Welcome to the recognized work of our latest call for submissions, "We Were Neighbors!"
Our 18th series came with submissions of supportive neighborhood communities, dangerous and suspenseful horror tales and even the "neighborhoods" of thoughts within our minds! We were blown away by our submitters and thank them for their hard work. It was the greatest pleasure to be able to review and provide feedback for these wonderful pieces of art and writing. Featured: Our Global Neighborhood, a community anthem by Katie Ching. Old Man Sith, the tale of a close escape by Vihaan Agrawal. Whispers Beyond the Fence, a deep dive of generational secrets by Allison Li. We Were Neighbors, art + writing about two unlikely friends by Bonnie Chen. You and Me, an inside look to a girl's thoughts by Serena Wang. Thank You my Neighbor! a heartwarming art of appreciation by Mika Ching. It Starts With Me, a message about building the community by Enchi Kuo. We hope to see such great works again in our next Call for Submissions. This series has truly been a joy to experience. Sincerely, The Youth Review editing team
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Katie Ching is a 9th grader at Stanford OHS."I was inspired to make this piece after a recent trip to Turkey and the UAE, which opened my eyes to the fact that as people, we're so distant physically, yet so close in other aspects. The famous landmarks in the drawing symbolize physical distance between people, and the string of people holding hands is used to represent people from different countries. This is to say that it doesn't matter where a person lives, what their nationality is, what language they speak, or where they're from, what matters is that we're all people, and all value similar things. As you may notice, the people in the drawing are "reflected" under the landmarks. This is because people may not live in the country they are from, but they are still part of our global community. A bit on the title, I titled my piece "Our Global Neighborhood" to represent the same theme as I have just described. The "global" part describes the physical distance and diversity between people around the world, while the "neighborhood" part describes a sense of community and closeness, disregarding the various barriers they might face between each other. The title was intentionally made an oxymoron, to contrast the largeness of the world, and the smallness of a neighborhood."
It was the super whiffle, the ball that curved, slid, split and even rose. That’s what it said on the advertisement and that’s what happened. It was like magic. At-least that’s what I felt about it. You would too if you saw it. Somehow wherever you threw the ball, it seemed to be attracted to the chalk strike zone I drew on the fence. But the one time it’s magic failed, boy, did it get me into trouble. The ball went over the fence into our dreaded neighbor Old Man Sith’s house. Old Man Sith was a neighborhood legend with his ratty features, humped back, rotting teeth and his red eyes. He had white hair, sallow cheeks. He was nothing but a bag of bones. His thoughts though were worse than his looks if that was possible. He was known for being particularly sour, mean and cruel to little kids. If any toys or balls were in his yard even by a centimeter he was guaranteed to come hobbling out of his house to take it and destroy it in front of your eyes, and that is exactly why I was so alarmed at my ball going over the fence. I sprinted and dove to a tiny crack in the fence separating our yard. The ball was not far away. I could probably scale the wall and get back quickly. As I started to climb the fence Old Man Sith came running out of his house and saw me trying to get the ball. He gave a wicked cackle seeing my attempts and roughly picked it up and threw it across the yard into a tangled blueberry bramble. “Guess, you won't be getting that thing now!” He said in a raspy voice. “We’ll see about that!” I mumbled at him “Yes, we will.” He replied Immediately after going home, I told my dad about what happened and tried to persuade him into having a talk with The Old Man. My dad gave a bleak no and reasoned that it was my fault for playing on that side of the yard. I asked my mom and she too said no. So I went to bed that night with the resolution that if no one would help me I would get my ball myself. Early the following morning, I snuck into Sith’s yard. His yard was a mess, it was overflowing with weeds, thorny bushes and blackberry brambles which never had any blackberries on them. I tiptoed across the barren yard until the point where I could see my ball and almost reach it. I bent under the bramble with my fingers wrapping around it. I withdrew my hand and stuffed the ball into my coat and turned around to run out of this wasteland. But as if he was a ghost, Sith was standing right there with a horrible, nasty grin. “Well doesn't that just take the biscuit! Trespassing into my property, then stealing my stuff!” Sith exclaimed in mock shock. “Well, technically it’s my ball.” I countered “Eh, whatever.” He says as he reaches out to grab me. “What are you doing! Get away from me!” I screamed and ran away. I would have gotten back home safely if it wasn’t for a loose rock sitting on my way. The loud thud was the noise of me face-planting after tripping on a rock. I tried getting up, but my ankle gave out. I looked behind me and Sith was there. He dragged me into his house. His house was dirty and smelled like a prison cell. There were broken dishes all over the place and there were rats inhabiting the kitchen. He dragged me up the creaking stairs into a musty and damp room. He threw me in and locked the door. I sat in there trying to figure out what to do for hours. There were no windows in the room except for a tiny one almost at the ceiling. I knew that if I found a way to get out of that window, I would be free. I looked around the room for tools that would help me. There was nothing in the room except a big brown bag. I peered into it hoping for rope of some kind. I only saw clothes in the sack. I took them out with a plan to tie them together into a giant rope. But after a few minutes of extracting clothes, I unearthed a rustic old cell phone. I gazed at it in awe. Here it was as if God heard my prayers, an answer to all my troubles. A cell phone. I quickly booted it up and called 911. I recited everything to the police. The police told me they were on their way to save me, and sure enough they were here in under ten minutes releasing me, arresting Old Man Sith and explaining the situation to my parents. After the arrest of Old Man Sith, whose actual name I later found out was Sith Ramsey, his house was sold to a small family with a boy of my age, and I am glad to tell you that they improved the house, transformed the garden, and their son Luke is one of my best friends. Vihaan Agrawal is a 6th grader at Timberline Middle School."A fictional story about a cantankerous old neighbor. NOT AT ALL REAL."
