One day, in an increasingly large and crowded metropolis, there was a tiny store, which was specialized in selling books. It was owned by Clara who inherited the store from her parents. The bookstore was the one place that Clara adored with its climate-controlled structure, its old wooden floor, and dusty books all over the place. This place had once been her haven when she faced the worst in her life; thus, she managed it as her parents used to do. There is a story I heard and very much believe to be true: there was a girl named Mia and one day she visited the store. She was perhaps eight years old with big round eyes with the look of a child full of questions and Fabian was rather shy. She strolled around the shelves of the store rubbing the backs of the books with her hand but did not select one. Noticing this, Clara followed the girl and tried to talk to her though the girl seemed surprised and a bit reluctant. “Is there something I can help you find?” Clara asked gently. Mia looked up at her, then down at her shoes. “I'm looking for something… something special.” Clara knelt to the girl's level. “What kind of special thing are you looking for?” The girl paused for a brief moment then cleared her throat and softly said, “My brother is sick. Sick. ” She continued to breathe something ragged before adding, “He's in the hospital, and… I need something to help him feel better. ” Clara could feel a sharp squeeze in her breast at the girl's words. She recalled deep disappointment and hopelessness when a dear person was sick Surrey made a decision that a petty action in such a situation could help Mia to ease her burden She took her by the hand and led her to the corner of the shop where there was a solitary shelf with several sheets of origami paper and a couple of books on how to fold the paper crane. “Yes, it is about a child, a girl, who folded a thousand paper cranes with her own hands for her sick mother”, smiled Clara. Mia shook her head. Clara smiled. It is generally believed that when one has folded one thousand origami cranes, the gods will grant the person a wish; it is a Japanese belief often associated with good health. Mia stared with wide eyes and Clara succeeded in seeing hope in her eyes. “Would it do my brother any good?” Clara nodded. “Maybe it could somehow make him more comfortable and who knows, maybe even magical, don't you think we should try making them together?” Weeks passed and Mia came to the bookstore every day after classes. And she was with Clara in the corner where flannel blankets were wrapped around the books and the bright sheets of paper, making crane upon crane. It was when Clara in the simplicity of showing Mia how to fold a simple bird out of an A4-sized paper that one saw that Clara possessed impeccable dexterity. Days went by and people began to notice what Mia was doing to her co-workers. Gradually, it became customary in the bookstore that Mia and Clara receive paper cranes from those customers who had originally folded them at home, or from people who came into the store to fold paper cranes along with Mia and Clara. Thus, the little bookstore turned into a hopeful place and people of different backgrounds assisted Mia in achieving her dream. A month later, effort was made to fold the last crane, which was the thousandth crane. The two girls properly put the cranes in a big box and the following day, Mia took them to the hospital. When she got to her brother's room, he was confined to bed more weakened than before but the look of joy which was evident in his eyes said a lot when he saw the box of colorful cranes. ‘Here are yours,' Mia said gently. “Each one is a wish for you to get better,” Telling this sad story and looking at the cranes which were made with love and hope her brother cries. He rose and went towards his sister grabbing her hand firmly. For the next few weeks, something quite out of the ordinary started to happen. This time was promising for Mia's brother as he started to recover. The doctors were filled with delight after seeing him fully recover, one even stated that was a very rare occurrence. Mia however was convinced by the other view that there was magic in the cranes, the love that was embraced within each of the pieces. The cranes were suspended from the ceiling of his hospital as a constant reminder to Marge that no matter how bad things are there will always be a tomorrow. And although life is fragile and many times tough, still kindness and love no matter how small can make a world of difference. Years later, Mia and her brother would often come to the bookstore and it has become their source of with full memories of hope and healing. Every time they looked at it, they would regard the strength of a wish, the sister's love, and the mystery of the existence of magic in this world.

