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  Creative Nonfiction

Plague Yersina Pertis

By Anson, 8, Hong Kong

Black death or Yersina Pertis lived in Central Asia 100,000 years ago. The germs lived with wild mammals in burrows. The mammal's immune system stopped them multiplying but could not kill the deadly bacteria. (That must be bad news if they did and nobody would die!) The killer bacteria hid in rats and when fleas bit the rats, the bacteria were sucked into the fleas' guts. When a flea bit a human, the bacteria went into the poor human and when the bacteria started multiplying, the human would develop a headache and then his/her lymphatic nodes would fill with germs and pus and swell up and he/she would be in agony. Lumps of bacteria would form under his/her skin causing black blotches. Then he/she would die.

Every day, 10,000 humans were dead. Stupid doctors wore masks, beak full of smelling herbs, wand for checking victim's pulse, long leather gloves and a leather gown. The stupid gear did not stop the plague fleas biting the doctors. Stupid people said Yersina Pertis was caused by bad smells. People even smoked to get rid of the plague. (I bet they caught cancer and died.) People used useless remedies like letting birds fly around your room, ringing a few bellow fart into a bottle and uncork it, and sticking your head into the blocked toilet. People also took baths in vinegar, their own pee and goat's pee. They even drank pee! (Disgusting!) People crashed toads and smeared the juices over their sores (which must be pretty useless), rub the rump of a dead chicken on their sores (not death again!), and smeared the guts of a puppy to their foreheads. (Disgusting!)

Here are some very useless and disgusting remedies: Eat dry scabs from victim's sores and wash it down with bowl of fresh pas; take the brain of a young man that died terribly, mash it and add wine, then add a dollop of horse dung and leave it to not for a year then eat it. (Useless!)

Now, there is still the killer Yersina Pertis, but no longer a terror killer. Wild animals still carry the murderous germs but if people have it all they have to do is rush to the doctor and ask for antitoxins, drugs or antibiotics. So never worry!!!
(July 2009)

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The Eucalypts

By Austin, 9, New Zealand

The Eucalypts tree was at my house for several years.
Growing gracefully always standing there,

One day we decided that the Eucalypts' life had come to an end,
Now all there is weeds just left there.

I never had to climb that tree,
But now it's just a memory
(December 2008)

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Death's revenge

By Ria, 12, Kolkata, India

This is something that I would like to share:
Death can be a terrible blow for you if it happens to someone you know. It comes as a thief behind shadows selecting it's prey carefully and slowly. It choses people who are unlikely to die who even in your wildest dreams cannot come to you as dead. This is death's revenge. It neither cares for the young nor the old. It snatches away the good old memories of life and replaces them with sorrow and grief. At such times we all never want to die but being immortal is far too much for science and too much for us to handle. The secret to being immortal in your souls is to welcome death with open arms and to make death itself turn backwards. Never be a coward though life's obstacles because if you do that is death's revenge.

(This story is based upon a man who died at an early stage of life leaving behind his wife and children who grieve day and night for him. I myself have been shocked about this and I have never been able to believe my eyes as yet.) (July 2008)

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Peace

By Jade, 11, Greater Manchester, UK

A dove proudly and peacefully glides over the misty mountain tops and all of a sudden the world is still, quiet and the only sound heard is gentle rustle of leaves being carried off with the wind. I walk along the pure green grass and I see a peacock proudly showing off its colourful feathers. It comes towards me, I walk slowly away not making a sound. I hear another sharp sound and I catch a glimpse of a snow white rabbit with a brown streak along its furry head. I walk away without disturbing it, through the cold, peaceful and quiet woods and wonder what will happen next.

(June 2008)

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Untitled

By Cecile, 17, Paris, France

The pen lay there. Just lay there, cold, unmoving, silent. It just lay there, on the desk, next to the paper and did nothing. A pen, which had once been flying across the now, yellowed paper. A pen which had once been warmed by a person's hand, clutching it tight. A pen, which once spoke. Spoke constantly of eternal beauty, infinite love, boundless hope, everlasting peace and huge ideals. But now, on the desk, cold; without a hand; unmoving; without the things it once said; and silent; without its voice, seemed to only radiate ghosts and shadows and no more than mere echos of the great things that were said.
Although it seemed to scream out for the things lost to it, it was more still than ever. The beauty, love, hope, peace and ideals that the pen had once spoken of had been shattered violently.
How? The structure had been torn down by its own builder, despite only being half built. Torn down only because of cowardice, laziness, fear, disillusion, and barriers. Barriers that are naturally there to be knocked down. But only by the strong at heart.
Thus, these beautifully great writings were left to rot, having no-one to care for it.
Don't let people tell you what you are to think. Don't let apprehension or embarrassment keep you from sharing. Don't let the impossible keep you from trying. Look over all hardships and love you goal. Keep hope in your heart,beauty in your mind and love in your soul and you can keep any dream alive, no matter how crazy or sad, great or small. You can do all this, with nothing more than a pen and paper that are willing to sing your song. (May 2008)

