really mad. It is as if she doesn’t even care about me. I stop for a second to think, but I find myself turning around. Determined, I march up the stairs into the explosion rather than away from it. 

        When I reach her floor, part of the ceiling is crumbling and caving in. Her office door is ajar. I hustle over to look for her; the flames are chasing me, hungry and ready to consume the building. Her office is a disaster. There is dust and rubble throughout. I thoroughly scan the room to finally seek Rachel. She is trapped under a small bookcase that has tumbled over. I reach out my hand to assist her. Soon after, we are gripping one another, struggling to make it down the demolished stairs. There are a few others with us who are frantically flowing down the stairs.  Now we are covered in dust and soot. Neither of us look back at what once was both ours and the city’s home. 

        Story by story, we make our way to safety with the others who are lucky enough. Rachel and I, still grasping each other, exit the door that led us away from this scorched pile of burning rubble. I take in the sticky and dusty air as it stops my breath short. I stop and turn back to the towers. Two planes are now engraved into them. The scar left over is infused with anger and hate. The exasperated red flames continue to do their job, killing and destroying. I think about the people in the towers with no way out. No one can save them. 

        Full of dust, Rachel is gasping for air. "Thank you. You saved my life. I’m sorry about what I did to you,"  she remarks as we run from the hurt towers. We continue to move to safety, and as we do, I think about how thankful I am that I made the decision to forgive her and go back. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have Rachel here with me.

        I smile, "I’m so glad I saved you. I forgive you." She contentedly wraps her arm around my shoulder in appreciation. 

-Kara W.

 

                                                                                                                 December 16, 1773

Dearest William Henley,  

I hope that this letter finds you well. I am making sure to keep it very brief, as we must be quick. I am writing to inform you about the matter of our planned meeting under discussion. It has been confirmed. I expect to see you at our planned time and location for our final meeting.

Grace be with you,

Samuel Adams

A smile crossed my face as I read it for the third time. It has been confirmed. I turned my head back up to stare at the door. I practically leaped with joy as I rushed to it and ripped it open with eagerness. My bare face was hit with frigid dry air of the sunny December morning as the cold wind flew through my black hair. The smile on my face was so broad as I patted the worn pockets of my trousers. I heard the clings of the little change I had left. On any normal occasion, I would have opposed spending my saved money on something of less importance. But in the moment, I felt like the richest man on earth, greater than the king himself. 

        I had to use a great deal of force to keep myself from dancing down the road as I headed down to the markets. This time, when the most expensive trolley passed by me, I didn’t scowl or roll my eyes. Instead, I continued on my stroll. My torn up shoes nearly bounced off the ground in joy. I arrived in front of the merchant, his confused look clearly visible. “I would like some of your finest British tea,” I said, making sure to emphasize the word British. 

“Golly! You look joyous. What’s new? It surely isn’t often we see you buying British tea,” asked the merchant, suspicion beginning to creep in with the confusion in his accented voice.

“Nothing new. Just figured I should enjoy it while it’s here!”

“Well then, that will be seven pence, that is if you are finally willing to pay the tax,” he asked, his bushy eyebrows raised in annoyance.

        William reached into his trouser pocket and spread the cold heavy change out onto his dirty and calloused hands. Carefully, he counted out seven pence and reached his hand out in pride. In exchange, he received a few bags of tea. As he turned his back, not bothering to hide his smile, he walked back to his old and rundown house with his head held up so high that it began to feel a little sore. Contrary to the outside, William kept the inside of his home very neat. He wiped off his torn yet clean shoes on his perfectly placed doormat and slipped them off into his closet. His feet slid gracefully against his newly swept kitchen floors. 

        He reached for the cabinet door and yanked it open with enough force to get it unstuck without taking it off its hinges again. His eyes scanned the row of his little evenly placed mugs. He decided on his favorite, the only one that he bought for a cheap price without breaking. Carefully, he poured water from his canteen and placed it in his new bag of tea. He watched as the clear water slowly filled with herbs, and the aroma filled the room. Eagerly, he held the mug up to his nose and took a big whiff. William hadn’t had the privilege of tea in quite some time. Joy spread throughout his body with every sip he took. In just a few hours, life would be different. And some weren't even aware.

