December 3, 2008
2008 - R.L. Stine - age 17
In 2008, I did a biography on R.L. Stine for the SDHL homeschooler's annual Biography Fair. Here's some pictures of my board!
November 4, 2008
2007 - Agatha Christie - age 16
In 2007, I did a biography on Agatha Christie (one of my favourite authors) for the SDHL homeschooler's annual Biography Fair. Here's some pictures of my board!
2006 - Carmen Miranda - age 14
In 2006, I did a biography on Carmen Miranda for my homeschooling group's annual Biography Fair. Here's some pictures.
2004 - Annie Sullivan - age 13
In 2004, I did a biography on Annie Sullivan for my homeschooling group's annual Biography Fair. Here are some pictures!
2004 - Queen Isabella - age 12
A few years ago, in 2004, I did a biography on Queen Isabella of Spain for my homeschooling group's annual Biography Fair. Here's some pics.
Black Eyes
Coquitlam Public Library Scary Story Contest, sponsored by the Tri-City News - First place in the 15 to 18 year old category
http://www.bclocalnews.com/tri_city_maple_ridge/tricitynews/community/33268784.html
With one hand on the yellowed brass knob and another on the rough wooden frame, I hurled into the door.
To my dismay, it opened.
I glanced back to where my friends waited impatiently on the old farm road. A dare was a dare and I had to make it to the attic.
After a small, shaky breath, I trembled forward. Light was sparse, coming only from the doorway and jagged patterns through holes in the nailed up windows. It smelled musty, fitting for a place uninhabited for over half a century. I could barely distinguish various shapes of furniture and paintings shrouded by heavy blankets coated with a thick layer of dust. With tiny, shuffling steps, I carefully edged inside, my eyes wide and ears alert.
Creak.
Sucking in my breath I stood still as a statue. Why did I even agree to this?
I was cautiously mounting the rickety mouldering steps when the door crept shut. Startled, I let out a gasp. I could still see, barely, from the narrow rays of light slicing through walls and windows. With much determination, I finally made it to the second level. My eyes focused on what appeared to be the bathroom, the door fully open, and an old fashioned bathtub. Was that the faint sound of water dripping? I froze. Before I could take another step forward, I saw her.
Emerging from the tub was a young girl. Her body was cloaked in black and what little I could see of her skin was prune-like, wet and pale, almost translucent. Slowly, she tilted her head, her beady black eyes staring through a mess of stringy, tangled black hair. She reached forward with two fists, unveiling long, gruesome nails and bloody fingers.
Catching my breath, I stumbled backwards, bumping into the wall and sending something shattering. My eyes moved to the fallen painting. It featured an unusually gibbous man smiling wickedly. Meanwhile, shrill screeching brought me back to reality as the girl reached forward, her nails clawing at the walls as though they were chalkboards.
Glass crunched beneath my runners as I flew down the stairs. I sprinted to the door only to be caught by her ghastly fingers. Blinded by fear, I maniacally tossed and waved my hands trying to defend myself. I finally reached the door, gasping for breath.
In my panic, I yanked so fiercely that the door almost unhinged. I trampled down the porch steps and sprinted across wilted grass to the farm road. In my determined concentration, I was unaware that my friends were hiding behind a tree and, as they tackled me to the ground, I let out an ear-splitting scream. They laughed hysterically, delighted at their success.
I stole a glance back at the old Victorian home and spotted a figure peering through a wooden board in the front window. It was her, still hidden beneath a curtain of hair. “Come back,” she mouthed as her small lips curved upward.
http://www.bclocalnews.com/tri_city_maple_ridge/tricitynews/community/33268784.html
"Black Eyes"
By Isabella Bender
With one hand on the yellowed brass knob and another on the rough wooden frame, I hurled into the door.
To my dismay, it opened.
I glanced back to where my friends waited impatiently on the old farm road. A dare was a dare and I had to make it to the attic.
After a small, shaky breath, I trembled forward. Light was sparse, coming only from the doorway and jagged patterns through holes in the nailed up windows. It smelled musty, fitting for a place uninhabited for over half a century. I could barely distinguish various shapes of furniture and paintings shrouded by heavy blankets coated with a thick layer of dust. With tiny, shuffling steps, I carefully edged inside, my eyes wide and ears alert.