In the center of a suburban neighborhood, two houses stood side by side, separated by a chain-link fence. The first house was a shabby mansion, its once grand exterior now crumbled in the shadows and secrets. The second, a cunning cottage surrounded with ivy. The mansion belonged to the puzzling Sinclair family, rumored to be descendants of distant royals with a dark past. They rarely left their gated property, their presence buried in mystery and speculation. The cottage, on the other hand, was inhabited by the Wilsons, a family of three who had just recently moved into the neighborhood in search of a fresh start. Since the Wilsons arrived, they couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched. Strange occurrences became part of their daily life. The sound of footsteps echoing in seemingly empty rooms, objects moving on their own, and whispers in the dead of night. Mrs. Wilson brushed off these occurrences as fragments of her own imagination, but Mr. Wilson couldn’t shake the feeling that something lurked in the shadows. One night, as the fog started forming, Mr. Wilson spotted a figure standing at the edge of their property, hidden by the mist. He approached cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. As he walked closer, the figure vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a chilling sensation behind. Determined to uncover the truth, Mr. Wilson dug into the history of the neighborhood, uncovering tales of forbidden love, betrayal, and tragedy. The Sinclair mansion stood out largely in every story, its dark past mixed in with the community. One afternoon, while exploring an overgrown garden behind heir cottage, Mr. Wilson stumbled upon an old journal hidden beneath a pile of leaves. It pages were filled with symbols and passages detailing century old curses that had dominated the Sinclair family for generations. With this new found knowledge, Mr. Wilson confronted the Sinclairs demanding answers. However, his inquiries were met with silence and suspicion, further encouraging his determination to solve the mystery. As days turned into weeks, tension started the build up between the two families, each having their own secrets and suspicions. As the truth slowly began to unravel, it became unclear on what was reality and what was myth, revealing the darkness that had long been buried beneath the surface of everything. In the chaos, a fragile friendship formed between Emily Sinclair and Thomas Wilson, the youngest members of their families. They both shared one thing, the desire for truth and redemption. Together, they embarked on a journey to uncover the secrets hidden within the walls of the Sinclair mansion, uncovering long forgotten secrets and the remains of an ancient era. As a storm raged outside, Emily and Thomas ventured into the depths of the mansion, confronting ghosts of the past and facing their own demons along the way. As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, they emerged from the depths of the mansion, forever changed by what they had witnessed. They had discovered the true power of the curse that lay not in the darkness, but in the light that shone through it, a light that had the power to heal the deepest wounds and bring peace to those who had been haunted by the shadows. Eventually, the Wilsons decided it was best for not only them but also the Sinclairs to move out of the neighborhood. They never experienced any paranormal occurrences or heard from the Sinclairs every again. Generation after generation, the tale of the Sinclairs still lives on. Allison Li is a 7th grader at International Community School. “Cerberus, come back here!” Charlotte yelled as the Bernese Mountain dog bounded happily across the room, chasing his treat. Cerberus was energetic and excessively lively, unlike most Bernese Mountain dogs. But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t the loyal, good-natured pet he was known to be. Charlotte was a hardworking college student working two part time jobs, one at a bakery, and another at a salon. She loved her pet very much. Whenever she had the time between her classes and jobs, she would cuddle with her cherished Cerberus and bury her nose in his long fur. As Cerberus caught his treat in midair, it occurred to Charlotte that it was time for their daily stroll in the park. However, getting Cerberus onto the trail was always a struggle. They would arrive at the park then Cerberus would gallop so fast to the grassy area that no matter what Charlotte tried to do, she couldn’t get him to walk with her on the trail. The only strolling happening was the part when the exuberant dog dragged her to the park. It was almost like the human and dog roles were reversed. Since Charlotte was used to coming to the grassy area, she brought a worn-out tennis ball every time. She chucked the ball far, far away, to encourage Cerberus to fetch it. The ball spun through the air, then landed near a Canadian goose exploring this park. Cerberus tore through the air, leaping up… Then he came face to face with Bob, the Canadian goose. Suddenly, there was a moment of complete silence. It was like magic when the two completely different species knew that they would become friends. Every single day from that day on the two friends saw each other at the park and exchanged a friendly sniff and nudge. Until one day, Charlotte just came back from her shift at the bakery and took Cerberus to the park next to their house, the one they always went to. Cerberus couldn’t see Bob anywhere. Behind the bushes, under tables. Little did he know that Canadian geese need to migrate in the winter, away from the cold Canadian weather, and towards Washington. Charlotte noticed her cheerful Cerberus was downcast and disappointed. Though she didn’t know what was going on, she tried her best to cheer him up again. Treats, hugs, cuddles, nothing could make her pet happy. Eventually, Cerberus got over this and spent more time with Charlotte. But the world didn’t seem to be on his side. Charlotte graduated college and works full time at the bakery now, and that means she spends less time home and more time at work. The weather was cold, and Cerberus couldn’t go to the park. He could only walk in circles in the backyard. Cerberus was alone during the day, and that made him think more about his lost friend. The winter nights were long and cold with the wind whistling high pitches. Finally, the time came when flowers bloomed, and birds sang! Spring was here. The Bernese Mountain dog and his owner returned to the park. The air carried the sweet scent of blossoms, and the gentle rustle of leaves. Suddenly, Cerberus's sharp senses caught sight of a familiar figure approaching—a beautiful goose with feathers as white as freshly fallen snow. It was the very same goose they had encountered before, now returned from its journey back from Washington. With cautious steps, Cerberus approached the goose, happy but nervous at the unexpected reunion. Charlotte observed the encounter with a mixture of awe and anticipation, marveling at the silent communication unfolding between the two creatures. As the goose let out a soft honk and Cerberus offered a friendly sniff, Charlotte felt a swell of warmth in her heart. In that moment, she realized the profound simplicity of true connection—one that transcends barriers of species and seasons. And as the goose and Cerberus parted ways once more, Charlotte couldn't help but smile, knowing that no matter what was going to happen, friendship amongst neighbors would always prevail, tethered by bonds stronger than any challenge they might face. Bonnie Chen is a 5th grader at Eastside Preparatory School.We were best friends. Perhaps even family. Our world was big. It was just a large, pink, wrinkly orb, with nothing inside it. It existed even before we did. When we were born, it was all dark. It took us a while to figure out what exactly we were. Soon, we came up with the perfect name for ourselves: “Thoughts.” Eventually, there would be more of us, but back then, it was just you and me. We stayed in the inky blackness for a long time. I don’t know exactly how long we were there. For us, time was nothing but an abstract concept. We spent our time talking and making up jokes. Our laughter filled up the eerie loneliness. But one day, we realized we had run out of things to talk about. We sat in silence for a while, your back pressing against mine, as we thought about more conversations. However, just as we thought we would become swallowed up by the quiet, a blinding light flashed before our eyes. After we adjusted to the sudden brightness, we found ourselves face to face with a large screen. Attached to the bottom of the screen was a thin wire. The wire was long and coiled on the ground like a snake. On its tip was a metal handle with a ball on it. We didn’t know what it was, but we were mesmerized. You picked it up and asked me, “What should we name this?” As you spoke, the screen in front of us flashed on. Your question echoed around us in waves of sound. You looked around, surprised. I was too. Your voice had never been so loud. You held the ball to me and said, “Answer my question.” I spoke into the ball and said, “I think we should call it ‘Microphone.’” This time, my voice was the one that boomed. As I said this, we heard a new voice. It was coming from the screen. From it, we could see a baby wrapped in warm blankets. I could hear other muffled voices, but the clearest one was the voice of a beautiful lady. “Oh, Safia! My sweet little girl!” As she leaned in to kiss Safia’s cheek, I felt the warmth of her lips too. It tickled. In that moment, I was filled with indescribable joy. In my happiness, I shouted into the microphone. “That felt so nice!” On the screen, I saw Safia smile and suck her thumb. “Are you kidding?” I heard you say next to me. I had been so focused that I didn’t notice you had taken the microphone from my hands. You glared at me and yelled, “That was the grossest thing ever!” On the screen, I saw Safia let go of her thumb and let out an ear-piercing wail. I snatched the microphone from you as Safia’s mother and father struggled to calm her down. “Why did you do that?!” I asked. You shrugged and said, “That’s just my opinion.” Serena Wang is a 5th grader at Open Window School.Mika Chang is a 2nd grader at Norman Rockwell Elementary School."My neighbors supported me when I sold my girl scout cookies."
Enchi Kuo is a 4th grader at Cherry Crest Elementary School."Great neighborhood takes generations to build. In my art, you can see people enjoy this beautiful space all together, from walking a dog, to chalk painting on the sidewalk; from nice mailman to a young child helping grandma to cross a street. I can see all that from my porch. I’m going to enter the world soon as an adult. If I want to preserve the neighborhood, it starts with me to do the right things!"
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