WRiting Contest #1

Senior Category Winning SUbmissions

Excerpts from Jenisis 
By Kai Yee Li
First Place, Senior Category 

Jen wasn’t from the dome anymore. That was the only certain thing. For one, Jen wasn’t even supposed to be Jen. She was supposed to be Charlotte, the girl who never painted the flower in the vase, the girl who tugged irritatedly at her black, glossy, tightly braided hair with her eyebrows scrunched until they came loose with a final tug, who smiled when it did, who would cut up her erasers using her neon pink painted school scissors because “it feels satisfying to watch the blades split them apart, y’know?”, who crossed Charlotte off of all the arithmetic worksheets in thick red marker and replaced it just under, a name of her own invention, scribbled in her messy scrawl: Jen.

So Sam guessed that it wasn’t all that surprising that Jen was Jen.

————————————

Sam had first decided to approach Jen on the basis of Commandment #26: It is our obligation as residents of the Dome to include everyone as to remain unified, unchanged, together. Sam figured that he could Fix Jen. After all, it had been done before, according to Section 3 of Misfits, Damageds, and Changeds. And the fact he was Model Resident every month also helped. 

When Sam caught sight of Jen under the shade of the school warehouse, near the SouthEast edge of the dome where she was rumored to ingest forbidden substances and savagely tear little critters to pieces, she was simply laying on the grass, watching the clouds fly past in the sky. Sam, feeling slightly as if he were intruding on something important, sat down as quietly as he could beside her. She continued to watch the clouds.

So Sam sat there. He knew that being in close proximity with a Damaged was dangerous, as there were theories it was contagious. But for some reason, it felt wrong to leave.

Sam did his best to avert his eyes from the outside of the Dome. Commandment #2.

After a while, Jen spoke, eyes still skywards.

Do you ever wonder what it would be on top of the Dome? Jen had asked. Just to see how far the land and the sky goes?

Of course not. That would be in violation of Commandment #2, ‘no resident of the Dome shall ever ponder about the Outside, under risk of becoming Misfits, Damageds, or Changeds’.

Hm.

Jen went back to watching the clouds. Sam felt as if he had failed an assessment.

There was another long silence. Sam hugged his knees to his chest.

That’s what you think of me. Jen stated. Damaged.

Sam said nothing. He knew he was right, but something felt wrong.

It’s okay, Jen said abruptly.

He wasn’t supposed to, but he felt relieved.

————————————

Why did you come back? Sam found himself hovering closer and closer to the glass of the Dome.

To warn you, Jen replied softly, one hand on the pristine surface. Sam, they’re coming to destroy the Dome tonight, just as the grand clock resets the day.

Sam noticed she spoke faster now, as if all the ideas she had been keeping inside her while in the Dome didn’t have enough time to be let out, so they decided to speed up her pace of talking.

Why?

You still haven’t wondered why everything inside the Dome never changes.

No.

Hm.

There was a sudden silence. Sam felt guilty for no apparent reason.

It’s okay, Jen said, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

Oh. That was still the same.

————————————

The next day, Sam came back to the spot where Jen lay in the shade, watching the clouds. This time though, she was tapping on the glass of the Dome.

Y-you’re not supposed to do that, Sam said urgently.

I know.

But… why then?

Jen simply shrugged, and continued to prod at the glass, this time with a stick in hand. With each poke, Sam felt an involuntary shiver go up his back. He turned around, eyeing the surroundings warily for any observers.

Suddenly, Jen jumped up, as if noticing something, then ran off, leaving Sam standing awkwardly, one foot in the shade, the other in the sun, right in front of the edge of the Dome.

Then he noticed the place Jen was prodding on the glass.

Instead of the usual view of lush, green grass, there was a smudge. No, not a smudge. It looked like a wrinkle in some sort of tapestry.