Creak.
Sucking in my breath I stood still as a statue. Why did I even agree to this?
I was cautiously mounting the rickety mouldering steps when the door crept shut. Startled, I let out a gasp. I could still see, barely, from the narrow rays of light slicing through walls and windows. With much determination, I finally made it to the second level. My eyes focused on what appeared to be the bathroom, the door fully open, and an old fashioned bathtub. Was that the faint sound of water dripping? I froze. Before I could take another step forward, I saw her.
Emerging from the tub was a young girl. Her body was cloaked in black and what little I could see of her skin was prune-like, wet and pale, almost translucent. Slowly, she tilted her head, her beady black eyes staring through a mess of stringy, tangled black hair. She reached forward with two fists, unveiling long, gruesome nails and bloody fingers.
Catching my breath, I stumbled backwards, bumping into the wall and sending something shattering. My eyes moved to the fallen painting. It featured an unusually gibbous man smiling wickedly. Meanwhile, shrill screeching brought me back to reality as the girl reached forward, her nails clawing at the walls as though they were chalkboards.
Glass crunched beneath my runners as I flew down the stairs. I sprinted to the door only to be caught by her ghastly fingers. Blinded by fear, I maniacally tossed and waved my hands trying to defend myself. I finally reached the door, gasping for breath.
In my panic, I yanked so fiercely that the door almost unhinged. I trampled down the porch steps and sprinted across wilted grass to the farm road. In my determined concentration, I was unaware that my friends were hiding behind a tree and, as they tackled me to the ground, I let out an ear-splitting scream. They laughed hysterically, delighted at their success.
I stole a glance back at the old Victorian home and spotted a figure peering through a wooden board in the front window. It was her, still hidden beneath a curtain of hair. “Come back,” she mouthed as her small lips curved upward.
Behind the Bars
Junior Authors Short Story Contest 2008 - First prize
"Behind the Bars"
"Behind the Bars"
by Isabella Bender
I twisted one of the thin spaghetti straps on my yellow dress. People around me spoke excitedly, and my friend, Alice, bounced eagerly in place. How I had let her talk me into a roller coaster, I didn’t know. My eyes were glued to the wooden deck as I tried to focus on anything but the dreaded thing which had come to a halt in front of us. The coaster of six cars was completely black except for the outer detailing of yellow fire.
Alice squealed. She bounced forward, cutting off three people before us, and spread her arms protectively in front of two seats. I took a deep breath as I stumbled forward, my eyes cast downward. I was about to criticize her rudeness but I couldn’t speak. I should have expected she would go after the very front seats. Alice giggled, grinning at me. I managed to smile weakly back. It was amazing how good I was at hiding my fear.
My hands fumbled as I reached above my head for the black vest that would be the only thing holding me from impending doom. I squirmed in the shiny slippery seat feeling claustrophobic and awkward. My clammy hands clutched the steel handles where I vowed to keep them for the entire ride. Or, should I not survive, the rest of my life.
Alice was giggling and ranting about something but my brain wouldn’t—couldn’t—focus. I could only hear the nervous patter my feet made against the steel floor.
All too soon we were inching forward. Unprepared for this slow start, I glanced around. The ride was enormous and the train clashed harshly with the white and pale blue track. I could make out at least two large drops, one loop and various twists.
The narrow track seemed to disappear in front of us. We plummeted downward against a fierce gush of wind that knocked my breath away along with the panic which had been burning a hole in my chest. My eyes were watery as the coaster twisted eagerly through smaller, shorter drops. My hair whipped harshly against my face.
I eagerly reached forward pedaling my fingers in the breeze as the coaster spiralled 360 degrees. The flip was over almost instantly and the ride transitioned to a steady climb. It inched forward slowly, building the anticipation of the final menacing plunge.
I stole a glance at Alice. Her knuckles were white, her body tense. She turned slightly in my direction but her bulging eyes never left the track. Between her furrowed brow and comical frown I was unable to control myself, laughter spilling over. My laughter turned into a scream of delight as we lurched forward once more. Other hoots echoed behind me. The drop was so terrifyingly steep, yet exhilarating at the same time. We eased to a steady pace and creaked to a stop at the platform.
“Let’s do it again!” I exclaimed.
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