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TeenInk "Thinking is the best way to travel." - The Moody Blues http://t.co/5jzE5kVJyB

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TeenInk If this is the ending of the story, what is the beginning? http://t.co/gRzPosYXRi

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  • Fiction > Sci-fi/Fantasy
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    The lights went out, and people were trapped in the darkness. There really wasn’t much of a long process to the incident. Everything had happened really quickly. Literally, in the blink of an eye. The sun had flickered a little bit in the beginning, like a bloodshot eye, opening shut and clo...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    The children have mutilated her sketchbook. She breathes softly, running a finger over the paper, the paper that had been full of flowers and stick figures. Now, the faces of the figures are barely visible, having been scratched out with black crayon and sharp scissor blades. Her teardrops leave p...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The sweet scent spirals up from the cup in the form of hot, white steam. She cups her hands over the mouth of the mug and lets the silvery wisps collect in her palms, and feels them warm up her frozen fingers. She won’t do anything more than that. She will not let herself take a sip of the hot...
  • Hot Topics > Bullying
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    I don’t want to mention her name, because she never had one. Maybe she had one at home, but in school, she didn’t. She had other names, instead; sharp, prickly thorns created with a swish of our tongues. I always wished that my tongue would not fit under the same category as those hurtful nam...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    There is an invisible piece of thread wrapped around your finger. It stretches up into the sky, tangles around the icy stars, and comes down to the ground again on the other side of the world. It stops at a woman's fingers, winding around the callused skin – slightly tanned, like yours. The wo...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    1 The girl stares down at the lists of names on her desk. There is one list for a boy, and one list for a girl. “Do you think it’s a girl or a boy?” she remembers asking Mom. Mom had shrugged. “I don’t know.” She drummed her fingers over her slightly bulging stomach, e...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    My grandmother had a sweet tooth. She rarely ate anything that wasn’t sweet. Her house always held the scent of freshly baked cookies and slightly old cream and frosting, and if you opened her wooden cupboards, you would see the largest piles of frosted raspberry Pop-tarts that you have ever seen....

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