In a rather small town in America called Maple Wood there lived a man, who was a rather old man by the name of Harold Thompson. Some of you never had a chance to meet him in person, although one could easily remember him as a kind man, who always smiled. Uh was a man who had wasted over half a century of his life sticking to one house, a neat-looking thatched-roof cottage home at the of a blind street. He had a good wife, Margaret, and a daughter Emily now a grown-up lady, who got married and resides in the city as observed in the text. Margaret had died 5 years back and ever since then, Harold had been on his own in the world. Although his daughter came to his house often, he had the feeling the house was more empty than before. There was once a time when Harold was cleaning one day, more specifically in the attic when he found a box that had not been used in years. In letters, all of them enclosed in a dusty but very much untied faded blue ribbon. They were ardently penned lines that Margaret had written to him at the beginning of their relationship. Harold took his seat untied the ribbon and spread open the first of the letters. When he painstakingly went through Margaret's letter full of hope, dreams, and love the events that they have shared blew his mind. He could just feel her giggling, the touch of her hand holding his, and could just imagine the twinkle in her eyes. Thus for the next few days, Harold spent his time with the letters. Everyone was a treasure to him and the extent to which Margaret loved him was depicted by these flowers. So after climbing to the middle, he saw a letter that looked different at the bottom of the box. It was placed in a new envelope, with his name on it written in curled Margaret writing. Perplexed he cautiously unfolded it. Thus, the letter from ‘My Dearest Harold' jumps right in. "If you're reading this, it means I am no longer by your side. I know how much you miss me, just as I miss you. But I want you to promise me one thing: die, my dear. Live as we used to live before, life has so much more to offer you the things and moments to feel happy You made my life full of joy every day, and I want you to have the same in the search for happiness without me. When Harold met Margaret's words, he wiped his cheeks and swallowed a lump of emotion that formed at the back of his throat. The letter went on, telling him to go out, to be with people, and prove that life was still as great as it was before. In the last line of the letter, Margaret penned down, I will be with you in spirit, in each stride you make henceforth, Love Margaret. Ever since the day of receiving the letter, Harold kept on thinking about it. Margaret had always been the one willing to take risks the one who encouraged him to go out and explore more. And now, even after she has died, she was prodding him to live life to the fullest measure. One day Harold woke up, and within a few minutes, he decided something. He put some clothes in a small backpack, put the letter in his pocket and went on a trip. He visited the parts of the world they wanted to visit but either couldn't or didn't get the opportunity to. Sometimes men are lucky to meet new friends and they indeed reveal to them about Margaret and your life experiences. The sea was as far as his eyes could see it; the wind was playing with his hair as Harold stood on a cliff and such position made him realize the serenity in life. He knew she was with him; in the sunsets, the laughs, and the new adventures that he was about to start in this new chapter of his life. Last of all, he was glad that he finally understood that their love transcended time and space it was within him and it inspired him to live each day and each moment with happiness and passion as the two always used to do. Harold got back to Maplewood months later with a glow on his face than he had ever had before. He had the wish to provide a full life as was expected by Margaret, so he continued living to the fullest. Although he longed for her daily, he had to accept that they were together for a lifetime and gave eternal light to his loneliness in old age.

“Do you think it will be worth it?” an anxious Chukwuka asked his sister Adaeze. “I don't know; I sure do hope so," she replied. For almost a decade now, Chukwuka and Adaeze have lived in a run-down apartment in Lagos State, Nigeria, near the border between Nigeria and the Benin Republic. They lost their mother, who had been their primary caretaker since the death of their father. His death left a void in their family, forcing their mother to sell their home and move to a tiny apartment. Unfortunately, their mother contracted HIV after being tested with an infected needle at an underfunded government hospital. Adaeze and Chukwuka spent the little wealth they had caring for their mother, but unfortunately, it was not enough to save her. That all happened eight years ago; now, at 28 and 26, Chukwuka and Adaeze live only with the memory of the family they once had. The death of their father forced them both out of school, and now Chukwukwa is a petty trader earning less than twenty thousand naira a month while Adaeze is unemployed. But there is hope. Amid all this tragedy and despair, hope arrived from an unexpected place. “We are pretty much packing our entire lives and moving in with a stranger,” Chukwuka said, seeming more anxious. “I know this is a less-than-ideal arrangement, but we can't keep on living like this,” Adaeze responded. A man claiming to be their father's brother had reached out to them and offered to take them in. Chukwuka is very skeptical and detests the thought of leaving his home, but Adaeze is open to the idea. The next morning, they begin their five-hour journey to Ado-Ekiti in Ekiti State, where the man resides. Adaeze and Chukwuka