A mother's love is a quiet strength, a constant presence that nurtures, protects, and guides. In every family, mothers play an irreplaceable role, balancing countless responsibilities with grace and courage. Being a mother isn't just a job; it's a journey filled with love, sacrifice, and the everyday heroism of caring for others. Being a mother is one of the most challenging and rewarding roles imaginable. Mothers are the ultimate givers, often putting their children's needs above their own without a second thought. They are willing to bear any burden and would gladly take on all the pain to shield their children from hurt. This incredible love and selflessness are truly unmatched. From the moment we are born, our mothers become our first caregivers and protectors. They are there for every milestone, whether it's a scraped knee or a big life decision, offering comfort and guidance. They dress us, feed us, and create a safe space where we can grow and flourish. No one else in our lives thinks and cares for us quite like our mothers do. This is why our mothers deserve our deepest love and respect. They are the silent heroes who work tirelessly, often without recognition, to ensure our happiness and success. Their love is a constant, unwavering force, and their sacrifices are the foundation of everything we are and everything we aspire to be. In the quiet moments and the loud, in the joys and the struggles, mothers stand as pillars of strength and love. They are the unsung heroes whose every day is filled with acts of kindness, sacrifice, and courage. A mother's job is never done; it is a lifelong journey that shapes the lives of their children in profound ways.

