 Thursday, June 05, 2008
- Elizabeth Porter, Grade 12
People always talk about how the youngest child is the spoiled one, gets all the attention, so on and so forth. But what they don't tell you is if the youngest kid comes out less perfect than the first one, they get tossed to the wolves. This is how it always was with me. You would think, being the youngest daughter of the royal family, I'd be treated as a lady of grace, with suitors craving my attention - no such luck. I was far too short and scrawny to be considered 'elegant', and my mud brown hair and dull brown eyes hardly caused any men of the court to lose their breath.
But my sister, three years my senior, was tall, whimsically built in proper proportions, and blessed with hair the color of pure gold. Whenever she entered a room, it lit up from the luminescent glow of her pure white skin. But Adelle, that is, my sister, was not blessed with intelligence in any sense of the word. You could barely hold down a conversation with her, since after two minutes of talking she would forget what was being talked about. Often, she had to be calmly retold what was going on around her, or else her sudden loss of understanding would send her into a childish fit of hysterics.
For a long time I resented my sister for this debilitating feature, but as I grew older I only felt pity for her. She simply couldn't understand and remember things. I decided to do my best to take care of her, and essentially I demoted myself to become her handmaiden, so that I could always help her when need be. Sometimes she appreciated my efforts. Other times she became annoyed with my presence, unable to remember why I followed her around - but I never minded. I grew to love the sister I had so long been jealous of, and we became the closest friends.
When our mother decided that the time had come for Adelle to marry, Adelle had no idea what that even meant. But I did. It meant that Adelle would be thrown into a new court where no one knew of her special needs, where she would be scared and confused, and then forced to marry a man she'd never met. I had to protect her. So I instantly volunteered to go with her as her servant.
"But Pel," said my sister (my name is Petronilla, by the way; another curse my family laid upon their disfavorable child), "you don't have to go. Why would you want to leave home?" I couldn't tell her how I needed to be there for her without upsetting her, so I just said I wanted a change of scenery.
A fortnight later, the two of us packed all of our belongings onto a packhorse and rode off for Adelle's fiance's kingdom. Although it was only a day's ride away, the heat of the day bore down on us the whole way.
After a while, my sister halted her horse, a fairy mare named Falada, and whined to me, "Pel, will you go get me a drink of water?"
Now, I may take care of my sister, but I don't baby her. I insisted that she was capable of getting the water herself, and should do so. She pouted a bit, but eventually gave in and went to the stream herself. Falada, a wise creature with the ability to speak, praised my firm handling of Adelle. "Her parents coddle her too much," said the mare. "She has to learn how to do some things for herself."
Adelle returned and we again set off. But it was not long until Adelle again wanted some water, and again I told her to get it herself. She whined, and even wept a little, but I remained firm. At last, she went to the stream herself, returned, and we moved on.
As the heat of the day increased, Adelle again asked me to get her a drink of water. This time I lost my temper a bit. I told her to act as a twenty-year-old should and get her own damn drink. She flew off towards the stream, crying. I regretted my words instantly. I hated upsetting my sister. When she returned, her face streaked with tears, I suggested we rest for a while and play a little bit of a game. Her face brightened instantly.
"Oh, Pel, I know! Let's play dress up!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down. With what, though? I asked her.
"Well.we could dress up as each other! Trade cloths and see how we look!"
So she took off her beautiful blue and gold gown and traded it for my simple green frock. She spun around in my rough dress, giggling with delight. I, however, felt awkward wearing her fine gown.
But she laughed at me, "Oh Pel, you look so pretty! You should wear that for the rest of the day. It looks so good on you!" I smiled. She always knew the sweetest way to make me feel better. So I agreed to wear the dress, and she insisted on wearing my frock as well.
"It's so much more comfortable than those giant dresses!"
So we continued on our way. It was dusk when at long last we reached the castle gate. We announced ourselves to the guard, and soon Prince Kaden himself arrived to welcome us in.
But that was when everything started going to hell.
The Prince turned to me; "Sweet Princess, it brings me the greatest joy to welcome you to my home - your new home, my beautiful bride." Adelle took no notice of these words, but my face blanched. He had us confused!
"N-n-no - " I stammered, but the Prince cut me off.
"I know you are nervous; as am I. But do not fear! As you settle into your new quarters, everything will seem better. Here are your new servants - they will assist you." Instantly I was surrounded by a crowd of serving maids, and they herded me off into the depths of the castle, leaving Adelle alone in the courtyard, dazed and confused at my sudden disappearance.
For days I neither heard nor saw anything of Adelle. Over and over I tried to tell the servants that I was not the Prince's bride, that the other girl was, but no one listened to me. I tried to find Adelle, asking all over the palace where she had gone, but no one knew who I was talking about.
About a week later, I wandered down into the main courtyard, and found a small passageway that led to the fields behind the castle. Traveling down it, I beheld a horrific sight - the head of wise old Falada, the fairy horse, mounted on the wall. I fell to tears, for Falada had been a dear friend to both myself and my sister. But the head, still blessed with fairy magic, spoke to me.
"Petronilla," she said, and my heart nearly stopped. "Petronilla, you must find your sister. For a time she was quite well - these people had her herding the flocks of geese. But this boy, Conrad, who was sent to help her, frightened her into using her royal magics to control the wind. I fear that the boy told the King of this, for this morning I saw his Majesty follow Adelle out to the fields. He is a stubborn and senile old man, Petronilla - I'm sure he will be hard on her. You must intervene!"
