2026 Writing Contest Lam�r Public Libr�ry's Re�d the W�nning Entries
The Fog of Memory
LAMAR PUBLIC LIBRARY This Just In... The Lamar Public Library is pleased to announce the winners of the 2026 Writing Contest! Youth Short Story (11 and Under) Leah Moran Sanchez - Story about the wordless book, Brave Molly Youth Short Story (12 and Over) Aiden Pena-Fletcher - Beneath the Smog Youth Essay Andrei Alkin Sapiera Zarate - DNA Forensics Youth Poetry Azalea Zerilli - When I Become a Wildflower Adult Short Story Izza Ammar - I Was Walking Along Adult Poetry Gabrielle Buckner - Beautiful In My Eyes Adult Essay Magi DeLeon - The Invisible Work of Healing One Sentence Story Tevera Hesslink - Stretched Thin
Youth Short Story - 11 and Under Le�hMor�n Sanchez Story about the wordless book, Brave Molly
Short Story about wordless book Brave Molly Molly was drawing monsters. She sees them because she's afraid of them. She was reading a book in her room then she looked out her window and saw some kids walking around her house. Molly saw the kids sit down. She saw a monster she drew. She was shocked!. She threw away the monster drawing hoping the monster would disappear. Molly got her backpack and went for a walk. The kids she saw earlier were still there. The monster was looking at her while she was walking. The kids got up and walked away. The monster started following her. Molly saw a book on the bench. She didn't know who it was from, but then she remembered it could be from the kids that were sitting on the bench. She put the book in her backpack and the monster continued to walk behind her. The monster got closer to Molly, and Molly started running away. She looked behind her to see if the monster was still there. She hid inside a tree trunk to hide from the monster. She got silent. At the start she was happy because she thought she lost the monster. Then two monsters peeked inside the trunk. Molly screamed! She got out of the trunk as quickly as she could. When she ran more monsters appeared She ran, and ran, then she got tired. The monsters got faster. Molly climbed a tree to get away from the monsters. She climbed to the highest branch on the tree. The first monster started climbing the tree and Molly hopped down. The monsters started chasing after her. The monsters caught up to her. Molly had enough! She got really really mad. She yelled harshly at the monsters and they faded away. Molly was alone and happy she started walking away. The first monster appeared again. Molly looked behind her and saw the monster. She had an annoyed look on her face. As she continued walking with the monster trailing behind, she spied the boy that lost his book. Molly waved at the boy and said "hi". Molly and the boy opened the book and laid on the ground to read together. Molly's monster faded into the background and was happy that the monster wasn't there. The boy's friends arrived and joined them. The monster went to a corner and sat down sad and alone. From that day Molly wasn't scared of monsters anymore because she had friends that would help her not be scared of anything.
Aiden Pen - letcher Youth Short Story - 12 and Over Beneath the Smog
Beneath the Smog Prologue Rays of sun flooded the room, drowning out the darkness with exorbitant colors. In the light of the early morning, sweet smells from the adjacent bakers shop drifted through the kaleidoscopic windows, filling the small shop with the aroma of newly baked breads and pastries. The owner had not yet arrived—he was still in bed, subdued by the bleak charcoal sky he saw outside his window. He didn't yet know the sky was not bleak, but only the light moving through the moth dusted curtains of his antique room was. Back at his store, there lay shelves of the most wonderful magical things: Puzzles, dolls, realistic gold coins, flowing out of the handpainted and lively barrel in which they lay. Closer to the counter, a wealth of chocolate and nuts sat pristine, refilled for the day and thus far untouched by the small hands that would quickly take them. The light moved slowly up the shelving; each new row being revealed as if it had just plopped into existence, the sun creating wonders unbeknownst to even itself. Sitting quaint on the topmost of these shelves, was a modest and rather discarded looking bear. His name was Bear. Unlike most things on this planet that are intimate, he could think, understand, and even with time, love. He had seen many rises of the sun, for him it meant not the beginning of another mindless day, but a reminder of his neverending optimism and desires. It was a new day, a new chance to be loved. The owner came in later, the sun now having fully risen above the windows of the store front, bright light now coming through the skylight. He was an older fellow, the hairs on his beard and head had long ago turned grey, then fallen off. His skin wrinkled, finally falling to gravity, sinking back to the earth, slowly moving down. He had eyes that were once a bright ocean blue, finally completing their transition to a pale white as his skin now is from lack of outdoor activities. He had the same routine every day, whether the weather was cold or warm, it did not matter. Walk in, turn the lights on, get the register ready, open the doors for the first guests. And they came quickly after, hordes of people enjoying the gifts, purchasing the toys, finding joy in the lost memories of their childhoods. The day moved quickly, turning into weeks and months—the shopkeeper now had help and with that help the store grew bigger; expansions, remodels, and yet a small Bear remained on the top shelf of the shop, unnoticed, unseen. It was a brittle winter's day, as nonfantastical bleak charcoal sky sauntered across the gloomy town. The man who was dedicated to his work had come in early, to no avail as the store remained deathly quiet, the sound of the bakery next door closing up eerily loud. Then the chimes rang and a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties and a young child, excited to the brim walked in. "Hello, may I assist you in your shopping today?” The older man asked, his voice showing of age yet still excited as ever.
