Category: Young Authors

But the thing that I noticed most is the sound. Or the lack of it. There are no birds singing, and no bugs buzzing in my ear. The pesky hum of a mosquito that isn’t there is more concerning than one that is.

As I walked into my new office, I smelled the fresh paint and doughnuts and saw the grey, boring walls that I would be working in.

He sat, slumped, on the flimsy cot of his cell. Surrounded by cold concrete walls, he was a prisoner of the government

I still remember when I first saw the wolves.

I pondered my choices as I laid on the moldy cot in my decrepit apartment. My fingers ached. I was out of sleeping pills. Again

Last year, I received an email from Marieclaire Apuli, a Language Arts teacher at Emerson Middle School, serving students from Park Ridge and Niles,…