Ever since I was a little brat with pigtails, art has always fascinated me. My mother said I would draw on every surface I could find—from the cupboards to the dressers, to the TV screen. If it could be scribbled on, my tiny baby hands, barely able to hold a crayon, were all over it. When I finally moved on to actual paper, I would get lost in the worlds I created, inventing stories for the characters I drew. By middle school, I was the kid in the back of the class, sketching away to my heart's content. I remember one time, a classmate asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Having no interests besides drawing, I told them I had no idea. They suggested, “What about those people who draw cartoons? You draw a lot, and you're good at it!” That comment stuck with me. When I got home, I went straight to our old Dell computer and looked up "people who draw cartoons," and according to Google, they were called "animators." Maybe it was the satisfaction of someone besides my mom acknowledging my work, or perhaps it was the realization that this could be an actual career, but I became fixated. I imagined myself working at a big animation company, sipping on my drink while doing what I loved most. Little me made it her mission to become an animator one day. I spent countless hours researching and watching tutorials on how to improve my art. My sketch pad was always with me, constantly trying to get better. But there was something missing. Every animation tutorial I watched featured a “drawing tablet.” Seeing this, little me wanted one desperately, but I knew I couldn't ask my mom for it. She was already working two jobs to support me and my three other siblings. I didn't want to burden her any further. So, I found ways to earn the money myself. I offered my drawing services to my classmates in exchange for cash, knocked on neighbors' doors to walk their dogs, and did chores for other people—I did everything I could to raise the money. Every peso I saved felt like a step closer to my dream. I remember the thrill of holding a crisp bill in my hand after walking Mrs. Garcia's dog for a week straight. It felt like victory, and I was convinced that nothing could stop me. My mom noticed my extra energy. She never asked why, but I could see the pride in her eyes every time I showed her the little money I had saved, telling her it was for my future. A couple of weeks went by, and my piggy bank grew heavier. I could barely contain my excitement when I finally had enough to buy the drawing tablet. I remember running to my mom, showing her the money I had saved. Just when I thought I was about to hold the tablet in my hands, life took an unexpected turn. My grandma fell seriously ill, and suddenly, every bit of money we had became crucial. Without hesitation, I offered my savings to help with her medical expenses. My mom was reluctant to accept it, knowing how much I had worked for it, but I insisted. My dream could wait; my grandma's health couldn't. The months that followed were tough. We watched over grandma, praying for her recovery. By some miracle, she got better, and we were all so relieved. Though my dream of owning a drawing tablet seemed further away, my heart was full knowing my Nana was okay and I had helped in a small way. When Christmas rolled around, I didn't expect much. We had spent so much on the hospital bills, I knew there wasn't much left for presents. But on Christmas morning, as we gathered around the tree, my mom handed me a box wrapped in bright red paper. I slowly unwrapped the gift, my hands trembling. I couldn't believe it—inside was the drawing tablet! With tears in my eyes, I looked up at my mom. She smiled and told me she had taken on extra shifts at work to buy it. That moment was pure magic. I hugged my mom tightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. She had always been my biggest supporter, and this was the greatest gift she could have given me. I plugged in the tablet immediately; the feel of the stylus in my hand just felt so right. My imagination had found a new playground. I was practically glued to my tablet, practicing my technique every day. As my art improved, so did my confidence. So, I decided to start sharing my work online, making connections with other artists and like-minded people. High school came and went, and I had my sights set on animation school. Although the road wasn't easy, I was determined. Today, as I sit in my college dorm room, going to my dream school, I often think back to those early days. The determination, the hard work, and the belief that I could make it all seemed like a distant dream. But it was real, and it was mine. I dedicate everything I have achieved and will achieve to my mom. My journey from a little brat with pigtails drawing on cupboards to a budding animator has been filled with challenges and triumphs, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Some things remind us of some things. For example, a perfume reminds you of a woman. A song suddenly turns into a memory. Sharp objects remind some people of wounds. A daughter always reminds you of her mother. You never know what will remind whom or where. On the night of December 13, in 2023, a man was walking home. When he compulsorily heard the voices that blending into the night he was faced with two choices. I say "compulsorily" because hearing is an act you cannot control. For example, if you don't want to see, you close your eyes, if you don't want to smell, you hold your nose, but even when you close your ears, you have to hear some sounds, and some sounds remind you of some things. In another branch of the universe, the man followed gunshots and screams. At 02:37, the man's body was found, thanks to the inform of the neighbors. It is unknown why and by whom the fight started. Police thinks it was because members of two hostile peoples came face to face in this country. Are they the guilty ones in this story? The answer is optional. Some people have been whispered to hate some people since childhood. Some people mix prejudice into the food their children eat and the water their children drink. The terrifying part is that, unlike stereotypes, prejudices can arise out of nowhere. If you want to see such people, you can go to countries where there are many wars. But why would you want to? Somewhere in the world, some children are raised like this. Anyway, this has no relevance to our story. The problem is the neighbor who reported the incident. The neighbor was first affected by the bystander effect. In other words, she remained a spectator to the event. Even if she hadn't stayed, I don't think she would have been able to save the man. When she called the cops, the fight has already been over and the man injured. However, she should have called while the fight was going on. Because she was confused about the incident and partly because of her old age, she forgot call her son and tell to pick up an acquaintance from the airport. She obliged to give the news a little later. The passenger waited at the airport exit because the neighbor's son left half an hour later than he was supposed to. Unluckily, this passenger was in intense depression for a long time, and when the man did not arrive in the cold weather, he decided to leave everything and commit suicide. We cannot condemn him. Depression is like that. Everything in your soul turns into poison, without knowing from your essence. Those types of people wouldn't care if the apocalypse broke, but if their nails were broken, they would go crazy. And the man had made him wait in the cold weather for almost 30 minutes. For someone with depression, 30 minutes in cold weather. Can you estimate? I mean, the man's suicide was not unexpected. After a while, he was found dead next to one of the buildings. It is said that he jumped from the roof. But whether he died or not is irrelevant. The point was that the man did not collect his bag from the baggage claim area. Fortunately, the man's bag was almost identical to the bag of an artificial intelligence engineer who entered the country that evening. In her haste, the woman accidentally took the wrong bag, leaving behind a computer containing crucial work that could have prevented the artificial intelligence winter of the period. When she realized this and went back to get the bag, she had already been in a car accident. Of course, this is what happens if she goes sleepless for days to make this innovation. Those smart people always have stupid habits. We must admit that unlike humans, algorithms are immortal. Nothing happened to the coding the woman wrote. But no one would find this file among algorithms that are almost as numerous as "Mersenne" numbers. If she had not died, this artificial intelligence would have developed 3 years later, and 8 months after its development, it would have created a global problem due to business people eager to be the first. Fortunately, none of this happened. Because, in this branch of the universe, in our story, the man ignored the voices and walked straight home. I've always envied people who can't hear even if they don't have a problem with their ears, or can't see even if they don't have a problem with their eyes. Our man was one of them.

