My name is Mai, and I am currently 14, living in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.

My current hobbies include basketball, baking, listening to music,and tarot reading! I also enjoy playing the guitar and I play in a band at school.
Thank you!

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 2/9 

Hình thức nộp bài: https://padlet.com/sworldvietnam/creative-writing-2-k4-qjf7ow4mze80cp7s

I have a lot of hobbies, but I'll list some here: I like scrolling through my media accounts, drawing (both digital and sketch drawing), reading books, singing, and writing stories (none of them is completely done yet though - >U<).

In my whole week, from monday to saturday morning, i went to school to learn and talking with my friends. In tuesday and thursday night, i have online english classes especially in tuesday that i got 2 different class. In addition to Tuesday and thursday, i went to my local gym to running on a treadmill and gaining muscle.

2 genres: Nonfictional Poetry or Fictional Poetry

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 15/9

1. On a rainy day, everything seems to take on a softer touch.

As gray clouds gather, raindrops gently patter against the windows,

Transforming the world into a snug, cozy haven.

Sidewalks glisten, and people emerge with vibrant umbrellas.

The rain creates a soft, soothing melody on the roof,

Like a lullaby from nature that invites relaxation.

Trees sway gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering in the moisture.

Inside, the windows become misty, and the aroma of coffee or tea wafts through the air.

It’s a perfect day to stay indoors and savor the simple pleasures,

Watching the rain's dance and feeling its amazing rhythm.

The rain turns everything into a significant beauty,

Reminding us to pause and cherish those quiet moments.

When I got the homework I already speedran it

The pitter-patter of rain's soft fall

Creates a symphony, captivating all.

Droplets dance upon each leaf

As nature welcomes this gentle grief.

Misty whispers cloak the air

Enchanting earth with a moistened care.

The streets are hushed, the land is cleansed

So let the heavens open wide

And let the tears of the clouds collide. For in the midst of this rainy day

There's magic found in every gentle spray.

The ground feel like clay,

It feel cold, loud and full of emotion

The sky look angry but look gray

When it rain, sun covered

It is dark but it is fine

Birds don't sing, don't fly, stay home

Human feel lazy, they stay home

Stores closed down, blaming rain

Plants grown up, thanking rain

When it rain, you feel sad

Feel nostalgic, feel comfort, sense of peace

When it rain, . . .

Transforming the landscape in hues so divine.

Yet in its softness, a somber refrain,

The world stops to listen each falling grain.

On my lap, my beautiful cat, curl in my cozy embrace,

Their purrs blend in with drumming echoes of each randrop, warm and soothing.

Each droplet is like a whisper, and each splash a soft sign,

Who doesn’t love being engulfed in the sound of nature.

Think of a lesson you learned recently and apply it to a memory. How would your behavior have changed if you had applied the lesson back then?

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 22/9

If only this lesson could have been applied earlier, it would have opened many more opportunities for me. However, I still think that shy and quiet portion of my life has also contributed to building the persona I have today.

Write a scene that shows the main characters 10 years later.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 29/9

It is the annual day where the boy, who is now 20 years old, is celebrated, the first day of his grandpa teaching him how to blow a "cloud". His grandpa is still alive but is on the brink of closing his old eyes, forever. He retired from blowing "clouds" years ago, and his grandson is proud of him.

Grandson: Good morning Grandpa, how do you feel today? Slowly holding his grandpa's crinkled hand.

Grandfather: I feel not very well, but if I die, it was a long life after all, r-remember t-the old days w-when we used to b-blow c-clouds?

Grandson: I do, and today is the day for that celebration, and it is a fun day!

Grandfather: This is the best day! I-I hope you enjoy i-it. I think I should rest for a bit.

Grandson: As you say, Grandpa!

1 hour later

Grandson: That was fun, but I'm sad because this might be your last day being on this planet, blowing "clouds" with me...

Grandfather: Don't be sad, life doesn't last forever, last words: Be happy and magnificent, and keep the family's tradition

Grandson: Cries but still accept.

Narrator: It was a good ending after all...

Grandson: Good morning, Grandpa! How are you today? Gently holding his grandfather's hand.

Grandfather: I’m not feeling well, but I’ve lived a long life. Remember when we used to blow "clouds"?

Grandson: I do! Today is our special celebration—it’s going to be fun!

Grandfather: This is the best day! Enjoy it. I think I need to rest a bit.

Grandson: Of course, Grandpa!

Grandson: That was great, but I’m sad because this might be your last day blowing "clouds" with me

Grandson: Hello, grandfather

Grandfather: Ah, it has been some time, my dear... what makes you come back after 10 years not meeting?

Grandson: I've actually got some nice news I want to share with you! I, uh, got married and expecting to have a child in a few weeks-

Grandfather: You got married, didn't even care to invite me, and now you're having a son?? Now what, you want me to help your family of 3 with babysitting!?!?

* grandfather shows a face of disgust,

disapointment and grave sadness *

Grandson: No! Th-that's not I meant! I wanted to invite you to our babyshower... When I was a kid, you taught me so many things. I wanted you to come and give our unborned kid some blessings. I believe that that will make the pregancy way much lighter.

Grandfather: Ah, so that's what you actually want, huh? * sighs and shakes his head * very well, I shall fullfill your wish. But you must get out of my life after this. At once!! You did not care about me these 10 years, but coming to your babyshower is the least I can do to fullfill your wish before I die.

Grandson: Wait!! You're dying...? Grandfather.. Please please please tekk me you're lyin-

Grandfather: Shut up, don't care for me these 10 years now you bother to care? I'll see you at the babyshower. * shoves grandson our of the house and slams the door hard *

* Grandson, now outside of grandfather's house *

Grandson: Oh well, that's what I get for not remembering my grandfather...

THE END

Grandpa: Anyways, how is college going? You are majoring in cloud-making right?

Cloud boy: Yep, you remembered right! Its going pretty well, but to be honest, it would take me alot more time to be able to make clouds like you do (winks)

Grandpa: Remember back then when we were making clouds up there (he points up). I tripped on the wand and deformed it, remember?

Cloud guy: Yea that did happen, I almost forgot about it.

Grandpa: But remember how your deformed stick made the worlds prettiest most creative bubbles? Im trying to tell you that, mistakes are just the steppingstones for success. Keep working hard and believing in youself, son.

Cloud boy: Thank you grandpa, ill work harder to one day be better than you.

Write the name of the story. Then, rewrite the story from a different character's perspective or change the ending entirely

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 6/10

The boy, who's name's Timothy, has grown up. Now 17, he's preparing for his final exams at school so he can get a scholarship to Stanford. The day before the exams, Timothy's pretty nervous. Coincidentally, his grandad, now 70 years old, comes over for a visit.

Timothy: Hi grandad!

Grandad: Timothy, how great is it to see you again my boy!

they hug and chat together for a bit

Timothy: Grandad, can you give me some advice?

Grandad: Sure, go ahead kiddo.

Timothy: My end-of-year exams are tomorrow, and I'm really nervous. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get into Stanford if I fail these exams, but I'm not 100% sure I'll be fine. Should I maybe give up my dream of going to Stanford?

grandad pats Timothy on the back

Grandad: You'll be fine, kiddo. Don't you remember the time when we blew cloudy bubbles?

