• Various Authors

Creative Writing Comes to The Laker Anchor!

Emerson Moffatt

Grade 9

Brief Suspense Narrative

What the Blind Eye Sees


There is something about the silence there, as if the entire room was sleeping. The walls have eyes there, the pale orange paint oozing an eerie, devilish sheen now that the moon had laid hands on them. The radiator down the hall hums, its mechanical lungs struggling to pump heat into this cold house.

There is a child-like menace there. It’s an innocent space, bright in the day. Anyone could take comfort in staying in such a room. The bed is new and the dressers are stark white and were just recently assembled. In the night, though, to a trained eye, shadows could be seen creeping across the hardwood floor, their dark figures sliding along the pale trim, clawed feet crossing the floorboards with the imaginary clacking of something predatory. For someone laying in the bed, nose and eyes poking out from under the heavy blankets, the wood of the door peels down, withering away to expose something more horrendous. The pale orange walls shift to a shade leached of life.

At night there are no dreams, that room snatches them away before they can even think of offering anyone a bit of joy. The shadows and serpents and rats and imps that stalk the entire house come and go through that room. That bedroom and the nightmares that are held inside. They escape through the mind of children and the barely ajar door that leads to the hall beyond.

Was something peering in from that cracked door? Was something evil reaching for the dreams of the victim laying shivering in the bed? Long, needle fingers tapping their metal nails against the window, scraping against the walls, searching for little bits of joy that hide in the drawers and under the pillows. Was something watching the gentle breathing of the victim across that haunted room?

Perhaps it was only a dream. But there are no dreams here.



Keira Szymanski

Grade 10

Poem

Dear Twenty-Twenty


We suffered so until your end

And though we may have suffered


We ended up hand in hand

Together but apart


And though our hands are not together

Our spirits still stand on


Through the pain and through the tears

Our hands have led us through


Lending us their strength and song

So we may carry on


Our hands are covered in the scars

Of pains we leave behind


The broken dreams of everyone

Who’s lives have gone astray


Our hopes may falter and die out

But our hands still work to live


So may our next year on this earth

Help end our misery


Be glad for an end of last year’s tide

Of horrors and defeat


Let us mold this new year’s light

And be better than the last


And let our hands keep us steady

And our spirits still stay strong



Elexis Elder

Grade 10

Poem


A forsaken Raven rested upon a mountain edge, a murky black sky for a hideous backdrop.

An inquisitive Robin flew to a hanging dead branch chipped of life and chirped a beautiful rhyme,

“Oh forsaken Raven, why must you be abandoned? Didn’t you have a group of Unkindness to call home…?“

The Raven only let out a snickering crack and upbraided a response to the little poor bird.

“A raven’s growling caw, a raven's sharp curved wings, a group of raven’s unkindness eyes sharply growing at I.“

Perplexed, the songbird asked. "Wouldn't surrounding yourself be better; furthermore, why would you lock yourself away from everyone?”

“If you must remember something from our meeting,” The raven callously cawed. “Silence is the best company anyone can offer you, songbird.” The raven’s cold glower pierced through the heart of the petite songbird; furthermore, a shiver quaked down the songbird’s wings as the Raven continued his teachings. “I am the reality in which you fret off. I am the reality in which you do not want to happen, however, occurs anyways. I am the reality in which you are apprehensive.“

The forsaken Raven rested upon a lonely mountain edge, a murky black sky for a hideous backdrop.

An inquisitive Robin flew down from which they were perched. The overhanging dead branch, broken of life, bounced from the sudden shift, sparks of life flickering softly.

The forsaken Raven.

The forsaken Raven.

The daunting reality will slaughter all songbirds as it forever had.



Ally Amaya

Grade 9

Poem

Isolated


I’m wandering free from my cage.

Unable to speak,

Unable to ask for help.

My lips feel heavy yet light and sleek.

Walking and walking till my feet give in,

But can’t stop, can’t give in.

I’m so close to them.

I see the light ahead.

The figures moving around,

Laughing,

Smiling,

Dancing,

Enjoying life at the moment.

Yet they can’t hear my cries,

Every step I take,

The further they get.

I look behind me,

The darkness consuming every part of me.

I look ahead,

The light is out of my reach,

So close,

It looks so warm and peaceful,

If only they could hear me.



Ava Weber

Grade 10

Poem


Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who doesn’t like flowers. The smell. The look. The feel. He doesn’t like flowers.

Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who sits in his room looking out the window. The feel. The look. He looks out the window.

Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who looks different. The look. The feel. The sound. He looks a little different.

Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who is sick in the hospital. The sound. The look. He is sick in the hospital.

Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who gets visits from his family. The sound. The look. He gets visits from his family.

Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who loves a girl. He loves a girl.

Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who gets small gifts. The smell. The look. The feel. He gets small gifts.

Jamie doesn’t like flowers. A little boy who only gets flowers. The smell. The look. The feel. He doesn’t like his flowers.

A little boy with a room full of flowers.

A little boy who doesn’t like flowers.

A little boy who is alone in his room.

A little boy who looks different.

A little boy who is sick.

A little boy who gets visits from his family.

A little boy who loves a girl. The look. The sound. The feel.

A little boy who gets small gifts.

A little boy who only gets flowers.

He only gets flowers . . .