A dark night like no other, with glimpses of lights appearing like glowing stars. A little girl named Hind was walking around with a red balloon in her hand, the buildings around her were all lit up with colourful lights. hind walked around the city with her red balloon, waving at the buildings before she saw a black cat across the road. She started running towards it. 'Wait here kitty! I have some food for you!' Hind screamed as she crossed the street. The cat started running away, moving across the city while Hind followed with a balloon in one hand and cat treats in the other. "Come back kitty! I'm not going to hurt you." She said with a friendly tone. The black cat ran inside a dark alley, where the only visible part was it's end, and hind followed it inside. She reached the other side of the alley with no signs of the cat. "Aww, where did it go? I wanted to give it some treats." She complained. The end of the alley led to a park with colourful swings and a field. Hind screamed excitingly, 'swings!' Before she ran towards them, holding her balloon tightly. Jumping onto a swing, she started swaying, her laughter could be heard all across the playground when a tall man approached the swings, his face hidden in the nighs darkness. Hind noticed him and waved, smiling brightly before greeting him. 'Hello, sir! Do you want to swing with me too?' she asked swayin. The man looked slightly worried after seeing her alone and asked her with a smile. "Now what is a little princess like you doing here at night? Where are your parents little girl?" He told her after approaching. 'They told me to run around the city, and they will come and get me soon! So, I'm playing here. They said they have a surprise for me, but I can't see it yet! I'm really excited,' she said joyfully, smiling at him. The man looked more worried but switched to a slight smile and answered "yes, that sounds really exciting! Do you remember where they were before you left them?" Hind smiled back at him innocently and said: "they were in the car!" The man's expressions slowly turned into worry, a forced smile with pity showed on his face before replying back. "Oh that sounds exciting!". "It is!!" Hind replied quickly. "Also mister you didn't tell me your name yet, my name is hind! I'm six years old! What about you?" She asked looking at him. "My name is Messor, Torva Messor. I'm from another city, and the cat you were following earlier is my friend Oscar." Messor answered with the a smile. he was wearing a long black coat with a white shirt and a black tie in-between them. While hind wore a colorful white and red dress. Messor's face switched back to sadness. He looked at hind's red balloon. And asked her quietly. "Do you want to come with me hind? We might find your parents together. I'm good at finding people! Oscar will come too." Hind jumped from the swing and asked excitingly "really?? Will you guys help me find them? Thank you so much!" Then she hugged him. "Yes, you can walk Infront of us towards that forest. It will help us cross to the other side of the city," Messor said, pointing to a nearby forest. "I can hold your balloon for you as well; so you can run without it flying away," he added, smiling. Thank you for the help!! You are very kind messor, I'll go wait for you guys in the end of this field!" Hind said after she handed him the red balloon, and ran across the field. Laughing and spinning around as she walked. Messor looked at Oscar, then back at the city. The war-torn buildings and the blood-coated roads that shined in the moonlight. The buildings were completely destroyed, with only a few walls still standing, barely supported by exposed metal rods. The city was covered with red pits everywhere that it felt as if it was painted red. Oscar looked at Messor and asked him, horrified "do you think..her parents are out there?" Messor looked at the red pits and answered quietly, 'I don't think so. She doesn't even realise there's a war. She kept pointing at the collapsed buildings, talking how bright their lights were. The same with her parents; only the light she sees is what's left of them.' "Why didn't you tell her about the buildings?" Oscar asked, wondering. 'I don't know, Oscar. Sometimes even we need some false hope that the buildings around us are still standing, that our loved ones are still waiting for us. I didn't want to take that away from her' Messor answered, turning his back to the ruined city. 'And the balloon.. it's not supposed to be red, right? Neither her dress,' Oscar asked again. 'I know,' Messor answered quietly and continued walking. 'How do we help her, Messor?' Oscar asked. 'The only thing we can do is help her cross to a better place Oscar, Like we did with everyone else.' Messor answered , a tear in his eye. He walked with Oscar towards Hind and caught up to her at the edge of the forest. 'Let's go hind. Give me your hand,' Messor told her . 'let's play elsewhere.'

