Yesterday, I met an old man.

I got on the train with the usual lack of enthusiasm I had acquired in years of commuting
to work, prepared for another hour of my life wasted staring out the window and chatting
nonsense with the other commuters who were just as bored as I was.
Across my seat, in the usually vacant spot, sat an old man that seemed totally out of place
in the train car packed with dull young people uninterested in their jobs.
His face was marred by wrinkles and his hands trembled as he turned the yellowed page
of the book he was reading. He lifted his head and, as our eyes met, a chill went down my spine.
There was a weird kind of exhaustion behind his bright blue irises, as if life had long ago taken a
toll on him. Then his expression changed to frustration and defeat as the cane that had been
resting against the seat fell down. His shoulders slumped and his body seemed to strain as he
reached out, unable to get a hold of it.
His smile was heartwarming as I got up and bent down to get the cane, and the “thank
you” he uttered was in a voice of a loving grandfather telling you stories by the fireplace.
Suddenly, a river of questions about him flowed through my mind. I wanted to know what he
had gone through, why his eyes were so empty.
He proved very talkative when I mustered up the courage to speak to him. Utterly
enthralled by the story of his life, I learned that he had been a soldier. He had been severely
injured, and his left leg was now prosthetic. His other two brothers had died in battle. His wife
had been, according to him, a blessing to the entire world, an angel with a resplendent
appearance and a pristine soul. She had healed him, both physically and mentally, after the
unimaginable trauma suffered during the war. She had died unfairly early from a ruthless
disease, leaving him on his own with an infant daughter. He was going to visit his daughter and
see his grandson for the first time, and probably the last, as he had been born sick, and there was
little prospect of survival.
My heart ached for this poor man, who had suffered so much loss in exchange for being a
savior in his youth. His story was book-worthy, and I found myself wanting to know more of the
plot, but our discussion was cut short as the train reached the station. As I waved him goodbye,
he offered me the same warm smile and, for the first time in forever, I had one on my own lips as
I walked to work.
 The rain got harder as Tina walked alone in tears.
She had expected to be the protagonist of this dramatic scene at one point in her life. First
of all, she was prone to heartbreak. And then it rained very often where she lived, and even after
all those years she still forgot her umbrella on the most inappropriate days.
She had seen herself walk aimlessly down a street she didn’t even know, the water
trickling on her face a combination of tears and rain, her drenched hair stuck to the back of her
neck. However, she had always thought the reason for that particular moment would be her
tendency to fall for the wrong boys. Never before had she imagined that her heart would actually
be torn to pieces by the person she loved more than her own self.
The night had started on the right track: she and her best friend, Mary, had turned heads
as they had walked into the party. Contrary to Tina’s expectations, the people at the party had
been amazing. They had immediately accepted her into their group. She had never felt so good
and safe during a party before. The music, however, had been unbearably loud, and she had
decided to get a moment of quiet upstairs.
As she had passed on of the bedroom doors, she had stopped dead in her tracks. She had
heard her own name and recognized Mary’s voice. Tina had felt rude for eavesdropping, but she
had told herself that, since she had been mentioned, she had had the right to know what it had
been about.
Now, as Tina’s clothes were soaked with rain, she recalled every word that had been
uttered during that conversation. Each one of her secrets had been spilled, her deepest
insecurities lain out before whoever Mary had been talking to. In a matter of minutes, she had
heard so many lies about herself that it had seemed her friend had been talking about another
person. But her name had been said multiple times, hadn’t it?
Tina had no idea who Mary had talked to and what her intentions had been. But she knew
one thing for sure: she would be as cold towards Mary as the rain trickling down her cheeks.
 The morning had started really well, I thought, as I sipped coffee leaning on the
balustrade of my balcony.
What others regarded as bad weather, I found rather cozy. The sky was gloomy, the wind
bending the branches of the trees. The faint howl it made sent a chill down my spine. A storm
was imminent and, although the prospect of thunder booming and lightning cracking the sky
filled me with dread, the gray tones and the doom-laden atmosphere soothed me.
Suddenly, I heard a small sound and felt a caress, and smiled down at my cat as she
coiled herself around my leg, begging for attention. Setting the mug on the small table, I bent
down and scratched her head. She purred with satisfaction and then slipped from underneath my
hand.
I was staring ahead, at the city sprawling before my eyes, when I heard the balcony door
get shut. My cat had pushed it and was now giving me a weird look through the glass. Before I
could reach the door to open it back, she hopped up and pressed her paw on the handle. The
color drained from my cheeks as I realized I was stuck there. The door opened only from the
inside and when the handle was turned downwards, it was locked. I glanced at my watch – it was
almost time to go.
Panicked, I fumbled through my pockets for my phone, then remembered with horror that
I had left it on the kitchen counter. My only option was to shout for help, provided someone
would hear me from the other balconies, or wait for my husband to come home the entire day.
Meanwhile, my cat was curled up on the windowsill, glancing at me lazily.
I knew I would probably get in trouble for missing the meeting and I knew I needed to
come up with an explanation. I finally settled for the truth: my cat locked me on the balcony.
I decided that this should be my excuse, but would anyone believe me?
 He was utterly lost.
He had never been much of a nerd – in fact, he had been at the opposite pole, barely
