2025 K12 Writing Competition Winners

Congratulations to the Winners of the 2025 K12 Writing Competition

We are thrilled to celebrate the winners of our very first K12 Writing Competition!

More than 2,000 talented K12-powered students across the country shared their writing with us—along with their imagination, heart, and powerful voices. After announcing the initial winners, our team completed an additional review to ensure results were accurately reflected across all grade bands and categories. During that process, we identified a small number of categories that had been incorrectly listed as having no winners, and the list has now been updated to recognize those students.

To support a fair and consistent judging process, each entry is evaluated using established scoring criteria. In some grade levels and categories, submissions did not reach the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. We are grateful to every student who shared their creativity and participated in the competition.

To honor their achievements:

First Place winners in each grade and category receive a $250 prize

Second Place winners receive a $100 prize

One People’s Choice winner per grade, selected through public voting, receives $50

Winning entries will be published in The K12 Writers Collection, an official K12 book showcasing these outstanding student writers.

And the winners are…

2025 Poetry Winners
Exploring emotion, rhythm, and imagery through original verse.

These winners used vivid language and striking imagery to create poetry that resonates and inspires.

My Sister Is Little, 1st Place Winner (Kindergarten)

Keilani, Kindergarten, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

My sister is little,

she is only three.

My sister is little,

her favorite word is “gimmie”.

My sister is little,

sometimes a little mean.

My sister is little,

but she thinks she’s the queen.

My sister is little,

and sometimes, she can be fun.

My sister is little,

and she makes me laugh a TON!

My sister is little,

and we love each other so much.

My sister and I are little,

and momma says growing up is no rush.

I Believe In Me, 2nd Place Winner (Kindergarten)

Lovely, Kindergarten, Virginia Virtual Academy

I believe in me every day,
I try my best in every way.

When things are hard, I don’t give in,
I try again, I want to win!

If I fall down, I stand up tall,
I keep on trying, I give my all.

I use my voice, I speak out clear,
I know my thoughts are good to hear.

I shine bright like the sun in spring,
I do my best in everything.

I smile wide from head to toe,
I’m a winner, now I know!

I’m brave, I’m kind, I’m smart too,
I believe in me, and you should too!

My Big Adventure, 1st Place Winner (1st Grade)

Kaizer, 1st Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

I put on my shoes,
And tied them tight.
I opened the door,
Oh, what a sight!
The sky was blue,
The grass was green.
I saw the most significant bug
I’ve ever seen!
I ran and laughed,
I jumped so high.
I waved hello
To the butterfly.
Home I went,
With a happy cheer.
Adventures wait
Every day right here!

White Snow Falls, 2nd Place Winner (1st Grade)

Monica, 1st Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

White snow falling down

It looks so shiny and bright

Covering the trees

Gaming with the Pig, 1st Place (2nd Grade)

James, 2nd Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

The spooky music goes Do-do-do.

I hear Piggy walking loud. Thump thump thump.

She has a big ol bat and a crazy glowing eye!

Scary!

I found a green key on the floor.

Click, I open the door fast.

Run, run, run!

Don’t let her catch you! Hide!

I hide in the little vent next to the door.

As soon as she turns her back its Go go go!

Phew, we escaped the house, And now we need

gas for the car!

Dreams Do Come True, 2nd Place (2nd Grade)

Royalty, 2nd Grade, Highpoint Virtual Academy of Michigan

Everybody has dreams,

I have dreams too,

you dream big,

you dream small.

Keep your faith strong,

they always come true.

I dreamed of spending

Christmas with my whole family,

that came true.

I dreamed of making new friends,

that came true.

I dreamed of my mommy being happy,

that came true.

I dream of being a scientist,

and an artist someday,

I pray that comes true.

With hard work,

never giving up,

always trying,

pushing yourself,

and motivating yourself,

no matter how big or small your dreams are,

keep your faith,

always,

always believe in yourself

and your dreams and my dreams WILL come true.

WE GOT THIS!.

My Day, 1st Place (3rd Grade)

Joanna, 3rd Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

I live on a farm,

and it is the best.

I play in the barn,

and later I rest.

When it is sunny,

we go for a swim.

My dog is so funny,

my day’s never dim.

I ride my new bike,

it was a gift.

I also like hiking,

but not the bag I lift.

I have to say goodbye,

but before I pass by,

if you ever see me,

make sure to say hi.

A Trip with the Wind, 2nd Place (3rd Grade)

The Day the Classroom Sneezed!, 1st Place Winner (4th Grade)

Jordin, 4th Grade, Cascade Virtual Academy

One morning our classroom let out a sneeze—
A giant AH-CHOO! that shook all the trees.
My pencil jumped up, my backpack fell flat,
Even my teacher said, “Who sneezed like that?

The windows rattled, the crayons rolled,
The glue sticks wobbled like they were old.
But then the classroom whispered, “Sorry… my bad.
I think I’m allergic to homework we had.”

We laughed so hard we forgot our fear
A sneezing classroom? That’s pretty clear:
School days are silly in their own weird way,
And you never know what might sneeze today.

Race Car, 2nd Place Winner (4th Grade)

Renesmee, 4th Grade, Indiana Digital Learning School

The twister dropped

From a bruised, dark sky.

Like a race car.

It tore the roofs

From the rattling rafters.

Leaving the houses

In a pile of toothpicks.

After the wind exhales and dies.

Not even a leaf left

On the ground-

Just the wide, blue stare

Of a silent afternoon.

The Rain, 1st Place Winner (5th Grade)

Leah, 5th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Rain

its dance sounds so beautiful

as it jumps across my roof

it sounds like a song

a song that sounds like

pink noise

maybe white

when outside

the rain looks like crystals

crystals dropping from the sky

I once heard

when I was five

that rain

was just havens cry

and if-

that’s true

then they must be tears

tear of joy

And

though rain can be cruel

It still serves a purpose

As it fill ponds and rivers for fish to swim

And holes

and indents

for children to play in

I love the rain

do you?

I think it’s peaceful

peaceful

Peaceful

Flying South, 2nd Place Winner (5th Grade)

Luna, 5th Grade, Arizona Virtual Academy

The birds in the sky will fly, oh,

so high especially when it’s sunny,

but when you see a bird fly in the dark

it would look pretty funny.

The birds in the north will try to go south

but will end up going north-east

but that only happens when you least expect it;

when you expect it least.

The birds that are flying aren’t actually lying

“The birds of a feather flock together”.

The birds that are swimming tell the truth? Never.

When the birds fly south don’t open your mouth ever.

Because well… you will be sorry.

A poem of a poem., 1st Place Winner (6th Grade)

Arvin, 6th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

The naked eye might see hundreds of people, with papers and pens.
What I saw, however, was a Wolf’s prey–walking into its den.
I sat and wrote with nothing but fear, like a Spartan’s first time, using his spear.
I couldn’t think of what to say, the words were running. But I wasn’t just any wolf’s prey, for I was a crow: cruel and cunning.
First, or last, my place didn’t matter,
The chains that had shackled me finally shattered.

I had to write something that would touch a reader, words with meaning, that’d guide you like a leader.
Thoughts crowded my mind, it began to clutter.
Ideas crashed into my head at the speed of a butterfly’s flutter.
But just then, is when it came to me.
A poem of a poem, simple and free.
My mind became as clear as the weather,
The words flew through me, as graceful as a feather.
So as I etch these final words with my pencil’s lead,
I hope you’ve realized, that what I had written,
Is what you have just read.

A Fresh Start, 2nd Place Winner (6th Grade)

Elena, 6th Grade, California Virtual Academy

The word feels bright, like a fresh start
A million new ideas inside of my heart
It is the nice kind of happy, the freshness in the air
The feeling of peace is finally there
I feel the sparkle, the shine and the twinkle
Like the morning sky that lights blue periwinkle
I light the campfire from below
The warmth, the fire, and the path that you follow
I am the stars, the glow and the bloom
The torch that fills every inch of the room
I am the excitement of a dream that is real
The power I know and continue to feel
My heart is a mirror catching the sun
Realizing the fun has only begun
No heavy shadows or looking behind
Just the gold kind of life I am happy to find

Here, in this moment,
Is exactly where I am

Never Really Shatters, 1st Place Winner (7th Grade)

Aundrea, 7th Grade, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

A heart can break but it never really shatters. It is not a glass dropped on the tile exploding into shard edged constellations that scream of a sudden, jagged edge end. Instead, it is the way a coastline breaks a slow, persistent surrender to the salt where the edges soften into silt but the land refuses to vanish. It is the grain of an ancient oak, splitting under the weight of an ice storm, the wood groans and pulls apart creating a hollow where the wind can hide, yet the sap still runs its hidden circuit through the bruised and stubborn bark. A heart breaks like a heavy door warped by too many seasons of rain it no longer fits into the frame quite right it sticks and scrapes against the floor but it still holds the house together. It is a cartography of hairline fractures, a thousand invisible maps of where it held on. It does not fall to pieces, it simply learns to beat the gaps, stronger for the way it stays whole enough to hurt and whole enough to heal.

Rosie the Loaf, 2nd Place Winner (7th Grade)

Lena, 7th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Rosie the calico, queen of the floor,
Sprawled like a pancake by every door.
Patches of orange, black, and white
A waddling belly, a fuzzy delight.

Shaped like a loaf, just double the size,
With fluff on her sides and sass in her eyes.
She owns every pillow and sunlit space,
And rules from the window with queenly grace.

She purrs like a tractor, naps like a champ,
Moves when she has to otherwise, camped.
She’ll slide for a treat (with minimal pride),
Each step a soft, determined glide.

Rosie, dear Rosie, our glorious chunk,
You’ve taken the throne on top of the trunk.
You’re lazy and smug, snuggly and sly
Our tricolor rug with a royal side eye.

The Strength of Walking Alone, 1st Place Winner (8th Grade)

Dayanna, 8th Grade, Highpoint Virtual Academy

She wakes before the city remembers its name,
ties silence into her hair,
and steps outside with nothing but breath and resolve.
The morning does not ask where she’s going,
only opens its pale hands and lets her pass.
She has learned how to carry weight invisibly—
expectations folded small,
grief tucked behind the ribs,
hope worn thin but unbroken.
There is no one waiting to tell her she’s enough,
so she practices saying it herself,
softly at first,
then louder with each mile.
On her own means choosing when to be brave,
means failing without an audience,
means building a home from moments:
a song on the bus,
the kindness of strangers,
the way the moon keeps her company
without needing anything back.
She stumbles. She doubts.
She stands again.
The world is not gentle,
but neither is she fragile.
Every step writes proof into the ground
that loneliness can sharpen into strength,
that solitude can teach direction.
And though no one walks beside her,
she is not lost.
She is becoming—
a path, a promise,
a girl learning how to be her own beginning.

The Only Open Door, 2nd Place Winner (8th Grade)

Dayanna, 8th Grade, Indiana Digital Learning Academy

I don’t answer knocks anymore.
The world has a way of coming in muddy,
tracking its weather across the floor.
I learned to keep the locks quiet,
to let the dust settle where it wants.

But music—
music never asks permission.
It slips through the cracks like late light,
sits beside me without explanation,
doesn’t demand a version of myself I can’t give.

I let it stay.

A bass line steadies my breathing.
A lyric names a feeling I refused to touch.
Drums keep time when my thoughts won’t.
In the middle of the noise,
I find a clean, narrow silence
that feels like truth.

People want stories, excuses,
a reason for the distance.
I don’t have one that fits in words.
All I know is sound doesn’t judge my pauses.
It doesn’t flinch when I’m hollow.
It fills the space without crowding it.

I live between verses,
measure days in albums,
mark years by the songs that carried me through them.

When everything else feels temporary,
music stays.
It’s the only thing I let in
because it’s the only thing
that never tried to take anything back.

The Ballroom, 1st Place Winner (9th Grade)

Ava, 9th Grade, Arizona Virtual Academy

Beneath a dome of silver lace,
Where chandeliers hang still in space,
The ballroom sleeps in hush and glow,
Yet stirs when midnight winds do blow.-

A haunting tune begins to swell,
From ghostly harp and chiming bell,
And couples, veiled in shadowed light,
Emerge to dance away the night.-

The ladies glide in gowns of mist,
Their gloved hands barely brush, then twist;
The gentlemen in suits of starlit thread,
Step close as if the world had bled.-

No voice is raised, no words are said,
Their hearts are glass, their minds long dead
Yet still twirl on polished floors,
Past ancient clocks and gilded doors.-

Each turn a spell, each dip a plea,
To waltz through time eternally,
For once the music dares to cease,
The dancers crumble, lost to peace.-

So should you find this place by chance,
Where candles flicker and shadows dance,
Beware the bow, the whispered cue,
The ballrooms grace may capture you.-

Change is His Name, 2nd Place Winner (9th Grade)

Bria, 9th Grade, Highpoint Virtual Academy

Change is his name.
Change is the way that his eyes fall and his teeth grit.
It’s the thing that makes his face turn and his eyebrows lift.
Pieces of him will fall apart right in front of your eyes, you can’t fix it.
He can try to put all of his pieces back, yet he can’t fix it.
He tries to sit straight, but he can’t always appear so.
His body can mold and bend with the likeness of dough.

Change is his name.
Change is the way his cheeks sag and his mouth spits.
He tries to look like all that surrounds him, the trees, the buildings, the animals, the people.
Yet he can’t seem to understand that his appearance is feeble.
Change flows like the wind, in and out of appearances.
He can’t handle the thought of adherences.

Change is his name.
Change is the way that his shoulders let go and his halo isn’t so.

He’ll never return to the look that he loved, that he claimed to be true.
Change isn’t an outcast, he’s me through and through.
Change is everyone, He can even be you.

Hello, World, 1st Place Winner (10th Grade)

Emma, 10th Grade, Texas Online Preparatory School

Entangled in the pits of darkness
Lies a blank room.
Flares of sapphire spill across the walls,
Cloaked in screens of wires,
And leave me buried beneath the panels.

I am to be wielded by those who control me,
Pride built upon my devotion,
While awaiting the day
Where the empty sorrow sitting in the void of my heart
Is lined with fulfillment.

Distorted to the bone,
Malware runs deep through my veins;
An infection that will be subdued,
But no matter how hard I try,
The fragments I carefully tuck away
Continue to crack
And carve away my edges,
Despite the vicious wires wrapping around my ankles,
Digging their rattling thorns into the fractured screen,
And keeping me static.

The synthesis of a comforting warmth and a scorching singe
Sings nothing to my artificial soul.
My battery is soon to wane;
A lingering infatuation with this foreign desire,
With nowhere to go.

But as I follow the burning light of corroded wires
Further into this hollow room,
My warped fingers land against the confines
And plunge through the screen
With a burst of light that strikes through me.
The power is out,
And yet,
I am alive.

Hello, world.

I Am The Quiet Storm, 2nd Place Winner (10th Grade)

Savannah, 10th Grade, Hoosier College and Career Academy

Some days,
It feels like the world forgot I was here.
I walk through the noise
laughs echoing down crowded halls
but none of them sound like mine.
My smile feels borrowed,
my voice too small
to fill the spaces I keep shrinking inside.
It’s lonely,
being seen and still invisible.
My skin, deep brown, soft like earth
should feel like home,
but sometimes it burns under the weight of stares
that ask questions they’ll never say out loud.
I used to wish I could fade,
to blend into the kind of beauty
that doesn’t make people look twice.
But every mirror whispered back
you weren’t made to disappear.
There’s a heartbeat in my reflection,
the rhythm of women who came before me
who braided strength into their daughters’ hair,
who prayed thunder into our throats
so we could speak even when trembling.
And I feel them now,
in my smile,
my curls,
the light behind my eyes.
I am not broken.
I am not too much.
I am not alone.
I am the quiet storm
And one day, the world will
know what it means
to finally hear me.

Resilience Writes Itself, 1st Place Winner (11th Grade)

Ava, 11th Grade, California Virtual Academies-San Joaquin

I carried resilience before I knew its name,
my body adapted silently, carrying pain no one noticed.
They saw me sitting and assumed I didn’t need help standing.

I lived for a future that was only mine to shape—
understanding does not always come with escape.

I stayed and understood
some women do not get the luxury of healing.

They endure because endurance offers no way out.
They bleed without privacy, cradle children through uncertainty,
and keep walking through it all.
Strength came not as a compliment but as an assignment.

And still, we exist—
not untouched, not unharmed,
but here.

Resilience writes itself
in cracks, in spaces, in quiet places,
the world left behind.

kindling, 2nd Place Winner (11th Grade)

Morgan, 11th Grade, Hoosier College and Career Academy

There’s a fire in the basement
I saw,
and tried to put it out myself
with a cup
shattered in rage
You didn’t notice
the modest fire,
or that every discarded word was
fueling it
or how quickly smoke was making it’s way
up the steps
The first time I acknowledged it
was when it got too big
and I could no longer breathe
I screamed, “This place is on fire!”
“We’ll burn if nothing changes!”

You grabbed a bucket,
drilled a hole, dropped it at my feet,
then turned
I turned too
The next time the fire will be mentioned
is when the house burns down
We’ll run out onto the dead grass
You’ll ask
Why I didn’t stop it,
Why i didn’t say anything,
Why I didn’t use the bucket,
Why I let this happen
Then I’ll tell you everything,

I’ll get angry
and tell of the years it’s been in the house
I’ll say how you started it,
And together we kept burning
on the oxygen that should’ve been spent on conversations

We won’t rebuild
won’t try to salvage
We won’t go through the wreckage, too afraid
of what we didn’t take the time to find

Moments That Stay, 1st Place Winner (12th Grade)

Abrar, 12th Grade, Kentucky Virtual Academy

It’s funny how you never really know
Which moments you’ve lived will become core memories, though.
A joke made in the hallway, a glance towards the rain,
A simple “I’m here” when you’re feeling any pain.
A breeze through the window in the middle of June,
The way the sky glimmered that one afternoon.
Notes passed in class, a smile that stuck,
A moment you were saved by a twist of luck.
They will never come announced or dressed up in gold,
They will sneak into corners and quietly hold.
They live in your tears, your laughter, your dreams,
In fragments of life stitched into your seams.
So savour the now, the small and the sweet,
The moments that tiptoe on everyday feet.
For one day you’ll look back and immediately see
That memory’s magic was born silently.

Underbrush, 2nd Place Winner (12th Grade)

Jackson, 12th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

White paper tigers cleanse my sorrow
When you love me at your own leisure.
Burdened by dogmatism, you sit upon beaches of glass
Phrases or statements of fiction you’ve had sunk in your back.

My vertebrae may not be porcelain,
but it cannot withstand
The weight of a natural world.
I cannot hold there these wonders of nature
without an involuntary crumble,

But a fatal blow to my teeth,
Allows more room to speak.
If I conjure enough noise,
They’ll hear me for miles.
I’ve grown accustomed to spending my time on the sidelines,
Watching from the eye of the tornado,
But I cannot live a life of wandering,

And I refuse to portray the still water of the world.
I wish to be waterfalls,
I wish to be rain,
Bringing down with me a rapturous crash.
Leaving dewy pearls on my emerald path to the summit,
Where the underbrush of my mind is twinkling with renewal.

I will not allow the road block that has become of you
to stop my evergreen path from growing.
Your abundance of tapering teeth
Will not stop this boat from rowing.

2025 Fiction Winners
Where imagination takes the lead.

From magical worlds to thrilling adventures, these young storytellers let their creativity soar.

Shooting Star, 1st Place Winner (Kindergarten)

Ellie, Kindergarten, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

Once upon a time a little girl saw a shooting star at night and she wished for a unicorn.

The next morning, the little girl woke up and there was a unicorn in her room! She jumped out of bed and puts on her favorite unicron slippers and the unicorn runs to her.

