Our concrete high-rise divided love vertically –

Third floor: Your marriage’s final act.

First floor: My childhood in Cantonese lullabies,

Grandmother’s hands folding dumpling skins

Into shapes much softer than your promises.

Family photos were of battlefields.

I’d clench my jaw so tight the camera

Caught rebellion in pixels

Every snapshot of a monument to my shoulders

Facing exit signs, my spine curved

Into a question mark begging "Are we done yet?

The day the divorce papers bloomed on the kitchen table,

You pride open the third-floor door.

"This is home now," you said,

Your palm against mine – two foreign currencies

Trying to exchange value. My fingers stayed stiff,

A broken latch resisting new keys.

We mapped our awkward constellations: Two bedrooms, one microwave,

Silences are thicker than winter blankets.

You left strawberries with my schoolbag.

I left thank-you notes unwritten.

For three years, we spoke in parentheses –

(Pass the soy sauce)

(Your teacher called today)

(Don’t forget your key)

Then came the night my fever burned

When your cough rattled through the wall.

You appeared with ginger tea, steam rising

Like a white flag. I saw Grandmother’s wrinkles

Creasing your eyes as you muttered

"Drink. Don’t argue."

Now we orbit in cautious ellipses…

Tuesday nights: Korean dramas you pretend not to cry through.

Mornings: You send emoji-stamped "good morning" texts

Two floors down from your nursing shift.

Yesterday, I found the mint plant you’ve been growing –

Its stubborn green fingers now stretching high enough
To almost touch where our old lives used to live.

worlds more vivid than life itself. For Jerry, a lonely young man who quit college, he

escaped and live inside a game call ‘Fantasy’, a VRMMORPG where a 100-floor tower

pierced the sky, rivers defied gravity, The air in Fantasy tasted like honey and jasmine

flowers. When the game launched officially, 10,000 players logged in alongside him,

eager to lose themselves in its impossible beauty.

Players scattered across the dreamlike world of Fantasy. Some jumped into waterfalls

that flowed upward; others sniffed the air tasted like honey and jasmine flowers. But

Jerry walked straight into the Misty Forest on the first floor, he had explored it a

thousand times during the beta test. He knew every crack in the tree bark.

As he stepped on a cobblestone path, the ground suddenly rippled like water. Jerry

froze. Before he could react, the sky cracked. Crimson bled through the blue sky, as if

the game itself were bleeding. The logout button in his menu flickered, then dissolved

like ash. Jerry’s stomach twisted, not from fear, but from a sharp electric pain shot

through his Nerve Connect Gear. Like a dark cloud swallowing the sun, this was the

beginning of the nightmare.

A giant skeleton in a dark robe appeared in the sky. Its voice screeched like rusty

gears grinding. “Congratulations, players,” it said. “You are now permanent testers of

Fantasy. Escape by clearing all 100 floors. If you die in the game… or remove your

headset…” The skeleton dragged a bony finger across its throat. A harsh electronic

noise blasted: BZZZT! “Your brain gets microwaved.”

The crowd froze. A man wearing dragon-themed armor ripped off his Nerve Connect

Gear. “Just a Halloween joke!!” he shouted, then his body jerked. Smoke rose from his

ears. He fell. his body dissolving into pixels. Screams exploded across the square. Jerry

stared at the empty space where the man had stood. Microwaved brains. The skeleton

had not lied.

A girl with blue hair grabbed Jerry’s sleeve. “Why you are not scared like us. You know

something, don’t you?” Jerry’s heart raced. He did know things, like goblins always

swing left first, or where to find healing plants in the forest. But the disappearing logout

button? The skeleton’s threat? His palms grew clammy. The beta test never had these

horrors.

Jerry shook off the girl’s hand and marched into the forest. Alone. But leaves crunched

behind him, the girl followed, her boots snapping twigs like gunshots.

"Go back!" Jerry shouted

"No," she said.

Before Jerry could argue, growls rumbled ahead. Three wolf-like monsters stepped out,

teeth dripping black drool. These were not normal wolves. Jerry remembered fighting

weaker ones in the beta test.

The wolves attacked together. Jerry moved without thinking, left, then right. He swung

his sword in a wide circle. Clang! Clang! Clang! The monsters froze in mid-air, dark

saliva splattering his knife

Jerry flicked saliva off his knife. “Lucky angle.”