I ran off at once, bidding Falada farewell as I rushed back to the palace. Dusk was falling, and there was little time before my handmaidens would again try to shove me back into my chambers. I flew through passageways, down corridors, and up staircases, looking into each room for signs of my sister. After what seemed like hours, I came to the Western tower and collapsed at the foot of the stairs. It was then that I heard the sounds of weeping. With my heart pounding, I clambered up to a doorway along the staircase. The door was locked, but now I could clearly tell that the crying was in fact Adelle; my poor sister, locked in a tower chamber! I knocked gently on the door so as not to frighten her. "Adelle? Is that you? It's Pel."
"Pel! Where have you been? I'm so scared Pel - the old man wanted to know how I knew royal magics. He yelled at me and called me a thief - and he's sure to come back! Oh Pel, help me!"
"Adelle, listen, I'm going to try and find the King. I'll clear all of this up and get you out of here, alirght? Don't be scared, I'll be back soon!"
I ran further up the staircase, frantic to find the King and finally set this mess straight. To my luck, the King was in a sunroom chamber atop the tower, conversing with one of his advisors. As I approached, I heard him say something about "the Princess"; I paused to listen at the door.
"The girl was completely hysterical when I spoke to her before, you know, that peasant girl who came with that Princess. But I'll get the truth out of her. If I know anything about women, it's when they think they're all alone, they spill their guts out to the open air. As if talking to no one will ease their conscience!" The King laughed in a despicable sort of way, thinking himself so clever. "So," he continued, "I'm simply going to sit here and wait for the sounds of her confession come floating up the chimney stack!" He laughed again, and the advisor laughed along, to humor this strange old man.
But I struck upon an idea from the King's absurd theory, and hurried back down to the room where Adelle was locked. I told her what to do, and she repeated it back to me several times until I was satisfied. With my plan set in motion, I calmly left the tower, praying that Adelle would remember exactly what to say.
The next morning was the day long celebration of Prince Kaden's engagement to 'his Princess'. As my servants dressed me, I continued to insist that I was not the princess Kaden was meant to marry, but as usual I was ignored. Once I was gowned and ready, I made my way down to the courtyard to the feast, alert and watchful. After a few moments of searching the crowd, I at last found her - my dear sister Adelle, properly gown of palest pink and silver, sitting and laughing with the Prince at the banquet table. My plan had worked! The King must have overheard Adelle's 'confession' about how she had traded clothes with me, and thus she was the real Princess. At last, everything was set right! And from the looks of things, Adelle and Kaden were getting along well - now that I looked at them, they did make quite a handsome couple.
But I wondered - why had no one informed me that I was no longer the one marrying the Prince? They must be announcing this soon, or else Adelle would not be here.
I looked to the King. He was talking with some of the members of court. But when he saw me looking at him, he turned his focus to me. He called, "Princess, we are discussing matters of treason. What do you think; if a servant betrays their royal master, what should their punishment be?"
Such a simple question!
"Well, in my country at least, the punishment for such treason is death. In some cases, severe forms such as being dragged by a team of horses through the street in a barrel full of nails were used." I shuddered at the thought; the royal family is required to watch public executions, but I certainly never enjoyed such events.
"Then, treacherous maid, that shall be your fate!" cried the King.
Instantly I was surrounded by guards, and the entire celebration erupted into uproar. I was flung to the ground and hit my head on the flagstones; somewhere in the distance I heard Adelle screaming, "That's not what I said! That's not what I said!"; other women were wailing; men were jeering; three guards hauled me to my feet, and began pushing and pulling me back inside the castle.
Before I reached the gate I glanced back; Adelle was weeping into Kaden's chest while the Prince himself tried to reason with his father - but the King was unmoved, and did not even acknowledge his son's presence.
Adelle looked up, and her eyes met mine. With tears streaming down her face, she cried out, "PEL! Pel, please forgive me!! I never called you a traitor; God, please, I'm so sorry!!"
She fell to her knees, weeping and wailing, praying to God.
That was the last I saw of my sister. I hope that she can find happiness in the comfort Kaden can give her; he seems a good man. Tomorrow they are to be married - just four hours after my execution.
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Friday, May 09, 2008
Click here for Student Writing Showcase 2008.
That's not much fanfare! Well, I could tell you about all the great student writers we have showcased this year. I could discuss the wonderful authors who have leant their voices and commentary (like M.T. Anderson, Karen Cushman, and Cynthia Leitich Smith). I could describe the way neat-o video version of 1,000 Words. I could tell you all about the Letter To Self article and writing prompt. I could write up a super-duper self-promotion that shows in detail how each one of these things makes for a really cool place to chill out, read some excellent student writing, get inspired, and moves you to write whatever your heart desires! I could... and I kind of just did... but I think I'll just pipe down and let you check it out for yourself.
AND if you do get inspired and DO write something. Send it to us at word@weeklyreader.com. We're always looking for the best student writers to publish right here on WORD!
Cheers mates! Enjoy! 
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Wednesday, January 16, 2008
by Rebbeca Tung
Age 10
Marge snorted and reread the flyer. It said, "Madame Fange's Academy for the Troubled." Pocketing the leaf of paper and grabbing her carpetbag, she hurried to the lawn where her mother's tan, dented station wagon was parked coughing out exhaust. She threw everything into the back seat, while listening to her mother chide about the three hour long trip to Kent.
"Oh brother," she muttered rolling her eyes.
***
Marge was ushered into a cement gray, cobweb-filled building. She shook her head in disapproval at the fake potted plants, scattered lawn chairs, cramped classrooms, and the cold, impassive staff. Only Daphne, the bus driver, had been kind, providing them with valuable information. Obviously 3/4 of the academy had been phony. Students were told to clean out Madame Fange's sleeping quarters, eat gruel and brussels sprouts, never smile, and sleep on cots that were already packed with four other students!
Fortunately an odd girl named Limea had been very generous sharing gruel and helping Marge dust the wardrobe.
"Always bin stuck in dis dirt pile!" Limea growled, her eyes filled with rage. She kicked furiously at the four-poster bed as the two cleaned Madame Fange's bedroom.