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Deja Vu

By Leon, 13, Amman, Jordan

'There is no such thing as a stupid question'. - Author Unknown

This is one of my favorite quotes. This quote has encouraged me to ask questions in my life that decided where I would end up. I am never afraid to ask questions that I need answering to. Sometimes my teachers lecture the students and in the end they ask us if we have any questions, adding "Don't ask stupid questions!" This really urges me to ask questions that have the most simplest of answers.

Everyday I walk through the same entrance, smell the same stench of Cuban cigars lingering in the air, and every single time I think, 'What am I doing here?' I ask myself this because I still can't find the reason I come to an educational institute with only 4 hours of sleep I manage to shove up my schedule. Followed by that, I come into my homeroom and I find it very difficult and incomprehensible that I can't figure out who I'm greeting. It's like this mist stands right before me and I just can't get through it let alone see through it.

'Leon!?' the homeroom teacher shouts out.

'Here!' my reflexes jump up.

It's like my brain knows what's going to happen next and it prepares the answer in advance. I walk to my locker where I keep just about everything that has to do with school. I rummage around my bag looking for some kind of key that might open the beaten up square box. Finding no such opening tool I walk the old, messy room and ask people if they had my key. After a few minutes I come to realize that I had lost the key on the 5th day after they gave it to me. I go back to the locker and try to open it. The petite door won't budge. I lose my patience so quickly I start pulling on it in a dreadfully aggressive way.

'The ureters send the liquid to the bladder and then the waste travels out the body through the ...' RRRRRRRIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGG!! No more is said. Everybody take their books and go to the best part of the school schedule - first break. Most go to the cafeteria on the 4th floor. The staff serves one of the unhealthiest meals I have ever come upon. Once a day for five days in a row two-thirds of the school eat oily greasy potatoes and drink Coca-Cola, which I'm sure they fill with water to save money. I order the same satiating meal. The cook says it will take five minutes for the French fries. I respond harshly ordering something else instead.

Mentioning all the negative sides of my school, which has been named Modern American School, I myself am surprised how I manage to stay around the campus until 4:30 pm everyday.
(April 2008)

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Chasing Dreams

By Ines, 13, Coimbra, Portugal

Are dreams meant to be real? Or are they just fake? And why do we dream? Do we dream of better situations we hoped they had occurred in our past life? Do we dream about anything too spectacular? Do we even just dream?

Dreams are mixtures, composed by different chemicals. No one can modify that mixture and if someone actually does that, well, then dreams won't be the same for a while.

I could tell you tales about passionate couples or bewitched witches who lived alone for 300 hundred years. As this is supposed to be not a regular story, but a made up story about dreams and how to catch them.

There aren't any precise tools or instruments.There aren't people specialized in catching dreams.In fact,everyone can catch a dream while they sleep,as that every time you go to bed,you dream.

There are this extremely awkward intruments called dream-catchers. You stick them to the wall and they "catch" dreams. Just something made up. Because even that you think you didn't dream of anything last night,you always dream. Sometimes you just don't remember what your dream was like.

I used to have dreams about witches and princesses. Now I dream of things of my own age: problems I'm dealing with, trips, friendship or even my school crush... When we're younger, dreams are even dreamier than on my age.

If after this story you feel bored, go to your bedroom and sleep a bit. Who knows what kind of dream you might have?(November 2007)

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More Than Words

By Patricia, 14, Pasig City, Philippines

'Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else.'-Gloria Steinem

Each and every one of us has our own definition of writing. Others may think that writing is an expression of emotions, while another may define it as a form of art. To me, writing is my voice. A voice when I am too shy or afraid to speak. It's like the blinds' ears. Instead of seeing, the blind hears. Honestly, I am a shy person and do not open up to people who aren't my close friends. Just like the blind, writing is my alternative for speaking.

For years, people have been using writing for battling against their enemies. A lot of Filipino heroes in the Philippines were known for their ability to use words as weapons. One of the most known writers that used his writing skills in the fight for our country's freedom is Dr. Jose Rizal, our national hero. Rizal was the founder of La Liga Filipina, which aimed for the defense against all violence and injustice of the Spaniards and the application of reforms. He wrote with pride and intellect and brought the Philippines a step closer to democracy.

