Pinpointing Me

1

The rainbow, in the gray. Just outside my grandmother’s house, a double rainbow formed. A little glimpse of color, nothing artificial. The first blossom of an idea.

2

A soft blanket, a touch of home when I was away. Carrying the promise of a quiet, dark room, and a time to dream. Fall into another world.

3

The library. A palace of stories. Unwavering bliss in the embrace of a book.

4

Graphite and crayons sculpting a gateway to another realm, limited only by hands and imagination. The mind moving fingers across paper, no finish line in sight.

5

Little alphabets that hang on walls, begging to be admired. Offering escape, if you can understand. Messages that few could read, but the code was clear to me.

6

Aisles of stories, too many to pick. The bag on my shoulder too heavy for a child, continually filled. Wanting for more of the neverending piles of possibility.

7

A light purple chair with white polka dots offered rest. Space to run to the worlds carried in my hands. A million truths beneath manicured covers.

8

Sharpies that wrote my name across my books. Something that I owned. Something that was mine. Claiming it. Staking the territory that I had worked so hard to earn.

9

The American Flag, a chance to be seen. To share my words. To show who I am. The moment that I realized I would need to work harder. The insignificant moment to my classmates, a defining one to me.

10

My stories that never left. Reshaped and revitalized, again and again. Following me through my journey. Seeing what I’ve become now, versus what I was then. Me.

Reagan Shin is a writer and rising senior attending high school in Virginia. She is currently assembling her portfolio for university and enjoys writing prose and short fiction in quiet corners of libraries and cafés.

Snack

It’s dark out 

It’s cold out 

Any moment now the sun might come out 

But i can still hear the sounds of people moving

The sound of people struggling 

The sound of people trying their best to live in this harsh society

I thought i wasn’t getting much sleep these days 

These people don’t sleep at all

I lay in my bed

My body devoured 

I lay there staring up in the ceiling 

I think to myself 

It must be freezing cold outside

How can those people have the motivation to go out at this time

I feel a chill down my spine 

Somethings not right but i don’t know what

I think eating a snack would solve the problem

I stand up and go look for some food

I sit down with all the food i scavenged 

A tuna can, some leftover chicken and some ramen

Todays hunt was successful i thought 

I will make it my mission to finish this as fast as i can

I dig in quickly 

I eat til there is nothing left 

except the last chicken leg 

After this i can finally go to bed with a full stomach 

I pick it up 

And I..

Beep beep beep…

wake up 

Injury to insult

The only time i insult someone is when 

I get insulted that’s why you should 

Add injury to an insult

You have to stand up for yourself 

When you insult them

Make sure to injure them as well

And don’t just minorly injure them

Permanently damage them

So they don’t have to come to school 

So that they don’t have to all this nasty homework 

I wish I don’t have to come to school anyways

I’m not sure about you

But personally i was taught to never take any disrespect from anyone 

Me personally i would have to add injury to insult

School 

I wish that it ended. She keeps talking and talking. I’m not listening, who is? Nobody listening there, all sleeping. School is such a waste. 

I wish that time stopped. I never thought it was fun. Schools should host more parties. We stayed there until 9. It ended in a flash.

I wish that he didn’t. Throwing that beautiful ramen away. I’m inside the school starving. While he wastes that ramen. My poor beautiful delicious ramen.

Andrew Ban is a student attending an International School in South Korea. He loves writing in his free time, and his other hobbies include cross country and bike riding. He was recently published in Inlandia: A Literary Journal, Dunes Review, The Elevation Review,  Rigorous and Mortal Magazine.

Summer

The glass leaves a wet ring,
 the table stains darker, holds it.

Grass burns under soles,
the porch boards remember the 

shade.

Laughter spits from the shallow end,
somewhere, a rope groans 

alone.

Smoke from the grill sticks to shirts,
ice from the cooler bites through knuckles.

Boards creak after the bodies leave,
the hammock still rocks without weight.

Some things burn loud enough to echo,
some cool slow enough to forget.

And still,
both leave marks.

Across the dark canvas

The cracked lens seizes the sun,  

Shards of light slices through the 

dust–

Stretches long on the rippling dune, 

Feet sink in the dry grit, 

A crease in fabric flutters against the heat, 

Figures stand on the 

edge–

Softened by a 

gust– 

Scatters the

pebbles–

Spiraling towards the shadow of our feet, 

The sun lowers behind the barren, 

Orange light glows..

