This anthology is a collection of short stories and poems compiled from our

learners in secondary section. As way to encourage their creativity and

written communication, this anthology serves to inspire the readers and
establish that there is no limit to imagination.

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Table of Contents

1. Twin Strangers – Amelia Abahire, 9A

2. A Happy Ending – Sreya Sanoop, 9A
3. The Science Fair Sabotage – Lexane Ineza, 7C
4. The Pendant Necklace – Prommese Mirembe, 7A
5. A Corrupt Justice – Lisa Ndayisenga, 9A
6. Whispers of the Canopy – Shimwa Schiphra, 7B
7. Where Love Still Sits – Isabella Uwamahoro, 9B
8. The First Step Forward – Ineza Lirane, 9B
9. The Last Signal – Charité Igiraneza, 8A
10.My Sweet Mother – Karma Parekh, 7C
11.My Home – Deborah Tesi, 7A
12.Family – Kenzie Uwase, 7B
13.India My Country – Popat Khushi, 7A
14.Whispers in the Vending Machine – Joelle Esme, 11A
15.You Seem to Me Like Fire – Ramba Rainnah, 7C
16.I Am Rwanda – Akeza Assiya, 9B
17.In the Embers – Hodali Katia and Paola Ethana, 7C
18.The Clockmaker’s Sky – Nikita Eloge, 7C

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 Twin Strangers

Fifteen years had passed since her birth. Fifteen years of a lonely life.

As a 15-year-old girl, Hailey always found it hard to cope with the hardships of
life. Living with an overworking father and no mother, she usually had to take
care of herself. Her father was barely home, meaning she had to live in their
small, rickety house by herself. It was piled high with souvenirs, family
heirlooms, and barely had room to walk.

That evening, Hailey’s dad rushed home with a letter in his hand. It was a
scholarship letter from her dream school. Her excitement soared when she saw
the blue package admitting her. However, there was one problem: she had to
join the very next day.

Hailey rushed to the bus stop, aggressively munching her sandwich. She
boarded the first bus to the city centre and waited impatiently as the bus wound
through the twisting and turning roads of the city. Upon arriving at the school
gates, she forced herself out of the bus and walked onto the grounds. A cool
breeze struck her face as she marched up the driveway. Students stared at her,
noticing her optimistic look, and followed her into the school building. She
turned a corridor and ran straight into a guy. It was Austin, the head prefect.

Looking into his face, she felt a strange connection; they had a striking
resemblance. They both had the same face shape, auburn hair, hazel eyes, and
freckles spread throughout their faces. Hailey rapidly apologized and headed
straight into the head’s office, who summoned Austin almost immediately to
direct her to her class. They were in the same grade.

That evening, there was a freshman’s party for all the newly joined students and
their parents. Wearing her best dress, Hailey and her dad entered the party hall,
only to meet Austin standing at the doorway with his mom. Hailey and Austin's
mom had a striking resemblance, and it seemed like Austin and her dad noticed
it too. Austin gave her a lopsided smile while their parents shared an awkward
glance. They shuffled inside the hall, and the party began. Hailey’s dad kept
glancing at Austin’s mom, who seemed to return the gaze. It went on to the
extent that Hailey finally decided to drag her dad to meet Austin's mom.

This was a moment she never expected to happen in her life, but the shocking
truth came out. Hailey and Austin turned out to be siblings. And not just any
siblings, but twin siblings. They were separated at a young age because of their
parents' divorce due to financial reasons. And now, after 15 years, they met
again. The truth struck so hard to know that she had a long-lost mother and
brother whom she had never met and wouldn’t have if not for joining the
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school. Austin looked just as stunned as she did, but he managed to cope with it
faster.

Finally, her dreams came true to have a sibling, but now, did she really want it?
Was her heart going to accept the fact that she was no longer a single daughter?
Would she ever be able to go back to a life where her parents were on good
terms? It all seemed unlikely to work out, but she had to take the path anyway
to know where she would end up in her future life. She had to feel her mother's
love and her brother's care. With all that in mind, she went to bed in her newly
found house with her new family to restart another life that might end up on the
good side or the bad side. As of now, she had people to rely on and didn’t need
to worry about anything, with the love of her father, mother, and her part-soul
brother.