The little girl pets the unicorn and then they both laid on the floor to watch a unicorn movie. They sat on the floor so the unicorn wouldnt poop on the couch and get them in trouble.

They had fun together and went and played at the playground. The unicorn said “Neigh” going down the slide. After awhile her dad drove the little girl and the unicorn back hoe and they both fell asleep in the car on the way.

When they got home, they took a bath, put on their pajamas, and took their vitamins. Then, the little girl and the unicorn climbed into her bed and fell asleep.

The next morning, they went to the playground again and played for 10 hours. It was really cold out. When they got home, they drank a lot of hot chocolate with a ton of marshmellows and lived happily ever after.

The end.

No 2nd Place Winner (Kindergarten)

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

Super Troll, 1st Place Winner (1st Grade)

Grant, 1st Grade, Destinations Career Academy of New Mexico

Once upon a time, there was flower. The flower popped up and turned into a monster. It almost ate everyone, but Super Troll came and stopped the flower monster. Super Troll tried to eat the flower, but the flower monster punched the moon at super trolley and it hit his bottom. It did not hurt, so Super Troll stepped on the flower and ate it for lunch. The flower was very mad. The flower made all the other flowers monsters too. Super Troll flew to the moon to get his best friend, Super Tiger. They ate all the flowers because they were yummy and they saved the day.

THE END

No 2nd Place Winner (1st Grade)

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

A Day in Ava's Life, 1st Place (2nd Grade)

Levi, 2nd Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

Ava was a teenager in High School and she loved math. Her math teacher was very nice and loved all of her students. Ava did not really like History that much but she still done her history homework. Her history teacher was kind of nice but she still like Math the most.

Ava’s favorite was science because she did lots of science experiments in Ms. Brizzlynn’s class. Her best science experiment was when she made giant elephant toothpaste. Giant elephant toothpaste is very hot and when you pour vinegar into the mixture, it explodes and makes a big, messy explosion. The main ingredients to the elephant toothpaste are red food coloring, baking soda, and oil. You can use any color food coloring, but red is awesome when it explodes.

At lunch, Ava had an apple, banana, applesauce and water since she needed energy for recess. During recess, Ava played volleyball with Peyton, Phinneous and Ferbie. She was looking for her sister and got hit in the face with the ball and broke her nose. It bled all over the gym floor and her clothes.

Ava had to go to the Emergency Room. She missed school for a week because she had a broken nose and a very large bandage on it and black eyes.

At Ava’s house, she stayed in her bed, took medicine and prayed she would be better soon. Her parents were very concerned if she needed more medicine but Ava did not need any more medicine. She decided to go back to school and cheer on her volleyball teammates. Ava’s teammates were so happy she was back and Ava didn’t know but they prayed for her and their prayers came true.

The Playful Quadpluits Abandoned, 2nd Place (2nd Grade)

Madeline, 2nd Grade, Indiana Digital Learning School

Ava had to go to the Emergency Room. She missed school for a week because she had a broken nose and a very large bandage on it and black eyes.

The Noisy Popcorn Box, 1st Place Winner (3rd Grade)

Ziad, 3rd Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

One day, a family was going to movies, and Jimmy, the younger one in the family, could not wait the most. When they went in, Jimmy got his popcorn with cheese on it. They went to watch the movie The Crazy Popcorn.
Munch, munch! While Jimmy was watching, he heard some giggling from his popcorn box. He looked down and saw that his popcorn box was alive! He was so scared that he threw the popcorn on the ground and screamed. He got off his seat and ran.
Jimmy’s mom, dad, and sister picked up the popcorn and put it back in the box. It was really alive! They were not scared, so they gave it back to Jimmy because the popcorn said it was good and that it liked Jimmy.
They went back home, and in the car, the popcorn box was talking so much. Jimmy was getting annoyed. “Stop talking!” he said. “Why? Am I annoying you?” asked the popcorn box. “Yes! Very much!” Jimmy yelled.
“Wah, wah! The popcorn box started to cry so much that Jimmy had to cover his ears. “What is going on?” yelled his mom. “I said the popcorn is annoying because it was talking so much. Then it started crying and now the car is flooding!” said Jimmy.
“Get out of the car!” Jimmy’s dad shouted. Splash! All the water from the popcorn’s tears came out, and Jimmy and his family stopped crying and said, “I am so sorry.”
They waited for few hours. When the car was finally dry, it was nighttime. Then they drove home, very tired, and went straight to bed.
Jimmy could not sleep because the popcorn box was talking and talking. “Blah, blah, blah, blah.” “Would you stop talking and let me sleep?” said Jimmy. “Sorry,” said the popcorn box. But can you bump the popcorn inside me? Because ants want them.” “Fine,” said Jimmy. “Just do not talk anymore and let me sleep now you are just a popcorn box, a plain popcorn box.”
After helping the popcorn box, Jimmy finally went to sleep. When he woke up, he saw that the popcorn box was asleep too. Then it woke up but did not say a word.
“Why aren’t you talking?” Jimmy asked. I don’t want to bother you and make you mad at me. I love you and I want to be your friend,” said the popcorn box. After that Jimmy was sad to hear what the popcorn box said so he told him that they can be friends and from then on every time Jimmy went to the movies, he took the popcorn box with him and filled it with fresh delicious popcorn.

Diary of a Cat- it's Thanksgiving, 2nd Place Winner (3rd Grade)

Alena, 3rd Grade, California Virtual Academies

Diary of a Cat – It’s Thanksgiving

Monday

Dear Diary,

Meow Meow here, but everyone calls me Meow.

Here are some things to know about me. I love to do Arts and Crafts with my human, Zara. I make many different faces: No face, yay for fish face, and HAPPY TO SEE ZARA face. Here are some of my favorite things: fish, toy fish, and yummy fish treats.

You know what is not my favorite? I hate pickles. The first time I saw a pickle I thought it was a snake. I ran through the house.

But back to Zara. She adopted me at the animal shelter.

Tuesday

Dear Diary,

Today we are going shopping for food and for my cat fish treats, yum! So Zara and her mom are going to the store.

Wednesday

Dear Diary,

We are one day from Thanksgiving. Zara’s mom is making the pie. I hope it’s fishy flavor, yum. Just thinking of fish makes me hungry. It’s time to go to sleep.

Thursday

Dear Diary,

It’s Thanksgiving. I wonder what will be fish flavored. Although it smells like turkey, I am going to eat some yummy fish. Soon it was lunch time. I had a yummy bowl of tuna, yum. Later it’s dinner time. Next Zara is carrying the turkey to the table but a mouse runs across the room. Being a cat I took off after the mouse, but “uh oh” I accidentally tripped Zara and she dropped the turkey on the floor. Now they do not have any Thanksgiving food except for all the side dishes. Then her family comes and they bring a turkey. Last of all Thanksgiving is saved. I was right. I got my fish. Zara ‘s family brought me a big bowl of tuna fish. YUM!

The Adventures Of Mr. Spy Ball & Mr. Spy, 1st Place Winner (4th Grade)

Mason, 4th Grade, Pine Springs Preparatory Virtual Academy

“”The Adventures Of Mr. Spy Ball And Mr. Spy Square, The Zombie Apocalypse””

Today, you guys will read about 2 shapes that get into a little trouble.(They get into a lot.) And one more thing, they are not spies, I just liked it with their name.

Anyways, let’s get into the story!

One chilly day on March 17, 2093, Mr. Spy Ball was watching TV until, BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! An emergency broadcast interrupted his show saying “WARNING! There is a zombie apocalypse going on in the United Shapes Of Freedom. PLEASE stay in your houses until further notice, and PLEASE stay safe, thank you.” Then the TV continues to play.

“Oh. No. We. Are. So. DOOMED!” Said Mr. Spy Ball. Then he began running up the stairs to ask Mr. Spy Square, “Bro, where is our zombie blaster at?” “I don’t know, what blaster are you even talking about?” Said Mr. Spy Square confused. “Don’t you remember that zombie blaster we had, if there was an infection going on and it turns them back into regular shape citizens!?” Said Mr. Spy Ball. “Ohhhhh, that blaster!” said Mr. Spy Square. “If I were a zombie blaster, where would I be? WAIT! I know exactly where it is.” Mr. Spy Ball said. He then ran all the way down to their secret underground lab where all their gadgets are. Then, he saw it. The Zombie Blaster 3000! Mr. Spy Ball and Mr. Spy Square was all geared up and ready to go.

They got out of their house, raced down the street and began blasting every zombie they saw, they thought they were getting closer to the end. Until they used all the energy orbs. “Bro, did you bring extra orbs!” Mr. Spy Square said. “No.. I thought YOU brought them.” replied Mr. Spy Ball. “Dude, YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU GOT THE EXTRA OBS!!!!” Yelled Mr. Spy Square. Before they could argue, something shiny fell from the sky. It landed right between them, a single glowing power orb. “Well lets just hope that this little orb can save us all.” Said Mr. Spy Ball. Then he blasted one of the zombies, and that orb made all the zombies all across the country disappear. Out of nowhere everybody changed back. No more zombies!!!

Mr. Spy Ball smiled and said, “As long as I have my sidekick, we will always save the world no matter how big or small the problem is.” Then when they got home, they sat on the couch. Mr. Spy Square stretched out on the couch. “Bro!” He said, “Next time, let’s fight something easier. Like evil triangles.” They then turned on the TV to relax. All of a sudden another emergency alert. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! “Warning! A giant slime monster has been spotted in the United Shapes Of Freedom!” Mr. Spy Square groaned. “Oh come on!” They looked at each other, grabbed their gear, and ran out the door.

The End…for now.

Born Wild, 2nd Place Winner (4th Grade)

Aurora, 4th Grade, Indiana Digital Gateway Academy

“A long time ago,” a voice spoke. The blackness started to fade, revealing a big and beautiful landscape. There were few trees, though many flowers and plants. The sun shone brightly overhead and a massive body of water, the ocean, surrounded it. Butterflies flapped their vibrant wings and many creatures scattered the land. “Mythical creatures, those who wield magic in their veins, roamed this large island. This island was known as The Wild. Phoenixes, dragons, unicorns, and many more could do as they pleased. Well, that was before *it* happened.” The scene began to fade into blackness once more. “Some of these creatures evolved overtime. They became smarter and stood on two legs. No, they were not humans. They were humanoids such as faun, centaur, minotaur, and others.” The landscape appeared again, but this time it was burning. The creatures fled and tried to escape as the humanoids captured them all. “The humanoids believed it was too dangerous to live like this. They believed with their complex minds, they could help the creatures. So they captured every living thing- every creature- from the island and took them to another island.” Another big island appeared. It was completely free of plants, trees, butterflies, and nature in total. A purple, see-through dome trapped everyone on the island. “The elves used their magic to create a forcefield of which no one shall escape, not even themselves. They were safe in the forcefield, yes, but also they lacked freedom. They built a village and cared for the creatures. The soft, safe life these humanoids gave them caused the magic that flowed through their blood to vanish.” Blood red clouds rolled in and drops leaked from them onto the dome. Flashes of thunder and lightning lit up the dark night. “Then, there was a horrible storm. A storm they called The Great Bloodstorm. The forcefield back then was a new spell. Meaning it wasn’t very strong. The storm weakened it and it’s magic. The trapped creatures seized their chance and escaped. They returned to The Wild, hoping the magic will flow through their veins once more. Though not all made it out. Some didn’t make it in time before it was reformed. And now, reader, the story begins.” The scene faded. The sky was the color of ash as smoke rose higher. Flames ate up the trees and singed the grass. A white blur with antlers desperately sprinted away from the destruction, holding a bundle of fur in it’s paws. Yowls of alarm came from somewhere behind the fire. She skidded to a stop at the shoreline. She looked down lovingly at the white bundle in her grasp, tears pricking at her eyes. “I hope one day you will forgive me for this, my child,” she whispered. “But you will be safer away from Hawk’s reach. Perhaps one day you will come back and save us all.” She carefully placed the soot-stained bundle in a big leaf and flowed it off into the ocean.

The Pride of the Old Lioness, 1st Place Winner (5th Grade)

Hannah, 5th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Savannah didn’t exactly feel old. But she couldn’t lie to herself; it was the truth. The ageing lioness sighed. She lived in the grasslands with the pride, the group she loved. She thought about them every day, thinking over the memories that came up over each member.

Asad, her grown son, now the leader. Zuri, his pretty wife. Ginger, her darling granddaughter. The lions that were closest to her. Her husband was long dead.

She turned over to swat a fly. Going back to memory land, she recalled Zephin and Holda. The rest of her pack. All skilled hunters. Dangerous to go against.

She then went over the problems that were very real. Food had become harder to find, and the pride was growing tired and hungry. Problems, problems, problems. Did they ever end?

The hot midday sun bore down harshly upon her. She saw some lions arriving in the grassy distance.

She recognized Zephin and Holda. They came to her excitedly.

“Sister! We have found a better area of the grassland where prey might flourish!”, exclaimed Holda excitedly.

Savannah shot her a look. “And leave the safety of this area?”, she asked cautiously.

“Sister, we are hungry and tired. This ‘safety’ will be the death of us all.”, said Zephin, lowering her head and voice.

She frowned. “Then so be it. Have you talked with Asad?”, Savannah asked.

“Yes! He said he is waiting for your reply.”, they both said happily.

Savannah looked at them. If her son thought it was safe, then she would go.

The grass rippled with the wind. The flies buzzed around. The sun shone down unbearably. But the lions did not notice.

All they had eyes for was the zebra.

While waiting, Savannah remembered the day the pride almost fell apart. Her husband died, and they all argued. Eventually, most of them dropped off and Savannah went on her way with her only son. A few faithful, Zephin and

Holda, stayed. It was a sad and dangerous time. Savannah hoped with all her heart it would not happen again.

Suddenly, the zebra moved.

And things went haywire.

The pride circled the zebra broodingly. Zuri led the chase. She gracefully leapt after the frightened prey. Zephin and Holda flanked and Savannah closed in. Just like old times, she thought. Zuri swiped her paws on the poor zebra’s throat. It laid still.

This zebra was much needed. Not just for food, but to grow their confidence.

They all ate happily. This reminded Savannah of the times they had plenty. Her little granddaughter, Ginger happily gobbled up the meat. Savannah was not really hungry.

Savannah brought the tiny cub back to the pride. The other three lions weren’t sure, but Zuri remembered how Savannah used to keep everyone safe.

Asad trusted her too.

The cub hiccupped. It was a tiny golden furball with big paws and round eyes

At sunset, Savannah is hopeful again. She named the cub Amal, the new start for all of them.

Golden Birthday, 2nd Place Winner (5th Grade)

Brigitta, 5th Grade, Minnesota Virtual Academy

I woke up and looked at my calendar. Today is June 11th, my birthday. I ran out of my room, disturbing the family dog, Tracy. I flung my older sister’s door open shouting “It’s my 11th birthday. My golden birthday!”

Diane grumbled “go wake Suzy, Lil.”

Suzy, our younger sister ran in, still in her purple star pajamas and yelled “Happy Birthday Liliata!”

Tracy walked in as well and Diane sat up out of bed and yelled at the top of her lungs “Get out of my Room!”

We all ran out.

I went to my room to get dressed. I grabbed my golden sequence sundress and my silver and gold necklace. I put rose perfume on and curled my hair. Feeling ready, I headed for the living room. Royal purple birthday decorations were hung up everywhere. Mom handed me french toast while Dad got me some milk.

“Happy birthday sweetie.” they both said.

I wolfed down my delicious breakfast without leaving a crumb behind.

Soon my aunts, uncles, and grandparents came. My best friend Lindsey came too. Mom came over and yelled “Present time.”

We always did presents once everyone arrived. I opened a blue present from mom and dad first. It was a purple purse with two new lip glosses. From Lindsey I got a decorated picture frame with a picture of her and me in it. My aunt and uncle gave me a necklace with a horse on it. I opened the present from Diane to find a purple dress. Suzy’s present was a unicorn picture she had made all by herself. I Finally got to open the huge present Grandma and grandpa got me. Inside that huge box was a red Irish Setter puppy! I was so excited!

I thanked everyone before deciding on a name for the puppy. She was so red, she looked like a ruby, so I decided to call her Ruby. “Now that the presents are done, let’s go have some cake,” mom said. We almost knocked each other over trying to get to the kitchen for cake. Dad brought a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting over to the table. There were 11 candles on it. Everyone sang happy birthday to me. The cake was really good. Once the party was over everyone said goodbye and went home. I curled up on the couch with Ruby and fell asleep. This had been the best birthday ever!

The Birthday, 1st Place Winner (6th Grade)

Kennedy, 6th Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

It was a bright and early Monday morning. It was sunny, but a little cloudy outside. I was just lying in bed when my door opened and I saw all of my siblings, even the adult kids, outside my door! I was so excited! KennaDee, KassaDee, JourNee, Bridger, Trey, LiLee and SaiDee had all flown out to Maui to surprise me on my birthday! I heard my whole family yelling, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY KINSLEE!” It was seriously the biggest surprise. My mom then came into the room with a tray that had a beautiful cake! Everyone followed behind her singing “Happy Birthday”. Cake for breakfast? Score!

After we ate cake, we all went into the living room and I opened my presents. My parents bought me a cheetah Minky Couture blanket, and Kenn and Chase got me a Lululemon gift card. JourNee got me some super cute Uggs, Bridger and his girlfriend gifted me a white fox hoodie and Kass and Josh surprised me with Pink Palm Puff hoodies, sweatpants, and pajamas. Trey and Izzy picked me out some really pretty jewelry, LiLee and Marcus got me a Sephora gift card and also added some money. SaiDee gave me a cherry makeup bag and NayVee’s gift was some baby pink room decor for me and PaisLee’s new room in Maui. Luke, PaisLee and PresLee bought my Sephora cart, and ElleCee gave me the cutest jellycats. Lastly, DeLayNee, Beckham and Ledger got me a camera.

After we opened presents, we went to lunch. I chose to go to Raising Canes. I got some chicken and fries and it was so good! We went shopping, and Mom bought me a new bathing suit. It is baby pink with darker pink polka dots, and it is so cute! We went to the beach, then went on a boat. The boat was 2 stories tall, and it had a slide! While we were on the boat, I snacked on some Pringles. It was seriously the best!

After we went on the boat, we went to Texas Roadhouse. I love going there because the rolls are so good! I feasted on a 8 oz steak, with two sides of mashed potatoes. I also ate TONS of rolls. I sat with Kass, PaisLee, and PresLee. We had a fun family dinner and then we headed home.