Timothy: Of course I did! But then the bubble wand bent...

Grandad: And I was devastated. But you showed me that even at these moments, I shouldn't give up. And look how it lead to!

Timothy: (sighs). Okay, Grandad, I'll take your advice.

The next day, thanks to grandad's advice, Timothy got through the exams. And they announced his scores: all straight As! Not only that, he also got his scholarship to Stanford after all. As he stared at the words "scholarship to Stanford" on the letter he received, he thanked his grandad: for showing him the right way...

SORRY I SENT THIS LATE AHHH

One night, he asked why i wasn’t chasing my dreams. Soon after, he invited me to travel with him to Paris. It was a huge risk leaving my job and life behind, but i decided to give it a shot.

I quit, flew to Paris, and started a new chapter as a freelance writer. That was the year i found myself.

I’ve always been driven by the need to maintain my family’s status. After my husband’s death, the weight of our decaying estate felt heavier than ever. My daughters, Anastasia and Drizella, were my pride, but I knew they needed to marry well to secure our future. I was determined to make that happen, no matter what.

As the royal ball approached, I enforced rules with an iron fist, pushing my daughters to prepare. They were spoiled, yes, but they were all I had left. I couldn’t bear the thought of Cinderella, the girl my husband had brought into our home, overshadowing my girls. Her constant optimism grated on my nerves. It felt like she was a thorn in my side, always in the background, earning sympathy from everyone.

Then the day of the ball arrived, and I watched as Cinderella transformed into a vision, thanks to that ridiculous fairy godmother. I felt my heart race with jealousy. As I sent my daughters off, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they would never have a chance against her. At the ball, as the music played and the lights twinkled, I felt a strange mixture of pride and dread. Anastasia and Drizella were trying their best, but when Cinderella arrived, it was as if the entire room was under her spell.

I couldn’t stand it. The way the prince looked at her as if she were the only one that mattered. My fury bubbled over, and I confronted her. I unleashed my disdain, telling her exactly how I felt, how she was nothing but an intruder in my family. But as she fled, leaving behind that glass slipper, I felt a pang of regret. I had been so focused on status and control that I hadn’t considered the cost. I was losing my daughters, too, as they began to question my authority.

Days passed, and the news of the prince searching for the owner of the slipper reached me. Instead of reveling in the chaos, I was filled with dread. I saw the change in my daughters; they were beginning to push back against my expectations, craving their own identities. When the slipper finally fit Cinderella, I felt my world crumble. I had failed in my ambition, and worse, I had alienated my daughters.

In that moment of loss, I realized how my obsession had blinded me. I needed to change. As Cinderella prepared for her wedding, I found myself at a crossroads. I could continue down the path of bitterness, or I could try to rebuild my relationship with Anastasia and Drizella, to support them in finding their way rather than living through them. It wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps it was time to let go of my ambition and embrace a new kind of hope.

📅 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 13/10

Snow White had a step-mother. Everyone else in the country knew her as the Evil Queen. The Evil Queen was jealous of Snow White’s beauty, so she attempted to murder Snow White to be the fairest of them all. Snow White survived attempts by the jealous queen twice. After Snow White was spared by the huntsman sent by her stepmother (the Evil Queen) that wanted to assassinate her, she took shelter at the home of seven dwarves. Failing the first try, the queen disguised herself as an old woman and tricked Snow White into eating a poison apple, which killed her. The seven dwarfs put Snow White into a glass coffin, preparing to give her a proper funeral, when the prince from the nearby kingdom came. He said that her beauty was known across the land and wanted to see himself how beautiful she was. Seeing Snow White’s blood red lips and black hair, he tried to kiss her. Suddenly, Snow White’s sat up and pushed the prince aside, with a quite disgusted and annoyed temper. She cursed everyone that came near the forest that she was staying in, and disappeared in a wink of an eye. Nobody knew where she went, but she wasn’t dead. Sometimes, she blew down death-cold blizzards to the kingdoms, reminding everyone that they were all still in her wrath.

THE END

also the dream I told about was actually a revised version of the actual one, in the original, I was actually delighted to be in the circus.

• Fear of Loss: These dreams show my worries about losing something or someone important.

• Hidden Emotions: Misery points to feelings of sadness or grief that I haven't dealt with.

• Life Reflection: These dreams might come when you're thinking deeply about life and what it means.

That's when woke up, realized how important it is to be calm and i need to 'let the past be the past'.

I still remember this dream vividly. Looking back now, I understand what my mind was trying to tell me. It was trying to show me the academic and social pressures I was going through during that period of time. It made me understand that carrying that much pain was a big harm to my mental health, and that I needed to find a cure to it as soon as possible.

These dream taught me a lot of things for example like:

How to be more confident about youtubing

Of course how to get better at gaming

Lastly of all, how to makes money

Sorry im late

Think of a memory from your childhood that had a strong emotional impact on you. It could be a happy memory, a sad one, or something in between.

Describe the setting in detail - all of its elements: weather, time of day, and mood; emotions; action; dialogue; sensory experiences (sight, sound, taste, etc.). Think about the connection between these things and what emotions were triggered by each element. Be open about what was on your mind at this time - did you feel anything specific? Most of all, explore how your emotions changed your experience of that location.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 20/10

The Murder Drones.

Looking back, I have to say, it was understandable to why those things are so cold and harsh all the time. Where I stepped into was the cold, harsh, unwelcoming jolt of blizzards and unfair weather against me. Broken cars piled everywhere, some with skeletons of humans that still haven't decomposed yet (though that's kind of weird since they were wiped out 10 years prior to my age), bits and bolts of dead Worker Drones and machinery. It was silent, but utter, chaos.

And there, right in the middle, towering and menacing, is the tall and ginormous pile of Drone corpses the Murder Drones built as their empire of death. In addition to it, also the weird spaceship-thingie those Murder Drones used to land on Copper-9.

Which is why to this day, I still can't believe that I was able to befriend (and even crush on!) 2 of my planet’s most dangerous creatures, the Murder Drones, after all that.

 (This is the homework that Miss Rimmi said she'd prefer us to do, so I'm just doing it according to her request).

But the timid and hot restaurant made me feel way better, and there was still more food to eat, like sushi, though the Wagyu was crazy good. I felt very happy and excited as the sushi got on to my table, I used my wooden Japanese chopsticks to grab one, and oh the taste is just high in 9 levels of clouds.

I felt very full and walked out of the restaurant and oh god, the sunny day just shone into my eyes, my body was so hot, I missed the air conditioner inside the restaurant, but anyway, the food was memorable.

When it was finally my turn to get on stage, I knew I was doomed. Time seemed to stop in that very moment. I was trembling just standing on the stage. Every word I tried to say got stuck in my throat. I started hearing the panelists talking about me, and I could feel how disappointed they were. The sound of the room became deafening, but only to me.

I started crying. Eventually, they helped me off the stage, and I came in last place, feeling disappointed in myself. That experience still haunts me today, and it's why I'm scared of speaking in front of a crowd.

