Nonfiction

‘Ughh just another day of school. Why do we have to learn how the pythagorean theorem works anyway, it’s not like our life depends on it.’ Hello reader, this is Jacub. He is an eight grade student at Morevills High School.

My eyes flutter open and dart to the windowsill, my lucky wooden spoon is still there from last night. I leap out of bed and nearly fall sprinting to the window, I feel the excitement start to rise as the snowflakes begin to fall.

We used to see each other everyday, but then you changed schools. That didn't stop me from coming over though.

To be told you can write anything makes it hard. The freedom gives you too much room. Seems easy, but really, the possibilities become overwhelming. I am not a writer. I write because that is what I am told to do.

I can remember being five years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor and finding out that trees breathe. That they inhale the carbon dioxide we humans puff into the atmosphere, and release the oxygen we chug every second of our lives.

Cinderella showed up during dusks final fanfare,
Her elegance, blinding,
pure white diamonds drench her figure
glistening in radiant light.
Her unexpected arrival and undeniable flawless beauty is cause for stares,

five things i'm super grateful for today:
1. my awesome family
2. my amazing and supportive friends
3. a good education
4. writing
5. jokes (does anyone know any good ones?)
 

Dear Fellow Vermonters,

Spuce tree´s are beautiful and full of life their branches sway in the wind as I think of all the memories Ive had with the old tree.

The right to choose has been something long debated for years. The right to allow women to make a choice about their own bodies. A choice that could change their life forever.

Write a letter to a famous person completely in verse or with just one photo.