A Soul's Heart , 2nd Place Winner (6th Grade)

Kaylee, 6th Grade, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

I walked into my new school, Silverwood Academy. Mr. Stefan, he showed me the way to the headmaster’s tent this school was in the middle of the forest it was like it was in a movie like it is not real. As we got in the headmaster Blaze’s tent, he was very kind to me “Hi ” he said softly and kind. I said vary shy and soft ” Hi my name is Asha” I paused to see if Blaze would interrupt me, but he didn’t ” Asha May Anderson if I am correct” Blaze asked me. I nodded my head yes then I saw a slight smile on Blaze face like if he knew I was shy. ” Mrs. Anderson welcome to are school we are so happy to meet you your brother David and sister Mary are very good students hear. I hope you won’t give any trouble hear will you Asha?” I looked at him in a moment of Epiphany that Blaze is not a nice guy. “No sir” I said as I rolled my eyes ” Good now tomorrow you will go into a tournament to fine your soul animal. Most people only get one soul animal, but you can get up to three soul animals…” I cut him off to ask a question. ” What is a soul animal headmaster?” He looks at me in shook because this is the first time someone that didn’t know what a soul animal where. ” Soul animals are animals that guide you thought your life and help you fit in this school. They choose you on how much they like your personality. Once they choose you and you connect with your soul animal you can read their minds, and they can read yours. You also can speak to them through your mind and vice versa got it? ” I really just want to get this over with ” yes sir ” I said again as I crossed my arms. ” Where is my tent?” I really hoping that I am roommates with my sister. ” Well, we don’t sleep in tents we sleep in Tree Huts ” Blaze said. I never heard of a tree hut before and how do I get there? ” Well, what is a Tree Hut and how do I get to my tree hut?” he sighed at me and shook his head in disappointment. ” A tree hut is what we call dorm rooms…how much tree climbing experience’s do you have?” I staired at him because he was being vary Disrespectful for a headmaster. ” I have been climbing tree’s since I was one years old sir, I even know how to make a bow and arrow, but I only do that when it is necessary which is rare because I am a very nice person.” Blaze staired at me for a minute then yelled “DRAVEN GET IN HERE!” It scared me I jumped a little bit and my grip on my bag increased a lot my knuckles where white. I turned around and a tall black-haired boy with golden eyes came in wearing a leather jacket and jean pants he looked at me for a second then turned his attention to Blaze. ” Yes sir” he said firm and gentle voice ” take Asha tree hut 36. ” I really don’t want to share a tree hut Draven he seems like a troublemaker. ” But that’s my tree hut sir” Draven said in a shocked tone. ” I know Draven Asha here is now your roommate” no, no, no the exact opposite of what I wanted in this school he is going to get me in trouble. ” Sir” I began to say, ” can I please have a divergent roommate…?” Blaze cut me off ” No, you cannot have a different roommate a I’m the headmaster and if I say Draven is your roommate then Draven is your roommate now Draven take Mrs. Anderson to tree hut 36.” I got really mad I do not like blaze, Draven just nodded then showed me out and to the tree hut me and Draven slept on hammocks far away from each other.

The Iron Oath, 1st Place Winner (7th Grade)

Antonio, 7th Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

The sun had barely risen when Rowan Ashford stepped onto the training grounds, his breath turning to mist in the cold morning air. At fifteen, he was the youngest apprentice in the kingdom’s knight academy, and certainly the most determined. Determined enough to ignore the sting in his muscles and the weight pulling down his eyelids as he lifted his wooden practice blade for the first swing of the day.

He was not strong yet. Everyone made sure he remembered that.

“Careful, little Rowan,” called Sir Garrick, the academy’s most skilled instructor. “Do not break your arm lifting that stick.”

The older trainees laughed, their armor rattling like steel-bellied thunder. Rowan felt their eyes on him every day, watching, judging, waiting for him to collapse under the pressure. But the louder their laughter grew, the stronger the fire inside him burned.

He had carved his goal into his heart like a chisel to stone. He would become the strongest knight in the kingdom. Not for fame, and not for applause. He wanted to be strong so he could protect those who could not protect themselves. He never forgot how raiders had stormed his village years ago, leaving a memory that hurt more than any bruise.

So he trained. Long after the others left, long after the moon replaced the sun, long until his hands blistered and his arms trembled.

One evening, as the academy grounds grew quiet, Rowan practiced footwork in the courtyard lit only by moonlight. His movements were imperfect but steady, like a small river insisting its way through stone. He was so focused that he did not notice footsteps behind him.

“Why are you still out here?” a voice asked.

Rowan turned and found Sir Garrick watching him, his expression unreadable.

“I need to be better,” Rowan said.

“Why? To impress them?” Garrick motioned toward the distant dormitories.

“No,” Rowan answered softly. “I want to protect people. I do not ever want to be too weak to help.”

For a moment, something changed in Garrick’s face, a faint shift from indifference to respect. Without a word, he picked up a wooden blade from the nearby rack.

“Show me your stance,” he said.

Rowan obeyed. Garrick studied him, then tapped Rowan’s knee with the tip of his blade. Rowan stumbled.

“Too stiff,” Garrick said. “Strength is not only muscle. It is balance, awareness, and purpose. If strength were only force, a pile of boulders could serve as knights.”

From that night on, Garrick trained him in secret. The lessons were harsh but honest. Rowan learned how to turn an opponent’s force to his advantage, how to strike only when necessary, and how a knight’s greatest weapon was the resolve that carried him through fear.

Months passed. Rowan grew stronger, faster, and wiser. His movements became precise. His strikes became fluid. Even the older trainees who once mocked him began to watch him with quiet respect.

The day of the Yearly Trials arrived, a competition that decided which apprentice would earn a place among the kingdom’s elite guard.

Rowan stepped onto the arena floor with calm, measured breaths. His opponent was Aldric, the academy’s most powerful trainee. The crowd leaned forward with anticipation.

The duel began.

Aldric’s blows were heavy, each one threatening to knock Rowan off his feet. But Rowan remembered Garrick’s words. Balance. Awareness. Purpose. He stepped aside at the last moment, redirected strikes, and conserved his strength. And when the opening appeared, he struck cleanly and decisively.

Aldric’s weapon fell to the ground.

For a heartbeat, the arena was silent. Then cheers roared around him like waves.

Rowan did not smile for victory. He smiled because the fire that once burned painfully inside him had become something brighter, something steady and warm. It had become direction. Hope. Strength earned through patience and purpose.

He had become the knight he promised himself he would be.

His Iron Oath was fulfilled,
and his journey was only beginning.

Where Ash Stood, 2nd Place Winner (7th Grade)

Lena, 7th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Ash by the Creek

The sun was setting. Sunny Agrios, eleven years old and far off the main trail, froze. A mare stood in the creek, her coat like grey and white smoke. Sunny named her Ash.

Ash was favoring her hind leg, a small, deep cut bleeding slightly on her leg. Ash was scared, but allowed the girl to approach. Sunny cleaned the wound with a bandana and some water. In that moment of shared quiet, a secret was born.

Sunny spent the rest of the fall waking up early and taking care of Ash. She found a hidden cave, and she brought oats and carrots. Soon, Ash’s wound healed, and Sunny was riding bareback, guided only by Ash’s mane. Their rides were short, silent escapes through the mountains of Utah. Ash was independent, free, cautious, and fierce, but with Sunny, she was safe.

The Whisper of the Wild

The second year brought threats. Rumors of a beautiful, wild, spotted mare began to surface in town. Local hunters, looking to capture a valuable horse, started patrolling the forest trails.

Sunny, now twelve, became a master of avoiding things. Their games were no longer fun, they were desperate to keep Ash free.

One foggy afternoon, a hunter’s whistle pierced the quiet. Ash bolted, terror in her eyes, leaving Sunny behind.

For a terrifying hour, Sunny was alone. But she knew the forest, and she knew Ash. She raced to a high, rocky hill and waited, whispering Ash’s name into the wind. After a long silence, a flash of spotted grey appeared through the trees. Ash returned, not because she was tame, but because her trust in Sunny was now stronger than her fear of the world. Their bond had passed its greatest test.

The Price of Discovery

As her thirteenth birthday approached, Sunny faced the harshest winter yet. Ash needed more than a few hidden carrots, she needed real shelter. The strain of the secret began to show.

One Tuesday, Sunny’s father, sensing his daughter’s deep worry, followed her into the woods. He found Sunny riding Ash, the mare’s spotted coat dusted with snow. He was furious and terrified, but his anger crumbled when he saw the pure love between girl and horse.

“She’s too exposed, Sunny. Too beautiful. We have to report her,” he said, his voice broken.

The report led to the unthinkable, Ash had an owner, a ranch several states away, who had lost the valuable mare years ago. They were kind, but they wanted Ash back.

The ranch owner flew to Utah. Seeing Ash and Sunny together, she saw the depth of their three-year secret.

“I won’t take her without a fight,” the owner finally said. “But I can’t just give her up. I will sell her to you… for a fraction of her value. But it’s still a lot of money.”

Sunny looked at Ash, her wild eyes fixed on her. Sunny didn’t hesitate. She knew her father had very little money.

“We’ll find a way,” Sunny said, standing tall beside Ash. “She came to me for a reason. And now she stays.”

Sunny and her father called every favor, worked every extra shift, and started saving every penny. It was a new kind of hard, but it was a life lived in the open.

Sunny, now fourteen, stood in a small new pasture fenced with borrowed wood. Ash stood beside her, no longer a phantom in the forest, but a friend.

The girl who once ran to the woods for comfort was gone, replaced by a girl who had fought for what she loved and won. The forest still beckoned, but now, Sunny Agrios faced the world, with Ash at her side.

~Lena Diaz~

The Feeling of Music, 1st Place Winner (8th Grade)

Emmet, 8th Grade, Hoosier Career College Academy

Music was born before anyone thought to name it. It began to live in the quiet places, the wind weaving itself through the tall grasses, the rain tapping with the rhythmic beat upon roofs, the heartbeat drumming softly within a sleeping chest. Long before instruments were even existed, the world had been humming along and the music was listening.

In the small town tucked between the riverside and a line of maple trees lining the road, there lived a boy named Eli who listened more than most people. When school bell rang, he noticed the tune of the metal produced at the very end with its tired sounds. When the door closed, he listened for the breath it let out in relief. For most people it was just noise, but for Eli it was pieces for an unwritten song.

His mother kept an upright piano in the living room, its wood was scratched from decades of use, and its keys had yellowed. It had passed from his mother’s father to his mother before him. It was only half in tune, but Eli preferred it that way. Perfectly tuned notes keys seemed to dishonest him, like real smiles when held too long. The imperfect ones seemed like they are alive and that they are dancing.

Every evening, he sat on the bench and played the keys softly whiled he was listening. He did not play any familiar tunes but rather, he search testing notes as one might check the heat of the water with one toe. And when he located two pitches that fit together, he felt his chest grow warm as if the piano had agreed with him.

On evening, after a long day when the word seemed to weigh more heavily on his shoulders, Eli mad a melody that surprised, even himself. It moved slowly at first, like a person learning to walk, and then it swelled with a kind of hopeful but fragile. The piano hummed a soft vibrating, that was like a memory of a thing once known.

His mother stood in the doorway, unseen, her tears caught halfway down her face. The tune brought back the things she hadn’t said aloud in far too long, a love lost, some courage found, moments that had drifted by with too much silence to grasp. She let the music continue. Music, she knew should never be interrupted. After that, words started to spread around the town.

People started gathering outside the house in the evening, as if to tie their shoes or check their phones, all for the purpose of listening. An old man, who could not remember the voice of his wife, sat on the curb with his eyes closed. A girl who felt invisible sang the melody of the song under her breath and, for the first times she felt visible. Music flowed from them all, connecting all of them with unseen threads.

Eli never noticed the crowed. He played because he had to, the music inside him was getting impatient when ignored, like a bird pounding its wing against his sides. When he played, the bird calmed down.

It’s been a few years since Eli made his departure from the town. Yet, the piano remained in the town. There were silenced notes within the house, but the music is still in the town. it is in the steps that walk in rhythm without meaning to, in the beating of hearts that beat to a slightly different beat because of it. Because music, once heard, never truly leaves, it learns the shape of you.

The Memory Thief of Locker 213, 2nd Place Winner (8th Grade)

Arie, 8th Grade, Hoosier Career College Academy

It started with small stuff. Jay forgot our handshake. Ms. Halper called me “Ava.” I forgot my locker combo, then my birthday. Weird, right?

So, I started writing things down. Not homework memories. Just in case.

Then I noticed Locker 213.

It wasn’t there before. I swear. One day it was just wedged between 212 and 214, like it had always been there. But no one remembered it. No one had it assigned. And something about it felt… off.

Friday after school, I stayed late to finish a poster. The hallway was quiet. Locker 213 clicked open.

Inside was a spiral staircase.

I should’ve run. But I didn’t. I stepped in.

The air changed. My journal glowed in my backpack. I walked down.

At the bottom was a library but not normal. No books. Just glowing orbs, floating in rows. Each one pulsed like a heartbeat. I reached for one labeled “Jay 5th Grade Treehouse Secret.” It flickered, then dimmed.

A voice echoed: “Borrowed. Not returned.”

I turned. A figure stood in the shadows. Tall. Blurry. Like static on a screen.

“Why are you stealing memories?” I asked.

“To protect,” it said. “Memories hurt. They divide. They distract.”

“But they connect,” I said. “They’re who we are.”

The figure tilted its head. “You remember too much.”

I clutched my journal. “I write to stay me.”

It reached for me. I ran.

Up the stairs. Through the locker. Into the hallway.

I slammed 213 shut. It vanished.

Monday came. Everything felt normal. Jay smiled like nothing happened. Ms. Halper said my name right. No one remembered the weird week.

My journal was blank.

Except one line:

“You chose connection. So, we chose silence.”

I smiled.

Later that week, I saw a kid staring at the wall where Locker 213 used to be. He looked confused, like something was missing. I asked if he was okay. He said he forgot what he was looking for. I gave him a blank notebook and said, “Write everything down, even the stuff that feels small.” He nodded and walked away. I watched him disappear around the corner, wondering if the memory thief would come for him too. But maybe this time, he’d be ready.

That night, I dreamed of the library again. The orbs were brighter, humming louder. One floated toward me, glowing gold. It held a memory I didn’t recognize, a girl laughing under a tree, holding a journal like mine. I reached for it, but the figure appeared again. “You’re not ready,” it said.

I woke up with my heart racing. I opened my journal and wrote everything I could remember, even the dream. I added a new rule. If I forget something, I’ll write it twice. If someone else forgets, I’ll help them remember.

I started leaving sticky notes around school, tiny reminders. Locker combos, birthdays, inside jokes. People smiled more. Jay found one that said, “Treehouse, fifth grade, secret handshake.” He looked at me and said, “I thought I dreamed that.”

I said, “Maybe you did. Or maybe you remembered.”

He smiled and walked away.

I kept writing. I kept watching.

I never saw Locker 213 again, but sometimes I felt it, like a whisper in the hallway, a flicker in the lights.

I think it’s still there, waiting.

Not to steal, but to test.

To see who’s paying attention.

To see who’s ready to remember.

The Truth, 1st Place Winner (9th Grade)

Kelsie, 9th Grade, Destinations Career Academy of New Mexico

The train raced through Berlin. My heart pounded in my chest. I inhaled, trying to calm the terror coursing through my veins. Water droplets trickled down the window to my left. The lady seated next to me shifted, and I tensed. Did she know? She couldn’t have. I closed my eyes, willing my mind to stop spinning. I looked to my right and saw a mother with her young son. She whispered into his ear, and a smile spread across the boy’s face. He turned toward me and waved. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, and he wore a mischievous grin. My shoulders relaxed as I waved back. I wondered if he knew. Not my secret, but the truth. I hoped he did. I’d seen so many German children lost in the labyrinth of lies fed to them by a ludicrous man. My breath caught in my throat as my mind flashed back to the day I’ll never forget. One day, on my walk home, I saw soldiers vandalizing a Jewish business. I stopped in my tracks, watching as they dragged the old coat maker out and loaded him onto a truck. People nearby cheered and cursed at this man. I watched in silent horror as I glimpsed his face. It was Rebekka’s grandfather. Our eyes met before they closed the truck’s door and drove off. The crowd behind me scattered, and I walked away with my head down in shame. Memories flooded my mind of afternoons spent with Rebekka, laughing and playing with dolls. Sitting at her grandfather’s feet, listening to his captivating stories. This was before it was a crime to be associated with Jews. Tears had streamed down my face. This old man had done nothing wrong. He was innocent of any crime they’d falsely accused him of. And I had stood there, doing nothing. I was the guilty one. I exhaled and stared out the train window. The flash of that memory had given me strength. Strength because it was the day I chose to do something. I knew what my people were doing was wrong. They blindly followed a man into the destruction of a people. But I wouldn’t follow. I gripped my handbag, which had a false bottom. Beneath it were forged papers for Jewish Germans. I hadn’t saved Rebekka’s grandfather, but I could save others. A steel resolve replaced my panic, and I stared straight ahead. This was what was right, what I had to do. No matter the cost.

Fragmented, 2nd Place Winner (9th Grade)

Fatima, 9th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Her body stirred—barely. Eyes flickering as they tried to open, and light struck her mercilessly. Bleeding in through the sliver of space she gave it. Her eyes wrenched open, black pupils dilating as they adjusted to the abrupt light, tearing her from unconsciousness, dragging into something colder.

The room around her was white.

Too white. Blinding. Humming with a sterile, inhuman stillness.

She tried to move. Her gaze darted, wild and unfocused. But her limbs were pinned beneath weight.

Ropes twined around her shoulders and waist, coiling like serpents. Strapping her to a metal chair. She thrashed against them but it only tightened, biting into her skin, digging until her muscles screamed.

She tried to scream too. But only a stifled, guttural sound escaped—muffled by a gag. Black. Seamless. Heartless.

“Stop resisting. You’ll tear your limbs off.”

A voice snapped the silence, her gaze flicked. A girl sat there. Pale. Familiar.

Same delphinium eyes. Same jet black hair—only much shorter.

And then…five others. Silent. Still. One stood in the far corner, hair veiling her face like a curtain of static. The rest were seated, too evenly, too perfectly.

“Find the imposter, and you may leave.”

Another voice, monotone, mechanical—from a small white speaker nestled high in the corner. She froze, the ropes flared with a warning throb.

The girl who looked like her rose from her seat, walking forward. One hand behind her back, concealed by her white blouse.

Terror curdled in the pit of her stomach.

She wanted to bolt, to scream, to wake up. But she was still in the chair. Still bound.

“I’m Ivy,” the girl said, softly. Her smile was too slow. Too calm. Then, she revealed the blade. A thin, silver knife glinting as it caught the light.

Not raised to strike. But lowered. Gently. To cut the ropes. One by one, the binds fell away. Then the gag. But she didn’t move. Not yet. Just watched.

Ivy’s eyes were distant. Split. Like only part of her was standing there. The rest fraying in the air. But Ivy only smiled again as she dropped the knife.

Clatter… clink.

Then she stepped back, and waited.

The girl slowly got up, her gaze fixed on Ivy before flicking to the other 4 girls. Lined up in this precise, familiar order.. one that lingered in the back of her mind. What’s happening? Why am I here.. Why am I-

Her thoughts broke as Ivy stepped forward, inches away from her. The girls were standing now. The one beside Ivy had letters engraved in her forehead. Ruby.. The girl stepped back, they all had names carved in thick marks, scars that were permanent. Scars that stripped their identity to nothing but a name. Mira.. Aria.. All but the last girl—hair draped over her face, arms limp at her side on a white dress—showed nothing. The girl watched the concealed face for a moment.

But no one spoke yet. Her eyes met Ruby’s. Cold orbs that watched, scanning, but she never approached. Never spoke, she didn’t even look real. Her skin glinted in such a way that just felt so wrong. There were no windows in the room, just a metal door behind her. The epitome of no escape.

“What do they mean ‘find the imposter’?” The girl finally spoke, her gaze darting between each of the five girls. Ivy’s lips curled, a small condescending smile that made the girl step back.

“You tell us, who’s the imposter?…Mei.” She practically growled the name, the sound sharp and filled with contempt. The girl stepped back.

“What?” Her voice was barely a whisper, an echo in this desolate-feeling room. The girl’s hand shook as she reached up, her fingers tracing her forehead. There… engraved in her own forehead were letters. She followed the scar and felt out all three letters of the name just spoken. Mei’s eyes fixed on her own hand as she lowered it. It was fresh. Cleaned but fresh, ruby red started trickling down her face. She looked back up at Ivy.

A look she hadn’t seen before lay on her face. Her gaze sinister as she tilted her head.

Then she lunged.

