Pixels & Pages

Calling all creative teens! Send us your best poetry, stories, and artwork! Accepted entries will be featured on this page, with a chance to be published in Pixels & Pages, our annual Teen Magazine! Submit your work at any MCPL location, or online at www.mcpl.us/teenzone/publishing.
NOVEMBER 19, 2012
Garfield the Cat

Add a comment  (1 comment) posted by Emily S.

Categories: Teen Publishing Project2012-13Visual Art

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NOVEMBER 19, 2012
The Pheasant

Add a comment  (1 comment) posted by Lorna S.

Categories: Teen Publishing Project2012-13Visual Art

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NOVEMBER 14, 2012
Froggy Phobia
Let me start out by saying that I Mandy Lyons have been afraid of frogs since the fourth grade. It all started when I was at my dads house sitting in front of our bonfire, barefoot, outside, in the middle of the night. I was tremendously thirsty, so I got up from my beige lawn chair and fearlessly made my way to our coolers by our house. When I got there I stuck my hand in the icy cold water, fished out my orange soda, and started back to my chair. I was almost back to my chair when I felt a cold, squishy, thing under my foot. That thing was a frog. Quickly I lifted up my foot, and the frog must have been more freaked than I was because it jumped right into the fire. Ever since I have been able to feel the gross squishy frog under my feet. To be honest I had not really thought about that day for a long time, until today when I was reminded how much Im scared of frogs.

Add a comment  (0 comments) posted by Mandelyn Lyons

Categories: Teen Publishing Project2012-13Short Story/Essay

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NOVEMBER 14, 2012
River's Song
Swiftly flowing over the rocks
the river sings to me
a song of sorrow,
a song of joy,
the cool swift currents,
tumble on it's way
it's crystal clear waters
carry the melodies of time
the gentle waves softly whisper
the river's song

Add a comment  (0 comments) posted by Olivia S.

Categories: Teen Publishing Project2012-13Poetry

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NOVEMBER 3, 2012
Sad Story
I walked to my room, trying to hold back the tiers till I closed the door behind me. I flung myself on the floor and started crying, trying to be quiet so no one would hear me. I looked up at my desk and saw a pair of scissors. I had done it many times before, so I picked it up and sliced my arm till I could see blood trickling out. I stared at my arm. It was filled with blood and the makeup, I had used to cover the scares, had washed away.
For years I had been cutting myself, purging, smoking, and not eating. My parents had split up three year ago and since then my life and family had been falling apart. No one in my family talks and my friends do not seem to care what happens to me. I was only a fourteen year old girl! I didn’t deserve to have that life. I should not have had to go through that. It was just not fair.
Just then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It was my mom. I ran into my bathroom and washed the blood off my arm and tried to cover the scars up as well as I could.
“Ally?” my mom called, knocking on the door. “I need to talk to you. Come down stairs.” I knew she knew something. Once finished in the bathroom, I walked down stairs. My mom was waiting for me at the table. She had my diary in her hands. My heart skipped a beat. She knew all my deepest darkest secrets. Never the less, I sat down next to her. She asked me my I was cutting myself, purging, smoking and not eating.
“I don’t do that anymore,” I lied. “I did it for a little while when you and dad separated, but I don’t anymore.” I’m not sure if she believed me, but just could not tell her the truth. Not then.
“I want you to go see a counselor,” she told me. I did not want to go see a counselor. I did not want to talk to a complete stranger about my problems. But I said I would go. I just did not fell like fighting anymore.
Monday morning I woke up and went to my counselor, came back home and went to work. I did this every Monday for months. It was not helping me at all but I kept going so everyone would think I was fine. But I wasn’t. I was still cutting; purging, smoking and I would skip meals.
After a while, I grew pale and weak. Then people knew something was wrong. My parents and pastor sat me down and told me I could not live like this anymore. They said I needed to go to rehab. Again, I said I would go.
The next afternoon I started packing. I was leaving in twenty four hours. I finished packing and zipped my bag. But I knew something was missing. Something that I use all the time and at the time I could not cope without it. I opened my desk door and took my knife out, put it in my bag and zipped it once again.
I walk down stairs were my family and a few friends were waiting for me. We said our goodbyes and I was off to St. Helena Recovery Center in Napa Valley, California. No one knew what was going to happen then. They just hoped everything would be okay.

Add a comment  (0 comments) posted by Annabeth D.

Categories: Teen Publishing Project2012-13Short Story/Essay

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NOVEMBER 3, 2012
Painter
She can paint a pretty picture, but this story has a twist.

Her brush is her razor and her canvass is her wrist.

Add a comment  (0 comments) posted by Carrington N.

Categories: 2012-13Teen Publishing ProjectPoetry

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