opted to take a bus from Lagos to Ogun State, then take another bus from Ogun State to Ekiti. They arrived at the bus station early in the morning and boarded the bus, getting the best seat available under a cool air conditioner. Adaeze quickly fell asleep, leaving a perplexed Chukwuka to think of possible scenarios that could happen. His thoughts were gloomy and dark and always ended with either him or Adaeze being killed. The bus arrived at a station in Ogun State, and Adaeze and Chukwuka boarded their next bus. Chukwuka felt a lot more relaxed, and she found it very easy to fall asleep again. Adaeze too fell asleep. As the bus progressed closer to Ekiti, the driver stepped down along with some other passengers, unknown to the two siblings. A man dressed in black took over the driver's seat and began driving the bus to an unknown location. Adaeze opened her eyes, looked around, and saw the bus was empty and parked in what seemed like a forest. Two men rushed into the bus and began shouting at both Adaeze and Chukwuka to come out. The two siblings were shaking and confused. Chukwuka began lamenting and shouting, “Oh Adaeze, see what you've done. I knew I should have stayed home!” he screamed. Adaeze remained silent, struggling to process what had just happened. The two were escorted to an abandoned building and told that they would be unable to leave. Adaeze, upon hearing this, began to beg the strange men, "Please, sir, let us go; we have nothing; we are poor and can barely feed ourselves." The men looked at her with no empathy and left the room. Chukwuka began shouting at Adaeze, “How could you do this to us?! How could you lead me into following you on this suicidal journey to meet the unknown? We are finished." Adaeze kept silent, deep down, though she knew what he said was true; it was her fault. Two nights had gone by. Adaeze and Chukwuka sat in different corners of the room, silently waiting for their fate. A strange man entered the room. “The boss will be arriving today, then he will decide what to do with you two," he said. That sentence sent chills down Adaeze's spine. “We have to escape,” she said, “There's a hole in the ceiling; if we can jump high enough, we can crawl through the vents and escape”. Adaeze did it first, then Chukwuka reluctantly followed. They crawled for about 10 minutes before they made it out, but they had one problem. They were trapped in a forest. Chukwuka dropped to the floor and lamented, saying, “Where do we go!? We're going to die of starvation; all hope is dead!!”. Adaeze responded, “Get up! We've come too far to give up." Immediately after she said this, a brown Jeep appeared from a hidden path. A white woman named Sophia came down and offered them a ride, saying, “You guys look lost; let me take you to a safer place.” Adaeze knew it would be disastrous to still attempt to find their uncle, so she accepted her offer. Sofia was a 67-year-old adventurer. She was kind enough to take the two siblings in with her. She gave them a home, clothes, food, and water. She also sponsored their education so they could get decent jobs. Despite all the lamenting by Chukwuka, Adaeze was fierce and kept them safe. Chukwuka was wrong; hope was not dead.

"Go to your room and study," Mom said as she shut the door. I panted, taking off my slippers and placing them on the shoe rack. Mom took her red slippers from the shelf and gave me my pink slippers. "It's ten thirty. Enya should go to sleep," Dad said from the kitchen. His hair looked like he had woken up, and he wore a white sleeveless shirt that showed his belly. Dad sipped the beer in his hand. "You are not working late today, are you?" Mom asked as she twisted her dry, over-brushed hair. She took out her pocket mirror, plastering her youthful face with makeup. "Not today. We are watching K-dramas for our date night," Dad said, fixing his messy white hair. "I already prepared the popcorn." "Enya, do your homework," he said, glancing at me. I read a research article saying kids are supposed to have more free time than adults. What happened to that? I tried to roll my eyes but failed, so I stared at the wall in front of me instead. A giant family portrait hung on the wall, facing the dining table. Every member of the family was there except me. The grandparents stood, facing their grandchildren with fake pride. Guama's children—my mother and her four siblings—wore white coats and stethoscopes. The youngest son, past his adolescence, had severe acne breakouts no layer of photoshop could remove. The eldest son had wide, red eyes like a vampire. As for the younger daughter, everyone knew what had happened to her. Their plastic smiles failed to hide their misery. Someday, if they like me, I will be in the picture too. I carried my backpack to my room with my remaining energy, then plopped my butt on the chair and spread my homework on the desk: ten pages of word problems, an essay due the next day, twenty pages of assigned reading for history, thirty linear equations for advanced math, and two worksheets for music theory. Meanwhile, the teens outside shook their butts in the middle of the road. I closed the window to avoid distractions. "Hey," Mom said, barging into the room. She carried an envelope in her left hand. "We need to talk about your grades." "Yes?" My heart pounded as fast as rap music—except it was not catchy. Mom slapped the envelope in her hand with a face that wanted to kill me. Not this again... "You did not get good grades this quarter, did you?" "I thought you were watching K-dramas with Dad." I closed my eyes, wishing and waiting. A river of tears was about to overflow, but I kept it inside because I was not a baby. Crying is no way to be a responsible, achieving grown-up. Mom opened the window to let fresh air into the room. Then she