William tried to get his chores around the house done but found himself looking at the sun every second, waiting for it to slip down the horizon and tuck itself into bed. Finally, when the night owls began to hoot, and the orange clouds began to slip into darkness, he headed for the door. The frigid cold air filled his lungs as he took one final breath before stepping out onto the cool grass. He made sure to keep silent during his secret walk through the darkness. A wild coyote let out a howl, causing William to jerk his head in its direction. Every little noise seemed to cause a startle.

He was suddenly becoming more aware of his situation. All of the different possibilities of what could come of this night ran through his head until he finally arrived. The Boston Harbour. This night was only the beginning of an evolution.

There he met the eyes of 30 hopeful men, one of which was Samuel Adams. Everybodys’ smiles were wider than the great harbor itself.

“The others will meet us here. So in the meantime, make yourself useful and throw on those togs,” Samuel said, throwing some clothes and an Indian headdress in his direction.

         Eventually, everybody had arrived and gotten dressed up. And as all 60 men stared at each other, dolled up and wearing Indian headdresses, they couldn’t help but break up into laughter. Only soon, the laughter quickly came to an end once they spotted Samuel’s serious expression.

“Tonight, we battle for what we believe in,” Samuel shouted, all 59 hopeful eyes rested upon him. “And we show those frogs who we really are!”

The crowd roared into cheers and charged up onto one of the British cargo ships. Nerves were running all throughout William’s body, but that wasn’t the only emotion. There was a sense of pride coursing through everybody, like they were taking part in an event that could change history. At that moment the king himself didn’t worry them. They were 60 brave and proud men, ready for a change. Ready for justice.

“Grab any box of this nonsense tea you can find and dump it into the harbour,” Samuel called out. “If they think they can throw our money away, we must throw theirs away.”

William’s hands pried the lid off of a crate of tea in the cold December night, eyeing it and remembering the cup he had had this morning. Only instead of the delicious aroma, he remembered the hard earned money taken away from him. Anger powered every bone in his body to lift the damp wooden crate and toss it over the boat. 

        He felt a sense of relief. He had not just let go of the crate, but the rope that the British had been dangling him from. He found himself racing to get the most crates, to get the most pride out of this rebellion. 

        And one crate after the other, it wasn't long until he found himself reaching for the last one. His hands met somebody else's. He looked up to see Samuel Adams pushing up on the other side of the crate. They looked each other in the eyes and together lifted the last crate into the water.

        William placed his bear and freezing hands into his warm pockets and watched as the icy water splashed along the cool, December grass, all of his problems washing away with the tea, watching each cloud leave his mouth with every breath he took as the morning sun began to rise.

        William quickly turned his back away from the tea, away from the past. He raised his red knuckles in the air and stared up at the rest of the men. “For freedom!” he shouted.

        “For freedom!” everybody echoed back.

-Julia B.

         “Shut up, Timmy,” I looked at what was basically my mirror reflection; how do we look the same but completely different at the same time? I swiftly turned around and entered my last class of the day, Holocaust History. Scanning the bleak room, I prayed that I didn't meet Hayden’s stupid face; just before I thought I was safe I felt a shoe step on the back of mine. 

        “Shoot, sorry!” I turned around, and Hayden’s ocean-blue eyes stared back at me. Of course it’s him, just my luck. I decided to say nothing and sauntered over to my desk. I couldn’t be bothered to listen today, so I softly laid my head down on the frigid wooden desk and looked down at my phone, 2:17 pm, February 14th, 2018.

        The next few minutes were filled with nothing but the teacher's mundane voice trying to explain the Holocaust to us kids who were just about dying to leave. I was about to doze off when a raucous series of what sounded like shots blared into everyone's ears. The whole class went silent, all of us probably thinking 3,000 things at once. What was that? Surely there aren’t gunshots in our school? Are people okay? Who’s the shooter? Did people die? Timmy? Did Timmy die? Regardless of my hatred towards him, I couldn’t stand the thought of him being hurt or even dead. My thoughts were interrupted by throat-curdling screams of terror and pain, and something else, footsteps, footsteps coming towards our room. 

        My blood went cold; I knew I didn’t die yet, but it felt like my life was flashing before my eyes, all the times I was mean to Timmy, all the times I didn’t hang out with him or opted out of family dinners just to stay away from him, all the times I would disregard anything he said to me just because I wanted to be ‘cool,’all the times I made fun of him like he wasn’t my own brother, my own twin. How can I be so stupid? All he ever wanted was me to be his friend, and I couldn’t even be that. Now either of us, maybe even both of us, could die, and there’s nothing I could do but think and regret. I felt as useless as a dried marker. I’m not ready to die, I’m not ready for him to die. Please don't let us die. I finally popped out of my head and looked at the luminous classroom clock: Stoneman Douglas High School 2:19 pm February 14th, 2018. 

        Seconds later my eyes darted from the clock to a man, not much older than us, standing outside the door with a skewed, smug look on his face. His hair was short and brown, his shirt maroon just like our school colors; before I could even register who this was he pulled out a huge metallic gun and fired off into our classroom. 

        Everything went in slow motion, and once again I got sucked back into my head. This is it, Jeremy, you spent your who- I felt a hand grasp me and yank me out of my seat; I didn’t even have time to look at this unknown savior of mine before he dropped me in the corner of the room and plopped down next to me.  I turned to meet the same blue eyes I did a couple of minutes before. 

        “Hayden?”

        “You wouldn’t snap out of it, I had to,” he said with a shrug. Did he just save my life and then shrug it off? 

        “I know we are supposed to hate each other, but thank you, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” 

        “Eh, I was kind of a jerk to both you and Timmy, especially after our fight, so I owed you.”  I decided not to question him further and looked around.  It was just then I realized the multiple bodies littering the ground. The room seemed to get smaller as my eyes darted from body to body. Some were moving, praying for help, and others lay motionless. I couldn’t bear to look around anymore, so I closed my eyes and laid back until my head met the hard brick wall.

        BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.  I sprung up to the blaring sound of the fire alarm. I rose up and started to walk out like I’d been taught to for years before something dragged me back down. 

        “What are you doing?” I looked down to see Hayden’s concerned face.

        “I’m leaving, don’t you hear the fire alarm?” 

        “Bro, this is obviously a trick to get people in the halls so the shooter can kill even more people. We have to stay here.” Shooter? Suddenly, everything came back to me, the crimson blood splattered across the floor along with the multiple bodies, the screaming, the wailing, the begging from people in the hallway. How come no one is here to help them? Where are the police? They should be here to help them, to help us. 

        I looked up at the clock: 2:22 pm, February 14th, 2018. It doesn’t take that long to get here. They need to be here soon. Hayden could sense my stress because he put his hand on my shoulder. I knew it wasn’t much, but it was enough at the moment to calm me down. They’ll be here soon. I just need to sit here and wait.

        2:32 pm February 14, 2018. Okay, where the hell are they? It’s been 10 minutes, people are dying and the police aren’t even here? The shooter probably got away by now! Before my thoughts could continue rushing, I heard a booming voice. “PARKLAND POLICE, PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND STAND UP.” Part of me was insanely grateful to hear those nine words, but the other half was skeptical. What if it is another one of the shooter's tricks? What if he’s just trying to lure us out? Regardless, the teacher graciously walked over to the door and unlocked it. The door swung open, and a deep blue-uniformed man stepped through the door. 

        “Okay, everyone, you guys are going to walk out silently with your hands above your head. I would advise you to not look at the floor and stare straight ahead.” We all obeyed and began walking out, though as I passed him I could see him look at my face, and a shocked expression spread across his face as he scanned mine. What’s that supposed to mean? Why did he pull that face when he saw me?

         I cautiously started walking out of the room, trying not to look down, but that too-familiar curly brown hair struck my eyesight, the same hair we’d both had since we were kids since we were born on the very same day, in the same hospital, to the same mother.  He’s going to return to that same hospital alone, alone and dead. I couldn’t take it; I collapsed into someone's arms, and everything that I had kept inside for these past 11 minutes was released. I sobbed hysterically into this unknown person's arms until I had no tears left to cry. I looked up to see those ocean-blue eyes staring back at me, full of worry, sadness, and compassion.

        “He’s dead, Hayden. He’s actually gone.” I sobbed.

        “I know, Jeremy, I’m so sorry.”

        My eyes caught Timmy’s lifeless body again, and even though I thought I was done crying, I fell right back into Hayden and sobbed for what seemed like hours. Why did this happen to me? To us? What did he do to deserve this? I had so many questions, but none of them got answered that day; they never did, and they never will.

3:20 pm May 24, 2022. ABC News Notification: 

Shooting in Texas Elementary School. 

At least 15 dead, multiple injured. 

“How do these keep happening?” I lean back and feel my head hit the cement. “It’s been five years, and they still don’t have themselves put together,” I scoff; I feel a tear roll down my cheek but quickly wipe it away. “You know, I’m really sorry for everything.” I feel more tears stream down; I give up on trying to wipe them away. “I’m s-sorry,” I manage to stutter out. I turn and face him, except there's nothing there, just a few words on a rock. 

-Michaela L.

         Protected in the deep, dark hole I had dug with my bare hands, I finally was able to breathe, but only for a minute. Shrapnel rained down into my thick, curly hair and became entangled. I heard the thumping of boots as soldiers ran by on all sides, rocking the walls of my trench. I knew I was in danger, but there was something calming about that burrow. It reminded me of being under the chassis of a Chevy back in Sacramento. 

        Jimmy wasn’t hiding in a ditch. He was running towards the action. Jimmy had a unique run, a gallop. He sounded like a horse. Th-dump.  Th-dump. As the Jap machine gunners fired down the hill, I heard them screaming, “Rirōdo! Rirōdo!”

        One of my generals ran over my tunnel, his foot collapsing through. 

        “C’mon!” He pulled me out with a Hulk-like strength. It felt like he was about to rip my arm off. 

“We have a war going on right now! Buck up!” the general yelled with an ear-piercing scream. 

I dropped down to the ashy beach and crawled on all fours over the rag doll bodies that littered the beach. So many bodies, it reminded me of the plastic toy soldiers a boy would have scattered around his bedroom floor. One of the casualties looked familiar. As I used the body as a shield, I realized that this was Arthur. Arthur Fenway. I quickly removed the blood splashed dog tags from his muscular neck. I shoved the dog tags into my pockets. No time to mourn. Had to get back to the war. 

“Stay with us, Floyd!” Jimmy shouted from across the battlefield. 

I could see him, 30 yards ahead, as he mercilessly shot a Jap in the back. Suddenly, I felt lightheaded. War is just as gruesome as I had imagined. 

        Sprinting ahead, I caught up with Jimmy. A Japanese soldier charged at me in a full-on sprint, just like a cheetah going after its prey. I swiftly took my M1 Garand and bashed the stock against his skull. The sound was sharp, like twigs being broken in half. I swung again, and with all my strength I went for his chins. His tibia shattered, poking through, his fragile skin destroyed. Blood started to seep through his canvas uniform. 

I was not the same man that I used to be. Confidence surged through my veins. My first kill. Jimmy turned, nodded and flashed me a smile. We were on the same page, ready to kill anyone who stood in our way. 

        As I squinted and shielded my eyes from the sun beaming behind Jimmy, I heard a loud bang. Blood spattered and blocked the rays of the sun, like a painter dowsing its canvas. Jimmy collapsed to the ground. I rushed to Jimmy’s side. 

        “You’re going to be fine, Jimmy. No, don't leave me Jimmy. Jimmy! Jimmy!” I said with shock and disbelief. 

        Looking at his wounds, my jaw dropped to the ground. I noticed a gaping hole the size of a tennis ball. The bullet went clear through. 

        “Floyd. It’s inevitable. Water…can I have some water?” he said with his trademark Alabama twang. 

        I took my canteen and carefully poured the last drops into Jimmy’s bloody mouth. 

“Tell Susan I love her, but my love of my country is stronger,” Jimmy sputtered as he took his final breaths. 

        In life, we face loss. What’s important is making that loss count. 

-Miles M.

        1942, June 9th. I’m laying in bed listening to the dreadful noise of the radio static. “Eli! Dinner!” I hear come from down the stairs, followed by the sound of the raindrops tapping on the fogged windows and the metal-plated rooftop. 

        I stand up with a sigh;  probably bread and vegetables. It's all you can really get around these days.  It is especially hard because we people are not allowed inside most grocery stores, so Aunt Mae has to pick up our groceries for us. I just turned 13 a couple of weeks ago, and we can’t even get cake.

         Anne, my sister, is only eight years old and has been homeschooled since her school had stopped welcoming Jews into their community. Aunt Mae has been looking after us since Ma’ and Pa’ went out together one night; they didn't end up coming back.   Aunt Mae is a real peach though, she helped us sew our stars on our jackets, and she helps us with school work. 

        I start my way down the stairs, and then the wretched smell of canned vegetables shoots up my nose. I gag, but I take my final step to be greeted at the dinner table by Aunt Mae and Anne. It brings a smile to my face to see them together. I take a deep breath and sit down.

         “I know, Eli, I'm sick of eating this too, but you know how hard it is with all the…” Aunt Mae stutters, but I stop her there. 

        “It's alright, we know you're trying your best.” She gives me a hesitant smile and looks at Anne.

         “Anne, Dear, why haven't you touched your food?” Anne sits there in silence for a minute and then speaks. 

        “I miss Ma’ and Pa.’ How could they just leave us like that?” It’s been a month since their disappearance, and whenever we bring them up, Aunt Mae always gives the same exact answer. 

        “I don't know, Hun.” After she responds she looks down at the beat-up flats she wears everywhere she goes and starts biting her lip like she wants to say something, but she's just hiding it. We sit there in silence for the rest of dinner.

        I flutter my eyes open the next morning, and I hear the birds singing and the sound of loud banging coming from down the steps. What could possibly be that noise? Aunt Mae is a simple independent woman who you can't even imagine depending on a man in a billion years. Aunt Mae and Ma’ had a rough childhood, so any sudden move you make near them makes her jump. I walk downstairs, and with each step I take another creek comes from this old shackle of a house. I look at the clock.  8:42 shoot, I'm late. I grab my bags and a piece of toast and leave without saying goodbye to anyone.

         I run to catch a bus, and there we go, on my way to one of my getaway places, school. The school was my favorite even before the Nazis invaded; my favorite thing about school is the books. When I read a book it just feels like I'm being taken away into a never-ending sea of words that gives you a light hope and motivation, or maybe it’s just me. I hop off the bus swiftly and make my way to school. I walk past students in the hall, and all eyes are locked on my jacket.  Then suddenly all the students go into a faint whisper, and as their concerned looks grow the bell makes its first ring, and all the students scramble off. I trot on to my first class of the day.

        “Eli, wake up!” screams my teacher, Mr.Smith. I open my eyes to be greeted by Mr.Smith’s particularly bald head and big bushy eyebrows, but something is wrong.  As I take a minute to fully awaken myself I look around to see that he isn't smiling;  he’s… worried. 

        “What? Is everything okay, Mr. Smith?” I ask. 

        “Hurry, come with me, boy,” Mr.Smith whispers. We quietly make our way down the halls, and then all of a sudden loud gunshots echo the halls. What the hell is that? Our quiet speed walk is now turning into a sprint, trying to get away from whatever just happened down the hall.

         “Mr.Smith, what is happening?” I ask in a confused and concerned tone.

        “Eli, the Nazis-” He pauses and starts to softly whisper, “They’re after you and all the other Je-” He stops suddenly when the door is smashed open. Three tall, lengthy men with guns and red swastika symbols on their suits are standing in the doorway. Everything feels so surreal; my heart is racing as I watch Mr.Smith get shot repeatedly, and blood splatters on my yellow star. I sit there, frozen; I don't know what to do or what to say.  What happened to Aunt Mae? She needs me. 

        “Please don't kill me, please I have a family to go home to!” I sob. They pick me up, and as I get dragged down the corridor, all I can see through my blurred vision is red, and the last thing I remember is a soldier raising his gun to strike me.

        I awake to the sound of quiet chatter from around me; the smell is dreadful. There are a couple of older men around me; they are filthy and look like they haven't eaten in some while.

       I reach to touch my head, and I find myself touching skin and skin only. Where is my hair? I have so many questions, but all I can think about is my Aunt Mae and Anne; how will they react to my absence? My questions turn into a panic very quickly.  I struggle to breathe, I start to sweat uncontrollably, and my heart starts to race. A young man in my bunk starts to notice. “Hey bud, look at me,” he says in a calm voice; I look up at him.  “Everything will be alright. My name is Eddie, what's your name?”

        “M-My name i-is E-E-Eli,” I manage to squeeze out. Eddie then looks at me, and he slowly opens his arms, and then I just crash. I take no time to wrap my arms around him tight as tears flow down my face like a waterfall. Pa’ always told me that men don't cry, and instead they fight through it, but right now I don't know if I’ll be able to. As night slowly flows to morning I lay awake in my bunk trying to think of any and every reasonable answer to my many questions.

        I blink my eyes as the sun pours into my bunk and turn to find Eddie standing there with a smile on his face, “Mornin,’ Eli, it's time to head out to the fields.” I stand up and slowly walk out with Eddie.  The rotten stench of burnt flesh hits my nose, but I fight through it and continue walking,

         “Hm, I wonder, there was a hole in this exact spot the other day. I guess they fixed it?” Eddie says in a low and confused tone, and then he takes his right foot and stomps on where this supposed hole was; after he stops stomping we continue walking. “You know, almost every night, a couple of people get transported to a better camp with good food and water,” Eddie said with a smile. 

        Eddie is a sweet young man, and he tells me stories about his two daughters, but whenever I ask their whereabouts he tears up a little and says, “Everything is gonna be okay, they’re in a safe place right now.” I’m used to people lying to me and telling me everything will be okay because nine out of ten times I know it's not really going to be okay. 

        “ELI!” I hear someone yell. I look up to see… Ma’ and Pa’? I let out a squeal like a little girl getting her dream doll at her birthday party. I run as fast as I can and wrap my arms around them, never letting go; I squeeze and I squeeze, tears filling my eyes as they rub my buzzed head. I take a deep breath and look at them.   I can see their ribcages through the holes in their clothes that are almost the size of a grapefruit. I introduce my parents to Eddie, 

        “Ma’, Pa’? This is Eddie, I met him when I got here.” Eddie stuck his hand out and shook hands with them.

        “Nice to meet you, Eddie,” they say with a smile; we continue making our way to the fields.

        My heart is warm, filled with joy and love. Before my parents and I parted our ways I gave Ma’ a kiss on the cheek and Pa’ a hug goodnight, knowing I'll see their faces when I awaken. I sleep in my bunk peacefully, feeling a sort of happiness rush through me, I sleep with a smile on my face.

        “EVERYONE WAKE UP!” I turn my head to see a Nazi soldier rounding up people in my bunk. I speedily stand up and obey what the soldier says.  As I turn my head I see Eddie walking away with the soldier in a line with many other people. I quickly catch up and start marching along with the rest of the group, 

        “Eddie?” I ask, “Where are we going exactly?” He turns to me and smiles. 

        “Remember that camp I told you about?” he questions.  I nod my head but am confused about where he is getting at. “Eli, we are about to go through disinfection and bathe before we leave for the camp!” Eddie exclaims, “I get to see my daughters again!” 

        I look down at the ground; no, no this can’t be happening. I have just found Ma’ and Pa’ again. Now I’m leaving them. Eddie wraps his arms around me and squeezes me tight, but I hold in my tears for Eddie's happiness.

         We finally reached the disinfection site, and the soldiers order us to undress and make our way into the tiny, dark, and cramped room. My bare, cold body slowly walks inside the room. Then all of a sudden I hear the door get locked shut with us still inside.

         People start to move around frantically as screams start to ring around the room.  A quiet hissing sound begins, and people start to cough. I look around for Eddie as fast as I can. People's bodies drop to the floor like never before.  My coughing begins and I start to sob.  I scream for help, and I scream for Eddie. I just want to see my parents one more time.

         I fall to the floor, and as my eyes start to close I imagine Ma’, Pa’ and I at the beach watching the sunset.  Oh what I would give to go back in time and for this to never have happened to me, or to anyone else.

         May everyone who has suffered rest peacefully, for I will rest peacefully as well.

-Sophia B.

         “Mama, what’s that up in the sky?” I ask Mama with interest. 

  “Don't worry, Baby, it’s just the sky. Nothing to worry about,” she adds, but I can tell she is curious too.

        “Are you sure we shouldn't ask someone?” 

        “If it bothers you too much, we can just go to the elder’s office - the place with the oldest dinosaurs; they know everything.” We walk through the extended, drenched grass.

        “What does this thing in the sky look like?” the head elder asks.

        “It’s gray, and kind of looks like the moon. But I know it isn’t, it’s just  different. I'm not sure how to explain it.” 

        The elders whisper, and I hear a slight “no it can’t be” and a “but that's impossible!”   After hard thinking and intense discussion, they have finally come to a conclusion.

        “We aren't quite sure what this is. Could you show us this in person?” 

        “Sure, follow us,” Mama says, motioning for me to lead the way.

        I walk over to where I had seen it before. I see it and then point. The elder’s dark green faces turned into a bright pink, like a perfectly luscious and plump strawberry.  I can tell they are scared. 

        With an anxious tone, they explain, “There is an asteroid coming, and we are in imminent danger. Our earth is coming to an end, so say goodbye to your families.”  

        My heart drops to my stomach. I just don't get it. After 180 million years of our world being perfectly fine, it’ll just end? We have had mostly good lives and now it’s ending? I am furious. I don't want to be forced to leave my family because of some stupid asteroid. 

        Mama gathers our whole family. Dinosaurs from Mama’s side of the family come, as well as Papa’s.    Even some close friends come. Some of us are scared, and others are ready. 

        An announcement comes on. “Attention all dinosaurs, the asteroid will be hitting earth soon. Make sure you have said all of your goodbyes.” I break out into a broad sob. I am not ready for this to happen to me. Everyone clusters together into a big huddle, and I can tell reality is starting to get to them; everyone is scared now. 3..2..1! BOOM.  

        I hide under Mama, staying as close as I can.  Blinding light and searing heat washes over me like a tsunami.  It seems to end as quickly as it started. 

        Mama starts to fall, and I quickly squirm out from underneath her. She falls to the ground with a thud.

        “Mama, wake up!” I nuzzle against her, but it’s no use. “Please wake up, please, Mama!” I lay down next to her, sobbing.

        “H-hello,” I turn, another young dinosaur around my age looking at me. Her face is contorted with pain and wet. She must have lost her Mama and Papa too.

        “H-hi,” I manage to say through my sniffling. 

        “We need to go,” she tells me. “We have to gather food.” 

        “Okay,” I say, my voice still trembling. We walk for what seems like decades. The earth is left of nothing but dust and clay, leaving the air translucent. We dig through the clay together, only finding a rare earth metal called iridium. I would normally be stoked to find such rare material, but I start feeling weak, and my mind spins. I back away, covering it partially with the clay. “We should go.”

        “Why,” she asks.  I don't want to scare her after what we had gone through in the previous days.

        “It’s nothing, I just think we should try to find water.” 

        “Okay,” she says with a sarcastic tone. We travel for hundreds of miles, finding nothing but clay. What used to be trees has turned into a musty powder filling up the air. What used to be the beautiful grass had turned into fires. A dizzy feeling runs around my head, but I have to power through. 

        “I never got your name,” I smile. She smiles back.

        “My name’s Emmy!” she tells me.

        “I'm Benji!” We both smile. I love her. She makes me feel happy even after losing all I’ve ever had. I noticed a small shimmer out of her pocket. “What's that?” I anxiously ask her.

        “Oh! This? This is a little piece of iridium from before! 

        “Emmy, put that down.” My voice trembles.

        “What?” she asks.

        “I'll explain later. But just please get that away.” She throws it into the abyss of fires. A sigh of relief and an alarmed feeling have shaken me in the same moment. 

        She throws the iridium into the fire. Idiot. The fire has expanded. A ring of fire surrounds us. It seems as if she has passed out from fear. Sh**. I lie down with her in my arms in a tight hug as the fire caves in on us. A tingling feeling washes over me as I start to burn. Suddenly, everything goes blank.

-Hailey T.

 The Failed Cause

        We kept trekking through the snowy land.  We were all starving and dehydrated from a long day of marching.  The Winter Palace was only a few miles ahead of us.  We needed to make it; it was for all of Russia.  We were moaning and groaning as children would do when they don’t want to go someplace.  But this was a place we wanted to go even though it was freezing.  Even though we were exhausted.  Even though all of our limbs ached.  But this protest was worth it.  Or so my husband said.  But my husband believed in it, and I believed in him.  The place our fate would be decided.  There were only two ways this would go: we would either be treated like rats, or we would be treated like real people.

        Father Gapon was a good man, I knew that.  I had talked with him multiple times.  I was sure he would make an impact on Czar Nicholas.  He was a good man who knew right from wrong.  Good from bad.  When I saw though that he had made a petition to Csar, I thought he had gone mad.  “Are you crazy?  He won’t even LOOK at it!”

        “Ah, but Anna, sometimes words speak louder than actions.”  But I knew he was serious because I looked out my window and glanced at him taking a walk with hundreds of regular people, workers, and many others who lived here.  But this was no ordinary walk.  It was the beginning of our protest.

Father Gapon’s petition was quite simple, but the way he worded it made him sound like a very intelligent and educated man.  He wrote this entire petition, but he thought of it with the people.  With everyone in Russia in mind.

        Dear Tzar Nicholas,

                Long live your rule over Russia as our great Czar.  You truly are a remarkable man, and ruling over this fine nation is no simple task.  But some things have appeared to not concern you        greatly, which concerns me and the people of Russia greatly.  I would like to pass on to you this    simple list of requests that we would like to put into motion in our great union.

                Many workers have come to me asking for knowledge, guidance, and wisdom to help them  through a rough and bumpy working schedule.  They request that you please change their working schedules so that they can work at peak performance in your astounding factories.

                They also ask that you please make the factories a more pleasant workplace.  From what I’ve  heard from these fine men, those factories are very grotesque.  They ask that you please rid the space of rodents, as well as upgrade the machinery so that they work at maximum potential.

                 The people and I also believe that limitations should be placed on our state officials.  They  have a very large amount of power over our great states.  Power is always great, but too much can     lead to greed, which can lead to complete control.

            Our great citizens of Russia all believe that Czarism is a very great type of governmental     ruling.  However, as you may have noticed, you have unfortunately not established a proper and  just government system with different responsibilities and roles of ruling or furnishing the country  with much-needed supplies in multiple different departments of living and well-being.

            Our great Father and ruler of the motherland, please read over this document very thoroughly and greatly consider our requests.  We are very grateful for this great nation you have provided us with, so please, let us make a few suggestions on how to improve it.

With many regards,

Father Gapon and the people of Russia

We marched forth towards the tall and intimidating Winter Palace.  We all dreamt of what it would be like living there.  The Tsar’s military slowly came into view.  Their intimidating glare sent a shudder down me and my husband Ivans’ backs.  They stood like a wall.  Unmoving, no expression whatsoever.  They looked as if their minds had been erased.  Maybe they had been.  The colonel, Alexander Kutepov, marched forward to Father Gapon.  

        “HALT!” he yelled.

        “Hello, sir, good day to you.  Long live the Tsar.”

        “What have you brought us, peasant?”

        “Please, sir, we would like to pass this simple petition to our dear father, Nicholas Romanov II.”

        “A petition?  No parchment or document will be getting through to Nicholas.”

“Please, sir.  It is just a simple list of only four requests.”

        Father Gapon unrolled the piece of parchment.  Our entire future relied on this document.  The colonel snatched it out of Father Gapon’s hands and marched back over to his wall of troops.  The Czar’s royal guard stood tall and as perfectly postured as ever.  He and a couple of his best men looked over the document, eyes darting from side to side when moving on to a new line.  Finally, after what had seemed like forever, they finished looking over the document, and he ordered his troops back into position.  

        The tension was palpable.  The colonel rolled up the drizzled piece of paper.  Snow had started to fall on our heads.  My thin, raggedy clothing wouldn’t stand a chance against this.  The cold would be too strong.  

        Kutepov strolled up to Father Gapon and whispered something into his ear that was undetectable.  After he whispered the mystery sentence, Father Gapon smiled and replied, “Thank you.”  The colonel, Alexander Kutepov, performed a slow set of steps back to his troops.  We thought he would pass on our petition.  Instead, he would destroy it.

        Kutepov tore it in half and barked orders at his troops.  “Ready? FIRE!”  The ground was only speckled at first, but then it pooled with red.  Blood sprayed into the air like confetti cannons at a birthday party.  Bullets pelted tens, hundreds, THOUSANDS of people!  My husband and I started to run, but then I heard the worst sound of my life.  The last gunshot I ever remember hearing.  The bullet that shot my husband.

“AAAHHH!”

“IVAN!”

“RUN, ANNA!”

        I did as he told me.  That was the end of my husband.  I could do nothing as soldiers surrounded him, shooting at his body and stabbing him with gleaming knives.

----------------------------

        I returned to my old wooden house.  It wouldn’t be the same without Ivan.  It looked dark and gloomy, not inviting and welcoming.  I entered the house, passing my two children on the way in.  I couldn’t bear to look at them.  The confusion and shock of their father not returning home with their mother led them to ask the question

“Mom?  Where’s Dad?”

        I didn’t know how to explain it.  I didn’t know if I could explain.  I only returned to my room, weeping for hours about the tragedy of my beloved husband.  We were foolish to trust those double-crossing soldiers, having us believe in false hopes.  The outcome had come out just as I had predicted; we were treated like rats.  Filthy, diseased, unwanted rodents.

-Journal Entry 476

  January 23, 1905

-Finn W.