The woman looked around the shops slowly, an appraising look sweeping across her face. Her voice was almost velvet, smooth and composed. "We want—he wants a Teddy Bear.” The boy moved past the isles of new, shiny plastic toys, wandering around the store for a few minutes. He looked towards the man, almost as if asking if he knew where to find one. The man shook his head at first, then evidently remembering the old bear he pointed towards the highest shelf. "Look there.” He exclaimed. "I had practically forgotten about those old things, there still might be one.” He then took a ladder to reach the shelf, where Bear's heart, sewn together just as good as it was years ago—almost burst with excitement. The boy looked straight at Bear, and for once, Bear felt like he understood the gaze. It was not like the others, simply wandering past; not the sweeping glance of a parent nor the distracted eyes of someone looking for something cheaper. This was different. This was a kind of recognition he had never felt before. The boy turned to the woman, his mother, and said two simple words in the most professional tone he could muster. "That one.” The shopkeeper gently placed Bear in the boy's arms, and the boy held him in the only way that a boy can—completely. His mother quickly paid for Bear, not wasting a second to haggle before stepping outside. The bleak weather had not moved, but the boy did not seem to notice it under his new occupation. His name was Baron. He was six years old and had not yet learned that the world would ask hard and difficult things of him. Bear did not know this either, but he knew what he felt, which was something close to completion. They walked home through the cold together, Bear tucked under Baron's arm, and for the first time in a long time, neither of them were waiting anymore. The seasons moved the way they do when you are happy and in a state of enjoyment—quickly. Baron took Bear to school, the playground; everywhere. His mother was a warm woman who laughed easily, cooked loudly and smelled of oregano and soap. His father was tall and quiet, working late at the docks. They lived in a small house near the water in Greece and for a while, it was enough. Then came the news they were leaving. Baron did not fully understand what America had to offer or even what it meant, but he was sure as long as he had his family, he would be safe. The morning they left, the sky was the same bleak charcoal it always was when things changed. The port was loud with luggage and other families saying their goodbyes. Baron's father crouched down to his level and said something Baron would spend years trying to remember. Then he stood, shook his son's hand like a man, and walked back through the crowd without turning around. On the ship, Baron stood at the railing with Bear, watching Greece fade into the water, getting smaller and ever more insignificant. The water was enormous, grey and indifferent; harsher and calmer than anything Baron or Bear had ever seen before. Baron was holding Bear over the railing, not carelessly, only the way children hold things when trying to show them the world. The ship tilted slightly, waves rolling gently to the side of the deck, small, but large
enough. Baron's hand instinctively grabbed at the railing, trying to keep his own balance—throwing Bear into the murky cold waters below. Chapter 1: Mara Baron Baron walked through the empty halls of his school, the eerie silence following him down the hall. He walked past the finely curated lawns, fenced in yards and cut grass turning down to an older street. His mother and him had found home in a suburb in a rural area of Pennsylvania, an area where the most common job was in a field or factory. There were hardworking people everywhere, but yet, it didn't seem to stick to Baron. He turned into a desolate street; ferns and wild grass grew in abundance, houses had boarded windows and crumbling foundations. Many depressions had laid waste to countless families, to others such as Baron's, it provided an opportunity to start anew, to have a new beginning. He reached his home, a small one bedroom apartment in a decrepit building. The paint, once maroon, had dried up and fallen to the ground years before they arrived. A pile of peeled paint had formed at the steps of the complex, next to it, a hole where bunnies had made a home in cracked concrete. There were no balconies and the windowsills, formerly white, now were an unsightly black. As soon as he opened the door, his mother, Mara, was questioning him. "Where have you been? School ended nearly two hours ago and it usually only takes you half an hour to walk back.” Baron looked down and set his backpack on the floor. "You know, some teachers wanted me to stay in a bit late.” He mumbled quickly. Mara, sensing the tension, straightened her gaze and put her hands together. "Did you have to go to detention again?” She said quietly while raising her voice. Baron avoided eye contact and stared at the ground. "I didn't have a choice, they said they're going to make me go every week until I get my grades up.” "I thought your grades were fine.” Mara questioned again. "You did that extra study program just last month.”