A story where one soul is separated into two bodies.

Amelia Abahire, 9A

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 A Happy Ending
Something hit me, a numbing feeling spreading inside my limbs, as the familiar
scent of blood impaled itself into my nostrils. Gravity took over, I could feel it
dragging me with it while slowly binding me with the ground.
I tried to scream but my mouth was shut. I looked for the faces I longed to see,
but my eyes wouldn’t budge. I was stuck in my own body. Faintly but surely, I
could hear the paramedics and from every angle rushed voices. Was this the end
of my career, before it even started?
Several long fingers wrapped around my wrists and ankles as I was slowly
placed on a bed-like surface and I was whisked away to ‘who knows where’.
I woke up to a beeping sound. Only I, thought I woke up. I could hardly tell
whether I was sane or not and I didn’t want to know. I was a lost cause trapped
in the grip of a horrible fate. That was until I heard a motherly voice. Was it
mother? Not too long after, a horrible weeping shout echoed around what
seemed to be a patient’s room.
“My child where are you?” the voice cried out.
My mind screeched in agony. They didn’t know I could hear them. The desire to
scream rose to a dangerous level but even then, I couldn’t lift a finger, and
absolutely no one could do anything about it.
Every hour, every minute, every second felt like an eternity over my head. In
my mind all I could ever do is replay that very same incident over and over
again. If only I had played like I was supposed to I wouldn’t be lying in a
hospital bed.
Time went on but I couldn’t tell how long. Months or maybe years? I finally got
used to lying in bed reminiscing on my past and on how if I’d done things
differently perhaps I wouldn’t be here. But alas! I guess it wasn’t too harsh if
you think about it.
Another day or two ran by, however, something was off. I couldn’t tell what it
was. The essence of the room was all meddled with. Without a second breath, a
pair of strong arms yanked me out of my bedding, speeding off with me in
between their arms.
A few feet later, I was placed somewhere that was definitely not comfortable.
My pleas were useless, but of course no one could hear me. Every breath I took,

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held a piece of my worry and suddenly, the area around me was vibrating. It was
quite obvious I was being held captive in the trunk of somebody’s vehicle.
The wheels spun and I was taken with. My head spun around the torturing fact
that I was trapped in someone’s ride and I couldn’t flick an eye at it.
The frequent moving came to an end and I knew we had stopped. The heat of
the sunrays slightly touched my arm as the trunk was opened. I was then
violently swung over a shoulder while the person walked over something,
leaving the sound of the footsteps to give me a hint of what we were walking
over; sand.
Not too sudden, I was released. Expecting to land on solid land I was introduced
to the chilling touch of water. My body was left free to roam in sea water; I
could tell from the obvious taste of salt. Panic surged through my veins, my
heart beating faster and my brain flushed with a several stressing thoughts.
Then I remembered, I was paralysed. I let the water guide me, if this was my
fate so be it. I sluggishly let myself inhale the water, it stung but only a little. I
reflected on my current position and chuckled a little. Maybe, just maybe I’ll be
a football star one day, then I remembered my mother and my brother and went
to sleep. Perhaps this time for good.
Sreya Sanoop, 9A

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 The Science Fair Sabotage
The school gym was busy and full of noise. Students walked back and forth
carrying colourful posters and boxes. Tables had science projects on them.
There were volcanoes made of clay, papier-mâché planets and even a robot
made from cardboard. Everyone looked proud of their work.

Myla stood beside her table looking at her own project. It was a solar-powered
fan. She had worked on it for 2 weeks. Her mom helped her test it and at home.
The fan used a small solar panel to get energy from the sun which made the fan
spin fast.

Myla was proud of her project because it showed how solar power could be
used every day. It was simple yet smart. She had practised her explanation
many times. She knew the science behind it. She felt ready. Her best friend
Zara, who had made a water filter using sand and pebbles walked over to see
Myla. The two girls smiled at each other. They were both excited and nervous.

Soon the judges would start walking around. They would stop at each table and
ask questions, then at the end of the day they would pick the winners. Myla
reached down and turned on her fan but something was wrong. The fan didn't
spin. She tried again. Still nothing. Her heart started to beat faster.
‘No, not now!’ she whispered to herself. She looked closely at the wires. Two of
them were loose and the solar panel also had a small scratch across the middle.