Soon, Sam found himself involuntarily approaching the patch of grass where Jen was sitting, found himself crossing his legs the way Jen did, furrowing his brow the way Jen did whenever she was concentrating hard on something, and suddenly, he was breaking rule #2 himself, peering outside the dome through that little wrinkle, which started resembling a tear more and more as he put his eye to it.

Through that little tear, there was only darkness.

Sam squinted, trying to focus his vision. Soon, he could see little pinpricks of light scattered throughout the darkness, illuminating it like fireflies in the night. That was, a dwindling population of fireflies.

Behind him, a twig cracked.

Sam jumped, and turned around.

It was Jen.

And she was smiling.

Grade 8
Emma Yang
Second Place, Senior Category

Here I am, in the beautiful palace in paradise. The glistening stones, polished walls, and magical garden are manufactured just for me. Music rippled through the bright azure sky on a peaceful school day … wait… school? 

I woke up. As did my inside voices.

“Today’s an entire day in secondary school! Hooray! Something new!”

“Today’s an entire day in  secondary school. Oh no. Nothing’s ever the same again.”

Oh stop, it’ll be awesome! We'll meet new friends! New teachers! New classes too! Let's get up and ready!

I arose and skipped into the living room for breakfast.

Nuh uh! Never get excited for a new school. Bad things can happen anytime! We might miss the bus, drop all our homework, get bullied by taller, older kids, be excluded because– No! Bus is in 10 minutes! Faster! Go go go! 

O…kay…

I reached for the keys. “Mom! I'm going! Bye!” I called. Then, I shut the door, locked it, and sprinted down the stairs. Fresh air hit as soon as I was outside.

Ahhh…  How I've missed the morning breeze…

Stop dawdling! Hurry up!

Hey buddy, maybe you should relax-

Use your time wisely for god's sake!

I hurried past the neighborhood to the bus stop, brooding over a single thought: the bus. 

Phew! We made it!

Where’s the bus? Are we behind? Why are there multiple people here? Will the bus overload?

Whoa there! Calm down! Today’s the first day. Take it easy. Look, there's a bus!

As the bus closed in, I scurried on and found myself a seat.

*Whimper* There are senior students everywhere! Stay invisible and out of trouble!

Nah, it’s fine! Act chill-

NO WE DO NOT SOCIALIZE WITH BIG KIDS!

Ugh…get a grip…

EXCUSE ME????

Nothing

THEN SCRAP YOUR ABSURD IDEAS AND QUIT YAPPING!

Ding! Next stop: Crown Street announced a voice. I departed the bus and strolled into the unfamiliar school. I glanced at my wristwatch.

Oh no! It's 8:35! School starts in 5 minutes, and our first period is on the third floor!  RUN!

My body tensed. I forced myself to dash up flights of stairs. Walking through the corridor hurriedly to my classroom, I noticed the room numbers got further and further from mine. I turned back sharply, realizing what I'd done.

Uh oh…

My heartbeat sped up. My breathing was ragged. I had a knot in my stomach. I checked the time, yet again. It was 8:45.

No, the worst has occurred… We are late for class!!

I ran. I ran until I found a quiet space, and I hid. I hid from the teachers. I hid from the staff. I hid from the embarrassment. I hid from secondary school.  

Our life's ruined.. our life’s ruined.. our life’s ruined…

I lingered in the tiny space as the first period went by, then the second. Tears welled up and silently trickled down my cheeks. I cried about how I wasn't more careful, how I didn't run faster, how I couldn't wake up earlier. I was overwhelmingly depressed, but couldn’t do anything about it.

Ring! Soon enough, lunch started. I curled in excessively tight to avoid getting seen. Students all around me hustled for the cafeteria. Chatters, laughter, and calls were exchanged as friends reunited for lunch.

*Jealousy*

As the passing students gradually disappeared, I shut down, allowing my emotions to take over. Tears flowed like rivers as I poured my stress and frustration out, yet it only dug deeper into the wound.