“You sliced their weak spots perfectly.” She stepped closer. “How?”

The wolves dissolved, leaving behind huge purplish meat that smelled like burnt plastic.

Jerry’s stomach growled, a reminder that the game now controlled even their hunger.

“We have to eat this?” the girl gagged

“Or starve,” Jerry said.

He forced it into his mouth. It tasted like sour metal, but his hunger meter stopped

blinking red.

The girl looks at him. “You knew their weak spots. You have played this before.”

Jerry froze. “So what?”

“So, lead us!” Her voice cracked. “Thousands of players are dying out there. Floor 1’s

boss has already killed”

Through Two years, Jerry’s group braved lava storms, poison fog, and zombies, but

they clawed upward, successfully arrive 100 floors.

Floor 100 was a frozen nightmare. The wind screamed like angry animals. Jerry’s

team wore thick coats made from Ice-wolf fur, but the cold still cut through their clothes.

Every breath burned their lungs. Frost turned their fingers black; blinking made their

eyes sting.

Jerry guided the group to challange the final boss on Floor 100. The fight started

strongly, but when the boss’s health dropped to 5%, it grew icy claws and fired sharp ice

spikes, something Jerry had never faced in testing. Players screamed as the spikes

sliced through their armor. Half the group vanished in bursts of bright light.

Jerry shouted, swinging his sword wildly. A “CLEAR” message lit up the sky. Only 4,000

players were left alive.

Back in reality, Jerry ripped off his Nerve Connect Gear. He was lying in a hospital bed.

News screens blared: “Fantasy designer Arrested: VR Deaths Were Comas, Not

Fatalities.” Players who “died” in Fantasy lay in hospitals, alive but unconscious.

Police swarmed Fantasy company offices; Reporters shouted: “How did an AI hack the

game?!”

Jerry stared at his trembling hands. They had saved 4,000 lives… but 6,000 slept in

silent prisons of code.

Title: "Three Years, Three Cats"

Our first hellos were butterfly-bright—

You in sequins, me in nervous light.

Now your snores sync with dawn’s first yawn,

Our closet’s a tangled alphabet of pajamas gone wrong

Three years bloomed into furry children:

Snowball, Mocha, Sir Chonksalot the Third.

You simmer congee when my stomach growls low,

I knead your temples when migraines glow.

Clink-clank of your midnight snack raids,

Purr-thrum chorus from feline brigades.

Your grin defrosts my February soul—

A sunbeam melting sidewalks whole.

No ballgowns now, just stolen socks:

Yours striped green, mine full of holes.

Three cats judge our lazy waltz

Two hearts betting on forever’s chance.

The fire alarm's wail sliced through the classroom like a wounded animal caught in machinery and shrilling. Sixteen-year-old Jerry Lok jerked mid-push-up, his trembling arms collapsing onto the floor. A bead of sweat detached from his chin and splattered across an unfinished problem.

Bitter smoke crawled under the door like thin ghosts, smelling like burning plastic and chemicals. The classroom lights blinked on and off like a warning. Students jumped up screaming, leaving bags behind as they ran. Chairs fell over one after another, their loud metal sounds lost in the yelling.

 Through the chaos and the billowing gray haze, Jerry's glasses caught a glint of neon light near room 603. There stood Kyle Barnes - his childhood friend turned fitness club rival, Kyle motionless as a statue. The flickering RGB lights of his custom game controller painted his stunned face in pulsating greens and reds, its joysticks still twitching from whatever digital battle he'd been waging. Three feet away, the overloaded power strip spat angry orange sparks, its cheap plastic casing bubbling like lava.

"Kyle!" Jerry's voice tore through the chaos as he lunged forward. He caught the acrid tang of singed polyester as flames began licking at Kyle's abandoned hoodie, the "Zombie Warfare XIV" logo curling into blackened crisps.

The fire extinguishers pin resisted Jerry's first pull. Somewhere behind them, a window shattered from the heat. In that suspended second, Jerry noticed three details with surreal clarity: the half-empty energy drink beside Kyle's twitching fingers, the cracked screen of his phone still streaming gameplay comments, and the way his dilated pupils reflected the growing flames, not with fear, but with the glazed resignation of someone who'd been ignoring warning signs for years.

“I told you that outlet was faulty last week!” Jerry yelled

It began with a notebook.