"You never had a family?" Marge asked aghast at the thought of such loneliness.
"Madame Fange adopted me at an early age," the other girl replied opening the door to leave.
Marge sighed and hurried out of the bedroom returning to her dormitory. Though Madame Fange had stolen cameras and cell phones and had thrown letters away, she had failed to take Marge's disposable camera.
Now Marge held the small camera and ran down the dimly lit corridors to what was called the Discipline Room. Madame Fange and her sister, Blair, had already begun disciplinary time randomly switching kids with belts. Carefully Marge took photos of the victims, cringing at their scarred and slightly bleeding backs. Suddenly Madame Fange looked up and asked, "Where are those moronic girls?"
"Limea and Con #287900? (aka Marge)" Blair asked.
Madame Fange nodded and smirked. "I am convinced that the two are hiding outside this room behind the door."
The two spotted Marge and smiled and watched, as she hastily stuffed something in her pocket. Blair snickered, "It seems that Marge is hiding something."
Blair strode to #287900 (aka Marge) and shoved her, sending her sprawling. The camera went flying in the air and broke upon impact. Marge tried to hide it but it was too late. They had seen the camera.
***
"Well, well. Our prisoner has a camera," Madame Fange said facing Blair. Then she turned to #287900 scowling. "Have you forgotten, fool, that cameras and cell phones were prohibited the first day?"
Marge shifted uncomfortably, still lying on the concrete floor of the Disciplinary Room.
"I shall dismiss you now, wretch. Next time--" the woman paused, her voice trailing off. After a moment, she continued. "Next time, you will wish you were never born."
Blair kicked Marge then dragged her away. "You will be isolated from the others. Do not snoop around when you are cleaning rooms or fetching well water. I will send Limea to deliver your belongings."
The cell room was dank and moldy with moth-eaten rugs laid out for her to sleep. A single candle sat beside the rags, casting pale, barely visible shadows.
Marge sighed. This would not be an easy night for her.
***
Con. 287900 was standing outside of the building, surrounded by a fence that was covered by chicken wire as she hurried outside supposedly "fetching water." Around her arms were two buckets filled with evidence that something was going terribly wrong at the Academy. The girl regretted leaving Limea behind but, she would be the only who was allowed to collect water.
Of course, Marge had been taking pictures of the Academy, first of the small cell then of herself fetching water as Fange and Blair taunted her.
Quickly, Marge crawled under the fence using a hole that she had dug and hopped on to the Daphne's bus. No one was watching. She turned the key in the ignition and breathed deeply. Then she put the bus into DRIVE and pressed down on to the pedal. The vehicle crashed through the fence and she watched as everyone poured out of the building.
"CATCH HER!" a red-faced Blair cried. Cars pulled out of the parking lot to chase the bus but as they ganged up on the automobile, it veered away turning a sudden right into a backyard. Marge gritted her teeth as the bus parked at the police station and climbed out with her information. She dashed into the station and dumped everything on to the table.
An officer asked, "And what is this hubbub, young girl?"
"Evidence," Marge answered.
"Evidence for what?"
"Proof that 'Madame Fange's Academy for the Troubled' is a phony."
The officer began to examine each object, wearing latex gloves to prevent any unnecessary fingerprints. He looked up at Marge and began to ask another question when the Fange sisters burst in.
"Can you believe it? Our own niece ran away from home!" the two cried in unison, snatching Marge's collar.
"I'm afraid this isn't your niece and that I'll have to arrest you two for child abuse." the man replied, handcuffing the two.
In a nearby car, Limea gave Marge a thumbs-up. The former prisoner, 287900 grinned toothily and nodded. Marge was going home. 
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Wednesday, January 02, 2008
By Dustin Wahl
It was getting dark. The swamp was full of dead plants and smelled like someone forgot to take a shower. An old man with wild hair and a face smeared with dirt waded through the waters. He had a .20 gauge attached to his back, and he was looking for something to shoot.
Through the rotting weeds came the extremely elusive rubber ducky! The old hunter sneered a horrible murderous grin. He cocked his rifle. But then, something strange happened. The ducky started to drift, against the current. The hunter was astonished as it slowly swam away. He quickly gathered his senses and followed.
The hunter, with the mind of a killer, shot at it four or five times. He missed but kept chasing the duck. Finally, he cornered the rubber ducky. "I'll hang your hide on the clothesline!" he shouted "or a coat hanger. Ha!"
"You can't do that," said the ducky. "I'm plastic!" But, either way, he was cornered.
The hunter took aim. Just as he was ready to fire, the ducky spoke up again. "I don't know how I got here. I think I fell out of the window, but I just want to go back home. I hate it here. My little friend loved me and I loved him, but I don't know how to get back to him."
By this time the hunter was crying his eyes out because of the sad story. Truth be told, the little rubber ducky knew exactly where he was. He made up the sob story at the spur of the moment. He was trying to sneak past the crying hunter, when the hunter, between tears, asked the duck, "How is it that you can talk?"
 "What?!" exclaimed the ducky. "You've never heard a rubber ducky talk? Well, I guess I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Mr. Bubbles. I was just going to take another bubble bath, when I fell out of the window. I was carried by a small stream of water to a sewer in the ground. That carried me to a huge river, which carried me here. Any questions?"
By this time the hunter was ready to wake up from a dream. But he noticed something about Mr. Bubbles. He was kind of a different duck. That was when the hunter fainted.
If you've ever seen a rubber ducky swim on its own, well, it's a sight to see. That Mr. Bubbles was moving. He had evaded the old hunter, but there wasn't any time to celebrate. This duck had a mission. You see, Mr. Bubbles wasn’t normal. He got senses about things. Big things. And that day he had the strangest, most bizarre sense of all: the president was apparently going to be crushed by a falling piano. I know it sounds weird, but Mr. Bubbles was never, ever wrong.
