2024 Teen Writing Contest Winners

Read the winning excerpts in this year's Teen Writing Contest

The air was thick—so thick it clogged your throat when you tried to breathe. I couldn’t afford the necessary gear, but that’s how most of us were. We’d pull a handkerchief over our face and get to work. Most of us didn’t know our parents; we were just born into this life, taught a few things, and put to work at eight—either in the mines or at the port. The mines were a death sentence. Kids who worked there rarely made it past fifteen, their lungs destroyed by chemicals. We called it “tar lungs.” The sickness started with the victim coughing dark soot, then paralysis—and soon after, they’d be dead. No one wanted to work in the mines, but thousands of us did. They needed workers—fodder.

What kept us going was hope. Older kids spoke of an island beyond the port, across the black water. They said the air there was clean, crisp enough to sting your nose and heal your lungs. Port kids had told them about it, and they passed the story to us. They said the clean air came from trees. The adults told us trees disappeared long ago, but the port kids swore they’d seen them—tall and green—on that island. We clung to their stories.

One night, we decided to cross the black water ourselves. There were ten of us from nearby mining colonies, all sharing the same dream. Under the cover of darkness, we gathered plastic bottles, tied them together, and built a makeshift boat. We believed in it, in the island, and in each other.

The black water was thick with trash and disease, but we rowed with plastic planks, driven by hope. After an hour, we saw the island—a dark silhouette rising from the water. All of us were full of glee—we could see the silhouette of long beams sticking out from the island.

“TREES! THERE THEY ARE!” someone exclaimed in excitement. We rowed faster, desperate to reach them. Another cry. We thought it was a cry of excitement, but we quickly became terrified. The boat was beginning to sink. Water seeped in, soaking our feet.

One of the younger kids became so panicked that he fell off of the boat. He splashed around frantically, before his head dipped below the black water. He didn’t rise again. Some clung to the sinking raft. Me and a few other kids began jumping off in desperation, trying to swim. The water pulled at us, thick and unforgiving.

It was a blur— I don’t know how but I made it to shore, coughing and trembling. Only three of us made it to the island. We stood in silence, drenched and breathless.

The island was covered in long poles, gray and huge—lifeless. The air stung our lungs. Is this what trees look like?

Three of us. We were the only ones left, the only ones to make it to the island. Those were the words spinning and repeating in my head as I gazed at the few pieces of driftwood washed ashore. They were the remains of the ship the three of us were on. Suddenly, the sound of someone sobbing diverted my attention, and looking behind me I saw one of the three survivor’s crying; a girl who was on the boat with her mother and father and now left parentless. It’d then be up to me and the other survivor, a boy around the same age as me, to take care of her.

The aforementioned boy was stroking her hair and comforting her. “What’s wrong?” He murmured, “why are you crying?”

I couldn’t hear her stammered reply, but if I had to guess from the circumstances and what he said afterwards, it was something about her parents and winding up with no one else but us two.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he said gently, “you have us two. We can take care of you. And together, all three of us can pull through this.”

She seemed a little comforted by his words, but again mumbled something else I couldn’t hear. The boy lowered his voice and the two of them quieted exchanged words, and finally the girl was at ease, now just staring at the ocean, the reflection of the sun starting to set coloring the ocean with orange. They sat together for a bit, and only got up after some time to approach me.

“Hey..” he said, “I hope you’re fine about taking care of her.”

I knew who he was talking about. “Yeah. It wouldn’t be right to not.”

The boy nodded in agreement. He then paused for a moment, glancing over at where the girl was, before saying in a low voice, “we’re stuck on this island, and I don’t think anyone else is going to find us for a while. They.. weren’t expecting for the ship to crash and for only three survivors, I think.” He glanced up at me, giving me a good look at his expression. It was one of despair and tiredness. “What should we do now?” I looked over at the distance, towards the setting sun, the ocean now thoroughly a fiery red. We are alone, on this small piece of land in the middle of the expansive ocean. We are lost, in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever pass. But I knew we had to have some hope.

“Now,” I said, “now we survive.”