Another example of a writer who used his writing skills in helping other people is Graciano Lopez Jaena - The Prince Of Filipino Orators. In 1874, Jaena wrote the satire, Fray Botod. In this literary work, he exposed the greed, laziness, cruelty and lust of friars. This infuriated the Spanish authorities in Iloilo and the friars. And some realized the inhumanity of what they were doing. Rizal and Jaena practiced their freedom of expression and used their talent in writing to fight against Spanish oppression.

That's what it's all about right? Using our God given talents for the good of humanity.

Why do I love writing? Well, aside from the fact that I get heard without actually opening my mouth, I think it's fun. I know it is strange and unusual because most teens my age think writing is boring and a waste of time. But to me, it's just like talking to a friend in a creative way. It lets my imagination run wild and sets loose the real me. Somehow, it's like the things I want to happen, (even though it's impossible) come true in another world - my sometimes black and white and most times colorful imagination.

When I think of writing, I don't believe that it is purely writing and transforming feelings into words but it is about believing in anything-from talking frogs to flying houses- and making the most impossible things seem real. It is about being optimistic when you know that the sky above you is
about to fall. It is seeing beauty in each and every one of the awful things in the universe. And it is about trying new things for the sake of learning, experiencing and having fun. Writing is about looking at things from a new angle and appreciating things around us. If you think that the most pathetic object in the world is not useful, well, it contributes to a writer's mind. It gives the writers something to write about. After all, that is a writer's job - transforming seemingly insignificant and mundane things into interesting and meaningful plots and events that complete a timeless work of art. (June 2007)

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My Friend...

By Samantha, 15, Bagdad, Tasmania, Australia

I have a friend I'd like you to meet. He teaches me how to cook new food, and tells me the latest gossip and news and what Sunday's temperature will be when I'm to be at the beach. He entertains me with shows and music while I read the comics in the paper.

He makes me think about life and tells me of politicians and criminals. He shows me the world of hospitals, police and detectives and lets me know what they do for us. He shows me pain and sorrow and hope and happiness. He puts me down and makes me laugh. He tells the truth but sometimes lies.

Sometimes he annoys me because he is so loud and I want to turn him off but I can't because my parents are holding his remote, some times I just walk straight up to the screen and turn the television off...
(June 2007)

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Note by Note

By Olivia, 9, Charleston, West Virginia, USA

In a world of Blues, Jazz,and good old Country. Where you could watch a show all night and never get tired of it. Notes would come to life and dance around you. I would never want to leave would you? I would live in the note castle where you would listen to music all night long. I would sleep in the note bed strung by the golden notes of Opera. Waken in the morning by smooth Jazz. But when I went home I would bring the best thing of all. Notes! (June 2007)

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Can You Guess What It Is?

By Holly, 16, Whitefish, MT, USA

It grows uncontrollably throughout the cold moist environment like an unkempt rose bush. The fuzz is a deep grayish green that is velvety to the slightest touch. It embodies most everything in its presents trying to be a defensive warm covering. It spread like wild dandelion seeds blowing across an open meadow. It carries an individual fragrance alike to no other creature other than its own kind. Being the most astonishing living thing that can grow in several setting, it surprises you at any given moment. It flows like rolling hills among the open plains with petite thread like roots buried deep inside its residents.
(For my creative writing class I was supposed to take something that was completely disgusting and write about it as though it was beautiful without mentioning what it was. It was a challenge at first, can you do it?)
(May 2007)

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Where Does Our Bath Water Come From?

By Charlotte Hewitt, 10, Northampton, UK

Where Does Our Bath Water Come From? Introduction

Do you know where drinking water comes from? Well...do you? Read this to find out where!!

The Water Cycle

There are 4 important steps of The Water Cycle. These are:
1.Evaporation
2.Condensation
3.Precipitation
4.Collection

Evaporation
Evaporation is where the sun heating the sea, is turning it into Water Vapour.

Condensation
The Water Vapour travels up to the sky. As the the air starts to get colder the Vapour condenses into a liquid and forms a cloud.

Precipitation
When the wind blows the clouds move, and the closer to the earth, they get, the heavier the droplets get. When the droplets get too heavy it rains, this is known as Precipitation.

Collection
When it rains, the rivers, lakes or reservoirs collect the rain and sends it back to the sea.

Did you know?

* 75% of the world is covered with water.

