Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences in newspapers, before live audiences and online. YWP also publishes an annual anthology and The Voice, a digital magazine with YWP’s best writing, images, and features. More info: youngwritersproject.org or contact YWP at sreid@youngwritersproject.org or 802-324-9538.
This week, we present General Writing responses.
By Eleanor Konings
Age 13, Etna
There were clothes hiding the floor,
and toys, trains, and balls galore,
and something that looked like underwear
that hadn’t been washed since the summer market fair.
There were also jeans that could stand on their own,
and oh, the horror — a stray cell phone!
Father walked in to ring the dinner bell
and nearly fell over because of the smell.
“Children!” he shouted, looking quite shocked.
“What is this — a dirty sock?
And here — that’s your project from third grade!
This is wrong; is this a charade?
Clean your room, as I can bear it no more —
this room’s messier than the den of a boar.”
The children all began to complain:
“We like how it is! What would we gain?”
But Father would not back down
and the kids were forced to start from the ground.
Three hours later, the man walked in,
and hardly believed what was within.
The room seemed completely transformed
from its original state as a mess to scorn.
The clothes were in their respective drawers,
and gone were the toys and clean were the floors.
The underwear has magically been cleaned,
and the chessboard no longer lacked a queen.
“My goodness!” said the father. “Good job! Well done!
Now come downstairs; what’s lost is won.”
And hence they went, some others ahead,
trying to forget what they’d shoved under the bed.
By Cecilia Sweeney
Age 14, Piermont
Why do I dance?
I dance because it is the only thing
that makes me feel the stars in my feet.
Nothing matches the feeling of spinning,
spinning to forget the outside world.
I dance to forget unkind emotions
and to create new ones —
to let myself feel the passion
that I so often must push down.
I dance for the opportunity
to jump into the sky
and never come back,
never return to reality.
I dance to become something else —
to embody another creature,
to imitate another world,
to create another universe.
I dance to interpret
the experiences of another people,
and to understand my own.
I dance when there is nothing else to do.
When I’m waiting or nervous,
what else can I do but move?
What else can I do but dance?
Why do I dance?
I dance to be happy.
I dance to feel stars.
I dance to escape reality.
I dance to create universes.
By Lola Maler
Age 13, Hanover
I recently took a trip to New York City, where there are many homeless folk on the streets and on the subways. Whenever someone would step on the subway and start asking for spare change, I tried to avoid eye contact and look down at my shoes – which made me feel like a terrible person, but I did it anyway.
Well, one day I was on the subway with my family. I was sitting down on one of the plastic seats when suddenly a high-pitched voice started talking. I assumed it was an old woman, who was saying her name, telling people not to drop out of school, and asking for money. The person suddenly came into view, and at that moment I realized it was a boy. He looked about 13 or 14 (though was probably actually around 15 or 16) and it broke my heart. He was wearing a worn hoodie and pants, with a backpack, and he was holding an empty cardboard granola bar box. A bunch of questions started flooding through my head, like, “Why did he drop out of school (if he did)?” and “What is his story?”
I was reaching toward my bag, wanting to give him some of my money, but then paused. He was already starting to walk away. Many emotions went through me and I didn’t know what to do.
In the end, I did not give him the money. Right this minute, as I am writing this, it still bothers me that I didn’t help him. I am filled with regret, not only for not giving money to him but to everyone else I see on the streets.
Everyone has a back story — everyone has a reason they are in the place they are, good or bad. Even if it was a mistake they made themselves, everyone deserves a second chance. So next time you see someone in need (someone struggling to find their credit card while paying for something, someone begging for money, someone needing you to open the door) help them. Help them in the way that I couldn’t help that boy, because if you don’t, it will fill you with regret. Run up to that person in your life (be it a stranger or not) and help them. No matter who they are, they deserve it.