“Hey,” a voice murmured. I immediately returned to reality to find myself staring directly back at a teacher. I stopped breathing, not realizing the suffocation. Then, I burst. I couldn't stand her staring at a broken me.

Nooooo! She'll send us to the office! Get us suspended for missing class! She'll know everything! Nooo.. I don't wanna-

Immersed in my thoughts, I didn't realize I'd been escorted into a room.

“Sit while you calm down. After, you can tell me what happened,” she said. I wanted to isolate myself and sulk, but my curiosity took over. As I controlled my tears, I observed her office. There were fidget toys in a basket and games in another. There was also a colorful sign on the table that read “Ms. YannaCOOLias”.

“Okay, are you ready to talk?” asked Miss YannaCOOLias. I hesitated, stealing a swift glance at her. She showed pure kindness and patience, so I told her everything. From how I hurried but was still late for class, how I cowered in the hallway, how I was confined in my thoughts. The kind teacher listened as patiently. When I finished my tale, she paused before talking. “Listen for the voices."

I was confused, " Excuse me? "

“Listen for the voices,” she repeated. “Everyone has voices that help make decisions. Find yours. Listen carefully.”

She was insane, but I did what I was told.

Listen, I told myself. I heard nothing, feeling stupid.

“Try harder,” she encouraged. I tried again. This time, I heard a faint sound.

-can't get through school. We're failing. It's too difficult. Out…. I want ou-

“Communicate with them,” Ms. YannaCOOLias insisted, reading my mind.

Hello?

- I want to disappear. Huh? Ahhhhhh! Intruder! Stranger! Terrorist!

Umm… What?!

Ahhh! Alien!

Stop

Noooo! Don't kill us!

Shut! Up! Get out of my head!

Nghmphhhmnhgphff!

Huh, that seemed to work. What should I do now?

Here! I'm here!

Who are you?

Here! Oh dear, I've been muted for quite a period of time. Look at how burdened we are! It’s time for a change!

Well, how are you able to help me?

Many ways! Don't worry, you are now in good hands! Now, let's pluck our courage for third period…

You seem trustable. Sounds good.

I ended the conversation and looked towards Ms. YannaCOOLias, heart gnawing with hope.

“I did it! I communicated with them, Miss yah…nah…cool..” I stuttered.

“Haha, it's Yannakoulias, an amazing pun,” giggled the teacher. “Good work! Inner voices tend to thrive unknowingly. They are meant to help you, not control you. Be careful and take lead when communicating to your voices. I'm glad it’s better now.”

I considered her words. She was right. I had been controlled by the voices.

Hey! I was only thinking for our own good! We had to prepare for the worst!

I think you rather did the opposite.

Indeed

“Thank you, Ms. Yannakoulias!”  I said, expressing my gratitude.

“Anytime!” she replied.

Ring! Lunch had ended. We said our goodbyes, and I left for the third period, without the burden that had been weighing me down.

On the Obliteration of my Self-Esteem via the Cruel Claws of a Monstrous Examination
By Teresa Pan
Third Place, Senior Category

When I went into 7th grade, I was undoubtedly arrogant and overconfident about my academic ability. Of course, the belief that I was a genius did have something of a basis. As someone who prided herself on her perfect report cards and receiving recognition for being the Asian try-hard of Asian try-hards among my peers, I considered myself “naturally smart.” 

A few years ago, I was sitting in my Grade 5 classroom, anticipating yet another trifling math class spent on daydreaming about winter break. 

My math teacher walked in, lugging a huge pile of papers with him, declaring: “Class, we have our first test of the year today.” 

The class collectively groaned, with loud complaints of not being warned of their impending doom filling the air. I was among them, desperately foraging in my mind for a memory of a test reminder, only to realize that I hadn’t paid attention in class at all. 