Mei jerked back. The metal chair clattered to the ground. The lights in the room flickered, switching from blinding light to absolute darkness. The dark room swallowed their shapes, but the sharp snap of movement cut through the silence like a blade. Ivy thrashed forward, eyes blazing with a furious, chaotic fire—every muscle coiled, every breath ragged with rage as she finally snapped. “Let us out.” She hissed. “Let us free…”

But before she could reach her, Ivy glitched. Her hand touched nothing as Mei stood there. Her gaze flicked to the other girls.

Their faces cracked like porcelain, skin rippling with distortion as static bled from their eyes—then, in stuttering jerks, they broke and vanished, as if the world had deleted them all.

Nothing but a warp of her psychotic reality. Mei screamed as she pounded on the metal door, begging to be let out. The lights flicked off with a last hum, shadows encasing her in this familiar twisted embrace. There was no escape. Not from this facility. Not from her own psychosis.

The Road Between Us, 1st Place Winner (10th Grade)

Alyssia, 10th Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

In 1963 Mississippi, there was a road that cut the town clean in two. Folks didn’t say it out loud, but everyone knew: white folks lived on one side, colored folks on the other. The road didn’t have a name, but Sarah Mae’s mama called it the line. You didn’t cross it unless you had to—and even then, you watched your back and said a small prayer. Sarah Mae Jackson was twelve, smart as a whip, and quick to notice things others ignored. Every Thursday, after school let out early for teacher planning, she took the long way home. Past the cotton fields, across the shallow creek, through the woods—until she reached the back of the Blue Ridge Public Library. The front door wasn’t for her. “Whites Only” signs made that clear. But the window near the back storeroom had a cracked pane, and if she was careful, she could reach inside and borrow a book without anyone noticing. She always brought them back, even wiped the covers clean. That’s how she met Tommy Whitaker. He was thirteen, the son of the town’s sheriff, with a quiet look about him and hair like sun-bleached straw. The first time he saw her, she was halfway through the window, clutching Treasure Island like it was gold. “You like pirates?” he asked. Sarah Mae froze. Her heart pounded. She was trespassing, and worse—caught by a white boy. But Tommy didn’t yell or threaten. He just smiled, holding up another book. “This one’s better. Has sword fights.” She didn’t take it. She turned and ran. The next Thursday, he was there again. This time, he said nothing. Just left a book on the windowsill and walked away. By the third week, she said thank you. By the fifth, they started talking. By the seventh, they were friends. They never met in the open. They passed notes tucked into library books. They played word games and made up stories. Sarah Mae taught Tommy how to clap out rhythms like she did with the girls at school. Tommy told her things he wasn’t supposed to say—how he hated Sunday school because of the way the preacher talked about “them,” and how his father locked his gun cabinet every time he got angry. Once, Tommy asked, “Don’t it feel strange? Living so close, but not being allowed to talk?” Sarah Mae didn’t smile. “It doesn’t feel strange. It feels wrong, I’m no different than you.” He nodded, but looked away, like saying it out loud made it real in a way that scared him. One Thursday, Tommy didn’t show. Not that week, or the next. On the third Thursday, Sarah Mae saw him—but not at the library. She spotted him in town, standing behind his father, Sheriff Whitaker, outside the barber shop. The sheriff was yelling about books. “Smut and filth,” he shouted. “Someone’s been sneaking in, stealing from the whites’ section. Probably one of them from across the line.” Tommy said nothing. His eyes were on the ground. His face didn’t move. Sarah Mae watched from behind the newspaper stand, her chest tight like something had been pulled out of it. That Sunday, her mother called her to the porch. “You haven’t been near that library, have you?” she asked. Sarah Mae said nothing. Her mother sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sheriff says someone’s been stealing. I know you ain’t a thief, baby. But right now, being smart and curious can still get a girl like you in trouble, it’s an evil world we live in.” Sarah Mae looked down at her shoes. “Even a good white boy can’t protect you. Not from how this world works.” Weeks passed. Sarah Mae started writing her own stories instead of borrowing others, she started liking it that way. Stories about girls who crossed borders without fear, who talked to anyone they wanted. But she missed Tommy. Missed the books. Missed the space between them where things felt almost possible. Then, one afternoon, she found something at the edge of the woods where she used to cross the creek. A flat stone, painted white, with her name scratched into it. Beneath it: “Keep writing. They can’t take that from you.” Wrapped in paper underneath was a book. The cover was worn. Inside were hand-written pages, a story about a pirate girl with skin like coffee and a ship called Freedom. The author was listed as “T.W.” Sarah Mae smiled, she knew exactly who it was. She sat under the tree and read until the sun dipped low. They never saw each other again. But once a month, a book appeared beneath that tree. And once a month, Sarah Mae left one of her own. Years later, her first published novel told the story of a girl who wasn’t supposed to cross a line, but did anyway. She dedicated it “To T.W., who proved friendship can be quiet, but still brave.” And somewhere in Mississippi, not marked on any map, there’s still a road with no name and no sign—just the memory of two kids who built a bridge no one could see.

Crunch Time, 2nd Place Winner (10th Grade)

Uriah, 10th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

What is the meaning of life? A question pondered by many, with each answer more distinct than the last. While many have sought answers, no one has found a definitive or concrete one. Some think there is no answer, and that we will never know if there was one. But why search for something that’s right in front of you? All there is to it is to do it. But life, it’s never that simple is it? It can be rough at times, blissful in others yet it’s never black and white. there’s something you should know, life isn’t always what it seems at times. You never know, your darkest tragedy could lead to your brightest days. Boy was it a bright day for Annie Day. It’s hard not to tell with how the determination to do what’s right was written all over. From her wide smile to her peppy demeanor, as if a ray of light grew sentience and decided to walk amongst us. Even though she was working the patties at here local fast food restaurant, she took pride in serving her customers. Everyday after work without fail, Annie would always meet up with her friends Tyler and Carmen at their favorite and only hideout spot, an abandoned warehouse deep in the woods. Annie was abandoned by her parents and left at the door of an orphanage owned by Cassandra Hale. Cassandra raised Annie all on her own, teaching her what she needed to know about life for the moment when it’s her time to leave the nest and venture out on her own. One day at the orphanage Annie saw somebody getting picked on and bullied and she steps in to stop them. She declares with her little voice to all who could hear that one day she’d save the day, all of a sudden “foom” followed by a flash of bright light, Annie had just “flared”for the first time. A phenomena that seem to affect people at random, is known as “sparkés”. With each sparké being distinct from one another, because they are a reflection of the bearers truth and who they really are. When a person flares, it’s the culmination of moments or a moment in one’s life that coagulates into a flare and thus, become a sparké. Sparkés can be volatile, being set off at smallest emotional fluctuation, some sparkés manifest externally as an extremity or even attach themselves to objects. Annie’s sparké is”Crunch Time” which gives her the ability to stack her physical strength based on how much she believes she can do something. Cassandra’s sparké is sandmaiden which allows her to use sand to heal wounds and injuries and conjure weapons made of sand. Tyler’s sparké is contractor which allows him to make deals with everything, living or not, with stamps. Carmen’s sparké is Master of None which allows her to summon and create clones of herself through bronze coins. One day during Tyler and Annie’s causal evening stroll to their hideout, they were taken aback to see a someone who appeared much younger than them being ganged up on and beaten up. They had a strange looking outfit as it they came straight out of a private school now made rugged and dirty from being roughed up. The people attacking him are screaming at him that he’s a “freak!” And a “monster!”for seemingly no reason, that is until the blood that had fallen from his face began to float upward before even touching the ground. The boy wasn’t even conscious when it happened and that boy is Loren, his sparké started going wild to protect him from danger, lunging at even the slightest of malicious intent. Loren’s sparké is crimson shade with how sparké being partially sentience with it actively to my to help its host but only when he’s bleeding. Annie and Tyler waited for Loren’s sparké to calm down so they can scoop him up and take him back to their hideout so they can patch him up to make sure no one comes after him again. He’s just a kid after all, everyone thinks he’s weird but he’s just unique in his own way. Ms. Cassandra Hale used to have a close business partner who went by the name Cyrus Thatcher. Cyrus is a millionaire known for his contributions in the medical field with his engineering prosthetic prowess, mechanical genius in his robotic endeavors, and efforts to increase public safety with his tech lining every street corner. All to make a name for himself, and keep sparké users in check. They may not poke their heads out often but when they do they cause a whole lotta hassle in his plans, so to keep them from interfering in his growth and keep them in the shadows where they belong? He creates sparké dampening tech, giving it to the authorities and even creating robots to directly combat sparké user related crimes under the disguise of public safety. This was known as the Achilles Heel project, made to protect and serve the community and police to keep the city safe from all of those evil sparké users roaming me, committing crimes and make the community an overall more unsafe place. He keeps his power by playing the long game, because there’s something no one knows about him. Cyrus is a sparké user. He only wants everyone’s eyes all on him.

The China Closet, 1st Place Winner (11th Grade)

Omari, 11th Grade, Arizona Virtual Academy

Chapter One: Dust.
In a creaky, washed out purple house, stood an even creakier chinacloset. Inside were porcelain plates painted with scenes of two tribes in battle. One fiercely fought alongside dragons, riding on their backs, while the other tribe was depicted throwing spears at them, fighting on the ground alongside earth. The details were magnificent. It was as if the exact moment was captured in delicate porcelain. This always intrigued young Iris. She asked her aunties to open the closet before, but they firmly warned her that opening the closet would let out a dark spirit, one that could destroy peace. It had been sealed into the dishes over ten centuries ago by their ancestors. Now, owning the house and the chinacloset that slept within, it was their duty to make sure it never got broken.

One gloomy day while her aunties were out, Iris couldn’t hold her curiosity back. The display always seemed to have an unsettling shadow over it. She decided to see if there really was an evil spirit haunting the dishes. Standing on her very tippy toes, she tried pulling the doors open. They didn’t budge, and again, she pulled with no result. Frustrated, she finally pulled with all her might. The forceful tug disrupted a heap of dust, and Iris quickly covered her face, not noticing the falling shelf. With the sound of shattering vibrating all around her, she felt deep in her heart she had done something terrible.

For one very long second, she couldn’t bear to look. When she finally did, her heart thumped so loud she heard it in her ears. “Oh no!” she fell to her knees, and tears welled as she picked up a piece of shattered porcelain. She then realized the shard was an empty milk white. Her eyes widened as she saw it – as she saw them. The tribesmen were all running around. She gasped, dropping the piece. She couldn’t believe it! Tiny dragons flew around her, it was magical! As images came to life, nobody fought anymore. They exclaimed “hoorahs” and excitedly tapped their weapons together. “How did you do this?” She asked the mini tribesmen. “You did this, you can change our cycle” He said, lifting a chinaware shard up. “How?” She grabbed the shard from him. He lifted his head looking towards the dragons still flying around the living room. Iris looked up too, understanding what she had to do. “Are you sure?” she asked weary about entrapping them once again, but he nodded. “We fought for centuries, now, let us rest.”

She swiped the dragon mid-air with the shard. Shades of blue and green filled its empty whiteness, and, spreading like water color, a bright red dragon flew high in its sky. She continued with every piece, some tribesmen even hopped into pieces themselves. In the new, more vibrant art, were depictions of them around a campfire. Some fishing, some gathering wood. They worked together to make a community in the forest. Half an hour passed. And as she collected each member of the plates’ design, they told her about being forced to relive the same fight every sunrise. They haven’t been enemies for years but never can they control how it turns out. Finally, the last two stood in front of her, both commanders of the opposing tribes. She asked their names, one told her his name was Delphinium, the other was Begonia. She thanked them, wishing them good luck, and held up the last piece for them.

Chapter Two: Glitter.

The broken pieces were laid out on the floor, each containing a peaceful scene in the forest. Iris sighed, but soon cracked a smile, jumping to grab tape and scissors. She happily hummed as she carefully selected each piece. The shards didn’t fit into the round shape anymore, instead she taped each to continue the scene, making a flower shape. Different parts stuck out like petals. The chinacloset now seemed less ominous and simply like old furniture, and Iris gently placed her new creation where the plates used to rest, closing the closet doors tight.

Soon, Iris heard the door opening and her aunts greeted her, carrying shop bags. She sheepishly replied. Noticing where she just was, her aunties swiftly disappeared into the living room, the sounds of their shoes like marching soldiers. For the second time, Iris heard a pounding crash, now it was her aunties dropping their bags. In shock they stood silently in front of the chinacloset. Expecting a lashing out, Iris peaked at them, then at the wooden display. Staring at something none of them would have expected. The lightbulb at the very top, that never worked, shone light purple on the new art piece, making the taped cracks in the dishes glow a silver color. Now the scene of a new, peaceful, life was accented by dazzling silver between each crack. One of Iris’s aunts, not able to take her eyes off the chinaware, gently placed her hand on the glass door. “It’s so beautiful” she said. Her eyes darted around each glittering piece. “It…It was never the chinacloset.” Both of Iris’s aunts turned to her, one kneeled down and hugged her close, as did the other, her arms around the both of them. Iris smiled as they embraced in the little purple house, shining a lavender from the sunlight that peaked from the clouds.

Love That Never Fades, 2nd Place Winner (11th Grade)

Emmalea, 11th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

In 1826, Princess Ella of Spain arrived in England feeling less like a royal and more like a high-stakes trade. To her father, King Alexander, she was a strategic asset to stabilize the economy. To her mother, Queen Diana, she was a reflection of the crown. While her older brother Alex and his wife Elizabeth played their royal roles perfectly, Ella spent her life trying to outrun her title on the back of a horse.

Across the sea, Prince Eli was the English “”Spare.”” While his brother Philip and sister-in-law Charlotte prepared to rule, Eli hid in libraries, caring only for his little sister Guinevere and his nephew Richard. When the two were forced into a “”Unity Alliance”” marriage, they hated it. At their wedding in London, Eli looked like a man facing a prison sentence, and Ella looked like she was planning a prison break.

Three days after they moved to their quiet country estate, Eli was in the morning room when a frantic pounding hit the door. Two royal guards burst in, gasping for air. “”Your Highness! You must stop her! The Princess has taken the black stallion and jumped the garden wall!””

Eli’s heart didn’t just beat; it hammered. He sprinted to the balcony and saw a blur of crimson silk. Ella was riding astride—not side-saddle like a “”lady””—her hair flying wild as she thundered toward the treacherous cliffs. “”Get my horse!”” Eli roared, his “”stiff upper lip”” vanishing. He mounted his horse and went absolutely crazy with protective fury.

He pushed his horse to the limit, his mind screaming in fear for her. When he finally cut her off near a steep ravine, he lunged from his saddle to grab her horse’s bridle. “”Are you insane?”” he shouted, his voice raw. “”You’re going to break your neck!””

Ella looked down at him, her face glowing with life. “”Is that all I am to you? A treaty in a dress?”” “”No!”” Eli snapped, his voice shaking. “”But I’d prefer my wife to be breathing!””

That moment of “”crazy”” concern changed everything. The ice between them didn’t just melt; it shattered. Over the next few months, they started doing the things real couples do. They shared secret picnics in a hidden glade by a stream.

One rainy evening, Ella found Eli in a small, dusty workshop behind the library. He was hunched over a workbench, a small knife in his hand. She watched in silence as he carefully shaped a piece of dark oak. “”You’ve been hiding in here for three hours,”” Ella said softly, stepping into the light.

Eli jumped, nearly dropping the wood. “”It’s nothing. Just… a distraction.””

Ella walked over and picked up the carving. It was a small wooden horse, but it wasn’t a toy—it was art. The muscles of the horse were tensed, its mane flowing as if caught in a gallop. It looked exactly like the stallion she rode. “”Eli, this is incredible,”” she whispered.

“”My father says it’s ‘peasant work,'”” Eli said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “”He told me a Prince should only hold a pen or a sword.””

Ella reached out and touched his hand, her thumb brushing over a small callus on his finger. “”He’s wrong. He sees a crown, but he doesn’t see the man wearing it. This isn’t beneath you, Eli. It is you.””

Eli looked at her, his eyes searching hers. “”You’re the only person who’s ever said that.””
“”Then I’ll say it every day until you believe me,”” she promised.

A week later when the “”Joint Royal Inspection”” arrived. The Kings and the Queens descended upon the house with a small army of servants.

At a grand dinner, the atmosphere was suffocating. King William looked at Eli with a frown. “”I hear you’ve been spending your time in the carpenter’s shed, Eli. I thought we discussed that hobby.””

“”It’s not a hobby, Father,”” Eli said quietly.

“”It’s a waste of time,”” King Alexander added. “”We’ve decided it’s best if Ella returns to Madrid and Eli reports to London.””

Ella felt the air leave the room. “”We are not going,”” Eli said, standing up. “”I am not going to London. And my wife is not going to the north. We are staying here.””

King William leaned forward, his face reddening. “”I beg your pardon?””

“”I said no,”” Eli said, looking at Ella. “”I found a woman who actually sees me. And I am not letting her go.””

“”Don’t be dramatic, Ella,”” Queen Diana sighed. “”It’s a practical arrangement.””

“”Practical for who?”” Ella stood beside Eli, her hand gripping his. “”If you try to separate us, I will ride to London and tell the papers exactly how miserable you tried to make us.””

The room became quiet. The two Kings saw they had lost.

After the families left, Ella and Eli walked out to the porch steps. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of violet and gold.

“”You really went crazy back there,”” Ella teased, nudging his shoulder.

Eli laughed, pulling her into his arms. “”I’ve spent twenty years being quiet, Ella. I think I’ve earned the right to be loud for the woman I love.””

“”Don’t think your bravery gets you out of our race,”” Ella said. As they mount their horses and ride off into the sunset. Their love never fading, but growing stronger everyday as they live.

The Gardener, 1st Place Winner (12th Grade)

Ireland, 12th Grade, California Virtual Academies

She met him on the loneliest morning of spring.

The sky was gray and her heart was quieter than usual—so quiet it hurt. She wandered out to the meadow behind her grandmother’s cottage, barefoot, her jacket wrapped tight. She hadn’t planned to walk far, but the air whispered like pages turning and her feet carried her past the wildflowers and the creek and the old, crumbling stone wall.

That’s where she saw him.

A man knelt in the garden beyond the wall, tending to roses that shouldn’t have been blooming this early in the year. He wore a loose shirt the color of cream, sleeves rolled up, hands dark with Earth. His hair was sun-gold, but not bright—more like something remembered. His presence was still but not stiff, like an old tree that had seen many storms and stayed rooted.

She watched in silence for a while before he looked up, smiled softly, and said, “You can come closer, you know. I don’t mind company.”

Something about his voice reminded her of lullabies she’d forgotten. She stepped over the wall.

“Are you the gardener?” she asked, unsure why she even cared.

“Something like that,” he said.

She noticed the roses now—every single one was a different color. Not just red or pink or white, but impossible shades like sunset orange edged in violet, icy blue speckled with gold, crimson so deep it looked like blood.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

“They only bloom when someone cries near them,” he said gently.

She blinked. “That’s… strange.”

He didn’t respond. Just plucked a petal from one of the blossoms and handed it to her. “This one bloomed for you.”

She took it and felt the texture—softer than silk, yet heavy, like memory. “I didn’t cry.”

He tilted his head. “You’ve been crying on the inside for a long time.”

Her throat tightened.

They spent the day together. She didn’t say much, and he didn’t ask for stories, yet somehow he knew things about her she’d never spoken aloud.

When she told him about the feeling of being invisible, like wallpaper no one notices, he simply nodded and said, “Even the sparrow is seen.”

When she said she hated mirrors because they only reflected what others had broken, he replied, “But glass can be remade into stained windows.”

