Trapped In A Dare

 by Calia Z.

I buried my face deeper into the warm fabric of Vannia’s scarf to escape the pressuring stares of the urging classmates. The mousetrap looked innocent on the ground in front of me. I glared at it. We were supposed to put our hands on the set mousetrap and unset it before lifting our hands off as fast as we could. People were urging me with a brigade of ‘Come on’s. I felt like screaming. I whined that I didn’t want to over and over again. I tried to focus only on the rough log I was sitting on. It didn’t really work, the noise and stares where to upsetting. Then, I felt Vannia walk over and lean over me, her arms on my shoulders and her chin on my head. I twitched with irritation. Her chin was sharp.

“Please do it!” Vannia pleaded, leaning over my hunched back.

“No,” I whined, pouting slightly, “I don’t wanna!”

“If you do it, I’ll do anything you want!”

Continue reading “Trapped In A Dare”

Mail; In the Mind of A Three-Year Old

By Calia Z.

“The mail goes in
The blue box
At the end
Of the street.
There is a man,
Who comes
And empties
The box.
Who takes
All the mail
To the
Post office.
Where it
Is sent
On a plane
Or a train
Or a boat
To it’s
Where it rides
In a truck
Or on a bike
To the person
It’s meant for.
And that, Jimmy, how the mail works.”


By Calia Z.

Breathing heavily, I ran from the streets into the alleyway I called home. The rain was coming down hard, and there were people rushing toward their houses on Main Street. Rain was my favorite weather. It feels like my name, Serenity. I only know my name from the words engraved on the locket I was left with. The words on the locket were the only thing that gave me an identity, Serenity Dawn Ebony. I don’t know where I’m from; I was abandoned with only a blanket and a locket to know who I was. I’m living of begging and finding whatever I could. Of course, the only thing I ever wanted could never be begged for or found in the street. I want a family, a true family. Continue reading “Serenity”


By Calia Zhang

She buried her face deeper into the warm fabric of her mother’s scarf to escape the pressuring stares of the crowd. The children looked so innocent as they played on the ground in front of her. She glared at them. She was supposed to be playing with them, not alone. People were still talking behind her back. She knew they talked. She felt like screaming. The girl knew she was an outcast, the piercing looks the people sent told her everything. People blamed her for the deaths of her respected parents. She tried to focus only on the rough log she was sitting on to escape the hate-filled looks sent to her from the corner of her eyes. Whimpering, she buried face deeper into the scarf. Continue reading “Outcast”