As children are the most vulnerable members of society, it is crucial to ensure their safety and well-being at all times. Unfortunately, there are instances where children find themselves in abusive environments, whether it be at home, school, or within their communities. It is imperative that we as adults take action to help children escape these harmful situations. One of the most important ways to help children escape an abusive environment is to create a safe and supportive space for them to open up about their experiences. It is essential to listen without judgment and provide a compassionate ear for children to share their feelings and fears. This can help build trust and encourage children to seek help when needed. Additionally, it is crucial to educate children about what constitutes abuse and how to recognize the warning signs. By empowering children with knowledge, they can better protect themselves and seek help if they find themselves in an abusive situation. Schools and community organizations can play a significant role in providing education and resources to children on this important topic. Another important step in helping children escape an abusive environment is to provide them with access to resources and support services. This may include counseling, therapy, legal assistance, and shelter options. By connecting children with the appropriate resources, we can help them navigate the complex process of escaping abuse and finding safety. It is also important to involve the authorities and child protective services when necessary. If a child is in immediate danger, it is crucial to report the abuse to the proper authorities so that they can intervene and protect the child. It is our collective responsibility to ensure that children are safe and protected from harm. In conclusion, helping children escape an abusive environment requires a collaborative effort from all members of society. By creating a safe and supportive space for children to open up, educating them about abuse, providing access to resources and support services, and involving the authorities when necessary, we can help children escape the cycle of abuse and find safety and healing. Together, we can make a difference in the lives of children and ensure that they have the opportunity to thrive in a safe and supportive environment.

Thank you very much for participating in the Biopage Storytelling Writing Contest! The results are now available on the contest webpage: https://www.biopage.com/contest It was a very difficult decision to make! We received many high-quality essays from around the world, it was so difficult to pick the winners. We have “Children of war” from Shobana and “Peace is priceless” from David to reflect the ongoing wars in the world. We have “Where there is will, there is a way” from Shreya, “The warmth of the garden” from Brandon, and “Is it me?” from Emilia to describe their experience with mental disorders. We have “Gifts of December” from Lily about the lighter note of life. And we have “Seed of greatness” from Stephene about hope and growth in poetry! The winners will receive separate emails regarding award certificates and prizes. We are sorry that most of you will be disappointed; but remember you are all winners! Many participants appreciated the contest as an opportunity to stay away from the noisy social media, to really start writing again to express themselves and to tell stories. Please keep in mind that this is a recurrent contest; you are welcome to write another story and submit again! Please continue to stay in the community of Biopage, using the website or more conveniently the iOS app or Android app to continue to write, and to stay in touch with your friends and other writers. If you use the iOS app or Android app, please rate and write a review at the App Store or Google Play. We are giving out an Amazon gift card to each user who wrote a review about Biopage at the App Store. Please email admin@biopage.com with your App Store or Google Play ID name and a screenshot of the review, and the gift card may arrive in 2 weeks. A certificate of participation of the writing contest will be available upon request by email. Thank you and happy writing! The Biopage Writing Contest Committee

Little teacher Station. My all exams finished and I was waiting for bus. At that time sudden, I saw little, so pretty, sympathetic, clean and stylishly dressed a boy. He is about 4 or 5 years old. He used to collect garbage around the sidewalk so take it to special conteniars. I was watching the clever boy during a few time. This Street crowded, in this case lot of people look at the boy and shying for casting own garbage to walkway. They watched the boy a fewer time and blush from own behavior. I also watched the position so thought about doing goodness for enviroment. The goodness absolutely return to our life, even will influence to future. Definitely, being decent isn't depend on to age or format of humans. Those only depend on a person's soul and behavior. I figure out, the boy teach me that lesson, besides stayed at my mind as little teacher.

Station. My all exams finished and I was waiting for bus. At that time sudden, I saw little, so pretty, sympathetic, clean and stylishly dressed a boy. He is about 4 or 5 years old. He used to collect garbage around the sidewalk so take it to special conteniars. I was watching the clever boy during a few time. This Street crowded, in this case lot of people look at the boy and shying for casting own garbage to walkway. They watched the boy a fewer time and blush from own behavior. I also watched the position so thought about doing goodness for enviroment. The goodness absolutely return to our life, even will influence to future. Definitely, being decent isn't depend on to age or format of humans. Those only depend on a person's soul and behavior. I figure out, the boy teach me that lesson, besides stayed at my mind as little teacher.

