The winners:
POETRY
To A Newborn
The sky
Is so dreamy blue today
The city
Is jolted awake
Little boys and little girls
Run outside to play
While their parents arise
To more dead bodies on the news
Sometimes it is hard
Simply being human
But there is beauty
Amongst the madness
There will be challenges
There will choices
But I trust you can make it
You are purest of heart
All the big things
That make it difficult
Traffic jams and heartbreak
The unbearable quickness of it all
All the small things
That make it worthwhile
Blue skies and little boats
And smiles in hallways
There will be challenges
It will be hard
But I hope you can make it
We are so muddled at heart
By Ian, age 14
Aliso Viejo Library
PROSE
As I slowly walked down towards the field, I let a single tear fall, quietly and quickly. Brushing it away as quickly as I could, I continued my journey, far, far away from what was behind me. I could easily hear the screams, the horrors, the cries of the children, of men and women that had done no wrong.
Just a week before, I had been playing with my friends at her house, hiding from them. Yet, deep inside, I always knew that this was inevitable, as cruel and heartless as it may be. I felt as if no matter how far I ran away, I could never quite rid myself of the screams that will undoubtedly haunt me forever. I remember thinking, just as I ran away, that it may be best to just bring an end to this miserable, painful existence, all in the matter of seconds: what use would it be to run from them, yet never really running away from the psychological trauma and horror that will forever be a part of me? There was indeed no use, I told myself. Yet, I had to escape. I could not have stayed there another second without doing something so radical that they would have rounded up my remaining brothers and sisters and killed them in front of my own eyes. Although death was indubitable, there was no chance that I could simply let it happen for me to see. I was unsure as to where they took mama, and I never really knew. Papa had escaped them from the beginning, for which I was very glad.
As a mere girl of twelve, the whole world in front of me was a dark shade of black. The sunlight was black, the trees were black, the clouds were black, the grass was black: it all was. Nothing made sense, and it was all part of their plan to turn everything black.
The challenge facing me that day was immense. As I have told others this story, it is quite easy to presume that the challenge was running away from the horror and finding safety. Yet, it never truly was. I was my own true enemy. I wanted an end to my bitter and pitiful life, an end to the echoing screams of the thousands killed each day right in front of my very eyes, an end to the trauma and pain that came with it all. I moved forward nonetheless, with a faint twinkle in my eye, with the only hope of once again staring into the eyes of my father, to look at his smile.
For days I ran, crying and screaming, away from them. The grass was still black. A year had passed, and I slowly found my way into Great Britain through a series of complicated events that I wish to not recall, in order to avoid further pain; I contemplated an end to my misery each day, but somehow awoke to find myself looking once again at the black sunrise.
After it was all over, I waited a year to return to my where I used to live, heavily disguised. Everything was in ruins, and none was as it used to be before. My friends, my school, the playground: all lost forever. Yet somehow, I found papa on my way back to Britain. He was disguised, surely enough, to the point where he was unrecognizable, except for his eyes. We made our way back to Britain, where I made a life for myself.
Slowly, as years passed, the sunlight once again became yellow, and the colors began to appear again. As much as I wish to forget the echoing screams, a part of me never wants to let go. Today, as I tell my children of this, they cry with me. In the midst of such great loss, who was I to have escaped? Why me?
Today, despite of all those memories and cries and tears and screams, the grass is once again green.
By Akshay, age 15
Brea Library
Artist Statement :
Inspired by an obvious historical event, this piece is an attempt to put into prospective the horrors and psychological trauma inflicted upon millions of people. A truly moving period of modern history, it is easy to become entangled in the lives of the people and truly reflect upon the challenges that they faced.
HONORABLE MENTIONS
POETRY
Verisimilitude
I could have all these words whispered in prayer,
But no one would ever know or even care.
Because I can't find the words I want to say,
I'll just stand and watch as my heart still decays.
I’ll always fear taking one more step ahead;
I can't help but think I've been terribly misled.
The Memories
Life –
It’s just one complicated,
Confusing
Challenging puzzle
One that everyone must solve.
The pain,
The suffering
The love,
And the joy
Though the pieces may not always fit,
The ones that do make it all worth it.
But in the end,
What matters is how you got there.
How you dealt with the grief,
The sorrow
The challenges.
How you fit in that last piece
And what you made out of it.
Because the memories that you created
Can never be lost.
When everything else is gone,
Those shall always stay.
So make them count
Because you only get one shot
One chance,
Until those memories become your past.
By Alyssa, age 16
Katie Wheeler Library
Katie Wheeler Library
Artist's Statement:
While trying not to make it too cliché, I wanted to get across the message that life is the ultimate challenge, one that is short. Once you make a move, that's it, it's gone. So make life worthwhile, and learn from your past. Because when you look back on your life, don't you want to be able to smile? :)
By Jenny, age 16
Brea Library
Brea Library