"Well, I have a few assignments I didn't turn in.” Seeing the look on his mothers face he quickly added. "But they weren't, you know, big assignments, it's like a homework here and there.” "You are going to sit at that desk and you are not to get up until every assignment is complete and turned in.” Mara said decisively. "I have dealt with you whining and procrastination long enough.” "What's the point mom, we can't afford college anyways and most trade schools don't need my high school transcript.” Baron rebutted as he sat down. "I don't like school. That's the end of it.” His mom sat down next to him, delicately placing a hand on his shoulder. "I have worked too hard—we have worked too hard for you to give up now. We left our country so you have a chance to get ahead. You can't stop working, and we'll find a way to get you into a school. I think —” she broke off into a dry, hacking cough. "I need some water.” Baron sat down on his bed and looked around the cramped apartment. Just like the exterior of the building, the walls of the inside had paint flaking and falling off. The ceiling was lower than it should have been. When the building was built years ago, the workers had made many mistakes, the utmost of them being that one level was feet smaller than all the rest. From the inside, it looked only a little bizarre with the windowsills touching both the floor and ceiling. Baron looked around at the sad little place, admiring the beauty in the imperfection while also hoping that in his life he would be able to get something a bit better. His mother, still coughing, came out of the bathroom and sat on a chair, staring without soul at the low ceiling above them. “Baron. You know what I do is for your best interest.” Mara said while still looking at the blank popcorned ceiling. “You have to do good if you ever want to make it out of this place. You have to succeed. I want you to fail and get up again more than you know—but if you never get up, you keep falling deeper into your own despair. Do you hear me Baron?" Baron looked over at her, then looked toward the floor. “Yes. I hear you. I just wish it was easier, I wish things would go my way just once. Falling into line like a perfectly designed puzzle. You know?” Confused at the absence of a response, Baron turned around, looking to his mom, or where she had been. “Mom?” he asked again, this time confused why she would have run off so quickly. Standing up, Mara emerged in his view, pale white as a ghost, blood coming out of her mouth, lifelessly laying on the cold floors. Baron rushed over to her side, pushing her trying to get the only person in his life to see the stars again. “Mom, Mom, we have to get you up. We have to go, Mom, MOM no no no no no; NO.” He looked at her wide eyes, losing color by the minute and stroked his hand over her; maybe hoping that if she felt him enough, she would be able to come back. Maybe by some miracle she could survive. There was no funeral. Baron didn’t have enough money, nor did he want anyone else to be involved and ruin any moment of his mourning. He took her outside into the thick
Pennsylvania woods and dug until he hit far too many roots to continue. Baron stood there for the whole day, watching the sun make its ascent, then its descent. He wished that somehow, the day could rewind and he could have it back, yet the shadows kept growing and the light kept fleeing. When he could no longer stand by the tree he had planted, small seeds of a Maple, now a small green stem, he left. It had been a year. A year of doing everything by himself, a year of making sure he would have food on the table every night and clothes to put on during the day. The one thing that annoyed him above all else, was that no one knew she was gone. No one came to see why Mara had suddenly stopped coming to any of her three jobs, no one came to even ask. Baron never wanted to be that way. He wanted to do something in his life that everyone would care about, everyone would remember. Baron had tried to stay in school, he had tried to do what his mom wanted him to do—but he couldn't. This year would be his last year of school, he would never get his degree, he would work as many jobs as he could until he could move out of the dump he called home. Baron was walking around the town, there's not much to do for free in the middle of nowhere. He kept himself busy by turning down and up streets at random, trying to find things he hadn’t already found. Today, he was far away from where he lived, when a boy not much younger than himself came running out of a restaurant into the dimly lit alley. Quickly after, an older man came running out of the restaurant, evidently following the boy. “YOU get back here boy.” The old man screamed. “You get back this instant.” He yelled while shaking his fists. Baron turned, perhaps ready to chase after the boy when he slipped on a loose paper that had stuck itself to the alley floor, falling on his face and cutting up his lips. “Imbaciels” The store owner muttered as he slammed the screen down and headed back into his restaurant. Baron put his hand up on the bloody spot that had once been his lip. It was ugly, definitely leaving a large scar. Then, he looked down at the flier that he had slipped on. JOIN THE NAVY TODAY! SERVICE FOR FIGHTING MEN. Baron stared at the poster for a long time, far after the sun had set. He now knew what he wanted to do, he would join the Navy. Chapter 2: Forgotten Bear Bear stared into the dark murky waters. Back at the toy store, he had hope. Here, he did not. Years of sitting and waiting had broken him, broken his soul, broken his will. The dust had settled over his body long ago, preserving it in deep mud. Only his head remained unburied in the muck, leaving just enough room for him to see the gentle streams of light reaching down towards the ocean floor where he lay. He felt disappointed, as one would be expected to feel after such a sudden shift in life; more than this, he felt angry, why would the world have tossed him away in such a manner—why would he even care anymore? This is what he felt for what seemed to be eons, and for a while, he thought his life, if you can call it that, was over.