Shadows sink beneath the ground,

The night falls cool and heavy, 

A brute curled tight, 

Patterns darken on skin, 

Lines winding like rivers, 

Drying in the fading light, 

Faint sparks of cold fire

scattered–

Across the dark canvas,

Blending into the night

This Old House

Worn smooth beneath every step,
splintered in places where shoes have slid.
It absorbs spilled sauces and dropped rice grains,
the heavy shuffle of customers coming and going.
It holds echoes of whispered deals and laughter,
silent but alive beneath each scuff.

Frame bent from years of use,
legs uneven, scraping the floor.
Its seat sags just enough to feel familiar,
cracked leather peeling like old skin.
It’s been leaned on, kicked, ignored,
but it stays, stubborn as the walls.

Hanging over the kitchen entrance,
threadbare and soaked with steam and grease.
Its edges fray like forgotten memories,
blocking the world beyond with a soft, heavy hush.
It moves only when the cooks pass through,
bearing the smell of garlic and smoke.

JK Kim is an ambitious student at Virginia Episcopal School in Lynchburg, VA. His interests lie in creative writing, particularly in short stories and poetry. During his free time, he enjoys playing golf and pursuing photography as a means of expression and inspiration.

Yoonji Huh is a dedicated student enrolled at a school in Seoul, South Korea. With a strong passion for the arts, Yoonji is diligently curating her art portfolio in preparation for university. 

Jinyoung Chloe Park is a high school student attending a school in Boston, Massachusetts. With an unwavering passion for art, she is diligently curating her art portfolio. Beyond her artistic endeavors, Jinyoung finds joy in creating handcrafted objects and expressing herself through K-pop dancing.

Jahin Claire Oh is a twelfth-grade student attending high school in San Jose, California. She enjoys coding and takes an interest in media art as a hobby. She prefers warm tones over cool tones and is generally drawn to calming imagery with naturalistic depictions. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with friends and occasionally visits local art exhibits.

The Photograph

Between the frames, the camera

captures teal, splashing water, and my

brother’s legs kicking through the pool.

Behind the camera, pool water drips

from my hair, cold as the ice cubes

jostling in the drink I grasp tightly

in my hand. A symphony of hues

danced upon the pool’s surface, as

the turquoise blue water met the

gleaming golden sunrays, shining

through cracks between marshmallow

clouds. The leaves by the poolside

rustled, and short grass blades swayed

in the soft wind. Sunlight hugged us all.

Walking past the pool, scents mingled

in the air, from fragrant roses to toasty,

buttery pancakes, as stray leaves brushed

past my tanned, twiddling fingertips.

On the Walk Home

On the walk

home, while an icy drink cooled my

left hand, the flowers around me

released soft, fragrant scents. The

subtle sweetness of the roses was

intoxicating, while the dust of an array

of dandelions tickled my nose. Even

the slow buzz of bees seemed tuneful,

like nature’s quiet melody. Moss green

leaves brushed my fingertips as I trotted

through, entranced by the beauty of it all.

Even today, the scene replays in my mind.

——————

Yesterday, the sun shone through

my window at a quarter past six.

The alarm rang then, like the piercing

screech of an unwelcome rooster.

Mumbling and trudging, I hastily dressed

before a vehicle whisked me to school.

A blur of quiet laughter, presentations,

and questions passed through me like

harsh gusts of wind. When they passed,

peace settled in its place.

Vaguely Familiar

A postcard never sent.

Dust transfers to my

fingers as I examine it.

Ink has bled like veins,

turning its message faint.

The postcard holds a photograph

with no one looking at the camera.

Darting between the silhouettes,

my memory strains, catching on

vaguely familiar shapes.

One face holds me still, tied to

a name I almost remember.

Once easily spoken, now,

its syllables are hollow and dim.

As my eyes fixate, I hear the

echo of a goodbye they never gave.

I recall the sight of eyes darting,

feet stomping, and doors slamming,

before they vanished like snow on

a spring morning, leaving behind

nothing but a dark memory.

Grace Lee, a high school student in Seoul, South Korea, is passionate about words. Whether crafting stories or poems, she blends her unique perspective with the vibrant culture of Seoul. Excited to contribute to the literary landscape, Grace’s writing reflects the universal themes of adolescence in a big city.