sat on the bed beside my desk and opened the envelope. "You got a ninety-five in Filipino." Her dismal voice cracked. I peeked through the window to calm myself. A group of teens my age played with their phone flashlights, dancing and drinking soda. They had the entire road to themselves as no vehicle passed by. A couple of boys hysterically laughed while rolling on the ground. "Who are those?" Mom asked, walking towards the window. Her eyebrows furrowed at the sight of teenagers. "Those pesky adolescents. No wonder you are always distracted, Enya." She rolled her eyes. "Go home and study, or I will call your mothers," she tells the teens. "Party pooper!" A boy retorted with a voice similar to one of my classmates. The street light shone at him as he stuck his tongue out. "You never let your daughter smile," a girl told Mom from outside. Mom growled like a tiger. The teenagers shook as they heard it, hiding behind a bush before Mom could throw a slipper at them. My eyebrows furrowed. The kids did nothing wrong, nor did they mind our business. "So annoying," she told me as she shook her head. I clasped my lips and bowed my head. "If you don't get good grades next time, then you will be like those distractions—" "Mom, that's enough. They are not distractions. You are." How did I say that? Picture Credits: Image">https://www.freepik.com/free-photo/portrait-brunette-asian-student-writing-something-her-exercise-book-drinking-delicious-cup-tea-coffee-library_22966906.htm#fromView=search&page=1&position=1&uuid=a91ad5a0-79fe-443d-8941-e78ce0fd96c4">Image by LipikStockMedia on Freepik

Graduate education is a crucial phase in a student's academic journey, marked by increased expectations, rigorous coursework, and the need for advanced critical thinking and analytical skills. One of the most challenging aspects of this level of education is the requirement to produce high-quality essays and research papers that demonstrate a deep understanding of complex topics. This is where graduate essay writing help becomes indispensable. The Complexity of Graduate-Level Writing Graduate essays differ significantly from undergraduate assignments. They require a higher level of sophistication, extensive research, and the ability to articulate complex ideas clearly and concisely. Graduate students must engage with primary and secondary sources, develop original arguments, and adhere to strict formatting and citation guidelines. For many, balancing these demands with other responsibilities such as work, internships, and personal commitments can be overwhelming. The Importance of Expert Guidance Graduate essay writing help provides students with access to experienced writers and academic professionals who understand the intricacies of advanced academic writing. These experts can offer valuable assistance in several key areas: Topic Selection and Research: Identifying a compelling and researchable topic is often the first hurdle. Professional writers can help students narrow down their interests to a viable topic and guide them in conducting thorough and effective research. Structuring and Outlining: A well-structured essay is critical for clarity and coherence. Graduate essay writing help includes assistance in creating detailed outlines that ensure logical flow and organization of ideas. Drafting and Editing: Crafting the initial draft can be daunting. Expert writers can provide guidance on drafting content that is insightful and meets academic standards. Furthermore, they offer meticulous editing services to refine the language, enhance the argumentation, and correct grammatical errors. Adhering to Academic Standards: Different disciplines have specific formatting and citation requirements. Professional writing services ensure that students' essays conform to these standards, thereby avoiding common pitfalls that could detract from the overall quality of the work. Overcoming Language Barriers For international students, language can be a significant barrier. Despite having a firm grasp of their subject matter, non-native English speakers may struggle with expressing their ideas fluently and accurately. Graduate essay writing help can bridge this gap, ensuring that language proficiency does not hinder academic success. Managing Time and Stress Graduate students often juggle multiple commitments, making it challenging to allocate sufficient time for essay writing. The pressure to meet deadlines while maintaining high academic standards can lead to significant stress. By seeking professional assistance, students can manage their time more effectively and reduce the stress associated with writing intensive assignments. Personalized Assistance at AllEssayWriter.com One of the best resources for graduate essay writing help is https://allessaywriter.com/graduate-essay-writing-service.html. This platform offers personalized assistance tailored to the unique needs of graduate students. With a team of qualified writers who have expertise in various academic disciplines, AllEssayWriter.com provides comprehensive support, from topic selection to final proofreading. By choosing graduate essay writing help at AllEssayWriter.com, students can ensure that their essays meet the highest academic standards and reflect their best efforts. Conclusion The journey through graduate school is demanding and requires a high level of academic performance. Graduate essay writing help is not just a convenience but a necessity for many students striving to excel in their studies. Services like AllEssayWriter.com provide invaluable support, enabling students to produce top-quality essays that can significantly impact their academic and professional futures. By leveraging expert assistance, students can navigate the challenges of graduate-level writing with confidence and success.