In the night, a traveler followed a person supposedly by the name of Basil in a steampunk-esque city. The alleyway they were walking in had gears and screws sticking out of the towering factories flanking the pathway, and murky water puddles muddied the path.

“So. Why did you wake me up in the middle of the night? You didn’t bring me just to walk through some dark alleyways, did you?” The traveler, named Aurelia, asked.

“I- well, I guess I should just cut to the chase,” Basil paused, ceasing his walking. She gave him a nod, prodding him to continue. “You probably won’t believe me but.. things change around here after midnight. These.. ghosts appear, and they come to take away everyone’s memories– well, the important ones, at least.

“Like.. if you work at a repair shop, you’ll keep the memories on how to repair clocks and such. That’s to keep everything looking normal up front to any travelers like you. But the ghosts take away other memories, like memories of your family.”

He paused when he saw Aurelia’s look. “Ugh, what am I doing? Why did I even think you’d believe me anyway..?” he muttered, looking away.

“I- I mean, yeah? Taking in the fact ghosts are real and haunt this town at midnight is enough, but I’m supposed to believe they also take people’s memories?” She said, hesitant. “How do you even know about people losing their memories, anyway? Shouldn’t your memories be gone, too?”

He paused, but when he saw her doubtful expression, he let out an exasperated sigh and said, “I’ve been evading the ghosts every night, and let’s just say I made some observations over time. I know it’s hard to believe, but you have to, and I need to get you out of here before-”

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Aurelia interrupted, sighing. “I just don’t get why you couldn’t have told me this earlier and have me leave before it turned nighttime.”

“Because someone might overhear.. and when the ghosts take their memories, they might see that in their memories. But when it's nighttime, everyone is asleep. But the catch is, the ghosts can only appear at midnight..”

“..So once it’s night, no one is watching,” she finished, and Basil nodded. She smiled, “what are we waiting for, then? Let's go.”

He grinned back in response, before turning around and beckoning her to follow, where they continued to walk through some damp alleyways. Eventually, after winding through multiple pathways, they reached the city’s outskirts, where they stopped.

“We’re here,” Basil announced. “I don’t know how much time we have left until it’s midnight, so.. we’ll have to cut our farewells short.”

“Well.. even though we only met this morning, I’m really grateful for you helping me out. So thank you. I.. do have one last question, though,” Aurelia said, before pausing to look at Basil in the eye. “Why are you helping me?”

He grinned and said, “I guess I was just sympathetic.”

"Things change around here after midnight," I’d heard someone say once. Maybe a neighbor, maybe a stranger in passing—it didn’t matter. It felt true. Midnight had a way of stretching time, pulling my mind into strange, dim-lit corners.

The rain started lightly around eleven. At first, it was a soothing patter, by midnight, though, it turned heavy, beating down like waves onto the street, transforming it into a watery reflection of the sky. I stood on my balcony, just out of reach of the downpour, listening to the rhythm, watching each drop explode onto the pavement below.

Ever since I was little, I would watch the rain. I would curl up in a chair in front of our quaint apartment’s window, tuck my legs underneath me, and watch thousands of shimmering droplets glide swiftly down the glass and merge into bigger droplets. I couldn't have heard anything. Not when I was watching the rain. Drowning all the world’s noise out and listening to the rhythmic smatterings from the clear shards slicing its way onto our pristine window panes my mom had worked so hard to keep clean.

I stayed like that for hours, mesmerized by the quiet fury of it all, my breath fogging the glass as I pressed close to the window.

Now, standing on the balcony, the rain was inviting me to lose myself in its rhythm, to forget the world behind me, even just for a while. Midnight seemed to slow down, like the air had thickened, stretching seconds into minutes. With each gust of wind, the rain lashed out, drenching the streets, sweeping debris along the gutters and pooling in the dips of the uneven pavement below.

I leaned over the balcony’s edge, tilting my head up so a few cold drops found my skin. The water shocked me, but there was something about that little sting, that clarity, that felt right. In the rain, I didn’t feel confined by my life, by the way each day seemed to follow the next in an endless stream. Here, everything felt possible.