It was a day very much like the one earlier, and every day before that. Bear was stuck in the mud, and though the sediment had built up more layers; he was still there. A shadow of an object swiftly interrupted the day, blocking out what little light Bear had, making him temporarily unable to see. A large object was being lowered down, almost in the shape of an upside down T, it was closer, closer, closer, down. It had interrupted the grime that filled the seabed, pushing debris up into the water, throwing tranquility into dismay. Bear hoped again for the first time in years. Hoped that this was a sign that this would be his opportunity to live his life to completion. The iron object stayed for many minutes, then hours. Bear was starting to lose any of the hope he had gained. Then it started to move again. In one sweeping movement, it pushed towards Bear and pulled him to the surface to start his new life. Bear rose quickly with the anchor he could now see. The light bleeding through the water seemed to get brighter, or maybe he was getting closer to the surface. His heart, made of fluff and small threads of plastic, almost burst as he hoped his dream was finally coming true. Nearing the top of the water, the surface was close and only getting closer. He was only inches away when the anchor gave a sudden jerk, and Bear slipped off the anchor and into the water once again. If Bear had had tears to give, he would've filled the continents with them, drowning that anchor and the world which had wronged him. Just as he looked at the sun for what he thought would be the final time, a muscular hand reached down towards him and pulled him up into the open expanse that was the wide world. Bear looked around in wonder. The man who had grabbed hold of him was around six feet tall with a mahogany beard that twirled at the end. He was strong, and had eyes that matched the kelp in the sea below, of which Bear was all too familiar. His voice was raspy, deep and accented beyond his years. He added twang to the letter's, turning the inside out and upside down. "Deep the waters are eh? Murky green can hide sins. Yo gotta be mo' careful.” He said while chewing a piece of what appeared to be a vegetable and showering Bear with his breath, of which —Bear was not all that pleased. But Bear was free, he was in the open ocean feeling the open air above the open waves. He had yearned for this time, this moment for years—and now, it was here. The man, while humming an old rustic tune, set Bear into a small crate next to the keel of the boat. As far as boats go, this was not super big but at the same time not miniscule. It had enough space for a party of people, maybe a dozen and had a small crew of hired fishers. It was newly painted on the outside, with large black letters spelling out its name, L'appuntamento Viaggio. Bear did not know these letters or what they meant, nor could he see them. The man on the boat knew though, for he had lived his whole life aboard the Rendezvous Journey. Bear could not typically fall asleep, it was unnecessary as he did not need to rest his body; however ,in that crate, above those southing waves, he could only but succumb to some much needed soft, gentle rest.
When he awoke, the box he was in, his box, was being unloaded from the boat. He felt the shaking from the slightly not strong enough muscles, then the fall, dropping him and the box down towards the earth. When the box hit the ground, it shattered open, personal belongings and treasures spreading out and going everywhere. A locket got caught around Bear's throat and started to cut through his delicate and already worn down fur. Just as decapitation was becoming a possibility, the bearded man ran over towards Bear to save him. "Lad, not leaving me that early. My little lady's going to have all the tea you want.” He said with a grin as he picked Bear up and brushed him off. "Going home now we are.” He walked with Bear for many miles along the coast. This coast was cold, not like the one in Greece, where there were beaches as far as the eye could see; but with rocky shorelands, boulders and steep cliffs. He held Bear delicately throughout the whole walk, never once dropping or disregarding him. The path grew steeper, and as they ascended, a heavy fog started to fill the air. Bear did not know where they were going anymore, he couldn't see his own feet and wasn't in a position to understand how the man knew where he was going, but he did—and Bear trusted him. They reached a fence after another few minutes of this trek. It was once white, but now those times are long gone; the fence now resembles a zebra with its assortment of colors, all in rows and columns, a chaos in the beauty. There was a small house within the fence, the yard, if it is to be called that, was not a yard, but just a continuation of the natural hill landscape. Fog seemed to reel at the sight of the house, staying just outside the perimeter of the yard; every now and then, a wisp feels like it is the one that will be able to get in, moving to the wretched house but inevitably failing to uncertainty and falling outward. The house itself was nothing of a masterpiece, it was, however, a delightful looking cottage, with stone walls and old doors, it felt as if it could be the farm from hundreds of years ago and the prison in a hundred more. There was a small porch in the back, barely visible from the side angle at which the duo was walking towards it; the rest of the place was a square. When the man opened the door, a woman greeted him quickly running up towards him and giving him a gargantuan kiss on the cheek. "Thank goodness your home. I prayed that you would make it back alive.” She was a rather plump woman with short brunette hair and a long peacock dress, and she radiated joy and a sense of crazy calm. When she first saw Bear, she looked surprised, "Oh, and may I ask what that is?” She said while pointing at Bear. "It's a gift for Embala,” said the Mahogany man. "Have you really forgotten about her birthday so soon?” "Well, I'm sorry to say, but you haven't been there the past few years, so what should I have expected to change?” Replied the Woman. Getting quieter, she changed the atmosphere of the room entirely. She enunciated each and every word, drawing out the importance they brought. "I, have, waited, three, years. Three years I waited for you to get home after the treacherous ship took you away, and now I find you here, as if you were here just yesterday. If it
wasn't for our daughter, I would have moved on by now.” She said, weight lifting off her shoulders with every word, every sentence that she had perfected in years of preparation. “But you still love me,” said the man quietly. “Try as you might, you still care.” The woman towards his bag. Then, speaking quietly, she said, “What’s in the bag?” “Just a few things from my journey.” The mahogany man said a little too quickly. “Nothing to bother you with.” “Well, I’m sure I won’t mind,” said the woman sweetly. “After all, you've been so generous as to leave me THREE YEARS BY MYSELF. I think I can handle whatever’s in there.” The mahogany man slowly picked up the bag and opened it. Inside was a plethora of bottles, cans, and the smell of sweet fermented alcohol. The woman thrust the bag back towards him too quickly, the bottles rolling out of the open bag and clashing in contact with the floor. “YOU WOULD COME BACK HERE?” The woman said, now engulfed in fury and moving towards the man as he hurriedly moved back towards the threshold where the door lay open. In his rushed steps, he, for a moment, tripped on his own shoes, falling down and dropping Bear in the process. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!” The woman was now sobbing in between screams. “Please, please, just let me see Embala.” The man begged; now, outside on the floor, after his legs had refused to lift him up. The woman's face was now stone cold, locked on the mahogany man, no remorse left. Her voice contrasted her face when she was able to finally muster words; a slow and quiet tone. “You have done enough. You have not earned the right to see your son. You should never come back.” Her voice now below a whisper and drowned out by the roaring wind and cold outside, stopped as she shut the door. She sunk down to the floor, sitting on the cold hard floor; grounded in her fears and tears. She put her head in her hands, letting the cold tears fall through her unfurled fingers. An hour passed, then another. Still, she did not dare yet show her eyes to the colors of the world outside. At last she turned to the side, finding Bear lying on the ground with her, every second of her wait. “Oh my, what are you doing here?” She murmured as she picked him up. “A bit dusty aren't you? Embala will surely love everything about this gift.” She walked into the one and only other room in the house, a nursery of sorts. There, lying peacefully on the ground, sat a 5 year old girl; beautiful as one could be and with eyes filled with the cold ocean which she was raised above. Her face was still innocent, a certain uncertainty settling on her expression each of the passing moments. More than anything though, her eyes carried with them, like her father, a sense of speculation, wonder. She grabbed up for the Bear, the first thing she saw as her mother entered the room. “Mommy, was daddy here? Why does he leave the Bear?” She said loudly, speaking as if she wanted the whole wide world to listen; no concern for privacy or secrecy.