* * *
The next day Mr. Bubbles was sitting in the office of the president's secretary, waiting for some loon screaming about taxes to leave. He finally got removed by the security and Mr. Bubbles hopped up on the desk. You might be wondering how Mr. Bubbles got past the secret service. All I know is, rubber duckies have willpower. And they have guts, which could be why two security guards were tied up in a janitor's closet. Anyway, there sat Mr. Bubbles, trying to explain to the stunned secretary how the president was going to be hit by a falling piano in a matter of minutes. When the secretary finally gathered her wits, she called security. As soon as she said the word "security," Mr. Bubbles was gone.
Outside, the president was trying to find a way to get away from all of the yelling reporters. In the process, he almost stepped on Mr. Bubbles. "Excuse me," shouted Mr. Bubbles over all the noise. "but, um, could I have an autograph?" The shocked president didn't say a word. Mr. Bubbles looked up. Sure enough, he could see a piano falling out of a three-story window. "Um, come here quick!" said the nervous ducky.
"What?!" the president shouted, unaware of anything that was going on around him.
"THERE'S A PIANO ABOUT TO FALL ON YOU!!" That finally got him to look up.
"AAGGGHHH!!!" Everyone seemed to see it at the same time. And everyone but the owner of the piano was happy because no one was injured, all thanks to Mr. Bubbles.
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Monday, December 03, 2007
Ladies and Gentlemen!
Boys and girls!
Children of all ages!
READ Magazine is proud to present...
THE ONE...
THE ONLY...
(See this is where you applaud madly and scream with glee.)
Click here for Willie's goodness. 
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Friday, September 28, 2007
In the premiere issue of READ this year, we asked you to write a conclusion to the story Bad Blood. The following is how Carly Arias envisioned it continuing...
Beyond Bad Blood
- Carly Arias, Grade 8
"Maybe." I said. I looked down at the highway ahead of me. "Then again, maybe not."
Those were the last words that I said to my dad that day. Now, after two years of road tripping, I'm finally going back to that little town in Ohio. My corvette, still red and delicious, has been my one an only love.
Every night all I can think about is poor old Mrs. Anderson dying alone. As I'm driving down the road to the old house and its memories all I can do is tremble. Tremble with the fear of remembering things. Tremble with the fear of seeing her ghost. Tremble thinking, "Did she die because of me?"
As I drove past her house, to my surprise the lights were on. As I got out of the car quietly, I saw a vague image of a man standing near the window. I went around back, peeked in, and immediately dropped to the floor. I blanked out and saw what was like a "movie" in my head about Mrs. Anderson looking at her son, Gary's, picture. Then I awoke. As I looked in the window again... the man was still standing there. I squinted to see his face... it was Gary!
I ran and jumped into the car. Quickly locking the doors I thought, "Is it Gary's ghost coming back to haunt me, or was he never really dead?"
I turned the car on and backed out of the driveway. Down the road about two miles or so was a motel. I checked in, got my stuff and headed into the room. The second I stepped in the room I got a whiff of something. It was neither bad nor good. It was familiar. It smelled like Mrs. Anderson's house. That dusty colonial smell.
The next day I drove past the house again and saw the door and windows open. So, I parked my car a little down the street and walked to the house. I walked in and saw Gary. He sprinted towards me and knocked me on the floor. He started to scream. "You! You are the one who killed her!" Then he vanished.
I drove as fast as I could back to the motel. I ran into the room, locked the door, and hid under the covers. I eventually decided that I would have to face my fears. The next day, I went to the house one last time. When I saw Gary, I called out his name. He vanished and then appeared right behind me. I told him how I was sorry--how I never meant to hurt him or his mom. I decided to return the car to him. I handed him the keys just as a white light flashed... and he disappeared. This time for good.
My nightmares were over.
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Friday, May 11, 2007
In READ Magazine's pirate issue (yar), we asked you to write the conclusion to a story called The Pirate's Life For Me. To read the first part of that story, click here. To read Sara Verbanas' conclusion... keep reading. |
The Pirate's Life For Me (Part II)
- By Sara Verbanas
"That it be boy-o!" Uncle Petey glared at me and motioned with the flick of his hand to come along "Now, we meet your father." I felt my throat tighten as I strolled one step behind Uncle Petey, feeling the eyes of the crew glaring at me with interest and awe.
We came upon a wooden door that led to the captain's cabin. "Come on lad don't be shy now! We ain't got all day ya know!" Petety rapped his knuckles on the door, and then a voice sounded within.
"Who goes there me-hearty?"
 Petey pushed open the door and across the room a figure emerged from the shadows of the corner, to reveal a tall, strongly built, bronze-skinned man. His attire contained a black hat with a pair of old, grungy-looking pair of boots and his hair was braided just like Petey's (except this guy had some beads in his).
"Aye matey, is that how you'd greet your own blood?" I stared at the man for a moment realized what Petey had been fussing about. This man standing right in front of me was my father! "Keith? Aye me-hearty! Tis' can't be him! He's so scrawny and pale!"
Petey turned to me and looked me up and down. "Aye but he gots the heart of a pirate, Captain."
"Well then," My pirate-father said, "Don't you be tryin' any tricks now. There ain't no where else to go besides the deep blue yonder where you'll be eaten alive by sharks." Petey grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to my long lost father. "Well, you aint the buffest lad to take the job, but we can make you as greedy and heartless as we here pirates!" I felt his arm place itself heavily on my left shoulder, causing my body to tilt sideways. "Now, we will start breaking you of your proper habits and mold you into a strong and dirty pirate!"