COVID, lets face it -- It was the most miserable part of everyone's life. The world outside my window seemed to fade into a grayscale existence. Isolation swallowed me. Each day was a struggle, a battle against the sadness and the feeling of loneliness that threatened to consume me. With no one to talk to, even though I was living with my parents, I didn't necessarily had the greatest relationship with them. I was a in my pre-teens and had the same temper and habits as any other pre- teen kid – staying in my room all day, not showering for days, not talking to anyone. Life became so monotonous and repetitive during that time. Now that I look back at it I am damn sure I was depressed, I used to cry for hours and hours. Desperation led me to find solace in stories and music, my only companions during those long, desolate days. I devoured books that transported me to different worlds, where the characters faced challenges and emerged victorious. Music became my refuge, each note a soothing balm to the wounds within. The end of the lockdown marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I started going to school again and made started interacting with people, I may have created an alter ego for myself in order to appear lively so people would like me. I talked to these classmates of mine whom I wouldn't have talked to if they weren't my classmates and as we spent our time together I started getting closer to them building the bonds of friendship which I desperately needed after that depressive phase. During our exam season we would study together on meet and often go to watch movies and plan house parties together. I felt a surge of gratitude for the friendships that had pulled me from the depths of despair. Together, we explored the world outside our confined spaces, breathing in the fresh air and savouring the colours that had returned to my life. The once-silent heart now echoed with laughter and the joyous symphony of friendship. My three companions had become my whole world, and I realized that even in the darkest times, the universe conspired to bring light into our lives. No longer held captive by depression, I embraced the newfound happiness that radiated from within. The stories and music that once provided solace were now interwoven with the tales of my own journey, a testament to the transformative power of connection. As the famous saying goes “tough times don't last but tough people do.” This picture was taken recently in house party for new years

Enchanted waters of Karakalpakstan Once in the center of the Republic of Karakalpakstan there was a charming Aral Sea, famous for its clear waters and quiet beauty. The locals believed that the sea had a mysterious power, protecting its lands, blessed with a rich harvest. One summer day, a young fisherman named Arman rode his boat to his village for fishing. As he penetrated deeper into the sea, he noticed a bright light radiating from the water. Oddly enough, he followed the light and found a hidden bay hidden inside the cliffs of the Aral Sea. To Arman's surprise, a group of ethereal mermaids living in the mystical blind met ethereal creatures with bright tails. They echoed across the sea and sang charming melodies that filled the air with magic and admiration. Mermaids told tales about the ancient guardians of the sea and the importance of maintaining its natural splendor. Inspired by the wisdom of mermaids, Arman returned to his village and brought the community together to protect the Aral Sea and its surrounding ecosystems. Together, they organized beach cleaning, sustainable fishing practices, and educational programs to raise awareness of the ecological importance of the sea. Years passed, and the waters of the Aral Sea remained clean, overflowing with living marine life. Travelers who came far and wide visited Karakalpakstan and watched the amazing Island Sea, which today is revered as a symbol of environmental harmony and community management. The Aral Sea of Karakalpakstan continued to flourish, serving as an eternal reminder of the transformative power and eternal magic of preserving nature.