The teacher added, “For those who are complaining of a lack of warning, please note that I informed you of this test for several weeks now.” At that, we were swiftly silenced, glancing away guiltily. As the teacher walked around, handing out booklets, a symphony of agitated pen clicking commenced among my classmates and only came to a halt when our teacher let us begin. Glancing at the first question: “Find the area and perimeter of the triangle below,” I guffawed at the lack of complexity, turning it into a cough just before my teacher caught me. However, I was certain that the difficulty of the questions would increase at an exponential rate. I reached the last question: Bob the builder is adamant on building his house on a square base with the perimeter of 16. Find the area of the base. As you can probably tell from the deplorable questions, I finished the test a few minutes later and encountered no issues. A few days later, I received full marks on my test accompanied with a smiley face and a note from the teacher: “I can tell that you studied! Well done!” 

This type of experience was mirrored in all my subjects and through Grades 5 and 6 and into Grade 7. As a result of all this, I became something of a Dorothy, following the yellow brick road to academic validation. 

One of the opportunities I encountered in my Grade 7 year was the chance to make it into an accelerated learning program for talented and gifted students. In order to apply, I had to take a battery of tests meant to measure my IQ. 

During the first round of testing, I practically swaggered into the room. My heart was calm, as if assuring me that success was within a finger’s reach. Picking up my professional-grade, authentically Japanese mechanical pencil arduously selected for this exam, I flipped open the test booklet with such ferociousness, that it would’ve left a crocodile gaping. Racing through the questions, I smirked on the inside, already basking in the glow of my acceptance letter. Then, I stopped. My eyes widened as I reread the question: “Define imaginary numbers and use them in example equations.”  An insidious and uneasy feeling wormed inside of me as I encountered a question I just couldn’t figure out. Squashing it down, I dismissed it as the occasionally challenging question and skipped it. Until I came across another one: “Provide a detailed explanation of Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem.” 

After six hours of increasingly difficult questions, I staggered out of the building. Putting one foot in front of another became a daunting task and I resisted the urge to sprint back to the test room, snatch back my test paper and claw it apart animalistically to prevent any evidence of my failure being seen. I trudged across the street, and reached my car, remarking to myself that the car door somehow felt heavier than it had that morning. Climbing into the passenger seat, doubt swam in circles inside my brain, forcing me to look at the facts and admit to myself that perhaps I wasn’t the reincarnate Marie Curie I liked to see myself as. 

In deep thought, I hardly noticed when my feet swept me upstairs, straight into my study room. Like a marionette on strings, something grabbed my hands and angled them to reach for my untouched, mint condition Grade 10 math workbook, bought over a year ago. For the first time in what felt like forever, I started working voluntarily. After my highly productive study session, I had an epiphany. 

I needed to actively study, instead of only relying on past hard work to get ahead. That winter break, I vowed to straighten out my attitude towards studying and after a few weeks of studying, I felt much more confident in my skills and slowly, my eradicated self-esteem recovered itself and came back to life. I continued on with the second round of exams and made it into the final round of testing. Although the program was unfortunately canceled, I continued studying independently, knowing that other opportunities would come and I would be able to prove myself. People still attribute my accomplishments to talent, however, I know now that nothing is as important as grit, diligence, and dedication when it comes to success.

Untitled 
Eleanor Lin
Honorable Mention, Senior Category

It was my first year in middle school. My first project. Grade six. It was Visual Arts class, and we were told to analyze a piece of art that was given to us by our teacher, create a slideshow with our group and then present it to the class. The teacher - Ms. Robertson - put us into groups of three - and I still remember how I was put with my two closest friends, Kate and Emily. We were given the piece “Hope 1” by Gustav Klimt, and we had to analyze it using the elements and principles of art, as well as researching the history of the painter and the context of their time and era to explain how that influenced the artist’s work. We divided up our roles, and set to work. We worked diligently, desperate to impress our VA teacher (who was our English teacher as well). Nothing would have prepared me for the drama that was about to unfold.