Mark from Dissertation Writing Services is the absolute best! He helped me with my dissertation, and I got the highest grade. His writing is clear, and he made everything easy to understand. Mark is super friendly and answered all my questions. I was stressed, but he made the whole process smooth. If you need the best dissertation help, go to Mark. I'm so grateful for his help – he's like a writing superhero! Thank you, Mark, and thank you, Dissertation Writing Services, for having such an amazing writer. I totally recommend them! 🌟 "Dissertation Writing Services" and its talented writer, James, offer invaluable support for students tackling complex academic projects. James, known for his expertise, crafts well-researched and personalized dissertations. With a commitment to quality and adherence to deadlines, the service ensures each client receives a top-notch paper. James excels in thorough research, effective communication, and ethical writing practices. The company prioritizes client satisfaction, providing post-delivery support and maintaining strict confidentiality. For students seeking reliable and expert assistance, "Dissertation Writing Services"

In the heart of Sunflower Valley, a picturesque town surrounded by rolling meadows and sun-kissed hills, lived a woman named Grace. She was known for her radiant spirit and unwavering kindness that bloomed like the vibrant flowers in her garden.Grace's life took an unexpected turn when she faced a daunting health diagnosis. Undeterred, she decided to transform her adversity into a garden of benevolent seeds. Inspired by her love for gardening and a desire to spread positivity, Grace embarked on a mission to cultivate a field of sunflowers that would symbolize hope and resilience.The townspeople, captivated by Grace's vision, joined hands to support her endeavor. Together, they cleared a piece of land and planted sunflower seeds with the same care and tenderness that Grace had shown them throughout the years. As the sunflowers began to grow, so did a sense of community and shared purpose.Sunflower Valley became a haven of compassion and encouragement. Neighbors checked in on one another, shared meals, and offered words of comfort. The once mundane act of tending to the sunflowers became a communal ritual, a reminder that beauty could arise even in the face of life's storms.Word of Sunflower Valley's transformation spread far and wide. One day, a renowned artist named Isabella visited the town, drawn by the stories of the radiant sunflower fields. Inspired by the resilience she witnessed, Isabella proposed a collaboration to create an art installation that would capture the essence of Sunflower Valley.Together, Grace and Isabella worked tirelessly to bring their vision to life. The art installation, named "Blossoms of Resilience," featured a breathtaking display of sunflowers arranged in a mesmerizing pattern that mirrored the interconnectedness of the community. The installation became a symbol of hope, not only for Sunflower Valley but for anyone facing adversity.As news of "Blossoms of Resilience" spread, it garnered attention from art enthusiasts, and the installation went on tour, visiting cities across the country. Grace's story and the transformative power of the sunflower fields resonated with people from all walks of life, inspiring them to plant their seeds of benevolence and cultivate resilience in their own communities.In the midst of the tour, something remarkable happened. Sunflower Valley became a pilgrimage site for those seeking solace and inspiration. Visitors from around the world flocked to the town, not only to admire the art installation but to experience the warmth and unity that permeated every corner of Sunflower Valley.Grace's health journey took an unexpected turn as well. Surrounded by the love and support of her community, she found a renewed strength within herself. The sunflowers, once planted as symbols of hope, now stood tall as witnesses to the transformative power of collective kindness.As the years unfolded, Sunflower Valley continued to blossom. The sunflower fields became a permanent fixture, and the town thrived as a beacon of resilience and community spirit. Grace's garden of benevolent seeds had not only healed her but had also sown the seeds of kindness and hope that flourished for generations to come.

It was a damp cold inside the abandoned church, as I sat in the rotting pews. Staring at the beautifully broken stained glass windows, a depiction of a westernized God glaring down directly at me, his eyes burning so hot, it could have lit the cigarette in my hand. My eyes dart to my hand, almost certain the little, white cylinder has caught flame. It hasn't, of course, and so begins the search for my lighter in one of my many pockets. The search is over and the cigarette is lit. I watch the plumes of smoke drift into the ceiling beams that are barely holding up the weight of the church anymore. The roof caves in, on the brink of collapse and the floorboards have been ripped apart, now used as firewood inside someone's house on cold winter nights. I play with my lighter and the glow sets eerie shadows across the walls, the warm, orange light making the cold cower in the corners of the crumbling building. I stare at the lighter, thinking; what a beautiful ending it would be to go up in flames, engulfed in the heat of fire and the comforting warmth of slow burning. My dead body would be a new addition to the deceased building, adding onto the pile of history that seeps into the dark, oak floors. A mess of flesh and flame, rotting wood and the footprints of sinners and saints. I light cigarette number two, throwing the first butt to the floor, where it lay in its own ashes. I don't bother to stomp it out despite the small flame I can see catching on a splintered piece of the floor. I can feel the flame grow beside my foot as I hold eye contact with the stained glass God yet again calmly inhale my smoke. The fire snakes along the floor, creeping its way into the pews and slowly up the supporting beams. I can feel it enveloping me, the heat growing almost unbearable. The hair on my arms singes and my body starts to sweat. I can taste the salt on my cigarette, can feel it dripping down my neck, my back, my legs. The church's structure begins to fall from the sky, as if God himself is spitefully throwing flaming spears towards me. The already caved in roof crashes down and the flames rise higher, leaving behind a heap of burning wood and bodies.