The captain led me out of the cabin and brought me up to the top of the deck. The crew went on with their own duties as if they hadn't noticed I was there. "Now how bout you be gettin' to work, son?" I was handed a bucket of dirty water along with a scrubbing brush. "This here deck needs a good scrubbing, you best be getting it done before dark or you'll miss eatin'."
* * * *
There were plenty of times I went to bed without dinner, but I eventually figured out a way so that I would get done with all my chores and was then able to eat while my food was still hot on the table. If I were to get up early enough, then I could get done with the deck so it would dry before the crew woke up and walked all over it and made it dirty again.
Over the years, I became musuclar and my skin began to turn from a young boy's pale white to a young man's bronze.
Eventually, I discarded all ideas of escape from my mind. After hard labor and deathly trials I finally won the respect and approval of the crew. My father and I became great companions. I was told that because of my cold-heartedness and my exceeding greed, I would become the co-captain of the ship! One day, my father will be dead and I will become sole captain of his ship.
Aye, tis' truly a pirate's life for me!
Yar. 
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Wednesday, May 09, 2007
In READ Magazine's pirate issue (yar), we asked you to write the conclusion to a story called The Pirate's Life For Me. To read the first part of that story, click here. To read Deb Chadwick's conclusion... keep reading. |
The Pirate's Life For Me (Part II)
- by Grace Kim, Grade 7
As I rose, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Pirates, with eye patches, crutches, and talking parrots on their shoulders, all shouting, "Ahoy, Master Keith!" and grinning with their black and gold teeth showing between their lips. It was just as I read in books and magazines. They all had either a pistol, or a dagger with curved edge. I closed my eyes and thought, what if this was all a dream? Soon I'll have to wake up and see those ugly amateur clowns trying to perform their dumb tricks. I slowly opened my eyes wishing it wasn't a dream. I could still hear the loud voices of the pirates, smell the salty water, and see the blue wave hit the wooden walls of the ship.
I reached into my pockets and touched the golden brooch. Maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was magic.
 I looked around. Some pirates were drinking rum. Some were eating apples from the barrels. Some were examining the map, and some were sword fighting. I didn't want to go back home. I much rather wanted to spend my 13th birthday with these real pirates than some dumb clowns. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.
"What shall we do, lad?" asked Uncle Petey, munching on an apple.
"Let's go find hidden treasures! Or invade another ship! Anything that pirates do!" I answered.
"Then treasures it shall be!" exclaimed Petey.
"Ahoy! Land!" shouted the lookout. As we approached through the fog, a figure of an island slowly appeared. Something bright flew in front of my eyes. Then another, and another. Finally, after my sight was filled with those bright lights, one of them landed on me. As I looked at it closely, I figured it was a pixie.
The pixies were figures of tiny people in elf suits with wings like those on butterflies. They danced in the air, making our way brighter through the fog. Uncle Petey grabbed one of them and trapped it in an empty lantern. The trapped pixie banged the glass wall of its cage, trying to break it open. It was no use.
Our ship reached the shore and we came down to the beach. Uncle Petey took out an old map from his pocket. Looking around he spotted a palm tree, much taller and leaner than the others. He walked toward it, and we followed, each holding a pixie lantern. Uncle Petey walked through the forest, looking down closely at the map. He walked for about two hours and then stopped. He ordered some of his men to dig up an area. They dug for a long time, but there was nothing. No treasure, no jewelry, no gold, silver, no nothing.
"What is goin' on?"
"We don't know, sir."
"It says right here! On the map!" Uncle Petey turned to the pixie in the lantern.
"Where is the treasure?"
The pixie gave no answer.
"Where is the treasure?!"
Still no answer. Uncle Petey became irritated.
"Fine. If you tell me, I will let you out."
The pixie shook its head.
"I'll give you 1/10 of the treasure if you tell me."
Again, it shook its head.
"I'll give you half if you tell me."
Still, no use.
"I'll give you 90% if you tell me."
The pixie finally smiled and nodded. Uncle Petey opened the lantern and let the pixie out. It flew through the forest and we followed.
It led us to a plain where it was hard to tell where was where. It pointed to a spot and the men dug. Soon a wooden chest appeared. The men tried opening it, but it was to tightly shut. Uncle Petey looked at the pixie again. "I'll let all the pixies go, if you open it."
The pixie shook its head.
"I'll give you 93% of the treasure if you open it."
The pixie still shook its head.
"I'll give you 95% if you open it."
The pixie shook its head again.
"Argh! I'll give you 98% if you open it." Finally the pixie nodded and flew into the keyhole of the chest. When the chest was opened - from the inside - it was full of jewels, gold, and silver. The pirates were delighted, but they remembered that they had to give the 98% to the pixies. Not wanting to share, the pirates grabbed the chest and ran to the ship. Unfortunately, they got lost. They looked at the pixies and begged.
"We'll give you 99% of the treasure if you lead us to our ship."
The pixies shook their heads.
"ARGH!!!! We'll give you ALL of the treasure if you lead us to our ship."
The pixies agreed and led the pirates back to their ship.
As soon as we were about to leave the island penniless, one of the pixies grabbed me. It handed me something. It was my mother's jewelry box. I then remembered my parents and what kind of confusion they must be in. Then I started to miss them. I went to Uncle Petey and said, "I think I should get going, now." Uncle Petey looked at me with amusement.
"If you say so."
With a blink of an eye, I was suddenly back in my bed. I was in my pajamas, and it was morning. Mother's jewelry box wasn't with me. I got dressed and went downstairs. My parents were in the living room with some dumb clowns.
Even though I was in my bed when I came back, I know it wasn't a dream.
It was magic.
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Monday, May 07, 2007
In READ Magazine's pirate issue (yar), we asked you to write the conclusion to a story called The Pirate's Life For Me. To read the first part of that story, click here. To read Deb Chadwick's conclusion... keep reading.