My interest in literature was not born when I saw the light for the first time or when I started writing. Literature was born when I learned that a simple action can limit your dreams and the emergence of your being. When I was a child I became ill with something that at first seemed to be nothing bad, but eventually pushed me to the limit of my hopes. I didn't know what I had and neither did my parents. That yellow tone in my skin distinguished me from the healthy ones. The illness was momentary, but at the same time hard. I began my rest by stopping going to school, abandoning my classroom and my siblings and parents with it. My illness prevented me from taking care of the children and my sister's childhood. I settled in a room with four walls where darkness and solitude were my best allies. My mother and father never left me alone, every breakfast, lunch and dinner I would lovingly observe each one's face, I could not eat with them but I could contemplate their existence. - This would not last long. My mother told me My believing self resurfaced with those words, hope returned from where it left off and the possibilities of moving forward arose as never before. But boredom took hold of me, I didn't know what to do other than sleep and play. Although I was very critical from a very young age, I attributed it to the debates that went on in my family and not to books, because I read them for school. As my greatest hobby was pottery, which I could no longer touch or look at. One of those cold and boring days. My older sister came with many books. She watched me and did not hesitate to mention that each book contained a world inside. I didn't save the best reaction because I always considered books as tools for school and not for a being who was locked up. As time went by my being sought the need for distraction but not with books. - Not with that. I mentioned madly Every moment was torture, until my curious instinct awakened the intention to see only the cover of the books and if there was the need to read, it would be the books with pictures. I started with the book "El chibolo Pilas", interesting, but very fast to read, that work, kept everything that its title says, a boy who was looking for happiness, but was misunderstood in the world. Then, I was interested in reading a story titled "The Dolphin", those pages full of letters and images awakened my desire to read even more, I understood how the human being seeks the meaning of life, the importance of perseverance and faith, that faith that I lacked and had to develop. Allowing me to know new worlds from my room was the beginning of the being I am now. Books introduced me to literature and the power to imagine a comfortable environment for myself. When I was able to heal and return to my reality again, I began to read not out of necessity, but out of interest for my personal growth. Books were not a problem, but a solution. Perhaps if I had not become ill, it would have taken me a long time to recognize the greatness of letters and images.

Once upon a time, in a quaint coastal town, there lived a young girl named Lily. Lily had a heart full of compassion and a spirit that radiated kindness. She believed in the power of small acts of goodness and how they could create a ripple effect of positivity in the world. Lily's town was known for its picturesque beaches and vibrant community. But there was one thing that troubled Lily deeply - the pollution that was slowly suffocating the ocean. Determined to make a difference, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Armed with a pair of gloves and a determination to clean up the beaches, Lily started organizing weekly beach cleanups. She would wake up early every Saturday morning and rally her neighbors, friends, and even strangers to join her in her mission. Together, they would comb the shores, picking up litter and plastic waste, one piece at a time. Word of Lily's beach cleanups spread throughout the town, and soon, more and more people started joining her cause. What started as a small group of volunteers quickly grew into a community movement. People of all ages and backgrounds came together, united by their love for the ocean and their desire to protect it. As the beaches became cleaner, Lily realized that raising awareness was just as important as cleaning up. She started giving educational talks at schools and community events, teaching others about the impact of plastic pollution on marine life and the environment. Her passion and knowledge inspired others to make changes in their own lives, reducing their plastic consumption and adopting more sustainable habits. One day, a local artist named Mia approached Lily with an idea. She suggested creating an art installation made entirely from the plastic waste they had collected. Lily loved the idea, and together, they transformed the collected plastic into a stunning sculpture that depicted the beauty of the ocean and the importance of preserving it. The sculpture became a symbol of hope and a powerful visual reminder of the impact of human actions on the environment. It was displayed in the town square, attracting visitors from far and wide. People marveled at its beauty and were moved by the message it conveyed. News of Lily's efforts reached the ears of an environmental organization that was looking for young ambassadors to join their cause. Impressed by Lily's dedication and the impact she had made in her community, they offered her a position as a youth advocate. Lily eagerly accepted, seeing it as an opportunity to amplify her voice and create an even greater impact. As a youth advocate, Lily traveled to different towns and cities, sharing her story and inspiring others to take action. She worked with local governments, urging them to implement better waste management systems and promote eco-friendly practices. Her tireless efforts caught the attention of national media, and soon, Lily's message reached millions of people across the country. Years later, as Lily stood on a stage receiving an award for her environmental activism, she looked back at her journey with a heart full of gratitude. She realized that her small acts of goodness had sparked a movement that had transformed not only her town but also the hearts and minds of people everywhere. Lily's story serves as a reminder that every individual has the power to create change, no matter how small their actions may seem. It is through our collective efforts and the belief in our ability to make a difference that we can create a better and more sustainable world for future generations. And so, the story of Lily and her beach cleanups reminds us that the power to change the world lies within each of us. With compassion, determination, and a little bit of sand between our toes, we can create a wave of positive change that will wash away the pollution and bring back the beauty of our precious oceans.