“Yes.” She paused for a moment, thinking of some way to explain or not explain to her child what had happened. “He left. That’s all.” “Oh. Why does he leave the Bear?” She asked again; playing with the Bear in both hands now, moving the arms and pushing the fur here and there, moving it all around. “Oh, I get it now. He leave the Bear here for Me!” Answering her own question. Her mother nodded quietly and stepped out of the room. Bear was not in the slightest confused. He knew what had happened and he knew where he lived now. Embala looked at him questioningly. “So, are you a tea bear or a fashion bear? You know what, we will just do both!” Years of happy and fun days passed as Bear and Embala lived together, worked together, and in the scarcity of things to do up on the cliff where they lived, talked to each other—or rather Embala talked to Bear. Embala was not treated to a traditional education nor was she allowed to leave the property much in her youth. Her mother, desperate to get some more money to be able to afford Embala a better lifestyle, worked odd jobs and long hours, leaving Embala at home and at times, very lonely. As the years went by her lifestyle changed; old interests swayed and fell, giving room to new hobbies and passions. Bear found himself in a longing memory of days far past, days when they would play for hours and hours. Then, Bear found himself in a box. He did not know why he was there. Bear had long been tucked in the overflowing closet, ecstatic to see the sunlight just once a year. Then, the mother, now growing older as time caught up with her, put him in a large box and brought him to what sounded like a market. Bear looked through the holes in the box, desperately trying to see where he was being taken, getting more frantic by the second. Then, the box moved hands, a new man took hold of it, and off the mother went, off the memories left.
Greece, but lacked the gentle grace, the power it held while holding a higher respect. The furnace was just a hungry, hot, angry heat that consumed his youth. He was haunted by the Bear. It wasn’t just a toy; it was the last witness to his fathers face and the wealth of chocolate and nuts from the shop in England. The Bear had been there on the boat when the world was still a perfectly designed puzzle. Every time Baron closed his eyes, he saw the Bear falling; a tiny shape disappearing into the murky cold wake of the ship. He realised that when he dropped the bear, he had dropped his ability to hope. He had spent years since trying to catch things—his mother’s health, a steady paycheck—but everything slipped through his fingers like the water underneath the boat on that eventful day. He remembered the feel of the bear’s fur, which had once been pristine and soft, a stark contrast to the rough burlap sacks and cold iron he handled daily. He lived in a room that smelled of oregano and soap, a desperate attempt to mimic his mother’s scent, but the smell only served to remind him of the certain uncertainty of his future. The degree his mother had begged for felt like a cruel joke when he couldn’t even afford a blanket to cover himself at night. Instead, he spent his evenings walking the desolate streets where the wild grass grew through the cracked concrete. He watched the other men at the factory, men who had surrendered to the charcoal grey sky decades ago and he felt the cold terror that he was becoming one of them. Their faces were etched with the same subdued lines of fatigue that he saw in his own reflection when he went to wash his face in water. He became obsessed with the idea of return. Not to Greece, but to the person he was before the boat. On his days off, he would trek miles into the rural outskirts, guided by a ghost memory of the woods where he had buried his mother. He felt that if he could find a single piece of his past that hadn’t been destroyed by the bleak sky, he might survive. He walked with a never-ending optimism that was at odds with his tired eyes, searching the ditches and the overgrowth for a sign. He began to look for things that are intimate in a world where things felt lost or entirely discarded. He would find a lost button or a rusted key and wonder if it belonged to someone who was as lost as he was. The seasons blended together in a haze of gray. The winter was a murky cold that seeped into his bones, making the factory floor feel like the deck of a frozen ship. He would stand by the vats of of molten steel, letting the rays of sun from the high, dirty windows hit his face for a fleeing second, imagining they were the kaleidoscopic lights of that English toy shop He remembered how the sun had moved slowly up the shelving back then, revealing a world of possibilities. Now, the sun only revealed the dust mites dancing in a dying room. He felt a deep aching desire to be loved again, not as a provider or laborer, but as the boy who once held a bear and felt the world as magical. As he walked the cracked asphalt road toward the rural edge of the county, the charcoal sky finally began to break, letting in a few sharp rays of gold. He passed a fire hydrant, nearly hidden by the overgrown plants and the years of neglect. He didn’t see anything yet, only feeling a peace before a large storm. The world seemed to hold its breath, Every step he took away from the factory and the apartment felt like a layer of grease was being washed from his skin. He