* We can live without food for 1 month, but can only live without water for 1 week.

Glossary

1.Evaporation is the process of water turning into vapour.

2.Condensation is vapour turning into liquid.

3.Precipitation is rainfall.

4.Collection is the rain collecting in rivers, lakes or reservoirs
(April 2007)

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Hero

By Margo, 13, San Antonio, TX, USA

What makes someone a hero? Is it their muscles of steel or laser vision? Is it there good looks or popularity? No. To me, a hero is much more. It is being brave and selfless. It is making a difference.
At last, the phone call I had awaited all year! Thoughts of excitement swirled through my mind as I anxiously hung up the phone. I could barely contemplate the news that I had just received. My neighbor finally agreed that I was old enough to dogsit for her! Some of the greatest veterinarians in the world began their career as dogsitters! I was beaming with pride. Anticipation shook my body like a drug. I peered at the clock and plopped on my boots. The last thing I wanted was to be late for my first day on the job.
I approached my neighbor`s backyard, bubbling with elation. Just as I crept through the fence door, a gargantuan dog pinned my body to the ground with a pounce of sheer power. Scared and dazed, I staggered to my feet. To avoid getting discouraged, I quickly found a toy that I hoped would entertain the dog. `Do you want to play fetch?` I squawked playfully. The dog`s massive body squirmed as he wagged his tail in approval. Feeling more confident now, I hurled the toy across the lawn. It wasn`t long before I found myself throwing the toy again and again until we were both too tired to continue.
The dog had warmed up to me now, and was leading the way to a green, sagging bag of dog food. His eyes were intent as I shoveled mounds of unappealing nuggets into his enormous bowl. He hastily began to scarf down his food.
Now that the dog was busy eating, I sat back and closed my eyes. The Spring breeze tickled at my neck as speckles of sunlight danced upon my cheeks. Just then, my day dreams were clogged with a cork of uneasiness. I opened my eyes and peered nervously from the food bowl to the dog. The bowl was still full, but the dog was clearly in distress. I frantically skidded to his side in concern. I could hear him wheezing and whining in desperation. A prisoner to my own inexperience, I struggled to diagnose his symptoms. And then it hit me. Wheezing, shock, blood shot eyes - that`s it! He`s choking! I threw my arms around his belly and heaved with all my might. Again, and again, and again, I pulled and pumped at him. Before I knew it, two chunks of soggy food were hurled across the deck like a pair of scampering dice. Relief swept over my like a hurricane. The weight of my joyous tears was enough to pull me to the ground. The dog in which I had saved was now at my side, showering me with kisses.
I made my way toward the fence door before pledging a farewell to my new friend. I exited the yard with my chin and spirits high. At that moment, more than ever, I knew that having to wait another year to dogsit was well worth being able to save a precious life.
So what makes someone a hero? It`s not their good looks or big muscles. It is someone who puts their heart and soul into something they want to protect. When I saved that choking dog, I had to endure one of the hardest five minutes of my life. But with pursuit and patience, I was able to accomplish my goal. Now that`s what I call a hero.

(Feb 07)

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The Beach

By Euphemia, 11, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand

My feet brush against the coarse and grainy sand as I scuffle through the beach. I look up and see the sky, a beautiful blue colour with a few floaty clouds that look like scrunched up cotton wool, the sun looking like a ball of fire. Seagulls are squawking, battling over who should have that shellfish. A cool breeze ruffles my hair as I turn my head to look at the sea.

The sea looks wonderful, a brilliant blue-green, with a distant island in the background. I breathe deeply, savouring the sharp scent of salt and the fresh aroma of the grass. A few yachts are dotted across the picturesque landscape. The warmth of the sun makes me sleepy, but makes me want to jump up and throw a beach ball at the same time.

Sprinting fast towards the sea, I run in, feeling the lumpy slimy bits of seaweed brush against my skin. The water is lukewarm and comforting, and enveloping me as I dip my head underneath the surface.
(Feb 07)

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WINTER

By Kelsy, 12, Bunker Hill, West Virginia, USA

Winter is a great time of the year. When all the kids are playing outside with joy. When they come in to warm up all they what is some hot chocolate and love. At night all they do is just think of what they will do tomorrow. When they wake up all they what to do is play and do what they planned to do last night. (Jan 07)

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The Strangest Flower

By Maya, 9, Setauket, New York, USA

There lived a strange flower in a field of hairs.
Come with the birds, the bats and the bears
to find a strange flower fitted with boots.
But how could a flower wear boots over roots !?!
That question my friend, remains unsolved, for no one was even aware. (Jan 07)

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Caught in the shadow

By Avanti, 16, India

Having a key to the door that won't open is frustrating especially if the key is in my dreams and the door is in reality and it's not very often that the two worlds meet. That feeling haunts me and makes me wonder if I could ever get to a point in my life where I belong and where I truly want to be. I don't want to wallow in ignorance of reality for the rest of my life; but when the reality partially seems like a dreadful dream, all I can do is dream of what reality could be. Lying helpless in the hands of fate is what the regret's all about at the end; knowing everything could have different if the truth was not over shadowed by judgments and expectations.