A child, 14, sits in his room. Quarantine has taken a toll, stealing away the ability to socialize with friends and the opportunity to learn at in-person schools. Life has begun to become boring, mundane, borderline useless. Being so young when COVID hits is a challenge. What are you meant to do? There wasn't much freedom to speak of before, and now it's all gone. One of the only things you can do at the moment, such an isolated time, is go online. He makes many online friends during quarantine that help sustain his wellbeing. Posting drawings on social media to show friends and mutuals replaces socializing in real life. The thing that's most different is that now, our hero enjoys learning. Research on Google becomes an outlet for him. He discovers a love for history this way, looking up facts about cowboys and about Victorian princes. He learns many interesting things and, in researching the late 1700s, discovers his new favorite thing; something that nobody in their right mind would enjoy. Tuberculosis. Everything about the pulmonary disease is extremely interesting to him. It begins with a fascination in hemoptysis, coughing up blood, then snowballs. Watching documentaries, reading informational books online, discovering more and more articles on the subject, the ancient disease becomes his lifeblood. He no longer feels so bored with life. He discovers that several fictional books about Tuberculosis exist, both contemporary and vintage, ones which tell stories about interesting characters in and out of sanatoriums. It inspires him to read again for the first time in three years. He has again found something worth spending time on. Learning about Tuberculosis becomes an unlikely source of happiness, one that will last for years to come. He finds a lot of enjoyment in researching the infectious disease, talking about it, watching videos that mention it. He has finally begun to discover himself.

The first time Avery asked about her mother, she was five. She didn't remember much. Just bits and pieces. But she did recall her and her dad were outside, sitting on their favorite bench – An old, worn-out piece of furniture they liked to lounge on to pass time. All starry-eyed, she asked her dad and got the standard, out-of-the-textbook answer. “She's in a better place hon,” he said, carrying her into his lap. She remembered looking into his eyes. “A better place?” She was confused. “What could be better than being with us?” He laughed and looked into the distance. “You're just going to ask her if you ever meet her.” Six years later, Avery finally understood what being in a better place meant. And to be honest, it didn't bother her as much as she expected. It had always been her dad who had been there for her. Plus, she had never met her mom before and didn't mind cutting her out of the picture. Personally, it was okay with just her and papa anyways. So, it could be imagined the shock fourteen-year-old Avery got, walking in on a phone call her dad was having. “You can't just –!” He was pacing up and down, a habit of his when he was nervous. “Thirteen years Kate! You didn't even call!” Avery moved her feet and began to climb the stairs. She knew when somebody needed their privacy. “But she's our daughter. Your child.” Avery stopped in her tracks. “Couldn't –” He paused. “Couldn't you come to see her at least once?” Silence. Then a muffled voice. And a sigh. Avery couldn't recall what happened exactly. All she remembered was the crushing feeling she had when she realized that her mum was actually alive and probably didn't want her. The shock went just as fast as it came. She made no indication that she knew, and her dad didn't deem it fit to tell her. So, life went on, until it didn't. At least for her dad. Avery was proud to say she didn't cry. Not when she found her dad on the floor. Not when he was rushed to the hospital by the neighbors. Not when she came to visit him and saw him all pale and haggard. Not when she heard the news. Not even after the funeral. She told herself over and over again that she would not cry, and she didn't. People she had never met. People she knew. Everyone told her it was going to be okay, that they understood. But Avery knew that they didn't. After the funeral, Avery had to stay with her dad's sister, Aunt Veronica. In order for that to work out, she had to move. New house, new school, new friends. It was all very strange for her. Everything seemed to be happening too fast for her to catch up. Nobody thought to ask her how she felt about it all, until she met Mrs. Ada. Mrs. Ada, the temporary stand-in for Mr. Jacobs, the English teacher, was petite, brunette-haired lady who was said to be too nice for her own good. After class one day, Mrs. Ada called her back. “Avery?” Mrs. Ada called. “Could I see you for a moment?” Avery took a seat, wondering what this was about. Sure, she wasn't a star student. But she definitely wasn't failing. And even if she was, Avery didn't think Mrs. Ada had it in her to chew her out. Mrs. Ada pushed her glasses up her nose, a comforting smile on her face. “I've noticed you've got a lot on your mind lately, and I was wondering if you wanted to talk about it.” She paused, scanning Avery's face. “I know being a new student and all that can be a little too much –“ She continued, “ – but I just wanted to say that I'm here if you ever got anything troubling you, okay?” Avery muttered something along the lines of a thanks and began to stand up. “Hold on.” Mrs. Ada interrupted. She bent to bring out something from her bag. It was a black notebook with some words on the front. “I heard about your dad.” She placed the black book in her hands. The front cover read: 'There's no greater agony than keeping an untold story inside of you' – Maya Angelou. Mrs. Ada winked at her, “It's my favorite quote. For times you don't feel like talking, it might surprise you how well writing helps.” Avery rushed out of the classroom, a stuffy feeling in her chest. When she got home, she brought out the book and stared. After a minute of silence, she opened to the first page and began to write. About her dad, the mom she never met, how she felt, her new school. About everything. And for the first time, Avery let the tears fall.