On presentation day, I suddenly noticed that Emily’s slides had a ridiculous amount of information in it. It was genuinely insane, with her script filled with words that I would’ve assumed were written by a specialized art analyst. I thought it was weird, and brought it up to her. She joked around, saying indifferently “I’m just better lol”, but I still had my doubts. Either way, we presented - and were told to meet the teacher right after class. I was so confused - what was going on? It turned out that the teacher saw right through Emily when I didn’t - and stated that our slides were full of plagiarized work. I was shocked. Ms. Robertson got our Vice Principal, Mr. Moore, involved. I had no idea what was going on, and had no idea what I was supposed to do. As it was an assessment, we all received 0s for our mark. Afterwards, the teacher became cold to me and my other two friends. We became “blacklisted” in a way, and I felt that under her scrutiny, I was unable to properly enjoy school. 

Our next project was introduced. This time, it was an individual research project, where we had to delve into the history of Still Life Paintings and Memento Mori. Kate and Emily decided to ruin this project as well, trying to downgrade their work in order to let Ms. Robertson believe that they did not cheat and not get another 0. But - I was pissed. I was really, really, pissed. This time, I poured my heart into working this project out. At the same time, for English, I also tried my best, staying late after class to ask questions, working late into the night to get each word RIGHT. Finally, the results came back. I got 8s and 7s. Kate and Emily? 4s, 5s, and 6s. 

So what did this setback teach me? At the beginning of the incident, I wanted to give up. But, as the events progressed, I found myself, and I am so, so thankful that I did not give up. I learnt to keep pushing forward. In the worst of times, in the most awkward and unassuming of situations, just keep pushing forward, keep looking for that light at the end of the tunnel - cuz it’s gonna be there. That light - you’ll find it one day.

Ms. Robertson ended up retiring that year, but we parted on good terms. I even still have her Instagram.

A sesquipedalian narrative experience regarding proceeding to a consequential level of educational institution
By Miquel Fung
Honorable Mention, Senior Category

Once upon a few weeks ago there was a person that was definitely not me who went to a mysterious place that gives knowledge to anyone who stays and listens there for long enough. It was big. Very very big. One that even gave their knowledge attainers maps for it, though that one was a bit redundant since it wasn’t that big.

The person, before, was at a place that was like a miniature version of this enormous… teacher. And the transition between these locations did not come without trouble or difficulty. This person, luckily, had mutual bonds with many who were coming to the place at that celestial body’s revolution around a mass of gas.

This is a normally descriptive story of going to high school.

After relaxing for 2.5 months in my building for human habitation, I went to a place called high school. Such a place, the very specific one I went to, had five sets of multiple ascending lines to step on, three platforms for more space (because they need it), and a place with written works of connected papers… that you can almost never reach. In this construct, it was weird. There were beings in it that would tell more beings, but younger, things about the place. They said it was a safe place where it’s okay to make mistakes and that they only care about effort. So it felt nice, for a bit, then they were like okay now you and your friends shall be separated bye. So we were put in enclosed areas that everyone would commonly visit described as homerooms. Luckily I had a friend that was in the same homeroom as me, but he was on a sitting device next to a different being! Dun dun dun! I didn’t know what to do. My red liquid pumping organ was creating vibrations in the air, my soft tissue high up in my body was having a lot of electromagnetic activity, so I just sat near a different being. Then we looked at each other with fronts of heads of sorrow.

In the homeroom we were told 99.9% of the same thing until we got to go to our next ahem, classes. Classes classified as locations of learning. In high school, you get 4 classes every day for maximized learning. So we first played sports for a subject named PHE but not PE because that’s too easy to remember.

In this class where you play sports (a thing where if you do a certain thing a thing called winning will happen) we got to bounce a spherical object and launch it into a ring for forty to fifty minutes. Luckily my friend and another friend were there, but we had different teachers at the same place so we only got to see each other for 1103115812400 cycles of the radiation produced by the transition between two levels of a cesium-133 atom. But the other being that I sat with in the homeroom and another other friend had the same class and teacher as me! Which was crazy but didn’t change much.

