The Farm Animal That I like Most

By Jocelyn (8 years old)


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The farm animal that I like most is a sheep.  Farmers raise sheep on their farm for meat and wool.  They let their  sheep wander in the fields to eat grass.

A sheep has big eyes and thick wool to keep it warm in the winter.  It looks fat but it is not really fat at all.  The wool makes it look fat.

In the summer, the farmer shears the wool off the sheep otherwise it will get very hot and sweat a lot.  A hot and sweaty sheep is one very unhappy animal and it will bleat so loudly the entire day that the farmer might even grow deaf and that will make him as grumpy as his sheep.

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Schools are worse than prisons. Do you agree?

By TC (13 yrs old)


I totally disagree that schools are worse than prisons. Schools are most certainly not worse than prisons, not even close. Although I might occasionally grumble that school is like a prison, I didn’t mean it literally. It was just a figurative expression I use to release stress.

My friends and I often complain and groan at the slightest mention of homework and tests. However, deep down we all know this work is for our own good. It helps to prepare us for a bright and successful future.

We kids know that school is where we get a formal education from trained teachers. It is also a place where we can make lifelong friends who stick by us and help us through thick and thin. If schools are worse than prisons, we will be making many enemies instead and most probably get bullied or intimidated by other students as in the case of prison inmates getting harassed by the nastier convicts behind the warden’s back. Sure, there are random cases of bullying at school but no kid will be able to survive the kind of victimisation that occurs in a penitentiary.

I sometimes think our parents must be feeling very depressed when we fail to appreciate how hard they work to earn the money to pay for our school and tuition fees. In my case, it is easily a thousand ringgit a month. It pains me when I learn of teenagers expecting their parents to pay for everything but do not do their homework but laze around absolutely nothing except perhaps play computer games.  Perhaps they should go and have a taste of jail life to wake up.

In China, a group of young web junkies actually got to experience jail-like conditions at a boot training centre in Daxing, a suburb of Beijing.  These kids were addicted to the Internet and their parents as a last resort, decided to sign them up for rehabilitation. I bet they didn’t enjoy their stint behind the bars at all and after their release, they ought to be preferring school to a detention centre.

All said, most kids do not necessarily know what they are complaining about and I honestly believe that everyone should stop saying that schools are like prisons, including myself!

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The Bully Got His Comeuppance

By Samantha (12 years old)

It was a glorious Sunday morning. A cool breeze was blowing and the birds were chirping. My friends and I were enjoying ourselves in the park, playing on the swings and slides.

I was playing with my best friend, Katie. We had known each other like forever and meeting at the playground was a daily event come rain or shine. Maybe not for our moms would never let us play in the rain. “You’ll get sick if you play in the rain!” both mothers would drill whenever we asked for permission. Even now, Katie and I could never understand how rainwater could cause us to become sick.

So there we were, shrieking with glee as we tried to outdo each other. Suddenly, a voice boomed, “Give me your pocket money!”

The voice startled me badly. The result was a very ungraceful landing on the ground, bruising my poor backside. I turned in the direction of the speaker. My eyes widened and my jaws dropped when I saw who it was.

It was Billy, the neighbourhood bully. He was notorious for extorting money from the smaller kids. Should we refuse, we would probably be looking at a few weeks of hospital stay.

Katie and I looked around wildly for our friends but they had vanished into thin air. It sometimes pained me to have such treacherous friends. This is one such occasion.

“Wimps, give me your money and don’t let me repeat myself!” Billy threatened, giving me his infamous death glare. I quickly dug into my pocket and produced a shiny chocolate coin.

“Chocolate coin?!” he bellowed. I nodded timidly.

“Ah well, I like chocolate,” he declared.

Without further ado, he peeled off the wrapping and popped the chocolate into his mouth.

I watched him crunch the chocolate and waited impatiently for the outcome. Catching Katie’s eye, I silently mouthed, “One, two, three!”

True enough, Billy clamped one hand over his mouth.  His other hand was waving wildly in the air and his tongue was hanging out like a dog’s. He was huffing and puffing as well.

“Water! Water! I need water!” he gasped in between his huffs and puffs.

Katie and I burst into fits of merry laughter. We had been itching to give Big Bad Billy his comeuppance. We had plotted for an entire week to deliver this sweet revenge. This should certainly teach BBB to never ever call us wimps again.

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A Stupid Burglar

By Kimberly C. (8 years old)


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There was a burglar who loved to steal other people’s things.  He wore a black mask when he was on the prowl.

Once, he sneaked into a house.  The owner was very wealthy and he was not at home.  The burglar opened a drawer and saw a lot of jewellery.  His eyes bulged at the sight of the glittering treasure.  He quickly gathered all the valuables and put them in his sack.

On his way out, he walked past the kitchen.  He smelt a wonderful aroma coming from the kitchen.  He walked into the kitchen and saw some delicious food on the dining table.  He gobbled up everything.  After eating, he fell fast asleep on the chair.

The master of the house came home and saw the snoring thief.  He quietly called the police.  The police came and handcuffed the burglar and took him to the police station.  The owner of the house thought to himself, “What a stupid burglar!”

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How do you spell …?

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Teacher:  How do you spell apple?

Miss 4:  A-p-p-l-e!

Teacher:  Very good!  How do you spell baby?

Mr 5:  B-a-b-y!

Teacher:  How do you spell doctor?

Mr 6:  D-o-t-o-r!

Teacher:  I’m afraid that’s not correct.

Mr 6:  I know but you ask me how do I spell it!

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Two Rowdy Boys

By Danielle W. (8 years old)

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Jack and Ethan like fighting over small matters.  They are two very rowdy boys in my class.  These two boys come to school with grumpy faces unlike the other children who are always cheerful.  Sometimes I wonder if they are having indigestion.

One day, they tore each other’s books because they were fighting over a storybook.  The girls in class were scared of their violence but the boys cheered them on.  Elijah, our monitor tried to stop them but was punched in the face instead.  Angered, he ran to tell the class teacher about the fistfight.

Miss Gan came and scolded the boys.  She made them apologise to each other.  They promised her that they would not fight in class again but would they be able to keep their promise?


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My Greatest Fear

By SY (12 years old)

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I am one of the shyest kids at school.  I seldom talk in class but when Ms Olivia, my favourite teacher asked me to give a speech during the school assembly, I could hardly let her down.  I did not want to disappoint her so I agreed, very reluctantly.

My parents were astonished once they knew.  They were aware I was a timid girl but they were hopeful I would outgrow my diffidence gradually.

I had to rewrite my speech a dozen times before deeming it perfect.  The next stage was speech practice.  I practised every night before I slept.  I also spent hours in front of the mirror inside the bathroom.  My elder sister thought I was going insane.

On the day of my speech presentation, my family came to school to give me moral support.  When the emcee called my name, I strode to the stage, full of confidence.  I was positive I could do it but when I saw the large audience, I immediately froze.  Hundreds of butterflies were fighting to escape from my stomach.  My palms became clammy and my hands shook very badly while my heart was pounding away against my chest like it was asking to be let out.

The audience looked at me as if I had grown another head.  Someone started to murmur and others soon joined in.  Without thinking, I ran off the stage and out of the hall.  It was the most humiliating day of my entire life.  I was sure that I would be teased by my friends the next day but I simply didn’t care at that moment.  I was a glossophobic and life had become a nightmare!  Glossophobia, I hate you!


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