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.

Once upon a time, in a world similar to ours, a pandemic called Covid-19 spread across nations, causing economic decline, socio-political issues, and unexpected successes. In the small town of Willowbrook, nestled amidst green hills and a peaceful river, life came to a sudden stop as news of the virus reached the tightly-knit community. The lively marketplace, once filled with children's laughter and friends' conversations, now stood empty and deserted. Shop owners who once thrived now faced the harsh reality of economic decline. Some had to shut down their businesses indefinitely, unsure if they would ever reopen. As time passed, tensions rose in Willowbrook, and the town's socio-political issues became more prominent. Lines formed outside the food bank as families struggled to feed themselves. Unemployment rates skyrocketed, leaving many desperate and uncertain. The town's leaders faced the challenging task of balancing public health measures with addressing the socio-economic inequalities exposed by the pandemic. However, amidst the darkness, Willowbrook found glimpses of hope and achievements that would shape its future. Local businesses adapted and survived through innovative thinking. They embraced e-commerce platforms, offering their products and services online, providing a lifeline for the community. Neighbors came together to form support groups and community initiatives to help those in need. The town's leaders implemented financial relief programs and collaborated with neighboring towns to share resources and knowledge. Education also underwent a transformation. With schools closed, teachers and parents quickly adapted to online learning. Students explored virtual classrooms and discovered a world of knowledge at their fingertips. Although challenges arose, this new mode of education bridged gaps and ensured all students continued their studies. Willowbrook's triumph over the virus came through sacrifices and determined efforts. Healthcare workers emerged as unsung heroes, tirelessly protecting the town's residents. They faced the pandemic head-on, demonstrating compassion and resilience on the frontlines. The community rallied behind these dedicated professionals, offering words of encouragement, symbols of appreciation, and donations to support their endeavors. As the pandemic gradually diminished, leaving its lasting impact on the town's history, Willowbrook emerged even stronger and more united than before. The economic decline began to reverse as businesses reopened and new ones emerged from the ashes. The town also addressed the socio-political issues it faced, sparking conversations about fair access to healthcare, income equality, and social safety nets. Willowbrook became a shining example of resilience and camaraderie. The story of Willowbrook and its people is just one chapter in the global narrative of the Covid-19 pandemic. It serves as a reminder that even in the most challenging of times, hope can thrive, and achievements can be attained. By coming together, adapting to new circumstances, and addressing the socio-political problems highlighted by the pandemic, communities worldwide can reconstruct stronger and more inclusive societies.

The Brief Story of Eternity Arthur Stace was not a man that you would have spent your hard-earned money betting on to become a celebrity. Born to alcoholic parents in Sydney in 1885, he lived in grinding poverty. That led to stealing bread and milk and searching for scraps of food in bins. As a teenager, he became an alcoholic, was sent to jail at 15 and, in his twenties, he was a scout for his sisters' brothels. Arthur was 45 when he entered a church one day, probably to get out of the rain and hoping for a handout. The sermon concerned eternity. And, for reasons he could never explain, he immediately gave up alcohol and became obsessed with that word - eternity. Despite the fact that he was illiterate and could hardly write his own name legibly, for the next 35 years he inscribed the word ‘Eternity' on footpaths and doorsteps in and around Sydney. He always wrote in immaculate copperplate and used yellow chalk and it's estimated he did this half a million times. Along the way, he achieved world-wide fame as ‘Mr. Eternity', before his death in 1967 at the age of 83. Only one original still exists, inside the bell of the Sydney General Post Office clock tower, which was brought out of storage in the 1960's. It had been sealed up for 20 years and no-one knows how Arthur had been able to get to it. He inspired many artists (including Banksy) and writers, spawned an opera and even a film by Julien Temple, the video chronicler of the Sex Pistols and The Kinks. In 2000, the Sydney Harbour Bridge was lit up with the word "Eternity" as part of the celebrations for the beginning of the year 2000, as well as being part of the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games Opening Ceremony, in celebration of a man who became eternal though the use of one word.