I thought of flying—to remove this weight and lift myself above this city, this balcony. I closed my eyes and envisioned it, just like I had a thousand times as a child before I knew better. I'd watch the birds soar between the rainclouds and imagine what it would be like to follow them, to fly free in the sky, where nothing could hold me back.

But I knew I'd never fly; I knew the limits of bone and blood and gravity, of what the body could endure. Nevertheless, a bit of that old hope remained to me.

I took a long breath, allowing the smell of rain—the damp ground and the fresh scent of wet concrete—to settle in me. Midnight would come and go, and the rain would subside, but for the time being, I allowed myself to dream a bit longer, picturing all of my weight slipping away and my spirit flying high above.

History repeated itself, time and time again. But the sheep never learned—they never saw. They let their hearts fill with anger, their minds with greed, until they forgot how to love.

The wolves didn’t need to disguise themselves. The sheep had already turned on one another and trusted the wolves more than their own kind.

There were too many differences, and too little time.

The wolves were clever, their words smooth and persuasive.

When sheep began to disappear, the others noticed. The sheep turned to the wolves for answers.

“Ah, do not worry. Those sheep were evil. Their fur was too long, but you are different,” the wolves assured, and the sheep were satisfied. They returned to squabbling among themselves, secure in believing it wouldn’t happen to them.

But soon, more sheep disappeared. Once again, they turned to the wolves.

“Do not worry. Those sheep had to be removed. They had too many spots, but you are different,” the wolves said, their bellies plump. And the sheep believed them. They returned to their bickering, comforting themselves by blaming the “different” sheep.

Some claimed, “I’m safe, for my wool is all white!” Others said, “I’m safe, for I have stripes!”

Still, more sheep vanished. The wolves profited from the sheep’s growing distrust and hatred, growing ever fatter.

In time, only a few sheep were left. These remaining sheep had kept silent as others were taken, believing they were immune. But the wolves came for them too.

“No! You don’t understand! I am not like the others!” the last sheep protested, struggling in vain.

And when the wolves were finished, there were no sheep left.

The wolves stood in an empty field, their hunger still not sated. They looked to the distance, to other flocks beyond the hills. Their stomachs rumbled, and a new cycle would begin.

—-There’s Still Time—-

"I was supervising, not participating!" I protested, my voice losing confidence as I spoke. The air in the room felt heavy, thick with judgment and disbelief. The muted whir of the ceiling fan above did nothing to ease the suffocating tension, its rhythmic clicks a cold reminder of time ticking away. The lie, carefully rehearsed, which had felt so comforting was now becoming undone under the sterile walls and harsh lights of the room.

My hands rested on the cold surface of the table, trembling slightly. The hard metal bit into my palms, as I tried to keep my composure from the chaos and turmoil swirling inside of me. Every heartbeat served as a constant reminder that I had done nothing to change what had happened.

A weight pressed against my chest with an unbearable heaviness, and I slunk deeper into my chair.

-

Images flashed rapidly in my mind: the subtle thrill in their hushed whispers, the shadows as they sneaked up onto the rooftop, and the faint glow that the moon had casted over them that night. I had assured myself that I was there to keep them under control and to keep an eye on things. But the fact was clear and unforgiving: I had done nothing. I stood by, passive, as their plans unfolded.

My memories now felt as if they were clinging and gripping onto me like barbed wire. A web of anguish, tightly wrought.

My throat tightened as the enormity of it all pressed down on me. The excuses I had clung to felt flimsy, their edges fraying and unraveling under the truth. I hadn’t just been a bystander. I had become a part of it by being there, chained to the outcomes I had fought so hard to escape.

The room felt much colder now, though my skin burned under the heat of shame. With each second that went by, my stomach churned, and my insides felt acidic as the regret rose. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the memories stayed vivid and sharp; a never healing wound.

A pen scratching against paper broke the silence and sounded harsh and abrasive against the room. Every mark it made appeared to sear my guilt onto the page, solidifying and leaving an unmistakable record of my complicity. I had failed not just to intervene, but also to be the person I firmly believed myself to be. Never have I had to question if I could stand firm when it mattered the most.