Myla froze. It had worked last night. Even that morning it had worked. What
happened? Zara looked worried. She leaned over to check the fan too.
‘It was working, right?’
Myla nodded. She couldn't understand. She hadn't dropped it, no one had
touched it, at least not while she was watching.

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Then Myla looked across the gym. Liam sood beside his project. He had also
made a solar power display but his used a light bulb to power a motor. His stand
looked neat and perfect but Liam was smirking just a little. Not a full smile but
a look that made Myla uneasy. He had always tried to be better than Myla. Last
year he came in second place after Myla. He didn’t look happy at all that day.

Myla looked back at her fan. She didn't have proof she wondered whether Liam
had messed with her project. There wasn't time to think about it now. She had a
choice which was to either give up or try to fix it. She opened her backpack and
pulled out a small plastic box with some tools, a tape, a wire and a cleaning
cloth. Her dad had given her the kits ‘just in case’. Now she was glad she had
it.

Her hands were shaking but she worked carefully and fast. She reconnected the
wires then she wiped off the solar panel. It still had a scratch but not a deep one.
She adjusted the angle so it will face the bright lights hanging from the gym's
ceiling. She turned it on again but nothing. She checked one more connection
pushed the wire tighter then flipped the switch and the fan began to spin! Myla
let out a breath. It worked!

Just then, the judges arrived at her table. Myla stood tall. She had her head up
and began to explain how the solar power works. She showed how the light
made the fan spin, talked about how solar energy is clean and good for the
planet. The judges nodded and took notes. After the judges left, Myla sat down
on the bench behind her stand. Her hands still felt shaky but she smiled. Zara
came back to sit with her.
‘You did it!’ Zara whispered and Myla nodded.

The day went on students walked around and looked at each other's projects.
Some took pictures while others shared snacks. The judges kept moving from
stand to stand. At the end of the science fair, Mr Ramirez thanked the students
and began announcing the winners. Liam won third place for his solar motor
project but he didn't look fully satisfied. Zara won second place for her water

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filter and Myla won first place for her solar powered fan. Myla felt proud, not
just for winning but for fixing her project under pressure. As she walked back,
Liam looked at her but said nothing.

Myla didn't care. She knew the truth. Real winners don't cheat, they work hard
and try their best even when things go wrong. She sat down looking at her
ribbon and her spinning fan. She felt proud not just for today but all the work
she had done and she already had an idea for next year’s project.
Lexane Ineza, 7C

10
 The Pendant Necklace
“Everyone in the village forgot who they were overnight,” Nina said. She was a
child living with disability. All her life she couldn't walk without her
wheelchair. As much as she hated it, she got used to it. At school, she was
mocked and bullied. Even teachers look looked down on her. She couldn't reach
the board to write, use the bathroom or climb the stairs. Each day she lost
confidence and at home it was no different. Her parents treated her indifferently
as if she wasn't their child.
Her smile faded like the last light of dust quite–sorrowful and weak. All that ran
through her mind was the unforgettable memories she shared with her
grandmother who had died 5 years ago. The only person that treated Nina like
she mattered. She had cried so much. She was scared and forgot to breathe. The
only living memory of her grandmother was the pendant necklace. Nina never
wore it but kept it hidden and safe.
Every time she looked at the necklace, tears would flow down her face until she
decided to wear it. Alas! Nothing happened but she felt like she was with her
grandma. Every night it was like a soft voice could come to her and say,
“Be strong, don't let others put you down.”
The voice kept on echoing in Nina’s mind. Moreover, she decided to heed to the
voice. At school, Nina became different. She felt a boost of confidence in her as
the bullies approached her. Nina was shocked when she stood up for herself.
She said boldly,
“My disability doesn't make me less –it makes me unique and unique is where
the world finds its greatest strength. I'm not broken but I'm built differently and
difference is not a flaw. It's a form of beauty you haven't recognized.”
She went away and the bullies held their mouth and stood still. Nina continued
like that and nobody ever looked down on her again. She used wise words to
defend others and herself. Even though life for her was not easy, she still she
managed it and became strong as the days passed.
Prommese Mirembe, 7A

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 A Corrupt Justice.
Detective Marcus Thorne had a reputation for being unyielding. He thrived in
the underworld of the city, where every arrest felt like a small victory. But
lately, his victories had felt short lived. Case after case, meticulously built with
irrefutable evidence, seemed to unravel in court. Suspects he’d personally
cuffed, criminals who should have been locked away, were walking free on
technicalities or suspiciously lenient sentences.

The breaking point arrived with the notorious 'Shadow Syndicate' bust. Marcus
and his team had spent months infiltrating the organization, risking their lives to
gather enough evidence to put away its ruthless leader, Victor "The Viper”
Rossi. The evidence was airtight: wiretaps, eyewitness accounts, even a member
of his Syndicate had volunteered to reveal accounts of his heinous actions in
court and testify against him. Yet, during the trial, Judge Evelyn Hayes, known
for her strict demeanor, made a series of baffling rulings that lead to Rossi's
freedom.

Marcus felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. This wasn't just incompetence; it
was deliberate. He started digging, not into Rossi, but into the judges
themselves. He pulled old case files, cross-referenced court dates with financial
disclosures, and even discreetly spoke to court clerks he trusted. What he found
was a pattern: judges presiding over high-profile organized crime cases
suddenly making significant, unexplained purchases – luxury cars, offshore
accounts, private school tuition for their children.
The truth hit him like a physical blow: a network of judges, including Hayes,
their luxuries bought and paid for by the very criminals they were sworn to
prosecute. The system wasn't just flawed; it was rotten to the core, with justice
being nothing but a mask worn by a different kind of criminal. They were no
better than the very criminals he caught on the street everyday only that these
ones were dressed in fancy clothes and carried small hammers. Marcus felt a
burning rage, a profound sense of betrayal. His entire career, his faith in the law,
felt like a lie.
He knew exposing this would be dangerous, a direct assault on powerful
figures. His own career, even his life, would be on the line. But watching Rossi

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walk free, knowing the truth, had ignited something fierce within him. He
couldn't stand by. Marcus began meticulously compiling his own evidence, a
secret file on the corrupt judges. He was no longer just a cop chasing criminals;
he was a person fighting against injustices even if those injustices stemmed
from within the police force. He was prepared to fight for true justice where
corrupt officials wouldn’t let dangerous criminals like Rossi walk free and
slaughter many other innocent civilians. The fight for true justice had just
begun.

Lisa Ndayisenga, 9A

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 Whispers of the Canopy

The machete sliced through thick vines with a satisfying crunch. Maya Cortez
pushed deeper into the jungle, sweat streaking her dirt-covered face, the weight
of her backpack digging into her shoulders. Behind her, the undergrowth
rustled—just wind, she told herself. Just wind.

She paused, listening. Nothing. She glanced back.

“Keep up, Jamie,” she whispered to the intern stumbling a few yards behind.

“I’m trying,” he puffed, tripping over a root. “Are you sure this is the right
direction?”

Maya didn’t answer. Her GPS had died hours ago, and the map had been swept
away when the riverbank collapsed. All she had now was instinct—and the old
man’s warning from the village.

“The temple finds you when it’s ready. But it never lets you leave the same.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The jungle darkened. They were getting close.
The ground sloped upward, and as they climbed, the trees parted to reveal a
hidden cliffside. Carved into the stone wall was a jaguar—its mouth open in a
silent roar, fangs chipped but menacing.

“We found it,” Maya breathed.

Jamie stared. “No one’s ever photographed this. Do you think it’s the temple
entrance?”

“Only one way to find out.” She ran her fingers along the jaguar’s fangs until—
click.

A grinding sound echoed through the trees. The ground shuddered. The jaguar’s
mouth began to open. Inside, darkness yawned. Maya turned on her flashlight.

“Let’s go.”

They stepped into the tunnel, its walls damp with moss. The air was cooler here,
but heavier—like it had been trapped for centuries. Every step echoed
unnaturally. Far behind, the mouth of the jaguar slowly sealed shut. Jamie
turned.

“Did you hear that?”

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Maya froze. A whisper, soft as breath, curled around them.

"Leave... or be lost."

Her pulse quickened.

“Keep walking.”

The tunnel opened into a vast chamber. Vines dangled from the ceiling. A stone
altar stood in the center, surrounded by bones. Human bones! Jamie took a step
back.

“Maya—”

“Shh.”

She stepped forward, entranced. The altar was covered in carvings—stories of a

goddess, a curse, and a golden idol. In the middle sat a small statue, shimmering
despite the gloom.

She reached for it. A roar erupted behind them—deep, guttural, inhuman. They
spun. From the shadows, eyes gleamed. A jaguar—no, something like a jaguar
but twice the size, with feathers growing from its shoulders—stepped forward.
It stared directly at Maya. The idol pulsed.

“I think you should put it back,” Jamie whispered.

Too late. The chamber trembled. Roots burst from the walls like tentacles,
snatching at their feet.

“Run!” Maya grabbed Jamie and bolted. They sprinted down the tunnel as the
beast roared, its footsteps shaking the ground. The walls shifted. The way out
was gone.

“Left!” she yelled, veering into a side passage. Behind them, a deafening
screech. The tunnel collapsed as they dove through a narrow crevice—and
landed in a pool of muddy water.

Silence.

Above, moonlight filtered in through broken stone. They’d escaped. Coughing,

Jamie laughed.

“That was insane. We’re alive!”

15
Maya looked down at her hand. The idol was still there, glowing faintly. She
didn’t remember grabbing it. From the shadows, the whisper returned, softer
this time.

"You took what was not yours."

Maya turned—and saw her reflection in the water shimmer. Her eyes... were not
her own anymore.

Shimwa Schiphra, 7B

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 Where Love Still Sits
Every morning, Elena sat on a black wooden bench by a long, mesmerizing
river. It was a quiet spot in a huge park that had amazing views with many
different flowers. She always wore a pink coat, slightly faded and always
brought two cups of coffee with her. One sat in her hands, warm and comforting
while the other remained untouched beside her. When people passed by her,
they always wondered why she brought it every week alone.
Years ago, on that bench she met Leo. She was 25 years and always had a
composition book where she wrote songs and sang to them while the birds
listened to her chirping and he always listened to her but was always late to his
never ending job interviews. Sometimes his application papers would fall,
scattering everywhere which always made most of the birds fly away
unwillingly. They both ended up laughing but those moments began everything.
They always met at that same spot: on their first date, on disagreements, to
celebrate job opportunities and their birthdays.
When Leo proposed, it was right there besides the spring flowers and many
birds chirping happily. Their love was deep and quiet often making passengers
stare at them in awe while passing by. They shared 50 years together and had
three handsome boys.
In the end, Leo passed away peacefully in his sleep while they always cuddled
throughout the night.
Now, Elena kept their tradition alive always bringing two coffees since she
didn’t know how to come with just one. And though no one ever noticed, she
always felt his presence and comforting hand.
The next day, a young lady passed by. The girl curious, asked, “Why do you
bring two coffees when you are the only one here?”
Elena smiled gently while replying, “because love doesn’t end when someone’s
gone. It just changes where they sit.”
Isabella Uwamahoro, 9B

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 The First Step Forward

From a young age, Callie managed, albeit hardly, to come to terms with the fact
that she was just not one of those people who were distinguished and considered
unique in the society. She learnt to disappear long before she learnt the flute.
She had mastered the art of shrinking into herself, effectively hiding in various
situations. She didn’t like conflict, and hated being in the middle of it. Being
invisible wasn’t something she chose, but overtime it became her only source of
comfort and safety.

Music though - music was different.

A few years back when her best friend had practically dragged her into
auditioning for what was rumored to be the most prestigious youth orchestra in
the region she hadn’t expected to get in. In fact she had been so flustered once
she arrived that she picked up the wrong instrument on her way to the stairs, and
only realized it when she started walking the steps. However, the second she
held the flute in her hand, all fear, all anxiety and all doubt left her as if it had
never been there. She had given what she thought at that time, was her best
performance ever, and the judges had been so impressed, they decided to recruit
her, even though they already had a lead.

Admittedly, she got better with time. She practiced with the others and though
she didn’t play on stage, she had reached a point where she could play next to
Maya, the lead flutist, and not be out-shined.

Nevertheless, that day Callie woke up with a weird feeling. She didn’t
understand why. “Today was going to be a normal day” she thought. She didn’t
think she had any upcoming projects or assignments that would require her to
speak up in class, she was sure that she didn’t have any match that day and she
was certain she would just stand back at the orchestra and let the others play
while she went unnoticed.

The only slight misstep in her routine was when she arrived late to the
performance that day. She had taken her time getting ready, unsuccessfully
trying to lift the obnoxious feeling she had been feeling for the whole day. And
as it turned out, she wasn’t the only person who wasn’t feeling well that day.

The first thing that set her off was the silence when she reached there. Granted
she was only four or five minutes late, but still, the orchestra didn’t waste time
and should have already started practicing. Then she got to the backstage and all
her fears were confirmed when she found Maya, laying on a sofa with her
friends trying to shoo people away from her to allow her space.

18
She didn’t get to dwell on that much longer, as Mr. Rowan, the orchestra
director, tapped on her shoulder.

“Callie,” he said with a firm voice, “Maya is not feeling well, she told us she
could handle it, but her collapsing on stage proves otherwise. I’m going to need
you to take her place.”

Callie’s heart stopped, she was certain she had misunderstood him.

“Wait, what?”

“You can do it.” he said in a softer voice. “I’ve been watching you for some
time, you play well, but you need to come out of your shell. The audience
shouldn’t scare you- the people don’t bite. We all believe in you and so should
you.”

She was about to protest but he turned and started walking away, pausing for
only a second to inform her she had ten minutes to get ready, leaving her to deal
with the emotional turmoil growing inside her. Her fingers trembled as she
reached for her instrument, hoping for some semblance of calm and peace as
she tried to rehearse last minute.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, she was nowhere near ready at all.

Ten minutes passed like one, and soon the stage manager was calling people to
get in position and murmurs of the settling audience could be heard in the room.
Callie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, Maya
smiled at her encouragingly and though it wasn’t much it helped in decreasing
Callie’s anxiety.

As she stepped onto the stage with her flute she had this feeling. Yes there was
still fear, but there was also renowned determination. As everyone settled in
their places and the lights dimmed, the curtains opened revealing thousands of
spectators. From parents who had come to watch their children perform to
strangers who had paid extra to come watch tonight’s show.

The lights dimmed, and for the first time in her life, she stepped into the
spotlight – leaving her fear behind with every step she took forward.

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~Like Callie with the help of people who are close to us, we can achieve great
things. Never forget—you are braver than you believe, stronger than you
appear, and wiser than you know.

Ineza Lirane, 9B

20
 The Last Signal
Deep in the Alaskan wilderness, cradled between towering pine trees and the
frozen jaws of glacial cliffs, lay the forgotten town of White Hollow. Once a
bustling mining settlement, it had long since been reduced to a hollow shell—
weather-beaten cabins, rusted tools frozen in time, and a silence so thick it felt
alive.

It had been off the grid for decades. Then, one day, the signal came.
A weak, fragmented transmission, barely a whisper, was picked up by a satellite
relay in Anchorage. It repeated the same phrase every four hours, like a
heartbeat buried beneath static:

“This is White Hollow. We’re still here. Help us.”

That was impossible. White Hollow had been abandoned since 1974. No
survivors. No signs of life. Only cold records and colder graves.
The government dismissed it as signal interference—maybe some pirate
transmission bleeding through. But I wasn’t convinced. My name is Emily
Carter, and I’ve built my career chasing the strange, the unexplainable.
Disappearances. Cold cases. Voices from nowhere. This felt different. It
crawled beneath my skin like a chill that wouldn't go away.

I packed light, booked a private pilot, and flew toward the coordinates buried in
the signal. The landing was rough—jagged ice and wind made the descent feel
like the sky itself was trying to spit us out. But I made it.

And I stepped into a silence so deep, it felt like the world had been muted. Even
the trees stood still, like they were listening.

The town looked untouched. The cabins were intact, though faded—like old
memories half-erased by time. No animals. No wind. Not even the sound of my
own footsteps seemed to echo. Just stillness, thick and heavy, as if the air itself
didn’t want to be disturbed.

Then my receiver picked it up again. Clearer now. Closer.

“This is White Hollow. We’re still here. Help us.”

The voice was male. Scratchy, like it had been dragged across sandpaper. But
the rhythm… it wasn’t right. The words didn’t flow naturally. It was as if
someone had stitched them together from different mouths.

That night, things began to fall apart.

21
My satellite phone went dead. The compass spun like it was chasing its own
tail. The drone I sent over the trees never returned—just vanished, as though the
sky had swallowed it.
At exactly 2:17 a.m., I heard footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate. Crunching in the snow around my tent. Once. Then again.
Then silence.
I held my breath, each second stretching like wire. When I finally unzipped the
tent and stepped out, my flashlight shook in my hand—but there was nothing.
No tracks. No movement. Just the town behind me, its shadow somehow darker
than it had been before.

The next day, I found the radio tower. A crooked skeleton of old technology,
somehow still breathing. The generator below it hummed softly—alive with
power—but there was no fuel tank. The metal was laced with frost, yet when I
touched it, it felt warm, like it had a pulse of its own.

As I leaned closer to the console, the speakers hissed to life.

“Emily… help us…”

I stumbled backward.

No one out here knew my name. I hadn’t spoken it, hadn’t transmitted a signal.
The static still buzzed in my ears, like it had burrowed into my skull.

In a panic, I began to document everything. I took photos, recorded audio,

scribbled notes. But the files began to fail. My voice was replaced by static. My
photos turned to darkness. My notebook filled with handwriting I didn’t
recognize. Words I never wrote. Symbols that made my skin crawl.

That evening, I climbed the old church tower, hoping to get a view beyond the
town. That’s when I saw it.
Flickers of light in the cabins. The soft, unnatural glow of lanterns. Curtains
shifting. Shadows passing behind windows. And then, voices—singing low,
almost tender. A lullaby I didn’t recognize, but somehow felt like I’d heard
before.

Drawn to it, I entered one of the houses.

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Inside, the air was warm. Wood crackled in a freshly lit fireplace. The furniture
looked new, untouched by time. It was as if the past had come back, wearing a
mask.
And on the wall were portraits. Modern. Full-color.

Faces I didn’t know.

Except one.
Mine.

There I was—standing among them. Wide-eyed, smiling like I belonged.

I ran. But the town had changed. The buildings stood straighter. The windows
glowed. It looked… alive again.

Then, the signal shifted once more.

“This is White Hollow. Emily’s here now. We’re still here. Help us.”

That was the last message I ever heard from the outside.

Now the days feel like echoes. The sun barely rises. The sky hangs still. The
people—if I can call them that—walk the streets silently. They nod, they smile.
But their eyes are hollow. Their faces don’t move quite right.
And sometimes, when the wind brushes the trees, I hear my own voice playing
on the tower:

“This is White Hollow. We’re still here. Help us.”

If you’re listening—don’t come.

You don’t find answers here.

Only silence that remembers your name.
Charité Igiraneza, 8A

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My Sweet Mother
Since the day I was small
Till the day I became tall
Since I began understanding things
Till the day I got my own wings

Your love has never fallen short

You have been my only support
I want to hold you tight and hug you
I just want to say thank you

Karma Parekh, 7C

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My Home
Places that feel like home away from home,
Are non- existent,
My home is unique,
It holds my memories,
And they are not fairies.

Home sweet home,

How I need you now!
Without you I feel cold,
But with around you,
I feel warm and safe.

From wanting to run away,

To never wanting to move out,
Ground breaking experiences! What a change!
When I feel empty and drained,
You make me feel alive,
My heart never felt fuller.

Home is not a place,

Home is the people around you,
The people that make life worth living,
You are blessed to have a home!
Deborah Tesi, 7A

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Family

Family isn't all about parents,

It's about the shared moments,
By blood or no blood,
We make sure each one of us is loved.

We are each other's completion,

As mom and dad ensure we keep our tradition,
We can we come together and have no loss,
Sharing the moments and keeping all the gloss.

Sis and bro, a bond kept forever,

As a family they are here ever,
They always stick together,
Holding together like birds of a feather.

With collaboration and adoration,

Our ancestors should be proud of their generation,
As a family we should stand as a firm foundation,
With the bonds of close relation.

Kenzie Uwase, 7B

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India My Country
India, my land of vibrant hues,
From mountains high to ocean blues,
A tapestry of cultures bright,
In mornings dawn and starry night.

Ganges flows with ancient grace,

A sacred river, a timeless embrace.
From bustling streets to quiet villages,
Whispers of history in all its stages.

Taj Mahal, a lover’s dream,

In moonlight's glow, it softly gleams.
A symbol of love, eternal and true.
A testament of hearts; me and you.

In Fields of gold where farmers toil,

A bond with earth, a sacred soil,
From spices rich to silken threads,
In every place a story spreads.

Dances of life in rhythm we swing,

From Kathak’s grace to Garba’s play,
Celebrations of colours, Diwali's light’
Holi’s splashes, a joyful sight.

Languages chorus in a melodic blend,

Unity in diversity we proudly defend,
From Hindi’s heart to Tamil’s song,
In every tongue, we’ve belonged.

Emerging skies of tech and dreams,

Innovation flows like vibrant streams,
Yet in our Roots we find our way,
Honouring past as we greet the Day.

India, my heart, a land of embrace.

In every smile a warm tender grace,
From deserts vast to forest deep,
In your arms, my spirit will keep.

A journey of souls together we rise,

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Under the vast embracing skies,
India, my country, forever you'll be,
The core of my heart my identity.

Popat Khushi, 7A

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Whispers in the Vending Machine
At midnight the cola signed,
A candy bar began to slide,
No one touched it, not a soul.
But something stirred inside the bowl.

The chips began a quiet chant,

The gum snapped back with both defiance,
A bag of pretzels tried to flee,
But hit the glass and whispered, “See?”

A red light blinked, the door unlatched,

A shadow crawled where gears were patched.
Next time you want a late night snack,
Just watch your back or don't come back.

Joelle Esme, 11A

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You Seem To Me Like Fire
You burn like fire- steady, bright,
A flame that dances through the night.
Not to destroy, but to inspire,
You warm the world with quiet fire.

Your courage roars, yet speaks with grace.

A lion’s hearts in a human face.
Even the mighty pose in awe,
You lead with strength not fear nor flaw.

You light the darkness, you calm the storm,

In every trial, your soul stays warm.
A force of nature fierce and true–
The world is brighter because of you.
Ramba Rainnah, 7C

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I am Rwanda
Born from hills that stretch over the land,
A body covered in green,
Wounds turned to seeds.

My blood is River Nyabarongo , Akagera.

Whispers of memories flow within me,
Yet I am not drowned by the past.
I carry it, yes, but I move on.

I have drowned in pain,

Bleeding fits once, now planting joy,
Into the sole of every child’s laughter.
Every grandmother's song floating on Kigali’s mornings.

My eyes reflect not war,

But work... strong hands that build and rebuild,
Until the skyline reaches the stars,
And the future opens in peace.

Listen well,
Every bird’s song promise,
Every step a prayer,
Every morning, a new page.

I am not just what happened,

I am what is happening,
And what it is to come.

Akeza Assiya, 9B

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In the Embers
The world froze, hearts grew cold,
And all kindness lost its hold.
But in the silence, a whisper stays,
A spark of hope in the dark days.

The skies went blank, the humour and laughter died,

And love vanished, like a sudden summer rain.

We built it strong, then let it fade away,

Forgetting the cost of what we did.

But it's still there, inside the pieces of broken lives,

Maybe the light we lost could find its way.
It's not too late to change the world
And shift our fate.

Hodali Katia and Paola Ethana, 7C

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The Clockmaker’s Sky.
In a village where the shadows hum,
And moonlight knots the thread of time,
A clockmaker carved out dawn from dusk,
With gears that tickled in silent rhyme.

He spun the clouds on silver spools,

And started stars with comet thread,
His hand worn by seasons’ rules,
Turned midnight blue to sunrise red.

He made a watch for every soul,

And set dreams they have not yet dreamed,
When they wore whole and whole,
Their lives became more than they seemed.

But no one knew the price of peace,

To wind the sky, he lost his name,
And so each hour he must release,
A part of him to feed the flame.

So if you find a gear in grass,

Or catch the scent of thunder's breath,
Remember that time does not just pass,
It walks with love and trades with death.

Nikita Eloge, 7C

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