The Pirate's Life For Me (Part II)
- Deb Chadwick, Grade 11
I have been on this boat for the past 8 months and I have learned a lot: how to sword fight, rob ships, and gain the trust and respect from all of the other pirates. The one thing that I love the most is my new sword. From the very moment I held it, I knew that it was mine.
 Uncle Petey has taught me well and I hope I've made him very proud. One day, Uncle Petey had been looking for Black Island, a dangerous island where the dead wander. He had said that a lost but very valuable treasure could be found there, but the treasure was protected by some kind of a monster. When the island was near, Uncle Petey and I lowered the smaller boat into the water and began to row toward the island.
Uncle Petey seemed scared as we entered the cave. The closer we got to the treasure the colder we became. We entered a chamber that was large and damp. Water was dripping from the ceiling. As we got closer to the treasure we saw the monster. She was half-woman, half-snake, and she had a very long tail.
Uncle Petey told me to get the gold while he distracted her, but I was the only one to get out of the cave alive. When I got back to the ship, I told everyone what had happened. The next day we had Petey's funeral. We filled a coffin with all of Petey's belongings and set it off to sea on fire. When it was over, all the other pirates decided that I should become the new captain because of my bravery. It's been 3 years since we lost Petey but I promised everyone that I would be just as good of a pirate as he was.
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Wednesday, May 02, 2007
 Thank you to all the students who wrote conclusions to "The Pirate's Life For Me", a story that was featured in READ Magazine (Issue Date April 27, 2007).
Just wanted to let you know that, yes! we got them! And we'll be posting the best of them next week, right here on WORD. But that's not all...
 We have also received many "1,000 Words" interpretations concerning a certain turtle that escaped from a picture frame! This image, of course, was in the April/May issue of Writing magazine and we will be posting the best of those next week as well!
Next week's shaping up to be big in the world of student writing! You're not gonna want to miss this!
So come on back! Every day next week, starting Monday, May 7 all the way through to Friday, May 11! It's pirates and turtles week here at WORD!
Who loves, ya baby?*
*Editor's Note: Please don't sue us, Telly Savalas.
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Friday, April 13, 2007
The runner-up in our Take Me Away! contest (Senior Fiction category) is Andi Malisheski. Andi's story is entitled, "Songs".
Here is what our guest judge, Ursula K. Le Guin, had to say about it:
"Songs" is a lyrical picture of the yearning spirit of youth, when you can be homesick even when you're home, with a suggestion of spiritual experiences and adventures yet to come.
Andi is turning 15 this weekend! Happy birthday, Andi!
When we asked her how long she has been writing, Andi told us that she's been writing ever since she was able to read! "In fact, when I was in second grade, I wrote a kid's book on Egyptology. Thankfully, it's packed away in a box that will never see daylight again!"
When asked about the genre of fantasy, Andi replied, "With fantasy, there are very few limits to what you can imagine--your words don't have to conform to any of the same rules as if you were writing about this world. Everything--histories, cultures, characters--is entirely your own."
"Anyone can write. The hard part is learning to write well. For me, the characters that make the story must be so genuine that you can see them stepping off the page and out into the world. Flaws and all."
Flaws definitely keep characters interesting, Andi. No flaws in your story though!
Congratulations on being Take Me Away's runner-up!
Click HERE to read "Songs," a story by Andi Malisheski ... and check out her cool art, too!
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Thursday, April 12, 2007
The runner-up in our Take Me Away! contest (Junior Fiction category) is Kevin Valente. Kevin's story is entitled "The Mystery of the Shadow".
Here is what our guest judge, Ursula K. Le Guin had to say about it:
It’s hard to tell a whole, complicated story in just two pages. Kevin had to rush things to do it, but the image of the statue’s shadow devouring students, and the rescue scene, are memorable.
 Kevin is 14 and has been writing for about 2 years now. He likes brainstorming different topics and then writes in spurts when he is sufficiently inspired. When we asked Kevin what inspired him to write "The Mystery of the Shadow," he told us that his grandfather in Italy is a sculptor and has shipped them many statues. Kevin's yard is filled with inspiration!
"The Mystery of the Shadow" may mean many things to you, but to Kevin it is about finding answers and facing your fears.
Not all writing can make that claim. But yours certianly can, Kevin. Yours can.
Congratulations on being Take Me Away's runner-up!
Click HERE to read "The Mystery of the Shadow," a story by Kevin Valente.
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Monday, April 09, 2007
It's finally here! Yayyyyy!
In the current issue of Writing magazine, we have published the six winners of this year's "Take Me Away!" writing contest. Back in September, we challenged our readers to imagine a land of make-believe--of mythical creatures and dreams, of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails. Well maybe not all of those. In any case, we received a ton of entries and they were all (in their own special way) fantastic!
Author Ursula K. Le Guin was our guest judge, and you can read the works of the four student authors who won this contest by picking up an issue of Writing, or right here online at WORD. The winners are:
Junior Poetry
I am Going to Leekartos
By Rachael A. Schermer, age 13
Read It
Senior Poetry
The Benevolent Dictator
By Justin Hanselman, age 15
Read It
Junior Fiction
Embers of the Moonlight
By Ela Banerjee, age 13
Read It
 Senior Fiction
The Metamorphosis
By Megan Mikhail, age 14
Read It
Congratulations to our four student writer winners! Make sure to come back here to WORD every day this week to read the poems and stories of our runner-ups, alongside brief comments from Ursula Le Guin!
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Friday, March 23, 2007
- Story by Faith Brodkorb
"So no one told you life was gonna be this way?" Bernadette sang the Friends theme song quietly as she took her dog, Tiger, for a walk. It wasn't the perfect weather for walking but Bernadette (or Bee as everyone called her) was bored. Her parents were gone so she couldn't have anyone over or go anywhere, and there was nothing good on TV. So, she decided she could use the exercise.
