Avery Wilson likes to light matches. Not light matches as in light-matches-and-set-things-on-fire-like-Matthew-Trinson-down-the-street, but lighting matches. Just lighting them. And then blowing them out. Avery loves the sounds of the head of the match scraping against the side of the box, the sound of fire being brought to life. But when the unthinkable happens, Avery is forced to move in with her former step-mother, and leave everything she has ever known behind. Feeling hopeless and blue, Avery takes to stalking the streets of the downtown, exploring every nook and cranny, finding things that no one has before. The dingiest bookstores and dustiest shops are prey to Avery’s wandering, including that of a former artist. His small building is not much bigger than Avery’s room, but it contains the finest artists of the city, including a quiet prodigy who goes by the initials T.H. Avery, when alone, calls him The Poet and thinks that they’ll only ever meet in that dusty room. She takes solace in his work, and looks forward to seeing what his genius produces. But the Poet has some problems of his own, as does every artist, and begins to seek out Avery, asking for her advice. Not knowing that he’s not the only one with vices as well as virtues.

"To the person ever fortunate to read this account of the most outrageous events of my life, I bid you warning. What you are about to read may seem completely insane. But it is completely true." After a science experiment gone wrong, Annora Heinz is thrust into the conflicts of the American Revolution. Not only that but she is with a military escort who she doesn't know and they have to track down an estranged politician before he changes the course of history itself. It seems this historian has her work cut out for her.

"Dying for freedom isn't the worst thing that could happen. Being forgotten is." This is how I remember - through an anonymous symphony of the most horrific event in human history told by those who lived through it.

When Eliana and her village are forced to relocate to a "camp" , heartache and pain are the only comforters to remind them they're still alive. Deaths, hard times, and a little bit of love are the only things she has to hold onto.. Will she make it out alive? --Based on The Holocaust. PLEASE NOTE- I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED THE EDITING FOR THIS PIECE AS OF 5/3/2016. It is NOT perfect. I wrote this story when I was 12, and NO it is not ALL historically accurate, but that is the point of a fiction piece. Do not tell me what is and isn't "realistic." I don't care.

Sylvia Zipper is a 14 year old Jewish girl living in Poland during the Holocaust. She hides from the Nazis with her large family in the attic of generous Mrs. Simon, however the small cramped space is too much for Sylvia. With her older sister Cassie in tow, Sylvia sneaks out into the woods to simply be able to breathe in fresh air. Sylvia manages to hide from the Nazis in the bushes, but she sees her older sister get dragged away in front if her eyes, and there's nothing she can do about it. Fearing for her safety, Sylvia's mom sends her off to live in America. This is the story of Sylvia Zipper, the diary of a Holocaust survivor.

“I’m Mason,” he said. I nodded, and clicked the X in the corner of the computer screen so that it would go back to the home page. “And you?” he asked, and I looked at him, a questioning look on my face. “Your name,” he added, cocking his head to the side, “you do have one right?” “Hazel.” He looked at me for a moment, and then he laughed, one of those deep laughs that could warm your heart. “What is it?” I asked, tugging on my shirt just incase it had ridden up, which the fabric had a tendency to do. “Your eyes aren’t hazel,” he replied. “Neither are yours,” I retorted and he rolled his eyes. “But my name isn’t an eye color is it?” he asked. “Look,” he commanded, and I looked over to find him straining to keep his eyes comically wide. ”My eyes are green,” he announced, but he didn’t need to. They were a bit striking, and I noticed them the moment he walked in ...