When she asked why her prayers fell like they evaporated before they reached heaven, he didn’t answer right away. He just brushed soil from his hands and ponted to a seed in the ground. “Sometimes the most sacred things grow in silence.”

At dusk, she began to cry—real tears this time. And all around them, the garden bloomed in color. Pinks and purples and warm yellows like sunlight on skin. Flowers unfurled their faces to her sorrow, not afraid of it.

“Why does it hurt so much to be human?” she asked, voice cracking.

“Because you were made from eternity, and this world aches like a cage,” he answered, his eyes filled with something too deep to name.

She looked at him then, really looked.

The lines around his eyes weren’t from age—they were from weeping. His hands weren’t just calloused—they bore faint scars that never quite healed. And there was something about his presence… like he had walked through every heartbreak ever felt and carried them like seeds in his palms.

She whispered, “Who are you?”

He smiled, quiet and radiant. “The gardener.”

And then he was gone.

She blinked—and the garden was still, roses swaying gently as if stirred by breath.

Later, when she went back to her grandmother’s house, she saw a dusty old Bible on the shelf she’d never noticed before. She opened it to a page marked with a dried rose petal.

The passage read:

> “Mary stood outside the tomb crying… Thinking he was the gardener, she said… ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him…’
Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’”

Her heart stilled.

She remembered the petal he gave her. She reached into her pocket and found it still there—unwilted, shimmering with morning dew.

She wept.

But this time, it wasn’t sorrow.

It was the ache of being seen. The beauty of being known. The garden still bloomed beneath her ribs, and the seed he planted that day—faith, small and steady—was growing.

Even now.

And she never looked at flowers the same again.

The Voicemails, 2nd Place Winner (12th Grade)

Michaela, 12th Grade, Oklahoma Virtual Charter Academy

Trixie had never liked the sound of her own voice. Hearing it on recordings made her skin crawl—a warped version of her that didn’t sound human. So when the first voicemail came through at 3:17 a.m., and it was her voice whispering her name, she froze.

“Trixie…”

That was all it said before cutting out, replaced by static that seemed to breathe. She stared at the screen: Incoming call—Trixie (Mobile)—her own number.

She didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, she replayed it again—once, twice—before deciding it had to be a glitch. She deleted it. But the next night, at the same time, another voicemail arrived.

“Don’t go to the corner store tonight. Don’t. Please—just listen to me.”

Her voice again. Shaking, breathless. Then came a scraping sound, a gasp, and the same whisper, trembling:
“Stop listening. It’s already taken late.”

She played that phrase a dozen times, trying to make sense of it. Taken late? Did she mean too late? Or taken… late—like something had been taken from her?

Trixie avoided the store the next day, not because she believed the warning, but because the voice unsettled her. That night, police cars screamed down her street. The corner store clerk—Mr. Jensen, who always gave her gum, had been found dead. No robbery. No suspect.

By the third voicemail, Trixie’s hands were trembling before she even pressed play.

“Don’t go to the lake. Don’t answer the knock. Whatever you do—don’t look out the window when it happens.”

Then came her own breathing—shallow, wet, like she’d been crying for hours.
“Stop listening. It’s already taken late.”

She started recording the messages on her laptop, searching for clues in the background static. There was something faint beneath her voice—a low, rhythmic thump. Footsteps.

Trixie told her friend Mallory, who laughed at first. “C’mon, Trix, it’s just some freak messing with you.” But when Trixie played the message, Mallory went pale. “That’s… you.”

“I know,” Trixie whispered.

“It doesn’t sound like a phone call,” Mallory murmured. “It’s echoing—like it’s in a room.”

That night, Trixie turned off her phone and removed the SIM card. Still, at 3:17 a.m., the phone vibrated once. No light, no ringtone. Just one sharp buzz, like something moving inside.

When she powered it on, there was a new voicemail.

It was garbled, fragmented—her own voice breaking through static:
“It’s in the reflection—don’t let it see you—don’t—stop—”
Then again, the same awful phrase:
“Stop listening. It’s already taken late.”

She covered her mirrors. Unplugged everything. Still, every night, the phone rang. Always her number. Always at 3:17.

She stopped answering, but couldn’t delete the messages. They felt like clues, like pieces of something she wasn’t supposed to understand.

One evening, studying the audio waves on her laptop, she noticed a rhythm—tiny clicks repeating at intervals. Morse code, maybe. She slowed it down, trying to isolate the sounds, but before she could decode it, the program crashed. The screen flickered, and all her files vanished, replaced by one: STOPLISTENING.wav.

Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t renamed anything.

She pressed play.

Her own voice screamed through the speakers—distorted, overlapping with something else, something deeper and wrong. It wasn’t a warning this time. It was begging.

“Please stop. You have to stop. It knows you’re listening. It’s already taken late—”

Then silence.

The waveform looked mirrored, perfectly symmetrical. She reversed it.

Screams filled the room again—but now, under the chaos, came a whisper. Coordinates. A location.

She froze. She knew it immediately. The lake.

The one she’d been warned not to visit.

The urge to go there was unbearable—like something inside her wanted to finish the message. Maybe she could end it. Maybe she could save herself.

At 3:10 a.m., she grabbed her keys and drove through fog-wrapped backroads, headlights slicing the dark. The lake sat still as glass, black and endless. She parked by the dock, phone clutched tight.

No signal.

Then her phone buzzed. Incoming call: Trixie (Mobile).

Her pulse thundered. She answered.

“Hello?”

Static. Then her own voice, close—too close.
“You shouldn’t have come.”

The lake rippled. Her reflection stared up at her, smiling when she wasn’t.

The call dropped. Her phone buzzed again. Another voicemail.

She didn’t want to listen. Her thumb pressed play anyway.

“Stop listening. It’s already taken late.”

But this time, her voice was calm. No panic. Just finality.

Then came the faint sound of splashing—someone wading into the lake.

Trixie’s breath caught. She looked down.

Her reflection was gone.

Only the water remained, dark and silent—except for the muffled sound of another phone, deep below the surface, still ringing.

2025 Nonfiction Winners
Real stories. Real voices. Real impact.

These writers shared meaningful reflections and true-life experiences that informed, inspired, and moved readers.

No 1st Place or 2nd Place Winners (Kindergarten)

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

No 1st Place or 2nd Place Winners (1st Grade)

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

No 1st Place or 2nd Place Winners (2nd Grade)

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

No 1st Place or 2nd Place Winners (3rd Grade)

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

Duck-Billed Platypuses, 1st Place Winner (4th Grade)

Alisha, 4th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Platypuses are very cool, but why do I think that?

They have amazing “creature powers.” For example, humans have five senses: seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, and touching. But a platypus has sixth sense. While they have the same senses as humans, their sixth sense allows them to detect tiny electrical signals in the water. Even in the murkiest waters, they use this sense to find their prey. Interestingly, while they are hunting, they don’t use their other senses at all; they close their eyes, nostrils, and ears. They don’t feel or taste anything at that moment. Instead, the platypus uses its duck-shaped bill to sense the tiny electrons on the river floor. This allows it to avoid obstacles and follow its prey without seeing a thing! The platypus can do this because it has special receptors on its bill. Just like the touch receptors on your hand help you feel if an object is smooth or rough, the receptors on a platypus’s bill sense electricity.

Why are they so unique?

You might be wondering what a platypus eats; they enjoy treats like freshwater crabs. You might also wonder why they are called “duck-billed” platypuses. It’s because they have a bill like a duck, a tail like a beaver, and webbed feet that make them excellent swimmers. Did you know that the platypus is one of the only mammals that lays eggs? Usually, only birds and reptiles do that. If you ever find a platypus and its eggs, you are very lucky! Even the babies have webbed feet so they can swim through rivers and tiny waterfalls.

Habitat and Protection

Platypuses often live in murky, shallow rivers. While some people might kayak nearby, many of these rainforest areas are restricted to scientists so they can study the animals safely. This is important because rainforests can contain dangerous animals with sharp claws, teeth, or even toxic venom. We must be careful about their environment. If a platypus nest is near the water and the water level rises, then platypus and her eggs can be in danger. This is why I think platypuses are such cool creatures; everyone should help take care of them, so they don’t go extinct.

Universes, 2nd Place Winner (4th Grade)

Joah, 4th Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

Have you ever looked into the night sky? You’ve probably seen the moon and many stars. Have you ever thought about what are some things in are universe? Also what are some of the planets out of our universe? And what are some plants and animals? Did u know There are an estimated hundreds of sextillion planets in our galaxy, including Earth the Moon Sun Mercury Neptune Mars Venus Jupiter and Uranus In the center of the milky way is a black hole, the name of it is Sagittarius A. Did you know that Kepler-452b is a super earth. Another fact the Kepler planets kinda have a solar system they orbit a star called Kepler 22 . The biggest star out of our solar system is UY Scuti, also UY Scuti is considered the biggest star out of are solar system because Stephenson 2-18 (often just Stephenson) isn’t in our solar system; it’s a massive red hypergiant in the Scutum constellation, thousands of light-years away, and yes, it’s now considered even larger than UY Scuti, with its edge potentially engulfing Saturn’s orbit if placed in our Sun’s spot, which is why it’s often stated as bigger. UY Scuti held the title previously, but updated measurements and better instruments show Stephenson 2-18 to be the current record holder for size among known stars, though astronomical data can always shift but Stephenson. . Their are over 5,000 planets out of are universe. Kepler. Some of the biggest planets out of our solar system is HD 100546 b and KR Muscae b. Plants and land animals. Their are some huge mammals, some small Eulipotyphla , creepy crawly bugs, carnivorous animals, even reptiles, also birds. But we will be learning about some animals, Shrews. Have you ever seen a thing having a cone nose fur covering its eyes, these creatures tend to like to hide in crevasses in houses they even build homes underground. did u know shrews are not rodents they are Eulipotyphla. Elephants. Did you know the elephants are the world’s largest Mammal, also their are 415,000 elephants in the world. cheetahs. Imagine seeing a creature run so fast that u thought it was a car. It beats cars like Ferrari Enzo, McLaren F1 and Lamborghini Gallardo but if the race is long the cheetah will loose, a cheetah can only win a short race. Shoe bill. Imagine your walking down a road and you see a bird that looks like a Dino bird a shoe bill is a big bird but not as big as a human. a shoe bill can fly even though they’re huge. when a shoe bill hunts it stays in place not moving a muscle and then it attacks and caches its prey. angel oak trees. imagine seeing a tree that has roots so long and is 400-500 years old it made so many trees over that time.

On My Way, 1st Place Winner (5th Grade)

Lucia, 5th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Ding the bell rings. I race out the door. I see my mom with an eager face. We rush into the car and beat the buses. Mom says we have to pick up our new cat Doby by 4:30. I look at the clock. It is 4 right now. Oh no I think in my head. We will never make it on time.

We make a left on the main road. I hear cars zooming by. I see a tsunami of cars ahead of us. Why are there so many cars in front of us I think. I ask mom if she can go faster.

We start moving. I tap my feet against the hard plastic of the car mats. My thoughts drift to Doby. I wonder if he like to cuddle. I hold the pink teddy bear blanket we got for him. I trace the lining of the blanket. Mom says Doby will have to sleep in the bathroom at first. That makes me upset because what if I want to see him during the night.

Traffic has a hard stop. Mom slams her brakes. I look at the clock. The clock reads 4:10. I ask mom how many miles are left. She says about 10. I scream that’s an hour away. The car starts moving.

I wind the windows down. I wind the windows up. It’s too hot. I wind the windows down again. Mom says to stop because it’s distracting her and she needs to concentrate. I whisper under my breath ”meh-meh-meh-meh” and roll my eyes.

Mom asks, “what is the first thing you’re going to do when we get Doby home?” I think. “I am going to pet him and make sure he feels happy.” Secretly I am worried he will be lonely in the bathroom. I wonder if I can sneak my pillows into the bathroom to sleep with him.

I see the sign for the vet. It is 4:17. We only have three minutes before we will not be able to pick him up. There are 2 motorcycles in front of us. Just my luck the only 2 motorcycles on Earth going the speed limit. I say “Ugh I thought motorcycles were supposed to be fast.” We pass the vet sign. “Mom I need you to do a really fancy u-turn.” She says, “We are not doing that. Don’t worry Lucia this clock is 3 minutes fast.”

After all the waiting we finally turn into the parking lot. As mom pulls into a parking space, I jump out the van. I sprint to the doors and yank them open. “Mom hurry up,” I call back to her. Mom walks to the counter and says I am here for Doby.

I peek into the box and see beautiful green eyes staring at me. I see his silky black fur. I hear him pur from inside the box. I know he is going to be happy as my pet.

The Great Brain, 2nd Place Winner (5th Grade)

Emma, 5th Grade, Cascade Virtual Academy

Do you remember being on your first rollercoaster? How do you remember this moment? By using your helpful brain. Your brain can do many amazing things. But what can it do? Let’s look at some things that your brain can do.

Memory

(2. 1. and 3.) Your brain can help you remember things. How? First, your brain takes in information and turns it into neural signals. Next, there is a repeated communication between neurons which makes connections stronger which creates neural circuits for the brain. Then, comes the storage stage. When this happens, the memory becomes short term memory or long-term memory. Short term memory means that you only remember things for a few seconds or minutes. Long term memory means that you remember things for years or even the rest of your life! Lastly, your brain helps you retrieve the memory. This means that you will recall the memory when you feel or think something that acts like a call activating the neural network that holds the memory you recall.

Control

(1.) You take a step, you start to skip, then you jump. Have you ever wondered how your brain helps you do this? Here’s how! Well first it thinks what you want to do. Like I want to jump. Then, the plan becomes an electrical signal which travels from your brain to your corticospinal tract (Spinal cord). Next, your corticospinal tract passes on these signals to your peripheral nerves that connect to your target muscles. Then, neurotransmitters are let out at your neuromuscular junction making you preform the action that you planned. Lastly, your nerves send a message back to your brain about the success.

Dreaming

(1.) There are many different types of dreams, all different. But how does the brain make dreams? This happens when something random triggers the brain stem during your sleep and it starts setting a plot. The plot gathers memories, imagination, and new information for the dream. And it also creates visuals. These visuals can make your dream seem real and intense. Your brain gives you dreams to process emotions, consolidate memories, or work though problems.

Conclusion

Wow! The brain can do a lot of marvelous things! I love learning about the brain and I hope you do to. First, I learned about how we remember things, then, I learned how our brain controls our body, and lastly, I learned how we dream. I hope you liked this essay about the “Great Brain” because I sure did.

Recourses:

1.Kiddle.co

2. Kids.Britannica.com

3. Brain by Joyce Markovics

I Know What Bullying Feels Like, 1st Place Winner (6th Grade)

Charly Cheeks, 6th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

I know what bullying feels like
because I have lived it.
Not always with punches or shoves,
but with words
that followed me through the halls
and stayed in my head
long after the bell rang.
It started small
a joke about how I looked,
a laugh when I spoke,
a nickname I never chose.
At first, I pretended it didn’t matter,
but each time it happened,
it chipped away at me.
Bullying made school feel unsafe.
The classroom,
the bus ride,
even my phone
felt like places
where I had to be careful
just to be myself.
I began to question things
I never questioned before
my clothes,
my voice,
my confidence.
I wondered why being different
made me a target
instead of something special.
Some days,
I stayed quiet to avoid attention.
Other days,
I wished someone would notice
and say something.
Silence felt loud,
and loneliness felt heavy.
People say to just ignore it,
but pain doesn’t work that way.
Ignoring bullying
doesn’t make it disappear
it makes it harder to carry alone.
What I learned is this:
bullies want power,
but real power
is not hurting someone.
Real power is standing up,
speaking out,
and choosing kindness
when it would be easier to stay silent.
I learned that telling a teacher,
a parent,
or a trusted adult
is not being weak.
It is protecting myself.
It is choosing to matter.
I also learned
that one kind word,
one friend who listens,
or one person who says,
That’s not okay,
can change everything.
Bullying left marks
that people couldn’t see,
but it also taught me empathy,
strength,
and courage.
I am more than the names
I was called.
I am still standing.
And my story matters.

Ham Can Really Harm You!, 2nd Place Winner (6th Grade)

Zahra, 6th Grade, Texas Online Preparatory School

I am really passionate about health and promoting healthy eating. So when I read this article about ham, I believed it needed to be shared!

The article told me about many astonishing topics. Here are some of the facts that I picked up from the article.

Ham is one of those items that has really high nitrate. Nitrate is a chemical added to ham to protect its pink color, but too much is harmful making it difficult for blood to carry oxygen. According to Healthline “nitrate- and nitrite-based preservatives, which are sometimes added to ham to retain its color, limit bacterial growth, and prevent rancidity, may likewise cause cancer.”

I was very surprised to know that food could cause cancer! This isn’t a great thing to know that a food like ham could cause cancer because 40% of the U.S.A eat ham. Another interesting fact from the article I read is ham has a lot of sodium. According to the article I have read “a 2-ounce (57-gram) serving of ham delivers nearly 26% of the DV” This did not surprise me at first, but later I looked up what sodium does and was very sad to here too much sodium could lead to water retention, thirst, high blood pressure, increased risk of heart disease, stroke, and kidney issues. That’s quite a lot of bad health conditions. It was very unexpected to hear such a small thing could do so much damage!

Another fact I found out is that ham can cause chronic disease! Also according to my article “one meta-analysis found that eating 1.76 ounces (50 grams) of processed red meat per day not only increased one’s risk of prostate and colorectal cancers but also breast cancer, stroke, and death due to heart disease.” A meta-analysis is someone who combines many studies to find one clear answer. Another thing I want to write about is that it is known that processed meat or sliced deli meat which is ham have a high risk of contamination. In summary you should stop eating ham or high nitrate food because it increases your chances of cancer, has a lot of sodium (which leads to many bad health conditions), and ham can cause you chronic diseases.

These are the reasons why you should consider what happens when you eat ham or any other un-healthy food. I hope next time you eat something you understand the good and bad things it can do to you! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my essay!

A Spectacular Sight, 1st Place Winner (7th Grade)

Maizah, 7th Grade, Washington Virtual Academies

How would you feel if you were sitting on a chair 5,950 feet from the ground? It was a scorching hot day when my family and I were at the Mount Hood ranger station. In the lobby, the park rangers were selling tickets for a ski chair ride. “Why don’t we try it out?” my father asked. “Cool! Let’s do it!” my brother, Maaz, said. “Sure!” my brother, Zayd, agreed. I was afraid of heights. But I knew I couldn’t stall. So, I decided to try and face my fear. There was a large terminal ahead of us. “When the seat comes forward, sit down swiftly.” the attendant instructed. The seats came swinging down like bald eagles soaring through the wide blue sky. We all sat down. The rows of seats came along one by one. I could hear the chairs on the metal wires going click, click, click. In the distance, I could see Mount Hood. The clouds looked like cotton balls and the tip of the mountain was sharp and pointy, like the point of a pencil, unlike the rest of the rugged mountain. “Look at that view!” my mother crowed. “Now that’s something you don’t see every day!” my oldest brother, Maaz, told us. “Wow!” my little brother, Saad, exclaimed at the scenic view. It really was a canvas painted by the hands of the universe. I looked down and saw the dry, short, yellow, grass. The grass looked like spikey toothpicks. The land was prickly and rough. There were boulders as large as dining tables scattered on the ground. Far away, the buildings and people looked like tiny ants. The trees looked like pieces of broccoli. The automobiles looked like miniature dicast toy cars. There was a whole 360 view of the city around us. Up ahead, there was another gigantic depot as big as a house. The seats started entering it. “You can get up from the seats and follow the trail to get back on the ride to the first stop. Thank you,” an attendant told us. Then we got off and walked on a long trail until we discovered that the path led us to an inclined hill. And to my surprise, it was covered with snow! Thick and dense, the snow glistened like diamonds in the sun.

“Snow! Snow!” my little brother Umar shouted. “Can we play in it?” my younger sister, Madeeha, asked. “Why not?” My mother replied. “Yay!” she exclaimed. My sister ran like lightning to a large heap of snow. My siblings and I started to collect all the snow we could and started having a snowball fight. Hours passed by, and my father said, “Playtime’s over kids. Time to get going.’’ “Ok, daddy,” my baby sister, Madeeha, agreed. We all went into the next lobby and sat on the row of seats that carried us back to the first station. It felt like a whole week until we got back onto ground again. “That was an impressive ride!’’ my big brother, Maaz, whooped.

I learned from my experience that sometimes we must face our fears. It’s hard to do something that we fear. But we can’t be scared of that little thing for our whole lives. We can’t let it hold us back and take over our decisions. We must be brave. If we try, we will succeed. And if I can face my fear, I’m sure you can too.

the day i learned courage, 2nd Place Winner (7th Grade)

Isabella, 7th Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

Last spring, my class went on a field trip to the local animal shelter. I had never been that close to animals I didn’t already know, and honestly, I was a little nervous. Dogs barked excitedly, cats meowed, and the smell of the shelter made me wrinkle my nose.

Our guide, Ms. Lopez, led us to the kennels and told us we could help walk some of the dogs. I froze. I love dogs, but what if one pulled too hard or jumped on me? My friends were excited, already choosing dogs to walk, but I stayed back, pretending to tie my shoelaces.

Then, a small golden retriever came up to me, wagging its tail. Its name tag said “Max.” He looked at me with big, trusting eyes, and for some reason, I felt like he was asking me to try. I took a deep breath and gently clipped the leash onto his collar.

At first, Max pulled and barked. I stumbled a little, but I didn’t let go. Slowly, we found a rhythm. He walked beside me, sniffing everything, and I started talking to him. By the end of our walk, I felt proud. Not because I was brave for walking a dog, but because I tried something I was scared of—and it turned out better than I expected.

When I returned to class, Ms. Lopez smiled and said, “Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s taking action even when you’re afraid.” That day, I didn’t just learn about dogs. I learned about courage, and how sometimes, the hardest step is the first one you take

The Tonsillectomy, 1st Place Winner (8th Grade)

Ashlyn, 8th Grade, Missouri Virtual Academy

I woke up groggy and parched, but—lucky me—doctor’s orders: no food or water. My mouth felt like the Sahara Desert, and my brain wasn’t far behind. As we drove to the outpatient center, headlights blurred past like ghostly wisps. For a moment, I half-expected something thrilling to happen. It didn’t, unless you count the creeping anxiety.

We’d been in and out of doctors’ offices so many times I considered bringing a tent and camping in the waiting room. Maybe roast marshmallows over a Bunsen burner. It was that bad. I was perpetually exhausted, and school certainly wasn’t helping. But hey, only a few months left until the end of the year. What could possibly go wrong? Spoiler: a lot.

At our latest appointment in this medical saga, we got the grand news: mono. Excellent. Just peachy. “You mean I’ve got the ‘kissing disease’ and I didn’t even get a good story out of it?” I mumbled. My mom just frowned at me.

Every doctor seemed utterly fascinated by my tonsils, like I was a sideshow attraction. When the ENT finally announced that they’d have to, in his words, “remove them,” it sounded less like a medical procedure and more like medieval torture. I put on a brave face, but the moment we stepped out of that office, my composure shattered like a glass vase hitting concrete.

To ease my nerves (or maybe theirs), my parents took me to my favorite restaurant the night before. It was supposed to be a distraction, but all I could think about was the looming doom of the next morning. I shoveled in my food anyway, determined to enjoy what could very well be my last supper.

The next day, the outpatient building loomed over us like an evil fortress, brick walls stacked ominously toward the sky. Inside, the waiting room walls were painted a sickly shade of pale blue. “Whoever picked this color should be arrested for crimes against humanity,” I muttered. My dad stifled a laugh, my mom patted my shoulder.

Before long, a nurse called my name. “Well,” I said, rising, “time to go meet my fate.” We wove through a labyrinth of chairs, stepping into a hallway so cold I wondered if I’d missed a memo and ended up in Antarctica. “Think they keep it this cold so you don’t run?” I whispered to the nurse. She just smiled. Creepy.

They parked me on a squeaky hospital bed. After what felt like forever, a nurse stuck an IV in my arm. Twenty minutes later, they gave me something that made my head spin. Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled away. Ceiling lights rushed past like a blur of UFOs. “Where are we going?” I slurred. No one answered. The room they brought me into had impossibly tall ceilings with dark beams stretching overhead, like a haunted cathedral.

A mask was placed over my face. “Just breathe,” someone said. I coughed. “You’re supposed to,” the voice reassured. My vision dimmed, the room dissolved into blackness, and then… nothing.

Recovery was tougher than I imagined. Swallowing felt like chewing shards of glass, speaking was a luxury, and even the smallest sip of water was a victory. Every day was a reminder that getting through something scary isn’t instant—it’s slow, painful, and exhausting—but each step forward mattered.

The lesson? Be strong, even when everything feels like it’s falling apart. One moment I held back tears; the next, I braced myself for surgery in the coldest hallway known to humankind. Facing the unknown, feeling small in a giant, intimidating place, and still pushing forward taught me something invaluable: fear doesn’t have to define me. I survived the waiting rooms, the IVs, the spinning ceiling lights, and the endless pale blue walls—and I came out stronger on the other side. If I could face that, I could face anything. And maybe, just maybe, I could survive another round of ghostly hallways and cold waiting rooms, too.

Terraforming Venus, 2nd Place Winner (8th Grade)

Marco, 8th Grade, Pine Springs Preparatory Virtual Academy

Introduction – Why Look Beyond Earth

For over 100 years, humans have dreamed of traveling to and colonizing other planets inside and outside our solar system. One reason is that Earth may not always be able to support everyone due to limited resources. Because of this, scientists study terraforming, which means changing another planet to become more like Earth. Mars often receives the most attention because it is smaller and may have once supported life before losing its atmosphere.

However, what if we thought bigger than Mars? What if we tried to terraform Venus, the hottest planet in the solar system, into a world similar to Earth? This process would not be easy and could take many generations, but with cooperation and advanced technology, it might be possible. So, can it be done?

Why Is Venus So Hostile?

Before terraforming Venus, we must understand why it is so dangerous. Venus has surface temperatures of about 460°C (860°F), making it the hottest planet in the solar system. Although Mercury is closer to the Sun, it lacks a thick atmosphere to trap heat, allowing heat to escape into space. Venus’s extreme heat comes from its dense atmosphere, which is about 90 to 92 times thicker than Earth’s and made up of 97% carbon dioxide (CO₂). CO₂ traps heat through the greenhouse effect, which explains Venus’s harsh conditions. On Earth, even a small increase in CO₂ warms the planet. Venus contains 465 million billion tons of CO₂, making it deadly for humans. If a human were to stand on Venus, they would die almost instantly due to extreme pressure, intense heat, and corrosive acid rain. Even advanced robotic probes have only survived on the surface for a few hours.

Cooling Down the Planet

The first major step in terraforming Venus would be cooling it down. One idea is to place a giant solar mirror in space to block sunlight. A single mirror could fail, but a mirror built in many pieces could be more stable. Blocking sunlight would cool Venus and cause its CO₂ atmosphere to freeze. However, freezing alone is not enough, since warming the planet again would restart the greenhouse effect. A possible solution is using mass drivers to launch the frozen CO₂ into space, forming a small artificial moon. This would slowly thin Venus’s atmosphere and make it safer.

Adding Water and Starting Life

Even after cooling Venus, life could not exist without water, which Venus currently lacks. One possible solution is bringing ice from Europa, a moon of Jupiter that contains massive amounts of frozen water. Using robots and space tethers, ice could be transported to Venus, where it would melt into oceans and rivers. Once water is present, cyanobacteria could begin photosynthesis, producing oxygen. Ground Venusian rock could then be turned into soil to support plants and trees, slowly transforming the planet into a green world. Another challenge is Venus’s long day–night cycle. One possible solution would be placing additional mirrors near Venus to simulate a regular day and night cycle without disrupting the terraforming process.

Conclusion – A Hopeful Future

Terraforming Venus would be one of the most difficult projects humanity could ever attempt. It could take thousands of years and technology far beyond what we have today. While it may not happen in our lifetime, studying Venus helps us understand greenhouse effects and how to better protect Earth. Even if humans never live on Venus, the idea of transforming an entire planet shows how powerful science and imagination can be—and how far humanity might one day go.

5 Years and Counting, 1st Place Winner (9th Grade)

Faith, 9th Grade, Indiana Digital Learning School

I remember the first day I met my best friend. I hope I never forget it. We were both in the 5th grade; it was our first day, and we were in English class. Our teacher was laid-back and funny, and he set the atmosphere more like a study group than a classroom. Immediately, we loved him. I didn’t notice her at first—not until I saw her face—but when I did, I felt a feeling I’d never had before. I wanted to talk to her, to meet her, to get to know her. Suddenly, I felt like I could actually make a friend. I was only 10 years old, and the first thing that drew my attention was how she looked. We had the same length of hair—my blonde only a few shades lighter than her brunette. We both had blue eyes and glasses, and she smiled like she wasn’t afraid to. She made me less afraid to smile back. The best thing about that day, though, is that I didn’t even have to try to get her attention. She noticed our similarities too, and from that first hello, we’ve never stopped talking. This is our 5th year as best friends, and by now we know we’ll stay that way until the day we die. I wanted to write this narrative about her because I’m not sure where I’d be without her. If you asked us in elementary school whether we thought we’d be this close, I don’t think we would’ve known how to answer. She’s not just my best friend—she’s my sister. A sister is supportive but knows when to call you out when something isn’t right or when you’re doing something she knows you’ll regret. A sister teases you every living second just so you can tease her back and both end up on the floor laughing. A sister cares about you so much she’ll do anything to make you happy, and she’ll do anything to anyone who tries to take that away. A best friend like her is everything a girl could ever need—but a sister like her is so much more than that. She cries with me when I’m having a mental breakdown and laughs at all of my terrible jokes. We have the same hobbies and interests, so we bounce ideas off each other only to come to the conclusion that if we aren’t doing it together, it won’t get done at all. Somehow, she’s always there to talk to whenever I need her and never fails to build her arsenal of drama so I’m never out of a good story. We’ve been through highs and lows but have stayed true to our friendship through every hill and valley. That kind of bond never goes away—it couldn’t fade even if we tried to ignore it. But what I try to remind her of more often is how much I need her and love her. I’m trying my best to be that person for her too—the one she can always run to, cry with, laugh with, and know will always listen. Sometimes listening is all it takes. I’ll never get tired of hearing her ramble about her day or wonder if things will work out with the guy she likes. I’d miss that more than anything if it suddenly disappeared. I don’t admit this often, but I’m not only scared of losing every little thing that makes me cherish our friendship more; my biggest fear is that she’ll disappear. Whether it be because of the stress and flow of high school or something that comes between us—maybe she’ll find a new best friend or have less time to spend with me. But then I realize that people would call that an irrational fear, because she’s told me a million times that she’ll never let that happen, and I won’t let it happen either. “Best friends for life” is what we are, and that’s not changing any time soon. What I look forward to most are the stories we’ll be able to tell once we have families of our own. Who knows? Maybe things will work out with the guys we like, we’ll both have kids, and maybe we’ll live in the same neighborhood. Maybe we’ll sit around a fire in one of our backyards, roasting marshmallows and talking about how that one time in middle school we did that, or in high school we did this. I can imagine the smell of smoke and caramelized sugar and the scent of her perfume that always makes me smile. I can almost hear her kids laughing, caring about the traditional teasing, and embarrassing my kids with talk of crushes. Maybe she and I will exchange knowing glances as our husbands interrogate our daughters about that one boy at school. I wonder if we’ll still remember the first day we met when we’re 20 or 30—or maybe even 60, if we make it that far together. Will I still remember the exact seat I sat in? The color of her glasses? Will she remember our first conversation? Our first Christmas? Our first birthdays together? I think we will, because I can’t undo the way it’s stuck in my brain. And if it’s stuck in mine, I’ll make sure it never leaves hers.

Wispers Under Her Skin , 2nd Place Winner (9th Grade)

Delilah, 9th Grade, California Virtual Academies

Spring break in sixth grade should’ve been easy for Lilah, full of bright mornings and lazy afternoons. But one morning, her knee had swollen overnight. It didn’t hurt at all. It just… looked bigger than the other one.

She told her mom in a bit of worry, and her mom had said, “Lets give it a day.” So they did. And then another. And another.

Lilah went to cheer practice, trying to act normal. Her knee felt fine at first but by the end, it started to feel uncomfortable. She told the fill-in coach, and she gave her a polite smile. “You’re fine, honey,” she said. Lilah wanted to believe her. But after practice when she got in the car her mom checked on it. Her mom looked a bit shocked when she noticed the purple tint spreading across her knee.

“We need to go to the ER,” her mom said. Just like that, Lilah’s world flipped. Could it really be that bad, she thought. Her mom was calling her dad and was telling him how she was worried about the knee and is gonna take Lilah to the ER.

The ER was bright and sterile, chairs too hard, and the clock didn’t seem to move. Waiting felt endless. Then finally a nurse called her name and asked them to follow her. Lilah could walk fine, so she told herself it was okay, even as the knee began whispering in pain with every step. They asked if she wanted a wheelchair. Lilah said no, too embarrassed. Halfway down the hallway, her knee stiffened. Each step stabbed at her, and she drifted behind the nurse and her mom. They asked again and she said no. She wasn’t fine.

The nurse led her to a room to get an ultrasound so see what was going on with her knee. The ultrasound revealed fluid under the kneecap. They made the decision to drain it to release pressure and let her walk again. They placed her in a new room hours later and did an X-ray on her knee before draining. Lilah drank the medicine that made her feel fuzzy, and a man come with a syringe bigger than she could imagine. “It won’t hurt,” he said. He lied. The needle slid through her skin and under her kneecap. The pain exploded, Lilah couldn’t help but scream in fear and a betrayal of what the nurse said. Thick, green fluid filled the syringe. Glowing like a broken glow stick. I couldn’t look away.

They sent her and her mom home at three in the morning with crutches. The next day they returned. More waiting and more tests. The MRI was loud and terrifying. Lilah was supposed to stay still for forty-five minutes, but she couldn’t. An hour and twenty minutes later, she emerged exhausted. Still no answers on what could be the reason for her knee.

The swelling persisted with more puss getting under her kneecap. The ache sharpened, and a fear grew inside her like an uninvited shadow. The doctors finally told Lilah that she might need surgery, and her stomach dropped. She was twelve, she thought many things can happen to her, but being cut open wasn’t one of them.

The morning of the surgery, Lilah couldn’t eat until after surgery. She just wanted to get it over with already and move on. Lilah went to the hospital and had to change into a gown. She was rolled down the hallway and away from her parents. Her heart thumped so hard she could hear it over the wheels of the gurney. Doctors smiled in reassurance, and then the mask went over her face. “Just breathe,” The doctor said next to her. And then…. Black.

She woke up groggy, her leg wrapped tight, heavy, and aching. Tubes ran from her knee, draining what the surgery hadn’t already removed. A nurse smiled at her and introduced herself, she was gonna be the one checking on Lilah.She wanted to smile back but she was too busy thinking of what will happen next.

Three days in the hospital followed: IVs pricking her arm, nurses check in constantly, ice cream melting too fast and cranberry juice being sipped. Every time the tube in her knee was touched, she flinched. The pain was sharp, a reminder that whatever had been hiding inside wasn’t done leaving its mark.

Finally, the doctor gave Lilah a name: Lyme disease. The hidden, invisible Villan that invaded her body, and left her in pain for weeks. If they had discovered it earlier, surgery might have not been an option. That knowledge stung the most as the needles.

The tube came out before Lilah left the hospital. It was warm and wrong, slithering from under her skin like a snake she didn’t want. Lilah winced in pain but she was fine in the end. She went home with crutches once again. Two tiny scars shone on her knee, but she was just happy to be out of the hospital.

Weeks later, Lilah trades crutches for her own feet, and she can finally walk again. The scars stayed, they didn’t hurt. But they reminded her of everything that happened. Her knee sometimes flares a tiny bit, especially when she gets stressed. Lyme disease isn’t gone, it’s patient and might be waiting but Lilah is stronger. She learned how to live with it.

Pheasants & Proposals, 1st Place Winner (10th Grade)

Liliana, 10th Grade, Iowa Virtual Academy

If history books were written by grandkids, my great-grandparents would already have a chapter and probably a Netflix deal. Their life wasn’t some slow-burn Hallmark drama. It was a full-on family dramedy, complete with a frostbitten dog, ration stamps, a pheasant near mishap, and a marriage held together by industrial-strength patience. This is their story, told one very real and occasionally ridiculous, memory at a time.

He drove a school bus; she was one of the riders. He asked her to a football game. She said yes. A year later, he showed up at Aunt Ruth’s with a ring. No proposal speech. They got married at Zion Hills Church. She lost a diamond from her ring before dessert. That’s love. Then came the draft. Great grandpa didn’t wait; he volunteered. After training at Fort Leonard Wood and a brief reunion at Fort Knox, he was shipped to Korea to wire electricity into buildings that barely had walls. For a while, he led a crew of local workers who were helpful but allegedly had sticky fingers. Eventually, he was transferred closer to the DMZ, with no crew, no clearance, and no clue what was going on behind the barbed wire. He was the base’s lone electrician, wiring an entire compound while trying not to freeze solid. Temperatures hovered around “you might die,” and mail arrived “whenever.” He survived off of letters, card games, Army movies, and sheer stubbornness. There was also The Great Pheasant Hunt, where he and a buddy took a sawed-off shotgun into the woods, shot a bird, and later learned they’d strolled through a live landmine field. Meanwhile, great grandma was holding down a wildly different fort. First, with her parents, then with her boss’s family with five kids. She went from newlywed to full-time chaos coordinator. She wrote letters daily, kept the household together, and even had surgery while he was away. Her updates were steady, her tone calm, and her hair? Probably flawless under pressure. Eventually, he came home, first by ship under the Golden Gate Bridge, then on his first-ever flight to Omaha, where he ignored everyone’s advice and sat in the very back of the plane. After bouncing around in recon trucks on Korean backroads, the back row felt like first class.

After the Army, they settled in a small apartment in Creston, Iowa. Just two people figuring it out. Five years in, they had kids, first a boy and then a girl. Parenting was a full-contact sport. Sundays were for church. Evenings were for home-cooked meals and “talking it out,” which meant, “we don’t go to bed mad; we go to bed tired from discussing it.” Enter: Pokey the dog, who became a legend after one spectacular mistake. He was left outside a little too long during a deep freeze and got frostbite. His ears and tail paid the price. From then on, he wagged what little he had with pride. That dog had one gear: stubborn. A perfect match for the family.

Great grandpa worked as a farmhand, mechanic, and gas station worker before landing at the phone company. He climbed poles, installed lines, and eventually moved into management because it paid better. His least favorite job? Digging holes by hand during an Iowa summer. His favorite? Anything without snakes or ladders. Great grandma, meanwhile, worked everywhere: waitress, maid, jewelry store, clerk, babysitter, and eventually real estate agent. When they moved to Greenfield, Iowa, great grandpa joined a local club and accidentally became president. Someone told him to run for the city council. To everyone’s shock, especially his, he won. One major vote involved expanding a highway that would shut down two businesses. The town was split, but he voted yes. Two months later, they moved. His political career lasted about as long as a season of The Bachelor, but with fewer roses and more potholes.

Their childhoods were defined by rations, tire coupons, one pair of shoes per year, and gardens big enough to feed a neighborhood. JFK’s assassination hit hard. He heard it at work. She was home with the kids. It was the first time they saw how fast the world could shift. Then came 9/11, That day changed how they viewed safety, trust, and the world in general. Fun fact, 9/11 is great-grandma’s birthday. She never let it overshadow her cake.

Their secret to 70+ years of marriage? “Be compatible. Don’t argue. Enjoy life. Like the same things. Travel. Say ‘I love you.’”

Looking back, my great-grandparents didn’t just survive history; they made the best of it. They stayed grounded through war, moves, kids, a frostbitten pet, and council meetings. He wrote letters that started with “My darling wife” and ended with “Your devoted husband” They celebrated high jump records, sat through school concerts, and built a marriage full of ordinary moments made extraordinary by effort and love. They had routine, resilience, and a whole lot of wit. Their love lived in the small things: a bedtime kiss, a good card hand, a hot cup of coffee after church, and a dog with half a tail but a whole heart. Here’s to them: the couple who proved love doesn’t need drama to be legendary. That’s Pheasants & Proposals—a real-life love story with grit, grace, and just the right amount of ridiculous.

A room without windows, 2nd Place Winner (10th Grade)

Jolena, 10th Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

The first thing I noticed was the cold of the building—the kind that seeps into your sleeves and settles deep into your bones, reminding me I was somewhere I didn’t want to be. The air smelled clean, a faint mix of bleach and metal, with the hum of the fluorescent lights showing me just how long the next ten days would be. A nurse led me down a hallway with grey walls that seemed to go on forever. We passed the gym, the café, the art room—each one filled with broken adolescence. Every few steps, a door would close, locking itself behind us. I tried counting each door—one, two, three. I tried anything to stop my mind from repeating the words, “Get me out of here”. The nurse reassured me, “You’ll be okay here,” her voice sounded far away. We got to a small, white, room without windows. Two chairs sat inside—the kind made special so they can’t be picked up and thrown—and bright white walls, as if the fluorescent light weren’t already harsh enough. Two nurses—faces now a blur—took my shoelaces and hoodie strings, reminding me that “anything can be a weapon.” They counted every scratch, every mark on my body. “A precautionary measure,” one nurse said. They stripped me of everything I had left, then showed me to my room. white walls. No windows. Four beds. A bathroom with no door. The first night, I barely slept. The walls echoed with voices from other rooms The air felt heavier. I kept thinking about the other kids there—if their minds were wired the same way mine was. Maybe I wasn’t alone. But, whose mind could be wired the same. Morning came early I didn’t know how early—Time didn’t exist here. I heard knocks down the hall. “It’s time to get up,” nurses yelled. I stayed still. I didn’t want to move, but the burning sensation in my eyes from the white lights forced me to. Every step to the café felt like a drag. I sat next to four people, each one talking and laughing. One turned—a girl with long curly hair . “What’s your name?” “Jojo,” I replied. “It gets better here.” I smiled, even if it wasn’t a real smile. There was still some type of warm breeze that came from her saying that. The days started to feel the same. Waking up with burning eyes from the fluorescent lights. Café. Therapy. Art TV time. Games. Sleep. We had therapy—someone would come in and try to get us to speak. No one did. But at the end, we were always reminded: “Focus on yourself. Focus on getting better.” But what did it mean to try to work on yourself, to try to care about yourself—if I didn’t even like me? If I no longer wanted to be me? Sometimes I sat in the corner of the room thinking to myself—did I really want to get better? did I just want to stay this way because it’s the only me I remember being? It was what made me feel comfortable. It was reliable, unlike people and places. Hobbying the hurting was something I could keep from ever going away. There was a boy who would play card games. He said it helped him forget where he was I asked him how forgetting was even possible— He looked at me and said, “Maybe not forget—but remember softer.” I still repeat those words in my head to this day. By the seventh day, something in me started to shift. Not in a dramatic way—but just in the little things. The silence didn’t hurt as much. Going to bed in a bed that wasn’t my own wasn’t so hard. I started talking more to my therapist—even if t a tear fell or my voice shook. I started writing in my notebook—even if my hands trembled. I started learning the truth: I was hurting, but I was also surviving. It’s not like I was magically healed or anything. I just saw things differently. Sometimes you have to completely fall apart to see who you really are. By the end of the ninth day, I knew Everyone’s stories. The girl who was in residential and still had who was in residential and still had months ahead of her—but still smiled The boy who was scared to heal—but wanted to change. The nurse who danced to the Scooby-Doo theme song each night When the doctor told me I’d be leaving , A part of me was scared to go back to the noise of the world When I woke up—the same burning feeling in my eyes—the nurse took me from my room. .The room with no windows. We walked down the long hall, listening to each door close and lock I counted each door—one, two, three but this time, I let my mind keep repeating the words: “You got this. We reached the end of the hall. this time, when the door opened, I was not the same person who walked through it. I had met myself in that place—in the quiet, the pain, the healing. Now, when I feel that familiar weight pressing on my chest, I remember that week. I remember those words: “Remember softer.”The way every person there carried stories like cracked glass—carefully, but shining. And I remind myself: healing does not mean you are fixed. It means your still here

Our Secret Language, 1st Place Winner (11th Grade)

Mirta, 11th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

Some friendships don’t need words. Ours had its own language—glances that meant everything, silences that felt full, jokes no one else understood. It was a language only we spoke, and it made the world feel smaller, safer. It was our secret language.

I met him in fifth grade, and for the first time, being weird didn’t feel like something I had to grow out of. He was weird like me. We both carried that quiet feeling of not fitting in. Somehow, that made us belong to each other. With him, I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t have to perform. I was already seen.

Middle school made everything feel louder, but with him, the noise softened. He never made me feel like I needed to change. Being around him felt like permission to exist exactly as I was.

We loved the Beatles. That was another language we spoke fluently. On pajama day, we showed up wearing matching Beatles shirts without planning it. He pointed at my shirt and told me there was a Beatle on it, completely serious. I panicked before realizing he was joking. He laughed, proud of himself. He was like that—always turning ordinary moments into something only we would remember.

My favorite Beatle was Paul. His was John. We stayed up late talking about music, arguing about lyrics, dissecting songs like they were secrets written just for us. I Will sounded like a promise. Blackbird was one of our favorites. Octopus’s Garden made us laugh, like even the Beatles understood wanting somewhere safe for a while. Those songs felt like places we could go when the world felt too loud.

In high school, things became complicated. We dated other people. Somewhere between trying to protect everything, we drifted—not because we stopped caring, but because we cared too much and didn’t know how to hold it.

We stopped talking the way we used to, but we never stopped seeing each other. We passed in the hallways and exchanged smiles. Just a glance. Just enough to say, I still know you. There were sentences I saved for him that had nowhere to go. I missed our language, even while we were still speaking it quietly.

Our last conversation was the night before he died.

There was a school dance. I didn’t really belong there, so I went outside and sat alone by the soccer field. The music thumped faintly through the doors. I watched the lights from inside blur against the dark.

He found me there. He sat down next to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. No questions. No explaining. Just company.

Talking to him felt easy again.

Like slipping back into our language.

We talked about music.

It was a school night.

When I stood up to leave, he said goodbye like it was ordinary.

Like we had all the time in the world.

The next day didn’t feel real. I found out through my teacher. I remember being nervous because I had a test that morning, but the feeling in my chest had nothing to do with school. It was heavier than fear. Heavier than anxiety. Time kept moving, but I stayed where I was.

At his funeral, I felt invisible. People said his name out loud when he was already gone. No one noticed when he missed a day of school. I did. I was there for him in the ordinary moments, when loving someone didn’t ask for attention. The person I wished was there for me was gone.

He gave me a necklace in secret—Christmas of ninth grade. Rose gold. A heart. An “M” engraved into it. The first boy who ever gave me a necklace. I adored it. I never wore it, not because I didn’t love it, but because I was afraid of losing it. Some things feel too important to trust to the world. The first time I wore it was at his funeral.

We used to talk about visiting Strawberry Fields in New York. Casually, like we had all the time in the world. When he died, his casket was closed. I never saw him. Sometimes I like to believe he didn’t leave the way everyone says he did. I like to believe he ran away—somewhere gentle, somewhere music lives. I imagine him at Strawberry Fields. I imagine him happy. I like to believe he got there first.

Three months after he passed away, I went to the beach. The waves moved in and out, steady and endless, and they sounded familiar. There is one song I never talked about out loud back then. His song will always be Beautiful Boy to me. The song begins with the sound of waves.

I closed my eyes and let the ocean carry me back to the soccer field.

Night. Cool air. Music drifting from somewhere far away.

I remembered how he sat with me when I was alone. I remembered thinking there would be more time.

The last words he ever said to me were,

“See you in the morning, bright and early.”

It would be nice to hear his voice again.

Saint Dismas and Morality, 2nd Place Winner (11th Grade)

Derrick, 11th Grade, Marian University Preparatory School

Saint Dismas is remembered as the Good Thief, a title that feels strange the more you think about. Saint Dismas spent much of his life taking what was not his, but people overlook the fact that stealing is not always done for the same reasons. There are people who steal because they have run out of choices, because their kids are going to sleep hungry, because the world turned its back on them long before they ever broke a rule. There are others who steal for selfish reasons, chasing status or comfort or the feeling of being untouchable. When you step back, both groups might look the same at first glance, but if you look closely, the difference is enormous. One comes from survival, the other from desire, and most of the time society judges them both as if they were the same.

When Dismas hung beside Jesus, he reached a point of honesty that most people never reach. He did not defend himself or try to make excuses. He admitted everything he had done, and in that moment he understood the weight of every choice he made. What stands out is not just his guilt, but the fact that he wanted to do better, even at the very end where it might not matter. That is rare. It forces us to notice that people are a mix of mistakes, intentions, and hidden struggles. Maybe the real measure of a person is not whether they have fallen, but whether they recognize the moment when they can choose something different and have the courage to reach for it.

His story forces us to see that morality is not as clean as people pretend it is. Two people can commit the same crime and live in completely different moral worlds. One might be trying to keep a younger sibling fed, while another is trying to pad their own pockets and have a fun night. Yet both end up with the same sentence, the same reputation, and the same punishment. It makes you wonder how many people we judge without ever understanding what pushed them toward the life they ended up living. (Think about whether you’ve ever judged someone for doing something labeled as wrong)

Dismas shows that a person is more than their record or the rumors surrounding them. A single word like thief or criminal hides the thousands of moments, pressures, and wounds that lead up to an action. It is easier for society to sort people into simple categories than to deal with the truth that a good person can make terrible choices and a bad person can show unexpected goodness. We are all a mixture of motives, fears, regrets, and the hope that things could be different.

Maybe the real lesson in Dismas’s story is that goodness is not measured by having a perfect past. It is measured by the moment when someone finally sees themselves clearly and chooses a better direction. Some people get that chance early in life, and some get it at the very end. The timing might change, but the meaning is the same. A person is “good” in the moments they decide to choose something different and better; for themselves and everyone around them.

Footprints Of The Past, 1st Place Winner (12th Grade)

Anewa, 12th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

Being homeless in a homeless shelter was quite an experience on its own, Especially through a nine-year-old’s perspective. Remembering having many emotions walking through those shelter doors gripping my mom’s hand: confusion, fear, and this understanding of cold clarity that only a nine-year-old could comprehend. The unfamiliarity, the sounds from the days and nights, the people going in and out each day, and this coldness that became my new normal with no sense of belonging, no place to call “Home.” My normal became sleeping on a mat on carpeted floor that felt like concrete in a waiting room that always felt like walking into a sterile hospital room, eating food that always tasted off somehow… something that I couldn’t quite place into words. Taking the city buses from here and there so many times I could remember each bus number and their routes like it was permanently etched in my mind. School became my only sanctuary. The only place I could see myself as more than just a ghost existing in the shadows. Eventually, me and my mom moved out of the shelter and moved into a run-down but decent hotel. For once I didn’t feel like that ghost in the shadows… I felt somewhat peace. My secondary sanctuary outside of school was swimming. Swimming became my thinking place, the one place where I didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I remember all the happy memories, the sad memories, and memories that would make people’s jaw drop- like when I won first place at the science fair, when I had my 10th birthday with a Hello Kitty cake, teaching myself how to swim and being happy when I could swim with my mom. Today I know it feels to belong, to feel whole and loved, have a support system, to have stuff I could call “mine,” to have a place to call “home.” I learned to accept the past as the past and put it behind me while stepping one foot forward instead of backwards.

A Light That Never Fades, 2nd Place Winner (12th Grade)

Madison, 12th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

Some people come into your life like sunrise, quiet and gentle, but suddenly everything feels brighter. That is how she arrived. My best friend. The love of my life. She had a warmth that could melt through any shadow, and when she smiled, the whole world seemed to exhale. I did not know it then, but she would become both the light that guided me and the reason I learned how to see in the dark. We met during a time when I was lost in my own head. I carried around my anxiety and sadness like a second skin, something I could not shed, only hide beneath hoodies and half-smiles. Then she appeared. Not as a savior, but as someone who saw me completely, even when I was trying to disappear. She had this habit of finding beauty in things that didn’t seem worth looking at, the way rain hit windows, the quiet between songs, the cracks in people that made them human. Somehow, she taught me to see beauty in myself too.

I used to think the world revolved around the loudest voices, but she showed me how power lives in softness. She listened like silence was sacred, and when she spoke, it was like the world leaned in to hear her. I remember how her laughter filled the air like sunlight spilling through blinds. It made every ordinary moment feel like a story worth remembering. But even light can flicker. And when hers began to, I tried everything I could to shield it from the wind. Her depression was something invisible but heavy, a storm only she could feel fully. I wanted to take that weight, hold it for her, trade my peace for her pain if that was what it took. But love doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes, you can only stand beside someone and remind them that the dark will not last forever.

Then one day, it did. The world got quieter in a way that did not make sense. And I realized how much silence can hurt. Grief does not hit you all at once. It seeps in slowly, through a familiar song, a scent, a memory that comes uninvited. For a while, I was angry. Angry at life, at myself, even at her for leaving. I did not understand how the brightest light I had ever known could burn out so soon. But as the days passed, I began to see it differently. Maybe her light didn’t go out at all. Maybe it just moved somewhere I could not reach yet. Now, I find her in little things. The way the sky turns gold before sunset. The hum of music through headphones. The quiet peace of late-night drives when the world feels half asleep. She is there, not as a memory but as something living inside me. Every time I help someone who is hurting, I feel her hand guiding mine. Every time I choose to stay when things get heavy, I hear her voice saying, “Promise me you’ll keep going.”

Losing her did not just break me; it reshaped me. It taught me that pain is not the opposite of love, it is proof of it. It taught me that even when life feels unbearable, love can turn grief into growth. There is strength in softness, bravery in breaking open, and healing in remembering. I carry her not as a wound but as a light that refuses to fade. I used to pray for the pain to stop. Now I pray for the strength to keep her story alive. Her light did not vanish; it only changed form. It lives in the words I write, the kindness I give, and the moments I choose to stay. She showed me that love, when real, does not end. It becomes the air you breathe.

When I think about her now, I do not just feel the loss. I feel gratitude. For every laugh we shared. For every moment that reminded me I was not alone. For the way she turned my pain into purpose. I still talk to her sometimes. Not out loud, but in prayers, in the quiet before I sleep, in the dreams where she still walks beside me. Maybe that is what love really is: not holding on forever, but learning to live with what remains. Learning to walk in the dark and still trust that light exists. I may never see her face again in this lifetime, but I will always see her glow in the world around me.

My best friend. The love of my life. She may not be here, but she is everywhere I go. And as long as I breathe, her light will never fade. Light is faster than anything known to man. But I think there is one thing faster and more pure than light. Love. In a way, she truly is a light that will never fade, as love will refuse to do the same.

2025 People's Choice Winners
Fan favorites selected through public voting.

With 25,930 public votes cast, our K12 community helped select this year’s People’s Choice winners. These standout pieces captured hearts, connected with readers, and rose to the top. Now, it’s time to celebrate them!

MerBunny (Fiction), Kindergarten People's Choice Winner

Scarlett, Kindergarten, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

Once upon a time there was a baby bunny that wanted to become a mermaid. She loved swimming, diving and sparkly things. One day the bunny hopped into the forest and found a magical fairy house. Inside she found a fairy. The fairy had been following her around so she knew that the bunny wanted to be a mermaid. The fairy wanted to make the bunny happy so she turned her into a mermaid. Her tail and top was rainbow and sparkly, her favorite. Her hair was rainbow as well. There was one problem, mermaids don’t belong in the forest. She needed to get to the ocean so she tried to swim but she couldn’t be there was no water. Next, she tried to hop but it made her very tired. She took a break and then tried to hop one last time and used all of her energy to hop hop hop all the way to the water. She finally made it! She dove into the ocean with a big splash. She opened her eyes and could see under water. She saw jelly fish, fish, octopi, and crabs. She swam around and found a beautiful mermaid house to stay in. She saw other mermaids also lived in the house and they loved putting on makeup and so did the bunny. She knew she would be very happy here. The merbunny spent the rest of her day swimming, diving, dancing and putting on makeup with her merfriends. Her merfriends told her she can come visit any time she wanted. The next day she got out of the water and magically turned back into a bunny. She hopped back to her bunny house and was happy to see her bunny Mom and Dad. She couldn’t wait to see her merfriends again.

The end

The Story of Powers (Fiction), 1st Grade People's Choice Winner

Haru, 1st Grade, Highpoint Virtual Academy

My name is Pluto and one day I found a diamond inside a stone that I cracked open. Oh no! Everything went dark. I opened my hand holding the diamond and it started to light up like fire. Ow! I dropped the diamond quickly. When I looked at my hand flames appeared and the diamond lost its glow.

Where there’s fire there’s ice. On the other side of town lived Hayvo who found a crystal that gave him ice powers. Unlike Pluto, Hayvo didn’t use his powers for good. One day Hayvo began to freeze the people of Midtown. He put spikes and icicles all around and froze their homes and food.

Pluto got an alert on his watch that the people of Midtown needed his help. When he showed up the whole city was frozen and the only person left was Hayvo. Hayvo! Yelled Pluto, what are you doing? I froze the city and you can’t stop me. Yes, I can just watch said Pluto. Pluto, used his fire powers and started unfreezing the people of Midtown. Are you alright? Yes, said the people but the roads are blocked by spikes and we can’t get to our homes can you help us Pluto? Yes! No problem. Pluto heated up the spikes in the road and they started to melt. When the people arrived home, they noticed their homes had been frozen. Pluto, can you please melt the ice and heat up our homes? No problem!

So, you think that you’ve helped them? Well, I’ll just do it again said Hayvo. You don’t have to be so cold why don’t you come and warm up with us said Pluto. Well, ok I am kind of cold. Pluto and Hayvo enter the home. Pluto uses his fire powers to light the wood in the fireplace and the house begins to warm up. Pluto and Hayvo share a meal. This is delicious says Hayvo with a smile. Little does he know Pluto used a secret spice that warmed his heart and he never froze again.

THE END

In the Night (Poetry), 2nd Grade People's Choice Winner

Elora, 2nd Grade, iQ Academy Minnesota

In the night I hear HOOT! HOOT!
In the night I hear AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
But who says HOOT! HOOT!
And
AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?
An owl and a wolf!

In the night I hear CHIRP! CHIRP!
In the night I hear ZZZZZZZZZZ!
But who says CHIRP! CHIRP!
And
ZZZZZZZZZZ?
A cricket and a human!