Suddenly her dog Tiger lunged forward and started barking. He pulled Bee along as he raced toward the corner of the street. Tiger ran around the corner and stopped as if he had been barking just because he wanted to.
Then, he changed his mind again, he planted his feet in front of Bee and growled at an empty street. "Come on Tiger," Bee said to her dog. "Let's go home."
As if those words were a secret code, the wind picked up. It brought a hot pink piece of paper fluttering down the street. Curious, Bee picked it up. It said:
Lost Dog
Name - Tiger
Size - 35 lbs
Color - all white with a black nose
Call 555-5555 if found
REWARD
It was an exact description of her dog, but he obviously wasn't lost. Dismissing it as a coincidence she threw the paper away. As Bee walked home Tiger was a little wound up. He kept trying to run at other dogs. When they were right across the street from Bee's house, Tiger bolted for a squirrel. Bee lost her grip on the leash, and off Tiger went. She tried to run after him but the little guy was too fast.
After trying to call him back with treats, Bee decided to see if Tiger would come back on his own. She went for another walk and completely forgot the flier. She automatically took the same route she had taken with Tiger. As Bee walked, another mysterious gust of wind came and blew a newspaper clipping her way. Once again Bee picked it up and saw a picture of Bridgette, her sister on it. It said:
Local Student Wins Big Contest
Bee thought at first that maybe it was just some girl that looked exactly like her sister. But then she remembered that her sister did enter a contest for scholarship money. This time she kept the clipping to see if it would come true like the last one.
When Bee got home after her walk, she was greeted by her sister who had a smile on her face. "Guess what?" Bridgette shouted.
"What?" Bernadette replied casually.
"I won the scholarship money! I won the contest! I just got the letter!" she squealed.
Bee ran down the street. Those papers could tell the future. The papers the wind blew in talked about things before they happened. Bee reached the exact spot she was standing in when the papers came at her before. But it was a nice warm day, no clouds, no wind. Bernadette stood there and waited, and waited and waited. Then she sat down and played with the grass. While she waited and waited, and waited, the clouds rolled in and the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. Suddenly a gust of wind came up the street. It didn't blow the paper directly to Bernadette so she ran over to pick it up. It was another newspaper clipping. She read what it said and was completely enthralled by this little piece of paper.
This time it said:
Young Girl Run Over By 18 Wheeler
"I have to help this girl!" Bernadette said. The paper was wet so she could only read the bold print. As Bernadette looked at the little piece of paper, she didn't notice the bright 18 Wheeler barreling down on her. The truck driver didn't notice her either.
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Thursday, March 15, 2007
In the February 9th issue of READ (yes, it was a while ago, our apologies), we presented an adapted version of William Shakespeare's classic play, Romeo and Juliet. At the end of the Readers' Theater play, we asked you to write a story that explains how the Montague/Capulet feud originally began. Although we received many great submissions, here are our two favorites.
History of a Feud
-by Karleigh Warner
The widely known Shakespeare story of Romeo and Juliet has been passed down over many generations. It tells of the painful love between a Montague and a Capulet, each coming from feuding families. Though the amazing story captivates our minds, a question lingers with us all: What started the quarrel between the Montagues and Capulets?
Long before even the great grandparents of Romeo and Juliet had been born, the Montagues and the Capulets possessed a great, unbreakable relationship. They were two honorable families in Verona who had always acknowledged and congratulated the other's success. However, deep down there had always been a small flame burning that separated the two households. Being that they both were highly respected in Verona, they secretly longed to be superior to the other. They wished for something to come their way to make them the better family once and for all. They would attempt anything that would gain any more respect over the other family. They tried and tried, but their efforts had always resulted in compromise and equality. Because neither family ever had the edge, they always returned to a peaceful state of friendship.
One day, a Montague and a Capulet were set to marry. They did not like each other at all, and they made a mutual agreement to run away. This infuriated the families. Months later, the two returned, but not together. They each found another lover and married without the families' consent. The elders became so angry that they poisoned the two new foreign additions to the family. The two runaways were put into prison where they held secret meetings to share their grief. As they met more and more, they began to fall in love. Although the families had wished this result from the very beginning, they now did not like the idea of their children marrying. Before the two could run away, they were also poisoned by their families. The Montagues and Capulets had been adversaries ever since that day because of the shame and sorrow that had been exchanged. They each thought the other was bad luck and they always avoided each other and began fighting for the higher respect of the Verona citizens.
Two Artists
-By Hunter Windham
Once upon a time, four generations before that of Romeo's, in the very same streets yet a completely different terrain, stooped an old man. The man lingered by a lake during the same hour every day. He admired his surroundings to the point where walking the landscape blindfolded would not have been a problem. He walked around the trees and then around a cove of the great lake. Eventually his daily exploration always led him to the opposite side of the lake. And there he sat.
 An artist approached the solitude of this fine gentleman. Armed with pastels and charcoals, he saw a passion in the old man and decided to capture it on his canvas. Every shadow, every leaf, and even every wrinkle in the cloth the old man wore, right down to the peaceful grin on his face was painted by the artist. The old man sat for him for hours.
During this time, another artist happened to be roaming though the area, his thoughts tended to be the same. He too was armed his creative weapons: oils and a charcoal pencil took hold of the bold framework as he attempted to capture it on his canvas. The tall trees sat thick and broad, the hills smooth, the leaves delicate, the old man looked soft... yet strong. And time passed.
As shapes formed and colors blended, the occupation of each artist on the shore that day became relevant. The second artist proceeded to the canvas of the first to know his progress. And the first did the same. They began to discuss art with an air of arrogance. The second artist tried to add to a line on the first artist's canvas. The first artist responded with great anger! He proceeded to throw a black blotch of ink onto his neighbor's work. Soon, it became an all out "save your painting" war, splashes of paint and charcoal rocks were in the air.