Maxim Chalupa

Grade 10

Vignette

Into The Ground with Shadows

Based off the syntax of The Monkey Garden, by Sandra Cisneros

Time won’t last forever, but love is eternal


Dew lingers in the air. There is a tree that sits on a hill in the meadow. It is large, with gnarled roots and a thick base. It smells richly of dirt and moisture. It has fat green leaves that blow amongst its branches in the gentle breeze. Mushrooms and flowers sprout in tufts around its grass, while moss slowly creeps around the massive trunk. The sun sat heavily in the sky, its warm glow casting brilliant colors across the heavens, etching their silhouette, into the ground with shadows.


They lingered underneath the tree. She leaned against him, their hands entwined. They are young, but they get it. They both feel it. They both know it. It’s just a matter of time. They forget about going home. They don’t want to think about it, don’t want to remember. As the last beams of light disappear, so do their thoughts, drifting into the depths of the darkness.


She still remembers. It was a long time ago. When they had woken up he had to leave. That was their last time together. He hadn’t wanted to go, but he had to.


She lies on her bed, and she begins to sob, her shoulders shuddering with every breath. She misses him. She wants to see him. She knows he would want to see her too. That’s how it was meant to be. Him and Her. But she can’t see him, and he can’t see her. He is gone now.


Gone like the meadow. Gone like the sun. Gone like the plants and the animals. Gone like their tree…. It's just her…. That’s it. She has had enough. She leaps from her bed and blows out the door, tears streaming behind her.


She runs through the fields, barren and dusty. Past the forest without a single creature. Past the brook with no sound, and into the meadow of broken promises. She can see it in the distance.


The hill. A hill where a tree as large as time no longer stands. A hill that forged a love and shattered her heart. A hill, where he now lays. She staggers up its slope and falls down onto her knees as she looks at his wooden cross. The name that she loved for so long carved so carefully into its grain. She can’t take it much longer. Giving in to the sorrow, she lays her head on the dry, dead soil above him. As she closes her eyes, she feels herself begin to fade away. This was it, she would see him at last. Suddenly, the dew appears on her skin, giving her goosebumps from the cold. The darkness begins to swallow her, the welcoming abyss is just ahead. That’s his voice she hears, surely it is. She can feel the warmth of the sun, as it sits heavily in the sky, its warm glow casting brilliant colors across the heavens, etching their silhouette, into the ground with shadows, forever at peace.



Anonymous

Grade 9

Poem

A Live Wire


Tangled within the wires of emotions

Electric love and kinetic motion

Surging through my cell phone veins


When you say my name

With your caramel toned voice

And your stunning smile

I’m paralyzed and filled with hopeful butterflies

That die off when I remember you still love her


The times we spend together

The late night calls

Where im half asleep, still staying on so you’re not alone

Or the hours we spend texting each other

Talking about you and her


The worst part of this all though, hun

Is when you figured everything out

When you learned that i loved you

And care about you and have for months

And you got confused, frustrated, and silent

And i panicked


We argued for days

Over the littlest things and simplest issues

But we always got over it the next day

Cause we can't seem to stay mad enough for it to end


Then when she broke it off

You broke too

I watched you fall apart for her and lose all hope

And now i'm trying to distract you from the fact that she doesn't like you

Never has in that way for you

But you’re still holding on


Now here I am, writing this for you

Hoping you never read this and understand every bit of truth

That you shouldn't hear cause it'll break you more than the last



Anonymous

Grade 10

Short Story

The Mark


I open my eyes and everything is white. It is as if I’m in a box with nothing else. I am alone in this white wasteland of nothingness. I try to stand, but I can’t. Below me is a chair, black, in contrast to everything else here. My arms are free and I can move my feet, yet I cannot rise. I call out. “Hello?” The only response is my echo. After a few minutes of silence, something appears far out in front of me. I can’t tell what it is but it looks like it is running towards me. As it gets closer I can tell it is a dog, but not a little, domestic one, a vicious, menacing dog. And it’s getting closer, closer and suddenly it is right in front of me, and it stops running. Now it's walking, circling me as if it's sizing me up. I’m starting to get worried. After about three laps around me, the dog lets out a growl, bears its teeth, takes a step back, and prepares to pounce right at me. My heart is beating fast now, I am petrified. I try again to yell but it comes out muffled. Just as the dog leaps and its feet leave the ground, everything goes black and it is as if I was yanked away by a giant hand watching over me.

Once again I open my eyes, but this time everything is not white but normal. I am back in the doctor’s office with my mom and Dr. West, where everything is right and there is no menacing dog. I want to ask Dr. West what happened, but no one is talking. Just as I open my mouth to speak, a searing pain engulfs my left wrist. I look down and rub the ink. I was expecting pain but not this much. On my wrist is a 5 pronged little shape. My mother stands and turns to the door. Dr. West opens it for her and they both walk out. I follow. This appointment is customary for all eighteen-year-olds. Five days after our eighteenth birthday we go to the doctor to get our markings. These markings serve one purpose, to match us to our future spouses. Before we get them there is casual dating, just like in the movies. But, watching movies is weird. These people have no idea who they will end up with, but for us, it is simple. Once you turn 18 there is no denying it. It is laid out for you plainly when you meet a new person, either their marking matches yours or it doesn’t. Some people attempt to date people with a different marking, but it never works out. They will never end up together and they know it. The markings are never wrong. Well, almost never-







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