On a rainy day, the drivers hooked their horns while waiting for the traffic to flow again. Nearly 45 minutes to 60 mins of cars backed up from the highways, and the drivers began to be impatient with each other until the patrol police officers controlled the traffic, allowing people that get to their destination. Over by the pizzeria, Nicholas' Seeker, I begin my work shift by checking to see if screens need to sort out, restacking the boxes, grabbing sauces from the coolers, and refilling the parmesan and powder sugar shakers. As hours pass through the evening, orders flood the screens within minutes; Simon, the general manager, told us to kick into high gear. When I saw the food items flowing out from the oven, I suffered from a panic freeze and silently imagined daydreaming. Rosa and Lisa saw me freeze in my imagination and woke me up with a musical shake on my body. Immediately I woke up and witnessed food items dropping on the ground like a gumball machine. While they work on new and remake orders, Lisa, Rosa, and I speed us boxing orders as road runners dodge the coyote's traps. After four to five hours of rush orders, the screens started to clear, and everyone took a short break while eating, snacking, or drinking. While some days can run smoothly, there are days where it's out of control and let course take its wheel. That's why I kept pushing and let my mind run free. Next time we have rush orders, I'll bring my lucky pants and hat.

A peaceful and rapid rain poured over the State of Texas. People hook their horns to the nearest front cars while waiting for the green light to turn on. The ground begins to create puddles that spread wildly like a portal. Over by the pizzeria place, Nicholas' Seeker, Kyla clocked in to prepare for her shift. She placed her purse inside the office while grabbing her drinks from the oven. Kyla checks to see if anything needs to complete before starting her day. She became one of the recognized employees the customers enjoyed seeing daily. Everyone loves the smile on her face, which helps them keep faith that their day runs smoothly. One of the managers, Rosa, waits for her to take over the oven and layer a chicken box and bread box. "Hola!" Kyla shouted. "Hey, mama. I'll be back. I need a smoke break," Rosa said before walking away. "Gotta it. Leave it to me," Kyla said. The general manager Simon returned from the restroom and washed his hands before jumping onto the makeline and telling the workers to load the three ovens. The orders flood the screen, triggering the workers to kick into high gear and make these orders quickly. "Kyla, we're loading all three ovens. Let us know if you need help," Bella said. As the food items pile close together, she breaks a sweat and immediately needs assistance at the oven. Brie and Lisa ran to Kyla's aid to help her. "Brie, read the tickets, and I'll help Kyla," Lisa said. Brie nods and begins reading the tickets. Even with three workers, the oven pushes the food out like a vending machine dropping candy or snacks. Kyla's speed could be better, which makes her feel low self-esteem and silent from speaking. "Come on, Kyla. Let's push forward and worry less about everything else," Brie said. "How nice of you, Brie? I want to go fast like Sonic or Road Runner, yet I can't kick into high gear. I'm like a sloth, who sleep all day and night, and come to work feeling like a zombie," Kyla said while laughing softly. "Oh, yea? I didn't sleep last night because my neighbor committing a mistake in front of my house was okay. I came in two hours late from my shift time after finding out what they did," Lisa said as she laughed. Kyla and Brie couldn't contain their inner laughter and release it. As the last food items were boxed and sent to the customers, Rosa returned from her break and saw them sweating off their bodies. "Rosa? I thought you left," Brie said shockingly. "You said you promised to come back and left me to dust with these orders," Kyla said. "Well, excuse me, miss! I came in early this morning and carried these heavy boxes myself without help. Afterward, my back hurt, and I dislocated my ankle went I slipped onto the floor," Rosa said. The ladies looked awkward and walked away for a short break before another round of rush orders. Kyla sighed as she barely survived the short period of food items coming out quickly; however, with the help of her coworkers and managers, she managed to do little work while they picked up the slick.