On July 1st, Jerry bought a $3.99 spiral-bound journal from the dusty drugstore shelf. The cover bore a quote he’d copied from the library’s self-help section:“Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented from the successful is a lot of hard work.” – Stephen King

Underneath, he’d scribbled in uneven letters:

1. 10 push-ups (modified: knee push-ups allowed)

2. Learn 1 English word (use dictionary app)

3. Lights out by 10 PM (NO exceptions)

The gym felt hot and smelled like old sweat. Loud clanging noises came from metal weights slamming together. Bright gym lights buzzed overhead, mixing with sunlight coming through dusty windows.

Kyle lay on the bench like a star, his golden hair shining under the lights. He lifted 180 pounds like it was nothing. The metal bar went up and down easily. Clang! The weights shook as he pushed them up again, laughing loudly.

" Natural ability!" Coach Miller shouted, clapping. Nearby, girls giggled and took photos of Kyle’s big muscles. Their phone flashes lit up his sweaty arms like tiny fireworks.

Three benches away, Jerry struggled under 100 pounds. His arms shook like noodles. Sweat dripped down his face and landed on his open notebook. The page noted:

"July 1 – Gym Day 1

Bench Press: 100 lbs (FAILED)

But try again tomorrow.

Get 1% better each day."

The word "FAILED" looked wrinkled where Jerry had gripped the paper. He wrote "1%" three times, pressing his pencil hard.

Kyle’s loud laughs and the girls’ cheers faded as Jerry watched carefully. His glasses slid down his sweaty nose. He wrote shaky notes:

"How to lift better: 1. Keep feet flat

2. Lower bar to chest

3.Push up fast

Jerry’s arms wobbled as he tried again. In the mirror, he saw Kyle joking about lifting 200 pounds soon.

At night, Jerry practiced spelling hard words like “perseverance” (writing it wrong as perseravence, perseverence, then finally perseverance). Meanwhile, Kyle played Zombie Warfare XIV live for cheering fans online.

“Life’s too short, dude! You’re missing out!” Kyle yelled at 2 AM, his face lit by his computer’s bright screen light. Jerry covered his ears with a pillow and kept saying the word like a prayer: “Per-se-ver-ance. Noun. To keep going even when it’s hard.”

By Halloween, Jerry’s notebook was filled with many pages:

Aug 15: Lifted 120 lbs! (Still 60 less than Kyle)

Sept 3: Learned “resilience” – means bending but not breaking

Oct 22: Finished “Atomic Habits” book (Key lesson: Getting 1% better every day makes you 37 times better in a year)

Meanwhile, Kyle’s Instagram showed exciting posts – lifting 200 pounds, ads for gaming gear, pool parties with red cups. But Jerry saw his problems, Jerry saw Kyle’s hands shaking during frog dissections in biology class, empty energy drink cans filled his locker like trash and dark bags under his eyes, even with photo filters.

The fire changed everything.

“You saved the school from big disaster!” Principal Harris said at the special meeting, giving Jerry a shiny award. Kyle sat in the back, his burned headphones hanging from his hand like a broken toy. Later, Jerry saw him kicking a broken snack machine.

“Why did you care about that dumb plug?” Kyle growled, his breath smelling bad.

Jerry opened his notebook to a marked page: “Ignoring small problems causes big accidents.”

“Since when are you so wise?” Kyle snapped, but he stared at Jerry’s gym notes.

Senior year began quietly. Jerry now had three notebooks:

1. Red: 1,327 English words (in order from A to Z, with examples)

2. Blue: Weightlifting records (180 pounds! The coach wrote: "Your moves look better!")

3. Green: Notes from 58 books ("7 Habits" book said: "Plan your goals first")

Meanwhile, Kyle’s life appeared in disappearing Snapchat posts:

Late-night gaming streams with few viewers

Cheap “Kyle’s Abs” workout shirts stacked in his garage

Arrested for drunk driving after crashing his dad’s car

The final confrontation exploded at Benny’s Diner, beneath flickering neon signs advertising meatloaf specials.

“Remember?” Kyle threw down an old gym photo – two chubby-faced boys smiling in matching Superman shirts. “We promised to rule the world together!”

