AN: This is just a story I started one day, and I'm not really sure if I should continue it or not. Feedback is very much appreciated!
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The wind blew throughout the forest, grasping anything that it could with its ice cold fingers. The crescent moon high in the night sky cast an eerie light over the ground and caused long, dark shadows to stretch across the forest floor.

A girl in her late teens was crouched up in the branches of the a large oak tree, waiting for something. Her eyes were trained on the gap between two huge stones that looked as if the gods had placed them there as a gateway to the forest. A stick cracked soundly behind her, causing her to jump and snap her head around towards the origin of the noise. The darkness was all around her and felt as if it was pressing in on her eyes. She couldn't see a thing, adn eventually she turned back around adn looked towards the gateway once again.

A chill suddenly wracked her body, making her shiver in apprehesion. The icy fingers of the wind pulled at her clothes and ran down her spine. She quickly shook off the nervous feeling and continued watching, never blinking.

He was coming.

Out of nowhere, a black shadow seemed to emerge from the rest of the darkness. The putrid smell of blood and death rose up to meet her nostrils, adn she immediately covered her nose, trying not to gag. The shadow glided on. The cloak the shadow was garbed in fluttered behind him. The girl rolled her eyes. He always was one for the dramatics. A glistening, silver sword could be seen beneath the cloak, and a dark smear covered a part of it. Judging by the way the moonlight glimmered off of it, the girl was almost positive that is was the crimson life that had just been taken from the man's latest victim. She curled her lip in digust at the realization.

Holly used to be the girl who read on the bus
with wind-borne conversations raging
around her stiff-still body and
whipping her hair around her face. Now
she stares straight at the bus driver's
bald spot in the mirror and lets the
wind play with the wires linking her
ears and her ipod that's never turned on.
And she listens, hears and studies the
exchanges tossed from seat to seat
like an anthropologist watching the
habits of primates or an alien trying to
figure out how to possibly fit in.

"Are you drinking again?"
(My first reaction was to say
'Does it look like I have enough to time to drink anymore?' But I figured that would start a whole other conversation that I'm not willing to finish this early in the morning)
"No mom, why?"
"You've been falling asleep early again and if you remember last year...well, you did the same thing back then. I’m asking because I’m worried, you’ve been doing so well this year."
"I'm tired because I'm busy and I'm busy because I'm sober"
"Okay, that's all I wanted to know"
"Can I go now?"
"Yeah sure, good luck at your track meet today"
"Thanks"
And with that, I shut the front door and walked to school
Where I started another busy day
All over again.

I.
September was vaguely the colour of summer, and his hair was always shining in the sun, and things were easy and different. It almost seemed perfect. It could be one of those things that old women tell their grand-children it was so perfect, and I was not one to deny myself that. We walked in parks and laughed at the streams who watched us. We knew they would keep our secrets and couldn't see any reason not to skinny dip into their cold pools of water. They were really very refreshing, those streams. for a while, we picked up rocks to take home and remember each day, but that was pointless, and we both knew it, so we put them back and waited for them to turn into sand. It was blonde sand like his hair. It was just as dirty too.

II.
I once told him that the sky reminded my of time, because it was grey and went on forever and no one could ever change that. I guess it struck him as funny because he told me the sky could fit into my eyes and I had to disagree. Time could never be trapped like a fly stuck to a fly-paper strip hung form the ceiling of a horse barn. it wasn't that ignorant. It knew it had to keep going. If I could talk to time I would ask him to tell me what's happening. I'm sure he'd have an interesting story to tell. Maybe about Rommel. Maybe about the prime minister. I've heard things about that man, but only time will tell. But time is generally quiet. He's really very good at slipping by without being noticed.

III.

Lady sighs out breaths
of surrender,
as the rain taps
across her skin,
washing away
the perfume,
curling her
hair,
dissolving
the make
up.

Mascara
runs down her face
in tears like
liquid ashes;
lipstick droops
off the rim of her lips
like wilting
rose petals.

Liquid soaks through
her clothes until
they become
transparent, until
the world can see
her scars,
shining
pearly white, and

the rain drips
into her eyes,
ears,
mouth

soul.

She's shivering
even though
the air is warm,
because she
knows that
as she lets the rain
wash her away,

it's slowly destroying
her puddles
of fake,
and

she finally
feels
beautiful.

Are yo going to the 2008 Champlain College Young Vermont Writers Conference (May 30-June 1)? Share the piece you sent in on your application. Share stories from last year. Offer advice to newcomers.

Day after
Day,
Night after
Night,
She sits
In the kitchen
And scrubs
The old pans,
Rubbing and
Rubbing,
Covering her skin
In fluffy bubbles
Until the
Skin is raw.

Hour by hour,
pot by pot.

Long Gone

By Drew-Marie Dudley
Chelsea Public School, Grade 11

She told me to find her the day she left our small town
She didn't know where she was going
On a plane or bus or boat or car
She gave me a hug and told me that I would always know where she was
How was I to know if she didn't tell me what she had in mind?
We spent our entire childhood together
She was going to be gone like a perfect summer wind we become so fond of
What was I to do now that we were older and had to take our own ways separately?
She told me she loved me and climbed into her green Escort
And she was gone.

NMH

By Elena Eames
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

The home made video flashed across my screen. A guy making a slam dunk, a girl making an elaborate painting, a student with the words slanted across his shirt: You’re In!
I sat there watching it, not thinking about what it meant.
I called some friends, and told them, they clapped and cheered for me, and then said “Wait.. you're happy.. right?”
“Yeah.” I said “I'm happy.”
“Good, well I’ll see ya at school!”
School,
I thought about not seeing them everyday, about not being able to walk with them in the halls, laugh at the teachers, and talk about everything at recess. Recess, which, I wouldn’t have anymore. High school is a big step, as much as I look forward to it, I wish I could have the people that I've known for so long, and the people that have become so close to me there to make it a little easier.
And then the scholarship came. It covered almost everything and was too good to turn down. I am going, I am packing up everything and moving to a new life with 130 people in the same place that I’m in, from all over the world. I know I will meet new friends, and great people who will have a huge impact my life. I can’t wait to leave, to get away, to start over.
But then.. my friends here, everything I’ve worked for and achieved.
New opportunities vs. what is known and loved.
I’m going with new opportunities.
I cry as a write an old teacher a thank-you email for everything she's given me, I cry as I talk to a best friend on the phone. I get a surge of excitement as I mail the acceptance letter.
A great feeling of self importance and liberation comes when I tell people, “I’m going to NMH, not BUHS,” and the look that they give me, one of admiration.
I put so much time and effort into the entire process, and now it all paid off.

I hope you learn

By Naomi Grayck
Main Street Middle School, Grade 7

I hope you learn
learn to love
I hope you learn to see
see that we can't live without you
I hope you learn to sing
sing for all the world to hear
I hope you learn to laugh
laugh so we can laugh along with you
I hope you learn to look
look around and see all you can possibly see
I hope you learn that
people are people all
living, breathing and feeling
people who will cry, laugh
and hurt
same as you
but all I can do is hope
you and only you can make it come true.

Confusion

Written by Leah Kanoff
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 9

Broken hearts, shattered glass and shedding tears
The truth is but a mystery
Frozen from the pain, but heart still beating
As the mind tosses and turns from yes to no
Why and how come?
Right to wrong
And when and how?
Will the answers come?
Will the mystery UN solve?
Will the truth ever be known?
One can only hope the sun will come
To melt the frozen pain
To ease the beauty of the racing heart
To warm the one of the shattering broken heart
Whose tears help melt the frozen pain
And ease the mystery of truth and wonder

Flawless

By Jaime Thomas
Crossett Brook Middle School, Grade 7

Flawless is a word of potential integrity, which can and cannot be as soft as a brook in

spring, water flowing through the gentle grasp of the mossy stones, or as light as a feather

falling from the sky from an eagle of great wits. Flawless is a moment of inferences

from one or another’s greatest wishes, desires, or successful accomplishments. Flawless

is a light which is at the end of oncoming thoughts that will drift away in your wildest

daydreams. But in many circumstances flawless is a flaw itself, for it can never be perfect.

Gray

By Ryan Bogue
Shelburne Community School, Grade 5

Gray is cement hard and cold.
Gray is elephants with floppy ears.
Gray is clouds fluffy and fog.
Gray is sadness alone and nothing.
Gray is noon blocking out the suns warm rays.
Gray is the lonely breeze chilling all in its grasps.
Gray is the tiny mouse living in small gaps of a house.
Gray is the color of those old cartoons.
Gray is the color of sorrow.
Gray is the color of a rainy day.
Gray is the color of stingrays.

Leaves in the Wind

By Zach Estes
Lyme School, Grade 7

Acrobatic leaf comes
Bunging out of the sky
Lands in a perfect upright posture
Cartwheels up and down
The road
A gymnast of a sort
The leaf lunges upward only
To seconds later
Parachute downwards
To the ground
The leaf is then
Trapped in a cluster
Of newspaper
It squeezes its way out
Only to perform for the
World again

Jazz Pride

By Bryce hunter Bandish
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

[February sixth 2007]

“And now coming to the floor the one and only Vermont Jazz Ensemble!”

As I walk onto the stage, I see a sea of people, and all they want to see is me, Bryce Bandish, first trombone. As I sit down on that brown, worn-down stool, I think of the bloke to my left, second trombone. Oh, how badly he wanted to be me, but all the more incentive to play to my fullest potential on my 1910s silver, dented and bashed Martin trombone.
The conductor walks out. We sit and the and the audience stands. Now it’s time to play.
“1,2,3,4, and....”
We're off on a tantrum for the piece "Just a minor thing." Cue in, cue out, swing it now! Right now it’s all about the band but come measure 57 it will be all about me.
One, two, ready, pickups... GO! The band stops and I stand up, sporting a blazing pink tie on a matte pink shirt, the white buck shoes and the pinstripe pants. Here I go!
I’m playing for me, my school, my parents, and everything else imaginable, so I had to light them up. I go thinking about what an honor it is to play for all of these people on my birthday and solo for all of them. I do this at the best of my ability.
HOLD that high note and then slide down to an end.
And the crowd goes crazy just like when the Red Sox won the world series. And boy, am I pumped.
We finish the piece and we stand up. Then the audience does. They introduce me as the solo artist and it’s all over.

[February sixth 2057]

Even in my old age I still remember the day when I soloed with all the pride in the world, as the boy with the with the Martin trombone (which I still have) at the age of thirteen. I still play frequently with that trombone even though it is so beat up. I even played today on it because I always do on my birthday.

My Shadow

By Tim Nichols
Lyme School, Grade 7

My shadow follows me everywhere I go
I chase it and it runs along with me
It dances in a field on a sunny day
I try to pick it up but it won’t budge
It feels lonely, being only a two-dimensional figure
When I walk into the dark it disappears

Left or Right

By Lilly Schwarz
Main Street Middle School, Grade 7

I lay in my bed thinking about you
Not knowing what to do
Should I go left or right?
Not knowing which one to choose

If I do, what would happen?
Would I like it?
Would it all work out?
Or would you disappear
Always leaving me out?

I wish it could work
Between you and me
Because the truth is
I miss you liking me

(To the committee: the author centered all her lines. -P. Magoon)

My Hero, My Mom

By Miranda Shepard
Rochester High School, Grade 9

You are merely my hero
The person who has always helped me through
And if you weren’t here with me, Mama
I don’t know what I’d do.

You always give me a shoulder to lean on
When I can’t hold myself together any longer
You’re teaching me many constructive life lessons
That make me that much stronger.

You are here to encourage me
When I have no desire to proceed
You are showing me the way to happiness
And have given me the drive to succeed.

You are teaching me to believe in myself
And to always stand with pride
Because of you, I hold my own
And say how I feel inside.

You punish me when I’m a pain in the butt
And you appreciate when I behave
I’ve always turned to you with my problems
Because your approval is what I crave.

Mama, I appreciate all that you’ve done for me
Thanks for helping me find my way
Because Mama if you ever were to leave me
I don’t know where I would be today.

My dream is to follow in your footsteps
When I say that, it’s oh, so true
Because Mama, you’re beautiful
And I want to be just like you.

Pepper and Ginger

By Lindsay
Northfield Elementary School, Grade 4

One is black, one is gold, white and black. They are very playful, they love treats.
Ginger the white, gold and black one tackles Pepper to get treats.
When people come in the house the dogs jump all over them.
When Pepper is lying down and you push his body he will bite and growl at you.
Pepper and Ginger love to fight and play together.
When they are both sleeping and somebody comes in the room they both turn over on their backs and wait for you to rub their belly.

Cadence

By Erin Maguire
Essex High School, Grade 9

the buzzing in her
head started again but
that's OK because
it keeps her thoughts
from the cacophony in
her knees are still
stiff and she
imagines with every
stride she's breaking
the bonds of winter and
leaving them behind,
melting snowflakes
with her sneakers on
the sidewalk is still a
little icy interrupted with
puddles and mud that are
a welcome alternative to
dirty snow lines the
roadside as she flurries
floats
flies by and thinks of
the people she told
my new shoes
are going to make
me run faster
jump
higher, and the
way they didn't
believe her and
how if only
they could see

the spring

in her step
today.

Lost Traveler

By Hila Saxe
Shelburne Community School, Grade 5

I am cold through my
Heart to my bone.
I am a lost traveler
A long way from home.
I am lost in a bog
Surrounded by thick,
Blinding fog.
My heart pounds and pounds
And in the distance
I hear the baying of demon hounds.
My imagination has gone wild
As my ears pick up the sound
Of the crying of a child.
I will never get away
If only, if only
The hounds wouldn’t bay.
Oh, my head is in a whirl
And I’m hearing sounds
To make my hair curl.
How will I survive?
No plant here can
Even try to thrive.
But there--can it be?
Is it a light, or are my
Eyes playing tricks on me?
Yes, it is a little patch of white light
Which means a way out.
I’m tired of the sounds of the night.
To get out of this bayou
Would be pure heaven.
I am now no longer blue.
I go to the little bobbing
Patch of white, skin tingling
My head throbbing
At the luck of it all
To find a guide out
Of the demon’s own hall.

Chernobyl: Fallen Walls

By Emma Redden
Leland and Gray Union High School, Grade 10

Death appeared in the form of ignorant minds
not taking good enough
care of the devil.
Poison rained upon your people
irrigating their fields with struggling death.
Firemen couldn’t hear screams
over the sound of crumbling steel.
Crimson flames scorched you soul
but only if the air hadn’t taken it first.
I wonder which hurt less.
When the fire fell asleep
and flesh became part of the earth,
a skeleton filled the banks of the river.
It was nothing less than a ghost,
haunting.
The devil left a footprint that will
never go away.
When spring decided to sigh warm breath,
mother’s shuttered.
Unlike the summer, the sun isn’t strong enough in the winter
to feel like flames.
Between fallen walls
innocence bloomed.
A flower was brave enough to reach for the light.
It seemed a miracle anything could grow.
Do tears make fertile soil?

This is a place to offer ideas on how Young Writers Project can improve its site and its project. We will be having digital experts from around the country looking at this site over the next few weeks. Your comments, suggestions and critiques are extremely important. PLEASE be active on this forum and offer ideas -- no idea is too small or too silly or too outlandish.

Catch Me

By Chelsey Anderson
Westford School, Grade 8

Isn't there someone
Out there who will
Promise to catch me
When I'm falling?
Isn't there someone
New besides my best
Friends who I can trust
To the ends of the
Earth?
Isn't there someone
Who thinks that I'm
Good enough to give
Me the time of day?
Isn't there someone
Who wouldn't push
Me when I fall, but
Instead would be there
To save me before
I was gone too far?

The challenge: Create a story using only six words. This is commonly known as the Hemingway Challenge; Ernest Hemingway said he could write a complete short story in six words. His story: "For sale: Baby shoes. Never used." ...
As you can tell, we've had GREAT response. Keep them coming. We soon will be selecting the best for publication. AND we have already selected six of them for a very special on stage project that will happen in December. More later. Add your Six-word Stories as comments below.