Being caught in the crazy cycle of the fear of acceptance and boundaries has always been the reason for people to follow patterns even the ones that they don't understand. Most of such people nearing the end of their journey have to rudely accept the regret of living in ignorance which they swore they'd never do, but life has its twists and turns of events and unfortunately they strike to be different people altogether. Most of the time this makes me think and believe that I would be better off in places where identity and judgments wouldn't be at my tail and I could be whoever I wanted to be without getting badgered with the perceptions others have of me. The questions in life for everyone are the same just like a test but the answers are all up to us; either write them by the book or just write it your way but at the same time making sense of it is important.

Breaking free from the chains, finding a way back to light is the answer if I ever want to feel my soul living, which in a way is to feel the unlimited forces of joys and sorrows which otherwise don't seem to curb me emotionally. So I am working on this "piece" called life and hoping it could be a masterpiece of truth, consideration of oneself and others, and by that, also hope to create a lasting and sustainable end to this journey. I am just waiting for a windy day to break free and just blow away to a real world of dreams.

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Caught in the shadow

By Avanti, 16, India

Having a key to the door that won't open is frustrating especially if the key is in my dreams and the door is in reality and it's not very often that the two worlds meet. That feeling haunts me and makes me wonder if I could ever get to a point in my life where I belong and where I truly want to be. I don't want to wallow in ignorance of reality for the rest of my life; but when the reality partially seems like a dreadful dream, all I can do is dream of what reality could be. Lying helpless in the hands of fate is what the regret's all about at the end; knowing everything could have different if the truth was not over shadowed by judgments and expectations.
Being caught in the crazy cycle of the fear of acceptance and boundaries has always been the reason for people to follow patterns even the ones that they don't understand. Most of such people nearing the end of their journey have to rudely accept the regret of living in ignorance which they swore they'd never do, but life has its twists and turns of events and unfortunately they strike to be different people altogether. Most of the time this makes me think and believe that I would be better off in places where identity and judgments wouldn't be at my tail and I could be whoever I wanted to be without getting badgered with the perceptions others have of me. The questions in life for everyone are the same just like a test but the answers are all up to us; either write them by the book or just write it your way but at the same time making sense of it is important.
Breaking free from the chains, finding a way back to light is the answer if I ever want to feel my soul living, which in a way is to feel the unlimited forces of joys and sorrows which otherwise don't seem to curb me emotionally. So I am working on this 'piece' called life and hoping it could be a masterpiece of truth, consideration of oneself and others, and by that, also hope to create a lasting and sustainable end to this journey. I am just waiting for a windy day to break free and just blow away to a real world of dreams.
(July 2006)

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Clay

By Jazz, 13, Hamilton, Canada

It was only a small ball of clay. Fresh from the water and smooth from the many hugs of the ocean's wave. It was just a simple piece of clay, that's all it really was. Its color was a dull brown and its texture was soft and squishy.It was warm to touch and it was growing old and weary from the many years spent by the ocean's side. Yet the artist could see beyond this. He could push past the ordinary features of the lonely ball of clay and in it he could see something beautiful, something great. So he took this unwanted piece of clay in his hands and he molded, shaped, carved and perfected it, until it really was something beautiful, until it really was something great. And just like that, an extraordinary sculpture was born. (July 2006)

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Silent night

By Christopher, 13, USA

As you go outside you look up at the sky wondering how something so close is so far far away. You sit down at a chair counting the last minute birds. Now wishing that all you had to do is flap your arms and you will fly. Not sure where you would go but you will fly untill you find true happiness. But then you realize you can't fly but just flap your arms. So you sit there in the dark aware of your surroundings. Looking at the people as they walk by.

It gets cold so you go in the house, watch some tv and then go to bed: you have a dream where you have wings where you don't have to worry about tomorrow - a place where your mother doesn't have to support you on food stamps.

And an image goes through your head a sentence really, "mom, I love you but I don't know how to show you". So you pull her aside and tell her how you feel.
(June 2006)

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