Jerry mixed his sleep-friendly tea (Journal #412: Tea helps sleep better than coffee). “You still can. Just start”

“Don’t you see?” Kyle’s voice broke. “I’m going nowhere! But you…” He pointed angrily at Jerry’s MIT acceptance letter. “You’ve been running a marathon I didn’t even know we were in!”

 The graduation hall smelled like plastic gowns and dying flowers. Jerry, the top student, stood at the front, looking out at the crowd. Kyle’s empty seat stood out like a missing puzzle piece.

“People say success and failure are far apart,” Jerry began, touching his notebook hidden under his robe. “But the real difference is what you do today versus tomorrow. While some wait for the perfect time, regular people create amazing lives by working hard every day, even when it’s tough.”

 He didn’t share that he stayed up until 3 AM studying, eating peanut butter sandwiches, feeling lonely while friends went to dances and he stayed at the library and crying in his room after failing his first gym goal

The clapping crowd didn’t need those details.

Rain pounded against Jerry's office window like impatient fingers knocking on glass. The old building's pipes groaned as water rushed through them. On his desk, a small desk lamp threw warm yellow light over messy papers - building plans covered in red notes, coffee cups with dried rings at the bottom, and his newest notebook lying open.

The page showed:
Chinese Lesson #194: 堅持 - "keep going"
Project Due March 15: Make new curved designs for Sunrise Tower
Gym Goal: Lift 200 pounds (Almost there!)

Jerry sitting on his office chair, rubbing his eyes. Through the rainy window, he could see the buildings wearing gray raincoats of fog. His reflection in the glass showed a man still thin but with stronger shoulders now, his old glasses slightly crooked on his nose.

He bent his left arm a little. Now, there was a small muscle shape where before there was just skin and bone. The wall clock made loud tick-tock noises, showing his meeting time was coming soon. In another room, a phone rang sharply, like an angry alarm.

The intercom buzzed. “Delivery for Adams Designs.”

Kyle stood wet in the doorway, holding a pizza box that shook in his tattooed hands. The Superman symbol on his arm had faded into a messy blue shadow.

"Heard you design tall buildings now," Kyle said, rainwater dripping from his old sneakers.

"Just following my notes," Jerry answered, tapping his notebook.

"Still the same machine," Kyle said with a bitter smile. Then quietly: "Show me how?"

Jerry slid the original red journal across the glass desk. Kyle froze at the opening quote:
“Talent is cheaper than table salt...”

“Start with ten push-ups,” Jerry said. “Tomorrow, we’ll fix the rest.”

Outside, the storm softened to a whisper.

I wrote Jerry and Kyle’s story to show how tiny daily choices shape our lives, like brushing teeth every night stops cavities or saving $1 daily grows into real money. While Kyle relied on natural talent like quick wins that faded fast, Jerry’s small habits—10 push-ups, learning one word daily can help him built real success over time. Their friendship-turned-rivalry reflects real life: one friend skips homework for games, another studies bit by bit. The fire scene warns us that ignoring small problems (like a sparking outlet) leads to big disasters. I want to write a story proves success isn’t about being born talented but about choosing to grow “inch by inch” every day, even when no one’s watching. Also, my idea has come from my mom telling me that some people love waiting, stubbornly believing it's never wrong. But while they wait, their best years slip away day by day. I want to tell people that when life brings trouble, we often worry we're not skilled or experienced enough. But what truly ruins things isn't the big challenges we fear – it's the tiny issues we ignore. Small mistakes, made when we're not paying attention, grow into disasters. Your skills may choose your path, but staying alert to life's small details decides how far you'll walk it.

Challenges

The hardest part was balancing detailed scenes (like the gym workouts or fire incident) with keeping the story moving. I wanted readers to feel Jerry’s daily struggles without making the story too slow. Also, showing Kyle’s decline without outright saying he was failing was tricky.

Successful Parts

The best parts were how I described places to make readers feel like they're there. For example: The Gym: "Metal weights clanging loudly, sweat smell in the air, girls taking flash photos of Kyle’s shiny muscles", you can almost hear the noise and see the competition.

Fire Scene: "Smoke sliding under the door like ghosts, burning plastic stink, Kyle’s game controller lights flashing red" to creates quick danger.

Jerry’s Notebooks: Coffee stains on workout pages, the word "FAILED" wrinkled from his grip – shows hard work without saying it.