reached the area where the wild grass grew tallest, where the "modest and rather discarded" things of the world usually ended up. He wasn't just walking; he was hunting for his own soul. He just kept walking, a man looking for a boy, and a boy looking for a bear. Chapter 4: Trash Bear Bear had felt this before. He remembered the day that the mahogany man had picked him up out of the sea and taken him on a boat. He remembered being in that box, so happy to be leaving the depths of the sea at last; no worry about his future or where he was being taken. This was different. He was lonely now. Bear had always thought that someday Embala would wake up and realize the moments she had missed with him by hiding him away in that closet for all those years. That they could go back to spending every day and every moment of their free time
together. But that never happened. Now he was alone and afraid on a boat thousands of miles away from everything he had ever known. He didn’t know how people could be so cruel, so inconsiderate. The rolling of the waves made Bear nauseous, homesick while remembering the ups and downs of his past relationships. Bear looked through a crack in his crate, looking beyond his small cell into the wide world outside. There was a man walking around the sides of the big ship, a large beard sprouted from his mouth, cascading down to his pants. He walked around the ship once a day, every day, for weeks. It seemed so impossible to Bear how someone could have such a boring job, commit themselves to such a boring occupation. Bear was reminded of the Mahogany man though, one who had an eerie representation of the man before him now. The boat was not small. It was a large freight ship, thousands and thousands of crates and boxes, storage containers and wooden cases. It had a large metallic hull and was painted a bright red; the vibrant color radiating into the ocean below, turning it to the color of blood. Every day as Bear looked out of the small hole he had been gifted by the grace of god, he saw only the demotivating and depressing sea of death. After weeks of this uncanny voyage, Bear finally saw land outside. There were birds circling above as the water turned to a polluted green that made Bear reminiscent of the blue he was used to. There was a large industrial port, columns of brick and smockstack lining the horizon as far as the eye could see—everywhere. People seemed rushed, running in every direction, moving every which way as if attempting to find something they had lost long ago, something that they missed very dearly; with purpose. Bear enjoyed the new atmosphere very little. It was sad compared to the cliff house in which he had spent years of his life. But, it was better than being forgotten in a closet. Maybe he would find another kid that could become his owner, maybe he could start his third life. Bear started to wonder how many lives he had, he had already gone through two, Baron and Embala. Oh Baron; it had been so long since Bear thought of Baron. Bear remembered on that dock, the last time he was with Baron, when his father leaned close and said those powerful farewell words. Bear remembered every minute of that final day, how different his life would have been if Baron hadn’t been so careless, if the boat didn’t tip. Bear's thoughts were interrupted as the crate he was in was violently lifted off of the ground and into the sky. Bear had never known what he was afraid of, it’s hard as a Bear when you can move or talk; see what you enjoy and don’t enjoy doing. At this moment, Bear knew he was scared of heights. If he had had human hands, they would be pale with their nails digging into the sides of the crate. Luckily, this flight did not last long; the crate was soon set on the ground and the faint shadows of shapes started moving faster outside. CRACK, the side of the crate flew off as a man used a long crowbar to split the wood. The next few minutes were interesting, the items in the container got sorted into a few different piles. Bear, being older and used, was put in a pile with some random buttons and pieces of fabric. Bear hoped that this was the pile that would be reused, given new life, reutilized with someone that they could make happy. Bear sat in the back of the trash truck, devastated. This was the end of his life. This was the end of the line. He had nothing left to offer the humans and so he was being discarded. He
would live the rest of his pitiful existence in a trash dump, surrounded by the other things that humanity no longer had a need for. Just as these sad thoughts were racing through Bear's head, just as the boat had tipped, the garbage truck hit what could only appear to be a pothole in the road, sending Bear and some other bags of trash flying out of the truck. The driver, seeing this, stopped the truck and picked up the fallen trash bags. Bear lie near a fire hydrant, hidden by the object, missed by the truck driver's sweep for the fallen trash. Bear couldn't believe his luck, maybe he would live to survive another day. It had been years. The area around where Bear lay had become overground with plants in the absence of regular maintenance. Bear had a lovely ant colony lying next to him, the ants it seemed, didn’t want to eat Bear, though Bear would’ve preferred if they did.