Silence seemed to stretch on, harsh and merciless. There was no amount of reasoning that could dampen my guilt. Simple, stark, and uncompromising was the truth: I had been there and I had allowed it to happen. And now, there was no escaping that.

ARTIFACT C-C-I-12, LETTER, ARCHIVED 5 DECEMBER, 3053.

ADDRESSED TO P. H. GILES AND T. M. GILES, “THE COLOSSEUM”, AREA 5, SECTOR C-1

FROM M. Q. WHILLS, “THE PIT”, AREA 19, SECTOR V-13

The world hasn’t always been like this, contained in our little facility, watched over by Them, every activity monitored and recorded, organized and filed and archived. We used to have swathes of green, jungles and forests, but also patches of dry orange of desert, and clumped metropolises constantly releasing smog while bright, flickering city lights glowed. There were a lot more of us then, a lot more creatures as well. You both know of robots and AI and microchips, but they were different then. They didn’t work the same way they do now.

I wouldn’t exactly say things were better back then– you know that I was born just before the Incident, and things had been worsening ever since the 2300s. It all hit the fan when I was 11. The world had reached the end of its rope and it simply all collapsed. I can’t remember much from there… They indoctrinated and brainwashed all the survivors. Like you are often taught in school, the Organization came together and saved as much of humanity as They could, then found a safe place for us to stay until the world was safe enough, but as I have often taught you as well, it would not be unwise to doubt such school teachings.

And by now you must know, my dear mentees, the circumstances of the strange occurrences just 2 months ago. Yes, it is true that the video going viral was indeed me, and I am ashamed of it. Surely you have heard Their remarks, but I hope you have enough heart to know that They are wrong.

Like in the video, I remember yelling, “I was supervising, not participating!” to four Guards as they made a beeline towards me. They’d razed the walls down to the ground and sirens were blaring everywhere in C-sector. I wasn’t lying. The Rebels– you’ve heard of them by now, that cult– had wanted me there. They told me they were trying to use some old ritual to call upon some god, and needed my “spiritual presence”. You know me, of course I went to help… I didn’t know they meant to make such a racket. We now know it was just a facade for trying to start a revolt against Them– our mission as well– but their tactic was sure to fail. The Guards never miss anyone.

I am sorry my explanation is so late and rushed. I write this to you two at a time near my undoing and end, while I sit here in The Pit, but please do not despair. You will have plenty more to do that I am sure you are fully capable of without me. Remember the mission and what I’ve told you. You both will do great things.

-M. Whills 09/29/3048

As yet another fire hit the castle, I whined, “But I was told to supervise, not participate, boss, gimme a chance.” Honestly, I thought being a cop was supposed to be easy.

The king’s anger showed in the whites of his knuckles as I waited for him to explode. “Cassandra, you’re completely right. You were doing such an amazing job supervising that the entire barrier broke down!” The king said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It was fine until I had you watch the magicians for one day.” We were invincible until you decided to stop the flow of magic."

“That wasn’t my fault! You told me to watch them, not to hold hands with 2 sweaty guys at the same time! When they grabbed my hands and started chanting, I thought they were flirting with me! Of course I pulled away! C’mon man, personal sp–”

“Cassandra, what was the first thing they said when you became a cop?”

I blinked. “Why would I remember that?”

“...Cassandra, you’re the head of police.”

“So??”

“They said to listen to your superiors.”

“Didn’t you just say that I was the head of police? You should be listening to me.”

The king sighed. "Cassandra, the barrier's falling apart, the kingdom’s burning, and you’re still arguing with me? The dragon is literally 3 feet away right now." I stared at him blankly, then looked behind me. Sure enough, a fat dragon stared back at me through the window, picking meat from his yellow teeth. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. “Wait, what? There’s a dragon?” I paused. I was supposed to know there was a dragon. “I mean... Oh hey there, big fella! Need some help getting my maid out of there?”

The king’s eyes almost popped out of his skull. “You didn’t notice the giant fire-breathing monster attacking our kingdom?”

“We’ve gotten like 30 mercenaries this week, okay? I thought they decided to torch the castle or something!”