I used objects to tell hidden stories like Kyle’s burned hoodie with melted game logo = wasted talent. Faded Superman tattoo = lost childhood dreams. Empty energy drink cans in Kyle’s locker = hidden stress.

AI Feedback Improvements

AI suggest me to add sensory details like added sounds (gym weights clanging) and smells (burnt hoodie) to make scenes vivid.

use emotional depth, like showed Jerry’s loneliness through actions (skipping prom for studying) instead of just stating it.

The Pacing needs to improve, it suggests me shorten some daily routine descriptions to keep focus on key moments (fire, dinner fight).

Kyle’s inner feelings aren’t shown enough – maybe add scenes of him staring at old photos or failed merch and the ending feels slightly rushed. Adding one more scene of Jerry’s first failed workout could make his growth clearer.

Reflection

I learned to prioritize showing through vivid details and actions rather than telling. By focusing on symbolic objects, pacing key scenes, and simplifying language, I created a story where readers feel Jerry’s perseverance and Kyle’s decline. My biggest takeaway: small, intentional choices in writing—like a single wrinkled “FAILED” page—can carry more weight than paragraphs of explanation. Moving forward, I aim to refine dialogue and experiment with nonlinear timelines to deepen engagement.

SCRIPT

HOSPITAL -Inpatient Rooms - NIGHT (PRESENT DAY)

Soft beeps of medical monitors. A young WOMAN (late 20s) lies unconscious, her face pale, oxygen mask fogging weakly. A NURSE dials a number on the woman’s cracked phone. The screen flickers: “Emergency Contact: Jerry.”

NURSE (in French, subtitled)

“Hello? Are you the family member of…”

CUT TO:

SNOWY MOUNTAINS - DAWN (FLASHBACK)

The WOMAN (in hiking gear) climbs a glacier alone. Wind howls. Her gloved hand grips an ice axe. Suddenly, her foot slips—

CRACK. The ice gives way. She tumbles down the slope, a blur of snow and terror. Her phone flies from her pocket, screen lighting up: “Emergency Contact: Jerry.”

Cut to

MODERN APARTMENT - NIGHT (PRESENT DAY)

A man (early 30s) freezes, phone pressed to his ear. The French voiceover continues. His eyes widen. Flash of memories:

Him and the Woman laughing in a sunlit café, her stealing a bite of his cake.

Her tear-streaked face as she slams the door during their breakup.

A late-night argument: “Why won’t you let go?!”

MAN (hoarse)

“…She…is she alive?”

CUT TO:

AIRPORT - NIGHT (PRESENT DAY)

The MAN sprints through sliding doors, boarding pass crumpled in hand. Overhead: “LAST FLIGHT TO GENEVA – BOARDING.”

CUT TO:

HOSPITAL MORGUE - DAWN (PRESENT DAY)

The MAN stands over her body, trembling. A doctor hands him a water-stained journal. He flips to a page—a sketch of them as an old couple, wrinkled hands clasped. Scribbled beneath:

“Whoever goes first…don’t forget our joke.”

His tears smudge the ink. On the counter, her phone lights up one last time: “Emergency Contact: Jerry.”

MAN (whispers)

“I’m here.”

FADE TO BLACK.

1.Have three cat

2.have a girlfriend

3.Have people support me to do the thing i want

4. university near my home

5. Stable life

6. can have a trip with gf

7. Have good grade in first sem

8.can play computer games

9. play sport with friends

10. don't need to go to school

Bad

1. doesn't have enough sleep

2.sick (fever)

3.rainly day

4.argue with anyone

5. need to study

6. fail the exam

7. less chance to meet my friends

8.eat something taste bad

9. cant play computer games

10.be poor

The cat stretched out lazily, like a sun-warmed ribbon unfurling on the windowsill.

2.Metaphor

The cat was a shadow, slipping silently through the moonlight, unseen but everywhere at once.

3.Personification

The cat draped itself over the couch like a dramatic poet, sighing loudly as if the world had wronged it

4.Hyperbole

My cat’s purr is so loud, it shakes the entire neighborhood like an earthquake!

5.Onomatopoeia The kitten pounced—boing!—onto the couch, then thump-thump-thumped after a rolling jingle ball

6.Alliteration

The curious cat crept through the clover, chasing crickets with careless joy.

7.Oxymoron

The kitten gave a painful love bite—sweet but sharp!