Chapter 3: Spirit Baron The transition from the salt spray of the Mediterranean to the soot stained skies of Pennsylvania was a slow death of Baron's spirit. After his mother succumbed to the horrible disease, Baron found himself standing on the edge of a life he didn’t recognize. He was eighteen, a high school dropout, with eyes that matched the kelp and hands that had forgotten the touch of anything soft. The apartment they had shared felt larger than it had when Mara was alive, yet the air was thinner. The peeling paint and the low, bizarre ceilings were no longer quirks of a sad little place, they were now the boundaries of a cage. Baron had gone to the Navy to attempt to join, in doing so finding that his eyes were not up the Navy's standards. Instead of the navy, Baron was forced to descend into the very life his mother had feared for him; mindless, grinding, tiresome labor. He took a job at the local factory, a place where the smokestacks lined the horizon like the bars of a cell. The work was a rhythmic torture of clashing metal and steam, a clashing contact that left his ears ringing hours after he had left the factory. Baron’s hand grew calloused and stained with the grease of machines. He spoke to no one. The whole day, he would nod or shake his head, still devastated by the death of his mother. He became the tall and quiet figure that his father had once been at the docks, but without the quiet dignity. He was just a ghost in a blue collar uniform, moving through the bleak charcoal smoke of the industrial graveyard. The heat of the furnaces reminded him of the sun in
Epilogue The sun moved slowly across the sky, casting a long familiar shadow over a rusted fire hydrant and a tangle of wild grass. Baron walked towards the edge of the county, his eyes tired but his heart still hunting for a piece of himself he had dropped into the ocean a lifetime ago. He stopped, his boot brushing against something that didn’t feel like stone or root. He knelt in the dirt, his calloused, grease stained hands trembling as he reached into the overgrowth. There, tucked against the iron hydrant, was a modest and rather disregarded looking Bear. His fur was no longer pristine and his heart was weary from eons of waiting but as those kelp green eyes, now faded like the man's own, looked up, Bear felt a jolt of recognition. Baron picked him up, holding him the only way that a man can when he has finally found what he has lost—completely. He brushed the dust from the bear's ears and for the first time since the ship tilted, the charcoal sky didn’t look so bleak. As he held the bear close, the words his father had whispered at the port finally flooded back, clear and resonant. His father had leaned in and said: “Carry the home we made in our heart, Baron. As long as you hold onto what you love, you can never truly be lost.” Baron whispered the words aloud into the quiet Pennsylvania air. Under the warmth of the sun, the puzzle was finally designed perfectly. Neither of them were waiting anymore.
Youth Essay Andrei Alkin Sapier� Zar�te DNA Forensics The Unshakeable Scientific Foundation of Philippine Justice
DNA Forensics In a world where the innocent are falsely accused and the search for truth is often clouded by human error, can a single, invisible molecule be the ultimate voice of justice? This is the incredible reality of DNA Forensics. Simply put, DNA or Deoxyribonucleic Acid is like a unique “Blueprint” found inside every cell of our bodies. No two people (except identical twins) have the same Blueprint. Forensic science is the art of reading these tiny DNA to identify people with near-perfect accuracy. It can verify who was at a crime scene, identify victims of natural disasters such as typhoons, validate the testimony of witnesses or even prove that someone has wrongly been accused of a crime they didn’t commit. As the Philippines progress through the next years, we can't deny that our country needs to integrate a more modern justice system. DNA forensics should no longer be just a "fancy high-tech fantasy” we only see in TV shows, we should treat it as a real-world necessity. Currently, our country faces challenges with slow court cases and the difficulty of identifying victims after major typhoons. My vision for the next five years is to see DNA science become a standard, everyday tool for Filipino, from the courtrooms of Manila to the furthest provinces. This means building more laboratories outside of Metro Manila so that provinces have the same access to truth. And it means creating a secure and ethical national database that helps police solve cold cases in just days rather than decades. To turn this vision into reality, the first step is to bridge the geographical gap that currently hinders our justice system. For too long, forensic expertise has been focused in Metro Manila, leaving our distant provinces to rely on traditional, and often slower, investigation methods. In the next five years, we must prioritize the decentralization of DNA laboratories across Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao. By establishing regional forensic labs, we can drastically reduce the "turnaround time" for evidence processing, shifting from months of waiting to mere days. This accessibility is especially critical for a disaster-prone country like ours; when the next major typhoon strikes or another earthquake rumbles, regional labs would allow for rapid identification of affected people, providing immediate closure to grieving families. Expanding our reach to distant provinces ensures that a Filipino in a remote town has the same access to scientific truth as someone in the capital, effectively democratizing justice through biology. While physical laboratories provide the necessary foundation, the true power of genetic science lies in its digital integration through a unified national registry. Throughout this upcoming years, the Philippines must transition from fragmented record-keeping to a sophisticated, interconnected system that allows for the seamless matching of biological profiles across the entire archipelago. Such an evolution would serve as a catalyst for settling unresolved inquiries, like incidents where a single piece of evidence from a decade ago could finally be linked to a modern entry, transforming a long-standing mystery into a closed investigation in a drastically shortened timeframe. However, as we embrace this high-tech frontier, we must also champion the cause of biometric privacy. It is essential that our forensic growth aligns strictly with the Data Privacy Act of 2012, also known as Republic Act No. 10173, ensuring that genetic data is treated as a sacred trust rather than a public commodity. By implementing robust