making it to graduation, skipping classes more than attending them, breaking every rule that he
could, on the verge of failing every semester. He had never really had any regrets though, living
in the present rather than being at least slightly concerned about shaping his future.
Now, as he sat on a bench in the locker room that he would see for the last time, a duffel
bag at his feet and the key to his locker dangling between his fingers, he felt a twinge of remorse.
He knew he had really crossed the line this time and gone so far that no other team would
accept him. His career was truly over and he had nothing left. Basketball had been the only thing
he had ever taken seriously and focused on.
Dreadfully, he got up and took a deep breath. He took a final glance around himself and
walked out. The coach was waiting for him, and they shook hands as he passed the key to him.
His mentor’s eyes were sympathetic.
As he left the court, he found it hard to breathe. His entire life unfurled in the back of his
mind, all the missed opportunities coming to light. He knew he had nowhere to turn, no skills
other than dribbling the ball, no way to support himself. His family would help, he was certain of
that, but he had disappointed them.
He had disappointed himself. The revelation that he was at fault hit him like a brick.
Only then did he begin to wish he had worked harder at school.
 Every morning I wake up with him on my mind and pain in my heart. I miss his
smile and that soothing voice of his. He was always there to pick me up when I fell down,
always the one to heal my wounds and cradle me in his arms to reassure me. He made even the
darkest of days shine with light.
Even after two months, waking up knowing he won’t be there is like a whole new feeling.
I still haven’t gotten used to his absence. I still expect him to be in the kitchen, making pancakes,
when I go downstairs in the morning. I sometimes still wait for him to come home from work
and tell me about his day. I still dial his number when I need help.
My brother was the core of our family, keeping us together, taking care of us all. He was
the one who always made sure everything was well organized, everyone was satisfied with any
decision.
One day, I came home from school and the house was grimly silent. I felt something was
off. It was as if all the life had drained out of my surroundings. I didn’t suspect anything when he
didn’t rush to the door to greet me. He had a busy schedule. Maybe he wasn’t even home.
I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water and stopped dead in my tracks as I found
my mother there, seated at the table, staring right ahead, her eyes bloodshot and her hands
shaking. Then I noticed my little sister was curled up on the floor in the corner, sobbing in
silence.
Only then did it dawn on me. Before my mother told me the awful news, I was already
fallen on my knees, unable to breathe and in denial. He had died in a car accident.
And with him, a part of me died too.
 Elena had been waiting for this audition to prove she had what it took to be a
dancer.
She had been told she was worthless way too many times. Too many choreographers had
looked at her with distaste and sent her home. Too many ballerinas had elbowed each other and
whispered in each other’s ears when the teacher had stopped next to her.
Her pointe shoes where worn off and dirty, the fabric at their tips peeling off. Her
costume was simple and a little too tight for her, taken out of the closet only for such a special
occasion. The bun on the top of her head wasn’t fixed with a pound of hairspray, stray hair
sticking out, and she wore no makeup. She was far from the glamour of the other dancers, but
her determination made up for it.
As she walked into the dressing room, conversation ceased. The ballerinas assessed her
from head to toe, and what was on their minds was obvious to her. However, she refused to be
weak. She settled down in a chair and tried to fix her hair.
It seemed forever until she was finally called onstage, and she took a deep breath, bracing
herself for further judgment. Her body undulated with the music, the movements flowing and
making her forget about the judges that were undoubtedly already writing something down about
her performance.
Back in the dressing room, the atmosphere was different. Now, the other dancers
regarded her with a kind of respect she had never known before. She knew some of them had
seen her dance, and they had undoubtedly conveyed their opinion to the others.
It wasn’t long before one of the judges asked who Elena was. And a few minutes later,
she found herself calling her mother about her greatest achievement.
 He knew something was off from the moment he walked in.
His best friend had invited him to the party, and he had been looking forward to it. He
loved such events, meeting new people and getting his problems off his chest for one night.
However, as he arrived, he was filled with dread. At first glance, nothing was wrong – it
was just another party thrown by a somewhat rich student, whose parents were gone from his
fancy house for the night. The party’s proximity to Halloween was merely a coincidence.
The host was very welcoming, and the other guests were happy to introduce themselves.
It wasn’t long before he found himself dancing in the living room, where the music blasted at full
volume.
The air, although, seemed heavy. A weird feeling he couldn’t quite explain made him
uneasy. He glanced right and left every couple of seconds, as if he expected to see something in
the corner of the room. On impulse, he eyed the door and assessed the distance. He moved closer
to it, just to be sure he could make it out in time. Just in case.
At one point, he decided to get some fresh air. He grabbed his jacket and headed outside
without telling his best friend.
He was leaning against the wall when he noticed the figure across the street.
It was too dark for him to accurately make out his features, but he could see the black
robe that seemed to be ripped at the hem. There was a hood that revealed a pair of glowing eyes
when the figure lifted its head.
He couldn’t even tell when he had gone back inside. He found himself searching
desperately for his friend, asking around, checking every room, but he was nowhere to be found.
He began to wish he had never come to the party.
 Topic: The time I met my fear