It was rainy, gloomy day. Raining from early morning, the air outside and inside the school felt moist and cold. In this environment, I had already begun to feel tired in the second class. But I knew I had to stay awake and alove until I get my math scores back. It wasn’t any normal assignment, it was a project that I had spent a significant amount of time working on, endless sleepless nights to finish it. Everyone in the rooms must have been feeling the same amount of excitement to see their scores. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting the scores to be anything exceptional, I just hoped it could be higher than average so that it could lift my grade average up. But when I flipped over my page and saw my score, and the teacher announced, “Mai over here, was the only one to get an 8 on this, give her a round of applause.” I still remember that moment so vividly, the faces of everyone tunring to me, applauding me. In that moment, the dark, gloomy school, tunred brightly lit inside my head. That class was the higher math class, and I always felt like I didn’t deserve to be there. This moment really gave me reassurance of my abilities and boosted up my morale, and that is why I still continue to be in the higher class, even if it gets hard.

That depends, I don't know what I am going to dream about every night, but it is usually a mix-up of everything that I have thought of in a day mixed with some pretty … interesting and crazy stuff. And if I went out with my friends that day, for example, my dream would likely include us playing with fire and then dying … I woke up in cold sweats, actually. The realm of dreams is mostly mysterious, wherein our subconscious thoughts and emotions take shape in bizarre ways, sometimes indescribable. Though dreams may provide so much insight into day-to-day experiences and interactions, they could even take one on fantastic voyages full of symbolism and hidden meanings. It follows that dreams are believed to reflect the most guarded deep fears, desires, and anxieties of an individual. Dreams can therefore often take aspects from our existence and contort them into an array of strange and surreal forms. Suppose a person spends his or her day socialising with friends, and as he goes to sleep, that simple event has turned into a scenario of fire and some upcoming disaster.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 3/11

 Soon, we arrived. The bus was parked under the bright sun, and the salty scent of the ocean filled the air, wrapping around us like a warm blanket. I could smell the sea long before we arrived at the beach, a mixture of saltwater and something sweet, like fresh coconuts. As we stepped off the bus, the breeze played with my hair, carrying hints of grilled seafood and sunscreen.

 We raced over the hot sand, laughing and shouting after we had finished the team building, and the joyful sounds of my friends blending with the gentle waves crashing nearby. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, letting the ocean's aroma wash over me. It was a smell that made me feel alive and free, a perfect moment before summer.

 Later, we sat around a big table for dinner, as we all had to say a cheesy speech and what middle school we wanted to get in, our dreams, or our thank you’s to anyone, … I could still smell the sea, but now it mixed with the sweetness of smiles and the warmth of the fire nearby. We told stories, our laughter echoing in the night. We even went to each other's rooms and played poker, cards, Uno, and so many more games. Each breath reminded me of the joy we shared those two days, a memory sealed in the scents of friendship and adventure, a moment I would treasure forever.

As I walked further inside, the rhythmic clatter of keyboards and the occasional shout of triumph from a nearby screen enveloped me. The vivid colours of LED lights pulsed in sync with the beats of the music playing in the background, casting an inviting glow over rows of monitors. I could feel the heat radiating from the machines, an exhilarating warmth that fueled my excitement.

I remember the first game I saw: a group of players huddled around a massive screen, their faces lit up with determination. The sharp, rapid-fire sounds of a first-person shooter echoed in my ears, each gunshot punctuating the atmosphere. I could almost taste the adrenaline as I stood at the entrance, watching strangers come alive in this vibrant sanctuary of competition.

It was intoxicating, the way the room thrummed with a shared passion. I took a deep breath, savouring that heady mix of anticipation and camaraderie, and felt an irresistible pull to dive into the action myself. The gaming centre felt like a portal to another world, and I was ready to step through.

Also the sense I was using here mainly is sight and touch.

I can almost feel the seeds starting to grow in the soil. Planting these seeds makes me excited to see what will come up. I know flowers or food will grow from them, and that makes me happy. Being in the garden like this is one of my favorite things. It makes me feel peaceful and connected to nature.

Begin writing with this prompt:

Your head pounds. You reach out for your glass of water, but it’s not there.

- Name the character/s.

- Use the five senses, dialogue, body language, and the internal thoughts of the viewpoint character.

- Show the setting through their interaction with it.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 10/11

Panic rises as you sit up and survey the faded yellow walls and the ticking clock. “Hello?” you croak, but silence answers back.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touch the cold hardwood floor. You approach the slightly ajar door, heart racing. What happened?

Gripping the cool doorknob, you twist it open. A dark hallway stretches out, lined with old photographs and a sweet, rotting smell. “Anyone there?” you call, voice trembling. You step into the unknown, determined to discover where you are.

No. No, you don’t remember any surgery. You didn’t have anything done recently, did you? You try to sit up, but your limbs feel sluggish, heavier than they should. There's a tug at your skin, a hum running through your body.

You blink rapidly, trying to make sense of the room. Your gaze scans the space—a high-ceilinged room, white walls that reflect the harsh glow, strange panels embedded into the floor. The air smells sterile, like bleach and metal, but there's something else, something faint, sharp, almost chemical. It’s suffocating.

A cold prickling sensation dances over your skin, your body hyperaware of something you can’t place. You look down. Wires. Wires everywhere, sticking out of your arms, chest, neck. Thin, coiled tubes are attached to your veins. Your breath catches, and your heart thumps faster, panic edging its way through you.

What the hell is this?

You look to your sides—two figures standing beyond a glass wall, their silhouettes hazy in the dim light. Their faces are obscured, but their posture is rigid, too precise. Scientists? Researchers? You thought this was some kind of vaccine trial. But this? No, this doesn’t feel like a trial. This feels wrong.

The wires tremble slightly as your body starts to tremble. There’s a sensation deep inside you, a kind of… swelling, almost like something is growing beneath your skin. It starts in your chest, spreads outward, and then—

A pulse of energy surges through your veins. Heat rushes to your limbs, and your muscles tighten, suddenly alive with strength. It’s as if your body has been given a shot of pure adrenaline—no, more than that. You feel stronger, faster, almost inhuman.

And then, rage. A primal, consuming wave of fury floods your system. Your pulse quickens. You barely control the instinct to lash out. You grind your teeth against the heat of it, and something inside you snaps.

The glass in front of you feels like a wall—a barrier. It wasn’t supposed to be here. You don’t even know why it's here, but the instinct to destroy it is undeniable.

You push yourself up from the cold slab of the table with surprising ease. The wires tug at your skin, but you rip them off without hesitation. Your hands are shaking, your chest heaving, but it doesn't matter. You take a step forward, then another, until you're standing before the glass wall.

The scientists—*no, not scientists*—are watching you, their faces unreadable. Their eyes are wide, and one of them speaks, but you don’t hear the words. The rage swells again, blocking everything else out.

You slam your palm against the glass, and it doesn’t budge. The glass feels unnaturally solid, like something designed to hold something inside. But you can’t let it stop you. The pulse inside you surges again, stronger this time.

Without thinking, you lunge at the glass.

It’s a blur, but you feel it, the crackle of electricity. Your body jolts, and everything goes white. A searing pain bursts through you, frying every nerve in your body, sending you crashing backward onto the table. Your muscles seize. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

The smell of burning flesh fills the air, and you feel the heat of it, like fire crawling through your skin.

The figures behind the glass are still. Silent. Watching.

What have they done to you?

Your body spasms. Your vision swims. Your breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, but then the rage, the power, rises again, coursing through you. The electroshock isn’t enough to stop it, to stop you.

With a growl, you push against the pain, forcing yourself upright again. Your eyes—your new eyes—lock on the glass, your reflection distorted.

Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. But you are no longer the same. You don't know what you are anymore.

But you do know one thing.

This facility… it’s not going to hold you.

Sarah opens her eyes, disoriented, as she finds herself in an unfamiliar room. She looks around, trying to get her bearings and figure out where she is. Her senses are heightened - the unfamiliar smells, the strange sounds, the unrecognized textures all around her.

"Where am I?" Sarah thinks, her internal monologue racing. She tries to stay calm, taking slow, deep breaths, but her heart is pounding. Looking down, she realizes she's still dressed in the same clothes she wore before, so this must not have been planned. A wave of anxiety washes over her as she wonders how she ended up here and what's going to happen next.

Carefully, Sarah stands up, her legs shaky, and slowly starts to explore the room, searching for any clues or a way out. She's hyper-aware of her surroundings, examining every detail, hoping to find something familiar or a way to make sense of this bizarre situation.

You try to turn it, to see if it opens, but it did. You open the door to find a long hallway of nothing, with a same-looking door at the end. “HELLO?!” You shout, but there was no one.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 17/11

"Long line, huh?" The woman behind them sighs. Riley looks back, gives a sympathetic smile. "Must be the new pumpkin thing," they say, half-joking.

She chuckles. "Or a test of our patience."

Riley nods, clamping down on the familiar tug of irritation. She knows it's silly to be so impatient, but there it is—a gnawing restlessness. Finally, she steps up to the counter, only to hear a crash. A cup shatters, coffee splattering the floor.

"Sorry, everyone!" the barista mutters, red as she bends to clean up.

"Rough morning, huh?" Riley asks softly.

The barista looks up, surprised. Riley tries to force a warm smile out. "Take your time. No rush."

They hear a few sighs from behind, but Riley doesn't care. As the barista hands over a coffee with a grateful look, Riley walks out into brisk morning air, feeling unsuspiciously light.

(Based on a story called "Explorer Academy" made by National Geographic.)

As she brushed her teeth, Katniss caught a glimpse of her reflection in the cracked mirror. The dark circles under her eyes and gaunt expression were a constant reminder of the hardships she and her family faced. "Another day of struggling to survive," she thought to herself.

Katniss made her way to the tiny kitchen, surveying the meager contents of their cupboards. "Guess it's just some stale tesserae grain again," she muttered, pouring the coarse meal into a pot to cook. She sat down at the rickety table, eating in silence as her mind raced with concerns about providing for Prim and her mother.

With a heavy sigh, Katniss rinsed her bowl and headed to the front door, slipping on her worn boots and leather jacket. "Time to go hunt," she said aloud, her jaw set with determination as she grabbed her father's old bow and quiver of arrows, bracing herself for the struggle to put food on the table that lay ahead.

Riko, her coworker bent her head over her table. “You, okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just that its been a long day.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Should I quit this job?”

“I tried, didn’t work.”

…

“Seriously?”

“Nah, I’m kidding, but you can try if you want to. I can assure you it won’t be easy.“

“hahh…” she let’s out a sigh, and Riko walks away towards her table.

“…should i try?”

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 24/11

Somehow Stella always gets herself into dramas, huh?

Anywhos, enjoy!

I rushed toward them, pushing John away while screaming to alert everyone around.

John had never been like this before. He was always a kind, middle-aged man.

I looked at the person I was holding. Cold. Lifeless. Unalive. It was a man—Larry. But... he looked like he had been dead for at least an hour...?

Larry was a famous person, a psychopath known across the country. Despite his unstable mind, he had an IQ of 170 and a Ph.D. in psychology.

By now, someone had stepped out of their house and was calling 911.

"Are you out of your mind?" I asked John, staring at him, waiting for his response.

"HE KILLED MY DAUGHTER" he said, his voice trembling but his eyes locked on mine.

"But there wasn't enough evidence to convict him...."

"How can you be sure it was him?" I asked.

"I didn’t know until he came to me...he told me everything, how he killed my little angel, how he felt refreshing after stabbing my five-years-old-daughter... just because he was bored" John can't hold his tear while saying that.

I was stunned. "Why didn’t you just call the police?" I questioned.

"IT WASN'T ENOUGH EVIDENTS" he screamed.

At that moment, the police arrived, guns out, keeping their distance.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP! DROP YOUR WEAPON!" the sergeant yelled.

An ambulance pulled up just in time.

John didn’t listen. He raised the knife in his trembling hands. "I killed him....i finally did it....." Then, to everyone horror, he turned the knife on himself.

The officers and paramedics rushed to stop him, but it was too late. John was already gone.

That day, my neighborhood lost two people. No evidence was ever found proving Larry was a murderer to John's daughter.

But there was a twist. The forensic report revealed Larry had died long before the incident. His cause of death? Poison.

Someone else had killed him.

Maybe John was only stabbing a corpse, trying to take revenge for his daughter, not realizing Larry was already dead.

It left me wondering: is it ever right to take revenge?

Later, Sarah thought about talking to Alice about what she saw. On one hand, it wasn't Sarah's business - maybe Alice had a good reason. But what if Alice took something that wasn't hers? Sarah felt it was wrong, but she also didn't want to cause trouble.

In the end, Sarah decided to talk to Alice the next day. When they saw each other, Sarah said, "Hi Alice, I saw you put that big box in your car yesterday. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

Alice looked surprised, then she smiled. "Oh Sarah, I'm glad you said something. My aunt passed away, and I was getting her things to give away. I know it looked strange, but I'm not doing anything wrong. Thank you for checking on me - it's nice to have caring neighbors."

Sarah felt relieved. She had judged the situation too quickly and made assumptions instead of giving Alice a chance to explain. In the end, being willing to understand instead of criticize helped them stay good neighbors. Sometimes, being kind goes a long way.

Then I saw it.

Eliot, my neighbor, was standing by his mailbox, looking around as if checking to make sure no one was watching. Eliot is a quiet man, mid-thirties, always polite but never intrusive. I’d seen him often enough over the past few years—his wife, Sarah, their young daughter, a little girl with curly hair and a smile that could light up the darkest days. He was a steady presence, someone who seemed completely unremarkable.

But today, something about him seemed off.

He reached into the mailbox, pulled out a letter, and then, after a quick glance over his shoulder, shoved it into the back of his coat. My breath caught in my throat as I sat there, frozen. I wasn’t sure if he had noticed me yet. My mind raced, trying to piece together what I had just witnessed. The letter was addressed to someone else—at least, that’s what I could see from the corner of my eye. It wasn’t his name.

I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just stared as he walked away briskly, the letter hidden away like some illicit treasure. My heart began to beat a little faster. Had I really just seen him do that? Was it possible that Eliot—my seemingly upstanding neighbor—had just stolen something?

I stayed on the porch for a while longer, trying to make sense of it, but every possibility made my mind spin. Maybe he’d made a mistake, maybe he hadn’t noticed the letter was for someone else. But then why hadn’t he opened it? And why hide it like that?

I knew I shouldn’t get involved. I could’ve dismissed it, gone back to my book, and forgotten what I’d seen. But something in me wouldn’t let it go. I wasn’t sure if I was angry, concerned, or just confused.

Later that evening, after dinner, I took a walk down the street. It wasn’t long before I saw Eliot again. He was standing at his driveway, leaning against his car, staring out at the horizon. The glow of the streetlamps stretched across the pavement, and his shadow was long and indistinct. I hesitated, my feet rooted to the sidewalk. I could walk by and pretend nothing had happened. I could ignore it, like it was just another odd moment in the humdrum of suburban life. But I couldn’t.

“Eliot,” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turned, a little surprised but not uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure why I’d called his name. Maybe I was hoping for an explanation, a reason for what I had seen.

“Hey, everything okay?” I asked, trying to sound casual, as if nothing was amiss.

He gave a slight nod, his face unreadable. “Yeah, just thinking,” he said.

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to ask about the letter, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I took a deep breath and asked something else—something safer.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I began, “How’s Sarah? Is she doing okay? You guys alright?”

Eliot’s expression softened. His eyes flickered toward his house for a moment, as though considering whether to speak, then he gave me a tight smile.

“We’re fine,” he said quietly. “Just... been a rough few months, you know? Nothing major, just...” His voice trailed off.

I wanted to press him, ask more about what he meant. But I also sensed that now wasn’t the right time. I had caught a glimpse of something I didn’t understand, and maybe it was better to leave it be for now.

But the next day, I saw it again.

Eliot was at his mailbox again, this time not hiding the letter but slipping it into a small envelope and writing something on it. I couldn’t make out the words, but the actions were so deliberate. It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a random slip. This was intentional. Eliot was sending the letter back—deliberately.

It wasn’t until a few days later that I understood.

I ran into him again, this time at the grocery store. His face looked tired, his eyes carrying the weight of something that wasn’t quite guilt but wasn’t exactly calm either. He was standing in the bread aisle, staring at the loaves as if he didn’t know which to choose.

“Hey, Eliot,” I said, trying to sound friendly.

He looked up and smiled, but there was something strained about it. “Hey. You all set for Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “But I’ve been thinking about something… the letter, the other day. I didn’t mean to pry, but…”

Eliot’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and something deeper. He sighed. “It’s not what you think. I know it probably looked bad, but—”

I held up a hand. “You don’t need to explain if you don’t want to. It just... caught me off guard, that’s all.”

He nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

I could tell he was struggling with something. It was clear now that whatever I thought was going on, it wasn’t simple theft. There was something else.

“I’m trying to help someone,” he said, finally looking me in the eyes. “Someone in trouble. I don’t know if it’ll work, but... they’re in a situation, and I’m just trying to make sure they’re not... trapped.”

My heart tightened. I didn’t ask for details, but it was enough. Eliot wasn’t a thief, but he was bending the rules, breaking the rules even, to help someone else.

That revelation didn’t make the situation clearer, but it made it more complex. My initial shock was replaced with a swirl of conflicting emotions. Part of me wanted to respect his decision, to understand that sometimes rules weren’t enough when it came to helping someone in need. But another part of me felt uneasy. What if what he was doing would hurt someone else? What if it didn’t work? What if he got caught?

But at the end of it all, I realized I couldn’t judge him so easily. I hadn’t walked in his shoes, and maybe—just maybe—there was a reason behind his actions that I couldn’t fully understand.

I didn’t know what the right thing to do was, but I wasn’t sure that Eliot did, either. And maybe, in some strange way, that made him more human. I didn’t know what would happen next, but I did know one thing: Eliot wasn’t just my quiet neighbor anymore. He was someone caught between right and wrong, and I couldn’t look at him the same way again.

And maybe that was okay.

Mia's heart raced. She knew Mr. Henderson was a kind man who often helped others, but this felt wrong. She thought about calling someone, but then she saw a small child nearby, crying. Mr. Henderson approached the child and, with a gentle smile, handed over the bike.

He explained that he found it abandoned and wanted to return it. Mia felt a mix of relief and confusion. She realized that Mr. Henderson was trying to help, even if he had taken it first. In that moment, she learned that sometimes, good intentions can lead to complicated actions. She decided to watch him with a more understanding heart.

Go into Google and find an image of a character you believe WAS evil but was redeemed, such as Snape, Loki or Draco, etc.

Explain WHY the character deserves redemption/isn't evil anymore.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 1/12

Yet, even at his darkest, there was still 'something' that left inside Anakin. That 'thing' grew when he discovered his son, Luke Skywalker. Despite everything Vader had done, Luke believed his father could be saved. This belief began to change Vader, making him question about his terrible actions and the loyalty to the empire.

In the end, when Palpatine tried to kill Luke, Vader couldn’t stand by. In a moment, he turned on the Emperor, saving his son and sacrificing himself. That single act wasn’t just about saving Luke. It was Anakin reclaiming the good in himself and finally bring balance to the Force.

Sorry for the late.

Create two characters who despise each other and throw them into a situation where they have to work together for an extended period. This could be anything from being trapped in an elevator to participating in a reality show. How does their dynamic change as they learn to navigate their differences?

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 8/12

As they face various magical creatures and tricky puzzles, they soon realize that they have no choice but to work together if they want to survive. Hermione’s sharp mind and clever ideas start to complement Draco’s cunning strategies and bravery. Gradually, they begin to see the value in each other's strengths, and a sense of respect begins to grow between them.

During quieter moments, they open up about their lives. Hermione shares the pressure she feels to always prove herself and excel, while Draco talks about the heavy expectations his family places on him. These honest conversations help them understand each other better.

As they start to celebrate their small victories, like overcoming a challenging creature or solving a difficult puzzle, their relationship begins to change. What started as a rivalry slowly transforms into a partnership built on teamwork and mutual support.

Victor Devereux leaned back in his seat as the sleek private jet cruised above the clouds. Another deal was in the bag, another victory to add to his portfolio. He was savoring his success, his expensive leather shoes propped up on the armrest as he sipped whiskey from a crystal glass. Life was perfect—well, it had been.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at the screen: "The charity event you're attending is a disaster. You need to get here NOW."

Victor groaned. The event was a fundraiser for an environmental charity. His assistant had warned him that Lily Zhang, the activist he’d tangled with multiple times, would be there. She was everything he despised—impulsive, idealistic, and scathing in her criticisms of the corporate world. The last time they'd crossed paths, she'd accused him of being the very reason the world was burning. He could already hear her voice in his head.

“Can’t I have one peaceful day?” Victor muttered, knowing the answer was no.

The plane touched down on a private island, where the charity event was being held. He stepped off the jet and walked toward the event’s main area—a sprawling estate surrounded by lush, tropical greenery.

And there she was.

Lily stood at the entrance, arms crossed, scanning the crowd with disdain. Her messy bun and casual attire made it clear she wasn’t here for the luxury of the venue—she was here for the cause. Victor's stomach twisted. He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

The moment their gazes locked, her expression soured.

“Of course, you’re here,” Lily muttered under her breath.

Victor couldn't resist. “Good to see you too, Lily. Still saving the world?”

“Someone has to,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

It was a classic Victor and Lily encounter. The tension was instant, palpable. They had always hated each other, but now they were stuck on an island together for the weekend.

The event started, but neither Victor nor Lily could shake the animosity. Victor gave his usual corporate speech—polished, smooth, and devoid of any true passion for the cause. Lily, on the other hand, gave a fiery speech about the urgent need for action, using every opportunity to target the rich, especially people like Victor. She accused the guests of ignoring the destruction they were causing while feasting on champagne and caviar.

Victor clenched his fists. “If you think your speeches will solve anything, you’re deluded,” he muttered as he walked past her.

Lily’s glare could’ve burned a hole through him. “I’ll take action any day over people like you who talk a good game but don’t actually care.”

Later that night, a storm rolled in, knocking out the power and trapping everyone on the island. A hush fell over the guests as they realized they were stranded. The luxurious estate had no backup power, and the phones were useless without a signal. Victor and Lily, though they were on opposite sides of nearly every issue, found themselves sitting at the same table by the flickering light of a single candle.

“Great,” Victor muttered. “Now I’m stuck with you.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Maybe now you’ll have some time to reflect on your choices.”

“What, like how to save my investments?” he scoffed. “Please, I didn’t come here to listen to your holier-than-thou rants.”

Lily’s face hardened. “I didn’t come here to listen to you pretend like you care about the world. But at least we’re stuck here together. So let’s make the best of it.”

They didn’t speak much that night, both unwilling to give in, yet the quiet tension was strangely... manageable. The next morning, they were still without power and still trapped.

Victor’s mind, sharp as ever, found an idea. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. But if we work together, we might be able to get the generator working.”

Lily eyed him suspiciously. “You actually want to work with me?”

“I don’t have much choice,” he replied, his voice a little softer than usual. “We both need this storm to end.”

Reluctantly, Lily agreed, and they set off to find the generator. They worked in silence, both focused on their task. Lily’s hands were dirty from the machinery, but she didn’t complain. Victor, though uncomfortable with the physical labor, did his best to follow her directions. As the hours passed, they found themselves getting the generator working.

When the lights finally flickered on, the room around them was bathed in soft illumination. They stood there for a moment, staring at their work.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Lily said, a hint of respect in her voice.

Victor smirked. “You’d be surprised what I can do when I need to.”

Lily studied him for a moment, then gave a slight nod. “I guess you’re not as hopeless as I thought.”

Victor paused, then grinned. “And you’re not as naïve as you look.”

There was a brief silence. Then, with a soft chuckle, Lily said, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Victor smirked. “I won’t.”

The storm passed, and with it, the tension between them. While they were still worlds apart in their views, something had shifted. They both had seen sides of each other that weren’t just about fighting for dominance. Maybe they’d never agree, but the island had forced them to cooperate, to rely on each other in ways they hadn’t imagined.

By the time the helicopter arrived to take them back to civilization, they’d exchanged a few grudging words of respect. Neither of them was changed entirely, but for the first time, they both understood that there was more to the other person than they had ever cared to acknowledge.

Maybe that was the first step toward finding common ground. Or maybe it was just a fleeting moment of truce. Either way, it had been enough to change the way they saw each other—if only a little.

Write a short poem with two stanzas and rhyme schemes about your favorite hobby.

You can choose to have as many syllables in a line as you want. 

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 15/12

Raindrops shine bright like little tiny beads,
A butterfly rests among the shaggy weeds.
Every click shared on my Insta story
To share my best memories with allegory

p/s: allegory has the same meaning as "friends", acc. to Google

My first hobby would be literature, how much I love to write!

And the second would be reading, books are so nice!

Singing would be third, melodies and lyrics are my thing,

Fourth would be dancing, but I'm worse than the king.

Finally, it's DeviantArt, whoever doesn't like it is a hypocrite!

A joystick’s grip, the screen alight,
I conquer foes, I claim my might.
Each level up, a thrill anew,
In gaming's realm, my dreams come true.

A sharpened thought, a measured tone,
We claim the stage, we stand alone.
Respectful words, but minds compete,
Debating sharpens minds so fleet.

Read a poem that you love, then write a poem summarizing the content of that poem, and share your feelings.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 22/12

Xuân xanh sấp xỉ tới tuần cập kê"

This is a small part of a famous Vietnamese poem, finsihed in 1809, that has 3254 verses, and is about the life, trials and tribulations of Thúy Kiều, a beautiful and talented young woman, who has to sacrifice herself to save her family.

• My poem:

Some gifts are given right from the start,
Like talent in music that comes from the heart.
With strings that sing and words that rhyme,
Creating art can stand the test of time.

But even in beauty, life can feel tough,
Sometimes our dreams don’t seem quite enough.
Youth is bright, but time flies away,
Mixing joy and sadness in every day.

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone

My feeling poem:

Echoes of Unity

Alone, I feel the weight she speaks,
A truth that stirs, that softly seeks.
In every line, a silent plea—
For none can live in isolation, free.

Her words remind me, deep inside,
That we need each other, cannot hide.
In shared connection, we find our way,
Together, we survive, come what may.

Found a rather large mouse in his stew

Cried the waiter: 'Don't shout!

And wave it about

Or the rest will be wanting one too.'."

(This is a limerick that I read from Matilda, and it's one of the only poems that actually caught my interest)

A limerick written, witty and smart

Presents itself proudly, like a work of art

Limericks look easy

But difficult if cheesy

The poet must have a flair for humor

For one could not have none, or there will be rumors

Of a limerick not witty

And they would surely be feeling icky!

Its message lingers, soft yet clear,
Our choices shape the paths we steer.
With courage bold, I’ll pave my way,
For Frost has shown: dare to stray.

(Feelings poem)

original: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
One less traveled, misunderstood.
I chose the path where few would go,
And that has made all the difference so.

Instead of simply describing yourself, use a symbolic object (a roaring lion for bravery, a sparkling stream for creativity, etc.) to represent  personality traits or feelings of you.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 13/1

But memories linger, like shadows at night,
Of friends and good times that felt so right.
Sometimes I feel sad, missing laughter and fun,
Yet those happy moments are never all done.
So I’ll cherish the past and grow every day,
With roots deep in the ground, I’ll find my own way.

Warm with passion, yet quick to ignite.

A restless breeze that roams the sky,

Whispering dreams as it rushes by.

I am the seed beneath the snow,

Quietly waiting for time to grow.

A bold sunrise that chases the gray,

Painting hope at the break of day.

I am the wave that kisses the shore,

Returning stronger, forever more.

A steadfast stone in the river's song,

Grounded and sure, though waters are strong.

I am the page where stories unfold,

Written with courage and edges of gold.

A humble spark in a vast, dark sea,

Forever searching, forever free.

But trust me, for I am more than just how I seem.

The holy water in church serves as my friend,

To ally with in haunted cases that never end.

I may be depressing, by the looks of my appearance,

Yet, I have emotions too, just give me a chance.

However mysterious and enchanting I may look,

I shall be able to protect those who seek for the good.

I am full of mystery, yet I mean good,

Bringing forward protection, and safety from the woods.

Judge me if you'd like, but just a reminder:

"Never judge a book by its cover.".

The one with the anger

What is in my head is all thunder

I'm also a wolf

I dare to try anything that lead to my success

Hiding my tail is what i do the best

But it is just the skin

I throw my mind is the bin

The wine i drink everyday is depression

I lost in the past that what's pulls me back

I got everything but i felt in the lack

The loneliness is my only friend

Though i got lots of buddies in my fence

After all i am still success

Everyone loves me but i am still kind of dead

I am the moment when you buy a cup of coffee, but forget to pay.

I am the confusion of a child when they have too much fun and run astray.

In a world of conformity, I’d like to treasure the small and child-like mistakes we make on the way.

I am the quiet rustle of leaves,
a gentle presence in the stillness.
Storms may shake me,
but I remain upright, unbroken.

I grow with each passing season,
shedding the old, embracing the new.
I stand as a symbol of strength and growth,
a reminder of resilience.

Start the poem with "Dear,...".

Write a poem as a letter to express your feeling on one social issue of your choice.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 19/1

Why, why is it that I stay at work until 10 pm every night,

Why, why is it I still cannot afford proper housing or food,

Why, why is it that I am getting 4 hours of sleep at night maximum,

Why, Why is it that I can’t go home to see my family,

Why, tell me why, am I being treated like this?

Since when is this normalized?

When will we realize?

That this is not just a “job”

It leaves us traumatized, demoralized

Apologize, Apologize, Apologize,

Please,

Let me have a rest.

In our land where rivers flow,

North and South, we all should know,

We’re Vietnamese, so let’s not fight,

We share the same stars that shine at night.

Southerners laugh, and Northerners dream,

Both have their charm, like a perfect team.

Let's share our food and stories too,

Together we'll find what’s good and true.

Thank you and goodbye,

-Mia-

The global warming is near.

Nothing is safe, everyone screamed in fear,

My earth, my earth, please protect it.

We need to take steps, bit by bit,

We never give up, we lit the fire of hope.

Nothing could stop us from pulling the rope,

Victory is ours, it always is.

If we do so, we wouldn't be on santa's naughty list,

So we need to work, and make ourselves better in every way.

Defeat is for us to slay,

We always win, we never loses a single battle.

Air pollution is an outrage

Factories change their layout for the sake of the environment

And end up repeating the old mistake Releasing fossil fuels as usual

The things companies accomplish are just a money scheme

Unethical actions, pollution is still growing

Governments claim to set things right
Promising reforms with all their might
But behind closed doors, deals unfold
Sacrificing nature for pockets of gold

Communities cry, their voices ignored
While fragile ecosystems are destroyed
The rivers run dark, the skies turn gray

Why do you fear

That you are imperfect and has no reason to get a cheer?

You should be proud

That you are not a shroud

Of misery for the peers.

Because:

We're not flawless

We're a work in progress

We may have dents, and we may have quirks,

But it's your flaws that make you work,

So tell me what flaws you've got too,

Because I still like what's flawed about you.

Write about a time when you learned something important about yourself. This could be a moment of realization, a lesson learned from a mistake, or an epiphany that changed your perspective.

📅 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 2/2

As days passed, I noticed classmates seeking me out to share their stories, which had my significance in their lives. This experience prompted me to reflect on my worth and the connections I could nurture, teaching me that everyone has value, often in unseen ways. Since then, I’ve approached relationships with appreciation, understanding that even small gestures can make a difference, filling me with a sense of belonging and purpose.

It happened during a group project. I told my teammates that I would finish my part on time, but I kept delaying it. The night before the deadline, I realized I had not even started. I worked quickly, but my work was not good. Because of me, my team got a lower grade than expected, and I felt very bad.

From that mistake, I learned that planning my time is important. Now, I try to start my work early so I can do my best. This lesson has helped me not only in school but also in daily life.

Write a creative nonfiction that start with:

“I am just an ordinary student until…”

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 9/2

(FINISHED)

The envelope is worn, its corners frayed from years of being buried under piles of discarded paper and half-empty coffee cups. It doesn’t have a name, no stamp, no return address—just a faintly scribbled “For whoever finds this” in dark ink across the front. Something about the messiness of the handwriting grabs me, but it’s the thickness of the paper that really pulls me in. It’s not your typical flimsy envelope; it’s dense, as though it holds something weighty, even if the contents are unknown.

Curiosity, as it often does, gets the better of me. I open it. Inside is a single sheet of paper, folded carefully into thirds. I unfold it slowly, not sure what to expect, though I feel the sudden pressure of anticipation building in my chest.

The message is simple yet cryptic: “Meet me at midnight by the fountain. You know what to do.”

My first thought is that it’s some sort of prank. Who writes notes like this? And why leave it for someone to stumble upon? But then, there’s the strange feeling, a sense of recognition I can’t place. It’s as though the message is for me specifically, a familiar pull, like the echo of an unspoken promise.

I glance around the library. No one seems to notice. It’s late, and the place is nearly empty. The clock on the wall ticks away like a countdown, each passing second making my decision feel more inevitable. I fold the paper back up, tuck it into my jacket pocket, and make my way out into the crisp evening air.

The campus is quiet, the streetlamps casting long shadows across the walkways. I don’t know what’s driving me, but I walk toward the fountain anyway. The hour is drawing close, the distant hum of the city fading into a kind of eerie silence.

When I arrive, the fountain is still, the water still enough to mirror the night sky above. I stand there for what feels like an eternity, unsure if I’ve made a mistake. My heartbeat is louder than the rustling leaves around me, and every footstep that passes on the far side of the campus seems to echo in my ears.

Then, I hear it: a voice, soft and steady, coming from the shadows.

“You came.”

I turn, startled, and there stands a person I don’t recognize, yet somehow feel as though I should. They’re wearing a hooded cloak, their face mostly hidden in the darkness. The words seem almost rehearsed, but there’s something about the voice, the way it lingers in the air, that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Yes,” I say, unsure of why I’m even here. “I got the note.”

The figure steps forward, and as the dim light from the fountain catches their face, I realize it’s someone from my class, someone I’ve seen but never spoken to. “I knew you’d come,” they repeat, as if they’ve been waiting for this moment for much longer than I can comprehend.

Before I can respond, the figure hands me something—a small, delicate key, tarnished with age but gleaming faintly under the moonlight. “This will unlock something,” they say cryptically. “Something that you need to find. But only if you’re willing to look.”

Confusion floods my mind. "Unlock what?"

The person doesn’t answer, only gestures toward the distant building. There’s a sense of urgency in their movement, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve stepped into a story I don’t know the plot of. The figure turns and walks away, disappearing into the night like a shadow swallowed by darkness.

I stand there, the key cold in my hand, and for the first time in my life, I realize that I’m not just an ordinary student anymore.

I’ve been chosen for something, something bigger than myself, something I might not even understand. The key in my palm feels heavier than it should, and a strange weight settles in my chest. I don’t know what’s coming, or what this all means, but one thing is certain: this night marks the end of my ordinary life.

And the beginning of a new one.

Write about reopening a cold case and solving it using investigative journalism techniques. Include elements like re-examining old evidence, conducting new interviews with witnesses or suspects, and utilizing modern forensic methods to piece together the truth behind the mystery.

 Thời hạn: trước 12h trưa ngày 16/2

 One way they do this is by looking at old evidence, like photos or clothing, to see if they missed anything important. They also talk to witnesses or family members again because sometimes they remember new details or feel comfortable sharing things they didn’t want to say before. Modern science can help, too! For example, new DNA testing is much better now, so experts can check old samples again to find new clues. Journalists can team up with these experts to understand the evidence better.

 By doing careful research, talking to people, and using new technology, journalists can uncover the truth about cold cases. Their work can help provide answers and bring peace to families who are still trying to find out what happened to their loved ones.

Investigators look through old records from a case that hasnt been solved. One statement from a witness seems unimportant at first, so it was ignored in the past. But now, with a fresh look, the statement connects to new information that was not available before. Investigators search for the witness again and ask more questions. This time, the details make more sense, and a new clue appears. With this clue, the case moves forward, and the truth, which was lost for years, is finally uncovered.

A crime from long ago is still a mystery, but new technology gives investigators a second chance. DNA from the crime scene was tested in the past, but the results did not help. Now, science has improved, so the DNA is tested again. This time, the test finds a match, matching the evidence to someone who was never suspected before. Investigators go back through old case files and find more connections that were not noticed before. With this new discovery, the case is no longer a mystery, and the answer finally gets revealed

A case remains unsolved because no one could find a clear suspect. Detectives go back to the beginning, looking at news reports, records, and security footage from the time of the crime. As they compare the information, they notice small mistakes and contradictions. Some witness statements do not match the evidence, and small details in old videos show things that were missed before. With all of this new information put together, the story of what really happened becomes clear, and after many years, the case is finally solved.

For years, I stayed in the background, sitting in the middle of the class, finishing my work on time, and rarely raising my hand unless I had to. My life was simple—study, eat, sleep, repeat. I was okay with it, or at least I thought so, until one afternoon when an announcement called for volunteers for the school play.

At first, I laughed at the idea. Me? On stage? It sounded crazy. But something inside me hesitated before dismissing it. "Just give it a shot," I thought. "I might surprise myself."

So, I did. When I stepped on stage, my heart was beating so fast I could barely hear myself. But as I spoke, something changed. The words felt right, the movements came naturally. For the first time, I wasn’t just a student—I was a character, a storyteller, someone people watched. The fear faded, and I felt excited instead.

The play was a success, but more importantly, it changed how I saw myself. I was no longer just an ordinary student. I had a voice that mattered. From that moment on, I looked for ways to push myself, to try new things, and to step out of my comfort zone.

Sometimes, one moment can turn the ordinary into something special.

It had been twenty-five years since the disappearance of Laura Whitman, a case that had haunted the small town of Ashford. Official investigations had gone cold, files buried in the depths of the police archives, and memories faded. But when investigative journalist Emily Carter stumbled across an old newspaper clipping in the town library, she felt an undeniable pull to uncover the truth.

Emily, known for her tenacity, began by re-examining the case files. She filed a request for public records, pouring over old police reports, photographs, and statements. She noticed inconsistencies in witness testimonies—small details that had been overlooked in the original investigation.

Determined, she tracked down key witnesses, some of whom had never been questioned before. One, an elderly man named Henry Lyle, admitted he had seen Laura on the night she disappeared, but fear had kept him silent. "She was arguing with someone," he revealed, his voice shaking. "A man with a scar on his cheek. I remember it clearly."

Emily’s search led her to the original suspects, now older and with lives far removed from their past. She confronted one of them, Mark Hensley, who had been a person of interest at the time but had a shaky alibi. When presented with new information, he grew visibly nervous. "I told the cops what I knew back then. I had nothing to do with it," he insisted. But Emily sensed he was hiding something.

Using modern forensic techniques, Emily worked with an independent lab to reanalyze a single strand of hair found on Laura’s sweater, something technology had been unable to process decades earlier. DNA results identified an unknown suspect, someone never considered before—Gregory Nash, a former friend of Hensley’s who had since left town.

Emily’s persistence paid off when she tracked Nash down in another state. Faced with mounting evidence and renewed police interest, he finally broke down and confessed. "It was an accident," he muttered. "She found out something she wasn’t supposed to, and I panicked."

The confession led to an official reopening of the case, and soon after, Nash was arrested. Laura Whitman’s family, after decades of unanswered questions, finally had closure. The truth had been buried in the past, but investigative journalism had unearthed it, proving that sometimes, justice only needs the right person asking the right questions.

Hikaru Mitoma (age 40, male, ***********): I saw her walk down the street this morning in her school uniform and backpack. She greeted me like she had done every other morning.

Momose Rin (age 32, female,  ***********): I saw her standing before the red light on the other street before she crossed the street. I knew what she looked like because she would always visit my bakery along with her mother.

There seemed to be no evidence that could directly link to the young child’s disappearance.

Yuta Kamikawa (age 25, male, **********): It was a shame I couldn’t see her one last time. She should have worn that bracelet I gifted her for her 5th birthday.

What bracelet was this man talking about? I began rummaging through pictures of the young girl. And as I expected, in almost every one of them, she was wearing this red ribbon bracelet with white pearls on it. How could he have known she wasn’t wearing it that day? Who even is this man and why did no one suspect him?

After researching a bit more about this man, it seems like he used to work as the guard of the kindergarten that Suzu used to attend. So he definitely had lot’s of opportunities to come on contact with her. I looked at the phone number written on the paper. Maybe I should try calling him.

Ringggg Ringggg

—

“Hello?”

“Hello, who is this?”

“This is the detective**** from *****police station. We would like to come to interview you with a few questions regarding the Suzu Hirota cold case from 20 years ago if that is okay?”

“Oh…Yes…That’s..fine.”

“Is 5 pm tonight alright for you?”

“Yes…”

“Thank you for your cooperation sir.”

—cut

That night I found my way to his address and knocked on his door. A man in his mid 40’s appeared at the door. “Are you Yuta Kamikawa?” “Yes I am, please come in.”

I entered his home, which looked a bit newer and cleaner than expected. I sat down in the seat in front of him. 

“Please tell me what you remember regarding the young girl.”

The man began to talk. My eyes drifted all over his body analyzing his gestures, clothing, and bracelet. The bracelet. It was red, the same one as the girl. How could he have if it was on the girl most of the time? I would need to retrieve that bracelet somehow to run through the forensic DNA lab. If it matches with the DNA from the girl, then I could directly tie a link with this man and the young girl.