“Cassandra, get out and fix this, or–”

“Or what, you’ll fire me? I don’t need this job anyways. So there.” I pouted, looking back outside at the dragon.

“Cassandra, I’ll revoke your beauty supply privileges.”

“You can’t do that! That’s an HR violation!”

“I’m the king, Cassandra.”

“Do you know how hard it was to find an exfoliator around here?”

The king glared back at me.

“Fine. I’ll go back and fix the barrier. I’ll make sure the barrier is... barriering again. Like, I’ll make it more barrier-y."

He continued glaring.

I opened the door. “Don’t worry, I got this. Just gotta find some wizards, or magic, or something. Don’t take away my lip gloss!”

I dashed off, ignoring the king shouting, "Cassandra–” just as I crashed headfirst into a fallen statue.

“I’m okay! Don’t take my skincare!” I shouted back, as I got up and kept running. It’s not like I knew how to fix any of our country’s problems, but I might as well try. Also, dragon spit makes a good exfoliator!

“Ready? One. Two. Three. Jump!”

I looked around at the exotic jungle surrounding me.

“Gill… do you know where everyone is?” He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled our a pocket watch.

Squinting at it, he shook his head, “I don't think there is anyone else on the road… either they died or quit…”

“Dang it! Kura! Any ideas?”

She stared nervously at the sky as we realized we were the last ones… Three of us. We were the only ones let, the only ones to make it to the island.

“Okay…” I paced around in a circle and decided, “We will focus on survival, lets get to building a shelter. Everyone okay with that?” They nodded and we got to work. Keee, kee. I sawed along through the trees, grabbing branches that we could use as the base. For the roof, I grab branches, leaves, and some dirt to protect us from the rain. We need walls! I was startled. Grabbing more leaves, I built something that will protect us from the wind.

“Well… this should be good enough for tonight. Who wants to take the first watch?” I looked around at their droopy eyes, exhausted from the building. “Nevermind. I'll take it.” I watched them as they settled into their makeshift beds and snuggled into the warmth. I'm glad… out of everyone in the competition, I got paired with these two… I watched them fondly as they settled into deep sleep. In the dark forest, a branch snapped and a sheep baaaaaed. Sheep! Food! I grabbed my fishing hook that I brought on the trip and started waddling toward it. I stared in astonishment as I saw not only one sheep but two! With one big sweep of the fishing rod, I killed them both. My back got goosebumps as soon as they both fell as I saw a glinting pair of eyes eying my dead killed sheep. WOLF!!! I backed up as the wolf glared in my direction and leaped.

“Lyra, I haven’t seen you hanging out with your friends recently,” Mom spoke up from the kitchen.

I looked up from my phone, surprised she mentioned them. “Oh, um, yeah. They’ve just been busy,” I replied.

They’re.. kinda my friends. When we were younger we were much closer, and now we’ve been drifting apart a bit. Every time I asked them about meeting up they’d reply that they had plans on doing this instead, and all of my friends happening to not be busy was rare, and then during those rare times we did meet up I felt like the fifth wheel. It didn’t help that I was homeschooled so I couldn’t get in on whatever event they were talking about that happened at school, or the guys they had crushes on.

“Really? Even back during winter break?” She called back, and I nodded. When I had asked if they were available so I could make some plans together, they said they were unavailable.

“Do you think over the summer they’ll be busy too?” She asked.

“Maybe? I don’t know,” I didn’t understand why she was so persistent all of the sudden.

“Well… What if I had an idea for all five of you?”

“An idea?” I echoed, my interest was piqued.

“What if I brought you and your friends a road trip over the summer? We can go up north, and there’s a lot of places along the way we can go to. Surely they wouldn’t say no; don’t they love that kind of stuff?” It clicked. A road trip was just the thing for me and my friends. We all shared the passion for exploring, and when we were little we’d run around at the park, performing all sorts of antics like climbing trees and poking at snails. A road trip would be just perfect.

“And what would you get out of this?” I asked, not completely sure my mom would just offer a road trip for free. Would there be some kind of deal?

She gave me a soft smile, and my thoughts of a deal being made melted at the sight of it. “Seeing you with your friends instead of you spending your time on the phone.”