A few months after Mabel's 16th birthday, her parents died in a tragic accident and now a blind Mabel was a ward of Aunty Kay. In her absence, Mabel would fall prey to her cousins' incessant bullying and tricks. One day, they had put peanut butter in Mabel's favourite sneakers. A fuming Mabel rushed into Troy's room and delivered a stinging slap with the one sneaker in hand to his face. I told you she was a blind psychopath Troy shouted. Sensing Mabel's distress, the guy introduced himself as Leo but an embarrassed Mabel scurried away. For the next few months, whenever Troy had his friends over, Leo and Mabel would secretly meet in the kitchen. He was 18, fascinated with cars and her first crush. Reality rudely intruded on their secret meeting spot by Troy whose shouts brought his sisters rushing in. An angry Adele, who was liked Leo viciously slapped Mabel d as she let loose angry words and barbs at Mabel's ploys. Mabel, immensely hurt rushed to the safety of her small room. After what seemed like hours, the door creaked open and Leo called out. Mabel flung her pillow at him and told him to go. Leo persisted and pressed a soft kiss to her lips telling her that she was a breath of fresh air in this hell-hole. He continued to caress her neck and shoulders. Kisses turned heated, caresses became more frantic and clothes discarded as Mabel's heart and innocence were offered up and consumed in the lusty atmosphere. In the dawn, after kissing a clinging Mabel, Leo left. Mabel blurted out her love when her cousins barged into her room unannounced. Troy and Adele laughed as they boasted of the bet Leo was a part of or else he would never look at a blind nerd. In the coming weeks, Leo was MIA! One Saturday after dinner, Mabel overheard Aunty Kay on the phone talking about the Johns moving to another state. This hurt Mabel to the quick who vouched to never fall for such a ploy! In the 5 years since that fateful day, Mabel blossomed into an intelligent, caring and capable young woman. Despite her disability, she successfully pursued her passion of cooking with the upcoming release of her first cookbook. That heart wrenching summer with Leo was pivotal for Mabel. Lost in her happy thoughts, she nearly missed her beeping phone signalling that her publicist and best friend, Maria had arrived to give her a lift to the venue but then encountered a slowly deflating tire. Luckily, the service guy Zack, was nearby to pick up the call. With both ladies safely ensconced in the truck, and their vehicle in tow, they made their way to the garage. Mabel smiled as she overheard Maria flirting with Zack. Before long, they arrived at the garage. The door creaked open signalling someone's entrance. After a shuffling of papers, a masculine voice called out Maria's name. Mabel froze in disbelief as her friend went about her business. She could never forget that husky baritone. It was LEO! As Maria concluded her paperwork and payments she hollered to Mabel which grabbed Leo's eagle gaze. The air was tight with tension as Leo stumbled over Mabel's name. As Mabel hurriedly nudged her friend to go ahead, a strong, calloused hand grabbed Mabel's wrist. Mabel was having not of that and delivered a stinging slap to an unshaven but hewn jaw. She was overwhelmed by repressed hurt. Maria tried to calm the situation down with the ladies hurriedly escaping after a few attempts. Zack met a stunned Leo standing in the same position, weary lines on his face. After some consideration, he held up a business card with a naughty smirk. Mabel refused to talk on her way back to the hotel but lying in bed that night, her memories came to the forefront. After a sleepless night she called Maria to confirm her schedule. A barrage of questions of Mabel's well-being were fired by Maria, which Mabel answered quietly. Seven o' clock sharp, the doorbell rang with a sombre trip to the restaurant. When the meals arrived, a frizzle of awareness ran up Mabel's spine. A voice which haunted her dreams announced Leo's presence. Crossing her hands across her chest, Mabel sat back without a word. As soon as Leo broached the topic of the first time they had made love, Mabel lost it and flung her plate of spaghetti at him. He made light of the attack and pleaded that he was threatened by Adele the morning after their sweet night. She had maliciously filmed them entwined asleep and would share a copy with the entire school. He had stayed away to protect Mabel's reputation. Troy had lied to the Coach which got him kicked off the team. His dad had gotten a job transfer out of state which was a clean break. Leo continuously professed his love whilst raining kisses along Mabel's face, hands and wrists. She softly returned her love enveloped in those strong arms that were imprinted in her memory forever and a day.

I'm a female manipulator Something I've come to terms with It's easier than you think Call a boy pretty once He's yours forever I feel justified in my behavior Man after man lying to me when I didn't know better I lash out and retaliate after pain I take it out on others But I'm not hurting the ones that hurt me After years of constant disappointment I'm wounded I feel justified in my behavior Because my type is not-great people Almost a vigilante Except I forget I'm perpetuating a cycle People hurt people because they were hurt themselves By someone else in this pattern of abuse I feel justified in my behavior I'm open about this fact Right away I warn that I'm a bad person Run, if you don't want to be led on because of my confusion I don't feel justified in my behavior Some of them are innocent Great people But they give me the attention I so desperately crave So I hold the carrot and push them away with the stick I don't feel justified in my behavior Because I don't feel anymore Any remaining shred of vulnerability, trust, and whatever the hell else Has been stripped away from me I wish I could fall in love Instead of constantly doubting if I even like this person Allowing for vulnerability, even to myself It is even worse to not know how you feel Than to feel it I would sacrifice myself to constant disappointment For even half a chance of some kind of emotional stability I'm consciously aware of what I need to change Except I can't It feels better to inflict some of my misery on others I don't want to process it Relive and put myself through more trauma A knife in a wound can't be pulled out Otherwise you're gone Be patient, wait for a doctor I've been stabbed Some of the wounds so old they've begun to heal around the blade I haven't arrived at the hospital yet Only loaded onto the EMS gurney I'm a female manipulator And I'm sorry for those I've hurt

Ladybugs A symbol of luck Back-to-back blessings A rush of maturity seizes my heart A headstart on the love of life Salve slathered over my scarred soul