Creative writing

What Are World Problems Without Romance Books?

Audrey E., journalist

The amorous words I can not fathom

Layers upon layers of the riddle I cleave to

I need to know more, that fact is a datum

If I could, I would, say my adieus.

The scent of aged paper is all the more enticing

But a paper awaits me, oh my solitude

Yet procrastination invites me and my heart says I do.

I should leave, dare I try

As sundown shall fall swiftly

And the lurking darkness is not a place I’d beg to stay

And the nagging of parents is not what I’d like to obey

Will they find me? Oh nei

For the library, I shall remain

As these books are my escape

And I can not wait

For my Prince Charming, oh the day!

Does Love Exist

Katherine M., journalist

What is Love?


Is love merely selfishness in disguise?

That’s what the cynics surmise.

Or is love unexpected, like a surprise?

Can we see it in each other’s eyes?


Is love just infatuation,

filled with “ooh”s, “ah”s, and sighs?

Does love only last until we win the prize?


Is love just a chase?

Because then love is a disgrace.


Will competition ever cease to exist?

Can it really be halted with true love’s kiss?

Can we truly help someone who’s not an extension of ourselves?

Or are we all just surviving, letting “love” only exist on bookshelves?

Library Nightmare

Katherine M., journalist

The scratches of hurried scribbling and the whirr of new printers accompanied by hushed voices comprise the ambiance of the library. Sometimes an occasional giggle of a free-spirited toddler, or a muffled sound of a police siren in the distance disrupts the peace, but peace soon returns, even more appreciated than before. Fresh oak bookshelves patiently wait for inquisitive minds to take interest in a book. They stand in line with the other bookshelves, proud and tall, knowing that their books are the best. The rhythm of the library’s noise is almost circular: First, a mouse goes “click, click”. Second, somebody’s footsteps quietly resound off of the carpeted floor, the subtle noise becoming undetectable as they stroll away. Third, a scholar or a student flips a page of their textbook. Then, “click, click”. 

The calming predictability of a library makes it the ideal studying center. However, when the peace is disrupted, a library becomes a madhouse. 

A group of burnt-out high-school seniors loudly cackle about inside-jokes and subjectively annoying teachers. “HAHA! HAHAHA!” They scream, ostensibly oblivious to the studiers nearby. A subtle, anxious pain grips my heart– Should I stay and bear the noise, or should I risk seeming rude and walk away? And if I walk away, will I even find a spot, or will I have to tiptoe back to my original spot, hoping the chortling teens did not notice my ungraceful exit? No, no, I’ll just stay. Maybe they’ll stop. Surely, they will stop. I inhale the fresh, filtered air, and try to re-focus on precalculus. “HAHAHA!! OH MY GOSH – HAHA!” I google my location. Perhaps I stumbled into a gymnasium by accident. The screen refreshes and confirms my fears; I’m in the library, but not the library I know and love. I turn my head towards the seniors, hoping they’ll get the hint. They don’t even notice. Instead, they get louder. Their voices continue to drown out the library’s ambiance, and 30 minutes later, the only work I complete is a single math problem.