 In all of this hustle the old man became enraged by this disturbance and up and left. Moments later the two artists found themselves laying in a mess of expensive and extensive color. Both painters found themselves mourning over the destruction of their work. A truce was made and they began to pick up their mess. They said their apologies, shook hands and went their separate way with supplies under arm.
Being that these two artists were the only two men of their profession left in all of Verona, they both received angry letters from their employers announcing that their paintings were overdue. They both immediately ran to meet their boss. When they arrived, they met each other again. They had not known that they were both working for the same man! Each artist tried to explain his case, but it was no use. The boss fired them both. A shared, bitter rage fell into silence as the two artists walked sadly away.
The two artists went on to lead successful lives outside of their painting careers. But they always held a love for art in their hearts, as well as a deep hate for the other man. Their names were Montague and Capulet. ... But that is a different story.
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Monday, March 05, 2007
Back in February, we interviewed China Mieville, author of the new fantasy book, Un Lun Dun. We also asked you to "write a short story or poem about your town... the flipside of your town." Here is one of the stories we received. Congratulations to 8th grader Sarah Davies! We're sending you a signed copy of Un Lun Dun!
We still have 4 copies left! Email YOUR upside-down town story or poem to word@weeklyreader.com for a chance to win one of them!
INSANE LOUIS
-by Sarah Davies, Grade 8
There is a place that is quite strange. Some would even call it insane. In fact, that is the name of this place, Insane Louis, that is. Few have heard of this mystical place and only three or four have actually been there but the people who know of it will swear on their lives that it exists.
Insane Louis is said to be an upside-down version of St. Louis. It is a place full of wonder and magic. The logic that governs the real world is lost in this one. There is only one way to get there and although many have made attempts to enter Insane Louis, it only accepts a select few each decade. Every year millions of people flock to the Arch in order to try out the fabled instructions. They pace underneath the monstrous structure twelve times and then chant the words "Insane Louis" 20 times. It is said that a door will appear to anyone that the town accepts.
A 14 year old boy was the last one to enter Insane Louis. He explored his new discovery for three weeks before coming back to earth. Many claimed that this boy was crazy until he disappeared into an invisible door right in front of a news crew. Now this boy brings back stories and sketches of what he has seen and done in Insane Louis.
Experts have come to a few conclusions after interviewing everyone who has been able to enter the strange land. One is that the landscape and weather there is quite different from the landscape of St. Louis. There are mountains everywhere that seem to grow like trees and the rain changes colors as it falls from the sky. The ground is icy yet the air is warm.
Even though the look of Insane Louis is different, the major landmarks and places of St. Louis all seem to be present with some very strange changes to them. The Arch is hot pink and sits in the middle of a lake. The Botanical Garden is more like a vast jungle than a garden. Busch Stadium seems to be abandoned yet it produces the very noticeable stench of hot dogs. Scientists are perplexed by the weird coincidences in this strange land.
Although only a handful of humans have set foot in Insane Louis, there are many creatures that inhabit it. There are dog-like animals that are scaly as fish and penguins that can soar through the sky. Ferocious horses with claws and razor sharp teeth seem to be the only threat on the land.
As the days go by, more and more people will try to gain access to this wondrous place and many hope that Insane Louis will on day open its doors to all. Until then, the mystery and intrigue of it will cause many people to dream of a world full magic, wonder, and unlimited possibility.
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Monday, February 26, 2007
According to a well-worn proverb, a picture is worth a thousand words. In the February/March 2007 issue of Writing, we published a photograph in our "1,000 Words" column and asked you to write a dialogue in which you give Oscar--the celebrated mascot of the annual Academy Awards--some good advice on what to wear and how to be an examplary host. Here's one of our favorites. 
Oscar
A ten minute play by Doug Dyszlewski, Grade 8
Ten minutes before Oscar Awards start. Doug and Oscar are talking before the Awards Ceremony begins.
Producer: (Walks over to Oscar) You're on in ten minutes.
Doug: Are you almost ready?
Oscar: Yes, I have been ready for a while.
Doug: Okay, but just keep in mind that this year is going to be even bigger than last year so I hope you're prepared.
Oscar: You have said that every single year since I have done this, yet it's always the same.
Doug: I know, I know, I just don't want you to mess up or anything.
Oscar: Let me ask you this question: how could I possibly mess up if I just am standing there? I don't do anything, honestly it's really not that hard.
Doug: The reason we fired the guy before you was because he messed up. He fell on the an award winner and broke his leg. Would you want that to happen to you?
Oscar: No, but...
Doug: Don't forget we want you to look good, so if you move and scratch yourself or something like that when you're up on stage, you will be fired in a second.
Oscar: Okay then keep that blow dryer on me if you want me to look good.
Doug: This blow drying really doesn't do anything for you. It just makes me look like I'm doing something in the hustle and bustle here. Everyone is always doing something right before the Awards and I'll get yelled at if I'm not working, so...
Oscar: Well fine then, make me look better in some other way. I don't want either of us to be fired.
Doug: Okay then, I'll go get another gold suit to make you look newer. The suit that you have on is a bit wrinkled.
Oscar: Yes, that's perfect, another suit.
(Doug runs over to get another suit and then puts it on Oscar.)
Oscar: How do I look? Good right?
Doug: Perfect.
Oscar: There's still something missing...
Doug: There really isn't anything else to do.
Oscar: Okay.
Producer: (Walks over again.) You're on in three minutes.
Oscar: Wow, seven minutes have gone by fast!
Doug: It's fine... don't get stressed.
Oscar: Well when you told me how I could mess up... I'm getting nervous.
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