encryption and clear legal boundaries, we can build a system that prioritizes moral integrity alongside technical progress. In this vision, DNA science acts as a dual-purpose guardian, it provides the country with the precision needed to uphold the rule of law, while simultaneously serving as an unshakeable shield that protects the innocent from the shadow of wrongful conviction. Beyond the physical labs and digital databases, the success of this vision will still depend on us humans, such as the scientists, legal professionals, and the Filipino public. We must invest in specialized training for our local investigators and forensic biologists to ensure that evidence collection at a crime scene is handled with the highest international standards, preventing contamination before it even reaches the lab. Simultaneously, our judicial system must evolve, judges and lawyers should have a deeper understanding of science literacy to effectively interpret DNA results in the courtroom, moving away from a reliance on often unreliable eyewitness accounts. Perhaps most importantly, we should foster public trust through transparency. By launching educational campaigns that explain how DNA works and how it is protected under the law, we can shift the national perspective from seeing forensics as a "foreign luxury" or “high-tech fantasy” to seeing it as an important tool. When the average Filipino understands that their genetic data is a secure tool for their own protection, we bridge the final gap between high-tech science and grassroots justice. The roadmap for this upcoming half-decade is clear as day, we must transcend the limitations of the past by decentralizing our expertise, fortifying our digital infrastructure and empowering our people through forensic education. By bringing sophisticated forensic capabilities to our farthest regional hubs and establishing a secure national registry protected by the Data Privacy Act of 2012 (Republic Act No. 10173), we not only modernize a legal system; we will restore the Filipino people’s faith in the pursuit of truth. This vision demands a future where a person’s location or economic status never dictates their access to high-tech material, ensuring that science remains an unshakeable guardian of human rights for every citizen, regardless of their standing in society. As we bridge the gap between advanced genetic research and the practical needs of our justice system, we are creating a legacy where evidence is no longer a matter of opinion, but a matter of biological fact. We are moving towards a period where the testimony of a single cell can speak louder than any false accusation, providing a definitive answer to the families of the missing and a shield to the wrongly accused. Through the synergy of innovation and integrity, we are no longer just observing the passage of time; we are architecting a nation where the very blueprint of life becomes “The Unshakeable Scientific Foundation of Philippine Justice”.
Youth Poetry Az le Zeri l When I Become a Wildflower
When I become a wildflower When I go I wish to be buried among the wildflowers I want them to graze my ankles and dust me with pollen ‘till the bees think that I too am a rose Let the yellow color of my hair and the green of my eyes become the only thing that brightens this world I want to be the flower that is too pretty to pick Just stands there in the wind The one that nobody can snip Because beauty is temporary once it’s taken from its roots Bury me with flowers that can take me as their own Whispering sweet honey into my hollow mind As I drift in and out of their fields Let that be my afterlife Let nobody find me and scream Let nobody cry for my absence, only the feeling something is gone Then, then I will be a wildflower But first you have to let me go Because the both of us know Only the prettiest flowers are allowed to have thorns
Adult Short Story I z Amm r I Was Walking Along
104 I Was Walking Along I was walking along the corridor of my office, my glasses set firmly on my nose and my pace simple and unhurried. I skimmed through the files I had been given for the zillionth time, but they remained empty—or with minimum content—every time I looked. I don't know how no one can diagnose it, or why they can't do so. I don't think any psychological problem can be so vast that it remains undiscovered and undiagnosable. Some psychologists say she never spoke in their presence; some say she spoke too much, but they could not pinpoint what the problem was. In the end, at the Vance Laboratory of Developmental Psychology in Veridia City, the case fell into my hands simply because it was too complicated for them. They likely thought that, as a mediocre psychologist, I would be happy giving my time to this unsolvable case—or that I would simply stay busy handling it since I have no others. In my case, the latter seems like the most likely reason. Not to mention, this is the first time they have ever given me any patient to deal with. The most common thing in a psychiatrist's life is that patients rarely tell the truth immediately. They lie to protect themselves, or they simply don't have the words to describe the pain. A psychiatrist's life is a constant game of "Connecting the Dots." We are looking for the one word that doesn't fit, the one gesture that contradicts a story, or the "burst of flavor" in a bland sentence. I have been sitting idly, thinking about this case a lot. Why couldn't anyone diagnose it? What has happened that turned her into such a mystery? Why are these diagnostic reports so empty? I was supposed to see her yesterday, but I had to move the appointment one day later because of the questions clogging my mind. If my own mind wasn't empty, I wouldn't be able to truly listen to her. A psychiatrist's mind should be void of its own thoughts; we should just listen to the patient's story and try to diagnose what the problem is. I turned the corner of the corridor, reaching the section of psychological wards and doctors' offices. Mine is in the same area, but at the very end of the hall. I quickened my pace to reach my door. There it was: Dr. Aris Varma. The nameplate was shining, as always. Although it may not shine in two hours, if this case doesn't work_if I am unable to uncover whatever is wrong with her. Elara June. That is her name. She is an unmarried woman in her 20s who finds it hard to settle down or find any peace because of the thoughts that keep her awake at night. She has cycled through many doctors, eventually landing at our clinic because of its high-stakes reputation. She just wants to feel "normal"—or, at least, that's what her previous diagnostic reports claim. I took a deep breath and opened the door. I walked towards my recliner and sat down calmly, intentionally not looking at the woman on the sofa in front of me. The first thing I noticed was her fidgeting; she was nervous. I placed the file on the glass table, then got up to light a lavender-scented candle on my desk. It relaxes patients. If she is nervous, she might not tell me her whole story, or she might try to change it to keep me from seeing the dark parts. She needed to relax.
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTIxNjAyMw==