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  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    In the ninth grade, I brought a strand of red tinsel for our pumpkin carving contest, as my business class was making a KISS pumpkin. It remained all year. The next year, I hung up a strand of gold garland. In grade eleven, it was a pink feather boa. People would ask about the chaos inside my locker...
  • Fiction > Sci-fi/Fantasy
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    All of history is a class struggle, at least, that's what Karl Marx said long, long ago. I suppose a lot of people now don't know who Marx was. But to any of us in the lower class who bother to read, Marx is another symbol of our inferiority. I, however, am not like most of the MiTs her...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Every day, rain or shine, I cross the street by the church and the police station. I swing one arm but hold the other still in my distinctive, awkward walk. Some days I walk with my face pinched, a headache whirling inside. Some days I walk with my face downward, nothing but rain in my heart. So...
  • Nonfiction > Travel & Culture
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    “What would you like?” Your server is French Canadian, of course, but she speaks excellent English. You order in French – pretty good French, if you say so yourself. Still, you point to the menu and gesticulate more than necessary. You select a dessert crêpe with bananas and maple syrup. ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Glen, I wonder what you'd think if you could see me. I wonder if I could tell you, before you went to the war, that you would survive World War Two and come home. Home to your father and his jaw of stone, to your mother and her thin-lipped smile, to your little sister who you thought wa...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    In the eighth grade, Lily was the subject of many a conversation. All she wanted was attention, but she went about it wrong, and got all the wrong kinds of attention. One of the scariest moments I had at that school was when we'd discovered she was cutting herself during class with her compass,...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    When I got my first pair of glasses back in the sixth grade, I remember walking out of the place with my eyes glued to the ground; I could barely wrap my mind around how clear and defined the asphalt was, or how I could see every little nook and cranny of it, every little stone trapped in it. Afte...
  • Nonfiction > Educator of the Year
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    Kingsville District High School is a school filled with talented and colourful characters. From our incomparable tech department to the math teacher who wore a cape to the student-teacher volleyball game last year, there are plenty of interesting people and plenty of talent. Miss Karen Halmos stands...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    His eyes didn't sparkle in the light of the patio in front of McDonald's. I didn't feel much of anything, unless the creeping cold of a long, Canadian winter counted. The grinding of her roller-skates against the cobblestone made a solemn encounter all but impossible. Basically, this ...
  • Fiction > Sci-fi/Fantasy
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    I prowl. The corpses sway their limbs, mimicking the trees they hang from. Aokigahara, they call it. I doubt they know the origin of this forest's name, though they might claim to. Aokigahara – the sound the trees make when a new victim is claimed. My forest is adorned with hundreds of ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Violet placed her hand over her chest, feeling the beating of her heart with a smile. Her heart was still pumping beneath the layers of skin and fat and muscle and fat, though the youth in front of her wouldn't know the feeling much longer. Watching the girl struggle, Violet fought a smile. ...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    “Come to the bank with me!” “No.” “Come to the bank with me!” I roll a pencil across the hall. “Want the stick, boy? Go fetch!” “Come to the bank with me!” “Leave me alone!” “Come to the bank with me!” “Fine,” I surrender, throwing my hands up dra...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Heartbeat. Palms. Sweat? Yeah. Sweat. Nerves. Step. One. Two. Three. Pause. Nerves! Three. Flight? No. Four. Five. Salutations. Six. Pleasantries. Seven. Knife? Patience. Eight. Distraction. Now. Knife. Cussing. Blood. Wallet? Retrieve. Pain? Cuss. Stab. Repeat. Stab. Repeat. Repeat. Run. Streetligh...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I shove my hands in my pockets, feeling enveloped in the grey. The grey that splashed across my surroundings like thin paint, and seeped into me. It's such a penetrating grey one might think of it as a knife blade, but it lacked even that amount of shine. It was more like the grey of high schoo...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    Picture this: four teens walking through a forest at night, their only source of light a tiny LED flashlight, the kind of cheap things you clip onto a key chain thinking it'll come in handy, but it never does. Seems pretty cliche, like in the horror movies, right? I agree. Right now, my bes...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    When people ask me of my religion, it's a hard question to answer. I sound much like a rich girl with a purse dog ordering a soy mochaccino with extra foam and sprinkles, or whatever such puppy-toting, fortunate people purchase at coffeehouses. “Oh, I'll have the Atheist – no, the A...
  • Opinion > Sports / Hobbies
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    It's interesting learning about the inner workings of a writer's mind, first hand. Funny, really. But it's not funny in the laughing-till-you're-wheezing-and-breathless way, more in the bitter way, where you laugh but everyone knows you're not laughing from joy. Somewhere in...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    I take a tentative step forward. Where am I? I have no idea what this place is, where, or why I'm here. How I got here's damn blurry, too. All that seems to matter are the poorly constructed wooden fences, lime-coloured cow pastures, wheat fields, and the dirt road in front of me. Maybe I&...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    Snores. Coughing. Nothing. Footsteps. Awakened. Flashlight. Intruder. Gunpoint. Distraction. Window. Exit. Run. Hysteria. Desperation. Gunshots. Relief. Keys? Feet. Gasping. Sprint. Barn. Desuetude. Cellphone? Smashed. Silence. Ignited? Fire. Run. Gunshots. Pain. Nothing....
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I've never been Miss Cool, or Miss Popular. But I can remember one time when I was more than That Shy Girl. It was the eighth grade, and my jeans still read 0 on the tag, to my displeasure. My friends around me had 5s and 8s, but I was the one who shuffled their feet awkwardly when someone a...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    I tilt my chin up, soaking in the summer sun. Above me is a sky like a blueberry smoothie. Blended just right, of course, with a lot of milk to make it creamy. It's really the perfect shade of blue to accent the emerald of the soccer fields. “Soccer, anyone?” a voice calls from the goal ...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    Vina Renaldo is not crazy, thank you very much. She considers herself interesting, but goodness, no, not crazy. Crazy's what you call the muggers on the street or people that bet against your favourite team in the Super Bowl. Vina is not crazy. She chuckles internally, keeping her face blank...

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