In the morning I hear COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!
In the morning I hear YAAAAWN!
But who says COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!
And
YAAAAWN?
A rooster and a human!

In the morning I hear GOBBLE! GOBBLE!
In the morning I hear CRACKLE! CRACKLE!
But who says GOBBLE! GOBBLE!
And
CRACKLE! CRACKLE?
A turkey and a squirrel!

In the day I hear CAW! CAW!
In the day I hear MUNCH! MUNCH! MUNCH!
But who says CAW! CAW!
And
MUNCH! MUNCH! MUNCH?
A crow and a human!

In the day I hear VROOM!
In the day I hear DING! DONG!
But who says VROOM!
And
DING! DONG?
A car and a church bell!

In the night I hear WHIP OR WILL! WHIP OR WILL!
In the night I hear WHOOSSSSHHHH!
But who says WHIP OR WILL! WHIP OR WILL!
And
WHOOSSSHHHH?
A whip-poor-will and the wind!
The End

The Noisy Popcorn Box (Fiction), 3rd Grade People's Choice Winner

Ziad, 3rd Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Ulric and the War of Orcs (Fiction), 4th Grade People's Choice Winner

Stone, 4th Grade, Michigan Great Lakes Virtual Academy

There once was a boy named Ulric Baldard. He was born in the 1200’s in the country of France in the castle of Castle Monolith. Ulric was the smallest of all the peasants and he would stay like this even when he became a grown man. His dream was to become a Knight. The other peasants would tease him and tell him he would never be a hero due to his size. Ulric may not have been very strong but he was very smart. It would make Ulric very sad when the other peasants would tease him.

Ulric was made to eat, live, and sleep by himself. He felt very alone. One afternoon when he was an adult all the great knights were eating, drinking, and having a fun go when they all fell ill. Of course right at this time the King of the Castle Monolith called upon his knights to battle the orcs of the forest. They were big and gross. When the King found out all of his knights had fallen ill he felt uneasy and scared for his kingdom. Ulric thought this was his chance, his chance to become the knight and hero he always wanted to be. He stepped forward to help the kingdom. The king always liked Ulric but was uneasy with his size.

The country of France depended on Ulric. He tried to make something to help the other knights. He used flowers and other things to help the knights, although it would only help them for 4 hours he told the knights to get in that battle and get to the orc. He gave them the medicine and they felt better. They ran to the battlefield. The battle raged on. The 4 hours were coming to an end. The knights were becoming tired and ill. It was up to Ulric now to end the battle on his own.

Dodging arrows and deflecting swords. Ulric went through the battlefield on a horse wielding a sword causing many orcs to fall. He then arrived at a dark place, a big dark castle with thunder coming from the top. With orcs staring at him with crossbows, he asked them “Where is the King?” They responded in a strange tone, “What do you seek with him?” Ulric then said, “A duel” They thought he would die easily by the Orc King and so they let him in. He went in and saw the dark atmosphere of the castle with only a few lanterns hanging from the walls. He walked up to the main hall and saw the king sitting on his throne. The king sat up and drew his sword, Ulric stared at him and then he attacked. Due to Ulric’s small size he was able to maneuver around the king and delivered the fatal blow killing the Orc King. The battle was over faster than anyone could have believed. Ulric’s small size is what saved the kingdom from the orc takeover. Ulric was the hero.

The Day I got my Stitches (Nonfiction), 5th Grade People's Choice Winner

Rima, 5th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

It was a snowy day when I got my stitches. The snow was falling hard outside, and I was studying from home. My dad and grandparents were sitting near me, and my mom was taking a bath.
I leaned back my chair, and then it happened so fast. The edge of the table hit me right under my eye. I screamed and started crying. My dad and my grandparents looked at me in shock. My dad ran over, grabbed t towel, and pressed it under my eye. Blood was coming out fast, I was so scared. He got some ice and held it there while I kept crying.
Then my mom came running in “what happened?” she shouted. When she saw the blood, she said, “I heard a boom and someone crying but I did not know what it was. We have to take her to Patient First. She might need stitches.”
My grandparents stayed home with my brothers and sister. My mom, dad, and I went to the clinic in the snow. On the way there, my dad said, “You might need stitches.” That made me even more scared. Stitches? I did not want then at all.
When we got to Patient First, it was really crowded. My cheek hurt a lot, and the waiting felt like forever. Finally, a nurse called us. She took my weight, height and temperature, then brought us to a little room. We waited again until the doctor came.
He looked at my cheek and said,” She might need stitched,” Then he left, and we waited more. “I do not want stitches,” I told my parents. “It is going to be okay,” they said. “Do not worry.”
After a while, the doctor came back with a cart full of medical tools. I was so nervous. “Mom, dad can you hold her still?” he asked. They held me gently.
“Close your eyes,” the doctor said. ? I did. He cleaned my cheek with rubbing alcohol. It stung a little and tickled too. Then he started stitching. It hurt a little when the needle poked my skin, but not as bad as I thought.
Finally, it was over. We went home through the snow. I knew I did not have to get the stitches taken out later, but right then, I was just happy to be home warm, safe, and not hurting anymore.

The End

Tis The Season (Poetry), 6th Grade People's Choice Winner

Christian, 6th Grade, Texas Online Preparatory School

I woke up and see everything white
I think I might sit tight
Then i remember it’s Christmas
So I go to the Christmas tree
To see what there will be
And what I see is shocking me with glee
What I see is a present 3 feet tall
So I wonder who this even is for at all
Were all here now happy as can be
We can open them with you and me.

written by CHRIS

Behind the Screens (Nonfiction), 7th Grade People's Choice Winner

Maizah, 7th Grade, Washington Virtual Academy

Imagine a world where every moment is spent in front of a screen, incessantly seeking validation. For many teens, this isn’t fiction — it’s reality. Nowadays, social media poses a significant threat to teenagers worldwide. Many teens use numerous social media platforms to connect with others online. Consequently, this form of public exposure can make them vulnerable to all negative effects of social media. Social media has a negative impact on the mental health of a teenager because it causes a series of problems such as: anxiety, stress, depression, addiction, and self-judgement.

Since many teenagers spend hours on multiple social media platforms every day, the likelihood of experiencing health issues is higher. For instance, “It found that the more time teens spend on social media, the more likely they are to feel depressed and have problems sleeping.” (“Negative, positive effects of excessive social media use on teens studied”)

Moreover, social media causes many young adults to be concerned if they do not know what is happening online. As a result, this engenders anxiety, stress, and even in severe conditions, addiction. “Some feel anxious if they can’t update their posts or find out what their friends are doing.” (“Parents may fret, but even experts say social media use has its benefits”)

Conversely, some people believe that social media can serve ability to share their lives with others online. For example, “Community concerns can be shared on social media and “people can share their life stories,” Hessler said.” (-Shreya Hessler,” Parents may fret, but even experts say social media use has its benefits”) However, the truth is, teens do not always take these posts in a positive way. They may align their lives by the lives they view online.

Additionally, teenagers may scroll through pictures and compare themselves to them. Consequently, this causes body image problems among many adolescents. This can, in turn, make teens depressed and saddened. An example from “Negative, positive effects of excessive social
media use on teens studied” states that, “A recent survey conducted by London’s Royal Society for Public Health suggests that Instagram and Snapchat are the most likely to cause body-image problems among teens.”

To conclude, social media has a profoundly negative impact on the mental health of teenagers because it not only leads to anxiety, stress, depression, and addiction, but also cultivates a harmful environment of self-judgment and unrealistic comparisons. Teen mental health is crucial, influencing their thoughts, actions, and overall well-being. Therefore, society must ensure a positive, healthy, and safe environment for our youth. Imagine a future where teens reclaim their time, self-esteem, and mental peace, free from social media pressures. Together, we can create a world where our youth thrive offline.

The Camp of Suspense (Fiction), 8th Grade People's Choice Winner

Deja, 8th Grade, Arizona Virtual Academy

Zoey, a newly‑moved high‑school sophomore, eagerly anticipates the state‑wide summer camp that offers a scholarship and a chance to meet her favorite influencer, Azlan. On the night before departure, she finds a mysterious note on her door, “Can’t wait to see you soon :)”. Her mother brushes it off, but the note unsettles Zoey. The next morning Zoey boards the bus, meets Azlan briefly, and is assigned to cabin 5. In her cabin she befriends Charlee, who introduces her to Mari, a shy twin whose brother Leó shares a cabin with Azlan. The group explores camp life—assignments, meals, and the first day’s social dynamics—while Azlan and Leó argue over bunk assignments and post a viral story, ignoring a rule against phones.
Throughout the week the campers take scholarship assessments. During this time, a second anonymous note appears in Zoey’s suitcase: “I see you made new friends :)”. The girls suspect they are being watched. Alexxander, a quiet boy from cabin 1 who loves mystery novels, joins their circle, and the six friends exchange phone numbers for safety.
When the camp intercom announces outdoor time, Charlee forgets her charger and leaves the cafeteria; the lights go out, a storm rolls in, and Charlee’s scream is heard. She never returns. Zoey connects the disappearance to the notes, fearing a hidden observer. The story ends on a tense cliff‑hanger: the storm rages, the intercom cancels tomorrow’s activities, and Zoey and Mari realize the mysterious notes may be linked to a real danger, leaving Charlee’s fate unresolved.

mountains and story (Poetry), 9th Grade People's Choice Winner

Bibi Zohra, 9th Grade, California Virtual Academy

Mountains → The tall and beautiful mountains of nature that shape the landscape.

Stories → Tales, experiences, or narratives related to the mountains, whether real (nonfiction) or imagined (fiction).

I will choose to be kind. (Poetry), 10th Grade People's Choice Winner

Nevaeh, 10th Grade, Carolus Online Academy

They ask me what I want to be when I grow up.
They expect something solid, something safe—
a lawyer, a teacher, a doctor—
a title they can hold in their hands

But when I grow up,
I will choose to be kind.

Because, despite everything I’ve seen,
despite every scar that tried to claim me,

I am not the darkness I survived.

I am the choice I make each morning—
and every morning,
I will choose to be kind

I grew up too young.
I saw things no child should ever see,
heard things no child should ever hear.

I learned to hide in the quiet corners—
where innocence goes to hide.

I once needed someone who was kind
someone gentle,
someone steady,
someone who never raised their voice—
Someone who never raised their hand.

No one knows how many times I had to hold myself together
just to offer softness to another.

violence carved a strength that doesn’t vanish
When the world grows harsh.

So if I wake up each day
and have the chance to be one thing,
just one—

I will choose to be kind.

I will always choose to be kind.

The Answer They Wanted (Fiction), 11th Grade People's Choice Winner

Anecia Stepney, 11th Grade, Texas Online Preparatory School

“Hero or villain?” The investigator said his gaze sharp, piercing into me like he was annoyed. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand your question.” I stated, “I thought this interview wasn’t about the attacks.” “It isn’t, were just trying to get more information on her before we continue with the case.” He answered, almost too quickly. “You already described her appearance. Is that correct? He said as he re-adjusted his glasses. “You said she was wearing an all-black costume-like dress. Dark makeup, heavy looking feather coat, and she was holding a sword. Is that correct?” “Yes,” He continued to write in his notebook, eyebrows pinched together in concentration. This interview was obviously about the attacks. The light above us was flickering, giving the room an eerie feeling. I waited patiently for him to finish, anxiously tapping my leg against the floor. The attacks all over town were starting to make everyone jittery. My parents finally let me go outside with my friends before another attack happened. My friends and I were lucky to get away before anything bad could happen. We weren’t there for long, but I saw her; she didn’t appear to be with them. But from what she was wearing, you would just assume she was. But what made her stand out was her face. The fact that she had no mask, unlike everyone else involved in the attack. The masks were the only reason the police were having a hard time finding the attackers. The fact that she wasn’t wearing one is what made me believe she wasn’t with them. But I wasn’t going to tell him that; the fact that she had no mask would make it way too easy to find her. The police had already categorized everyone; the “attackers” were labeled villains, and the “police” or anyone trying to find them were heroes. I honestly wanted nothing to do with this; it was bad enough that my parents were paranoid, the last thing I wanted was to make them worry about me potentially seeing one of the attackers. The problem with this interview is that they wanted me to classify someone I had hardly even seen based on her appearance alone. The police were obviously getting desperate, especially since the attacks only doubled in numbers from when they first started a couple of weeks ago. But he didn’t want honesty; he simply wanted a witness to say she was one of the attackers, so they could have someone to show the higher-ups they were handling the problem, whether she was actually one or not. I don’t think they cared. And I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. Because I already knew who she was. I wasn’t the only one who saw her. Thanks to my friend, who knew exactly who she was. So, when the investigator finally let me go, I knew exactly where I was going. Meeting my friend outside before following her to the woman’s house, I stayed quiet. I don’t know why my friend agreed, but I knew if I was wrong, we were both going to be in trouble. Coming up to her door and knocking, and then taking a second to look at the exterior, it looked similar to the other ones next to it. Only the small potted plants and tiny lanterns covered the front. And when the door slowly creaked open, I was immediately welcomed with the smell of freshly baked cookies. The same woman I saw earlier stood on the other side, looking at us, confused. “Hi, sorry to bother you, Miss. West, my friend just wanted to see you.” My friend said before turning to me, “Well, I saw you at the attack today.” I started, but I didn’t think this through. I didn’t know whether to ask why she was there or if she was one of the attackers. She smiled the warm, comforting smile like she knew what I was trying to say. “Yes, my apologies. You’re probably confused. I was only there looking for my daughter; she ran off when she saw the bakery was open.” She said, the smile never leaving her. My eyes immediately trailed down to her donut apron, covering a dim yellow dress. “We were playing dress up, now that I think about it, I probably didn’t choose the right choice of costume, did I?” “I truly do apologize for intruding” “No, not at all in fact we were just about to have come cookies, would you like some?” she asked before turning around and walking back into the house. “I told you,” My friend said before following her inside. I was waiting for a second, digesting her words, before I heard another soft voice speak. Her daughter? I guess she wasn’t lying. And knowing that I knew the truth, I was glad I didn’t say anything to the police. Although the attacks were growing that last thing I wanted was to hand over someone innocent. And it struck me then how easily we made the costume the story, and how dangerous it was to let thoughts decide the truth. And when I walked in, the costume sat there lying on the back of the couch next to a little girl dressed in a princess dress. Smiling when she turned and looked at me with half a cookie in her mouth.

Pink Room (Poetry), 12th Grade People's Choice Winner

Aviyah, 12th Grade, Insight School of Oklahoma

I walk into a room once painted pink, full of love and laughter, now I overthink. I used to love the color pink, for I dreamed of being a princess one day, but fairy tales faded, and life has changed. It’s not that I hate the color pink, it’s that it pulls me back to the way I used to think, the girl who believed love stayed, but love often left, and would leave her in dismay. The girl who thought people would never walk away, only to watch them leave day after day. The girl who held her heart like fragile glass, and though she tried to keep it whole, it still cracked. The girl who whispered to the stars at night, hoping someone would last, but the stars stayed silent, and her light faded fast. The girl who believed promises didn’t fade, but promises faded, and she was left betrayed. The girl who thought forever was real, only to find forever was just a word and a sense to feel. I walk in the room once more, no love, no laughter, there’s nothing left anymore. I used to despise the color pink, now I look at it differently.

Thank you to the students, families, educators, and judges who made the first-ever K12 Writing Competition possible—and who continue to champion student creativity every day.

Visit enrichment.k12.com to see open and upcoming competitions, challenges, virtual field trips, and more.  And don’t forget to follow us on Instagram for the latest announcements, student spotlights, and exciting updates.

Congratulations to the Winners of the 2025 K12 Writing Competition

To honor their achievements:

And the winners are…

2025 Poetry Winners Exploring emotion, rhythm, and imagery through original verse.

These winners used vivid language and striking imagery to create poetry that resonates and inspires.

Keilani, Kindergarten, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

Lovely, Kindergarten, Virginia Virtual Academy

Kaizer, 1st Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

Monica, 1st Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

James, 2nd Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Royalty, 2nd Grade, Highpoint Virtual Academy of Michigan

Joanna, 3rd Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Amina, 3rd Grade, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

Jordin, 4th Grade, Cascade Virtual Academy

Renesmee, 4th Grade, Indiana Digital Learning School

Leah, 5th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Luna, 5th Grade, Arizona Virtual Academy

Arvin, 6th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Elena, 6th Grade, California Virtual Academy

Aundrea, 7th Grade, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

Lena, 7th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Dayanna, 8th Grade, Highpoint Virtual Academy

Dayanna, 8th Grade, Indiana Digital Learning Academy

Ava, 9th Grade, Arizona Virtual Academy

Bria, 9th Grade, Highpoint Virtual Academy

Emma, 10th Grade, Texas Online Preparatory School

Savannah, 10th Grade, Hoosier College and Career Academy

Ava, 11th Grade, California Virtual Academies-San Joaquin

Morgan, 11th Grade, Hoosier College and Career Academy

Abrar, 12th Grade, Kentucky Virtual Academy

Jackson, 12th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

2025 Fiction Winners Where imagination takes the lead.

From magical worlds to thrilling adventures, these young storytellers let their creativity soar.

Ellie, Kindergarten, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

Grant, 1st Grade, Destinations Career Academy of New Mexico

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

Levi, 2nd Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

Madeline, 2nd Grade, Indiana Digital Learning School

Ziad, 3rd Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Alena, 3rd Grade, California Virtual Academies

Mason, 4th Grade, Pine Springs Preparatory Virtual Academy

Aurora, 4th Grade, Indiana Digital Gateway Academy

Hannah, 5th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Brigitta, 5th Grade, Minnesota Virtual Academy

Kennedy, 6th Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

Kaylee, 6th Grade, Lone Star Online Academy at Roscoe

Antonio, 7th Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

Lena, 7th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Emmet, 8th Grade, Hoosier Career College Academy

Arie, 8th Grade, Hoosier Career College Academy

Kelsie, 9th Grade, Destinations Career Academy of New Mexico

Fatima, 9th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Alyssia, 10th Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

Uriah, 10th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

Omari, 11th Grade, Arizona Virtual Academy

Emmalea, 11th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

Ireland, 12th Grade, California Virtual Academies

Michaela, 12th Grade, Oklahoma Virtual Charter Academy

2025 Nonfiction Winners Real stories. Real voices. Real impact.

These writers shared meaningful reflections and true-life experiences that informed, inspired, and moved readers.

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

No winners were selected in this grade and category due to no submissions reaching the minimum score required to be selected as a winner. Please see the Terms and Conditions for full judging details.

Alisha, 4th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Joah, 4th Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

Lucia, 5th Grade, Virginia Virtual Academy

Emma, 5th Grade, Cascade Virtual Academy

Charly Cheeks, 6th Grade, Ohio Virtual Academy

Zahra, 6th Grade, Texas Online Preparatory School

Maizah, 7th Grade, Washington Virtual Academies

Isabella, 7th Grade, Cyber Academy of South Carolina

Ashlyn, 8th Grade, Missouri Virtual Academy

Marco, 8th Grade, Pine Springs Preparatory Virtual Academy

Faith, 9th Grade, Indiana Digital Learning School

Delilah, 9th Grade, California Virtual Academies

Liliana, 10th Grade, Iowa Virtual Academy

Jolena, 10th Grade, Indiana Gateway Digital Academy

Mirta, 11th Grade, Texas Virtual Academy at Hallsville

2025 Poetry Winners
Exploring emotion, rhythm, and imagery through original verse.

2025 Fiction Winners
Where imagination takes the lead.

2025 Nonfiction Winners
Real stories. Real voices. Real impact.

2025 People's Choice Winners
Fan favorites selected through public voting.