Then in my second class, my friend (not my other or another other friend) was there and we were in a thing called strings where people hit strings that made sounds that are characteristically soothing. It was soothing but very very utterly extremely loud. I even had to wear earplugs which didn’t help enough. I disliked it but at least my friend was there.

Afterwards, it was consuming halfway through the day time. I left my second class instantly because you know, and I did not realize it was that time, I just thought it was the third class until my being with the same raiser told me that it was that time. During this time I was locating my friend, other friend, another other friend, and other friends. I was able to locate them and then we consumed. Or at least started since a massive vibration in the air signaled us that we had to go to our third classes.

Almost finally, there was my third class. A class called socials. It was about where we are. I’d like to know that, where are we really? But no we didn’t get that we just got to attain knowledge about how to attain knowledge properly. But if you don’t know how to attain knowledge properly you can’t attain knowledge from this lesson about how to attain knowledge properly. One of my other friends was here, and we got to exist beside each other. We learned about umm, why making things appear on paper with orange cylinders make it easier to remember and how to put metal in paper properly. These things were very oddly specific. Luckily this torture ended quickly and it was on to the next class.

Finally it was my last class, it was about explanations of the entire world. Science. This is very valuable information. I should really start putting some orange cylinders on paper right now. The teacher was gonna start talking. In 3, 2, 1.

“Okay so which one do you think you are?” said the teacher. We weren’t doing anything. Just some activities about which one do you prefer? Not only that but none of my friends were in this class. That sucked, so I waited until the day ended and I returned back to my building for human habitation, a place where a third of deaths occur. Uhhhh.

Untitled
By Raymond Chen
Honorable Mention, Senior Category

There are some moments in life when you actually realize something.

A few weeks back, near the start of the year, I was applying for co-curriculars and I was filling out a form for Model United Nations. There were four pages to the application: the first and second regarded basic information and contact information. The third, however, was harder to complete.

The first half wasn’t that bad: “Why do you want to be a part of Saints Conference MUN? Recommended length: 150 words.” 

And that wasn’t too bad; it took me an hour to get through it, but at the time, I decided to look through the rest of the application before starting. 

“Propose an approach to resolving the ongoing political conflict and mitigating the accompanying humanitarian crisis in Sudan.  Please use a minimum of two real-world examples in your response. This question is designed to involve research; therefore, citations must be included in any format. Recommended length: 500 words (excluding citations).” 

My reaction then was ‘Oh! That’s a whole essay! How long is 500 words?’ 

Quite a bit. 

This was due in 4 days, practically 3 because I only found the application at eight at night.

I have this memory of driving to class while reading about the South Sudan humanitarian crisis and civil war on my phone. I was very anxious. I spent five or six hours over 4 days just writing. As soon as I got home I pulled my laptop out of my bag and just wrote. I felt like I was accomplishing something but when I would check the word count, it suddenly made it seem like I was making no progress. When I submitted it, I had a feeling of a weight off my back and a tiredness. I went to bed after that.

I would often hear my parents and other people say to me something along the lines of, “You need time management,” and “When you get to high school, it’s going to get busy.” I never really believed them and when I was writing this essay, I feel like everything that’s ever been said to me just suddenly made sense. I didn’t expect the workload to increase, almost instantly. I learned how to find priorities and not dilly-dally until I felt like doing work. I realized that time doesn’t wait for you while you procrastinate your homework. 

Now, I have a new sense of responsibility or urgency when I’m studying for a unit test in Mr. Tam’s math class, sending emails to my teachers about if I’m going to be sick or asking “Hey, can I do this as a second co-curricular”, or even rehearsal coaching for the Junior School’s production of Footloose. A month into high school, I’ve already learned how to not procrastinate, because I, quite literally, didn’t have any other choice.