I have always been terribly afraid of fires. I don’t think anyone is fond of the sight of
houses ablaze, but it terrified me to the point where, when I was little, I would wake up in the
middle of the night in a panic, wondering what I would do in such a situation. To this day, seeing
fire trucks with their sirens on sends shivers down my spine and fills me with dread.

The day I met my fear started out as normally as it could. I woke up, did my homework,
and went to school in the afternoon. Classes were over in the evening and, since it was late
autumn, darkness had already fallen. I was slightly taken aback when my mother called me,
saying that I needed to walk home by myself, since she never let eleven-year-old me wander
through the streets unaccompanied at night, but I figured out something had come up and she
couldn’t leave work.

As I walked home, I realized that those streets were trully scary when you were alone and
defenseless, and finally understood my mother’s concern. But I made it home just alright and
went on to do my usual activities.

My mother came home really late, and went straight into my grandmother’s room. It was
really hard for me to make out what they were saying, but even if they were whispering, I could
hear my mother saying that her father-in-law was dead. Only later did she break the news to me,
and the blood froze in my veins when my greatest fear came to reality: he had died in a fire.
 Topic: My most frightening experience

As I entered my house and frantically turned on the light, nothing seemed out of place. I
let out a sigh of relief and rolled my eyes when I caught sight of myself in the mirror above the
shoe rack. I had been foolish enough to leave the door unlocked and after finding out I had done
so, I was expecting to find my house ransacked. My neighborhood was known for the great deal
of burglaries, and I had just paved the way for one in my own house.
As my heartbeat was slowing back to normal, I went into the kitchen, poured myself a
glass of water and walked up the stairs to my bedroom. The quiet that I was so used to was eerie
this time, but I ascribed that to my previous scare, so I just changed into cozy clothes, grabbed a
book and lay in bed.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a bang that seemed to come from my closet.
Figuring out a shoe had to have fallen, I got up to put it back.
When I opened the door, I saw a man crouched inside, pointing a gun right at me. I knew
better than to scream, so I just stood there in utter horror and waited for him to react. He slowly
lowered the gun and then got up, clamped a hand over my mouth before I could say anything,
and told me the experience would end well for the both of us if I kept quiet.
Fortunately, my husband had just come home and walked in on us without being noticed.
He had already called the police.
Everything was alright in the end, as the police came in time and managed to arrest the
burglar, restoring our safety and stolen goods. We learnt that the burglar had picked the lock on
the door, so it wasn’t actually my fault as I had thought. After the police left, I realized that
getting over this experience would be no easy job.
 Grief can make one see, do and feel unimaginable things. It is not uncommon for the
bereft to feel the presence of the loved ones they have lost or even see them.
My Maggie had been dead for only a couple of months. A ruthless disease had drained
the life out of her, depriving the world of her beauty and the joy that she had brought into
everyone’s lives. Into my life, which was now utterly bleak.
I was walking home when I first saw her. It had been so long, but there she was, her
golden hair lighting up the surroundings despite the overcast sky, her gorgeous smile as bright as
ever. My ration shouted at me that she was just a product of my imagination, but I suppressed
that thought. I had to reach her, so I started running towards the train station that she was
standing in front of as if waiting for someone.
I felt like screaming when I stopped short at the zebra crossing, cursing the streetlight in
my head for turning red. It seemed to last forever, but when I could finally cross the street, I
bolted so fast the cars barely had time to stop.
When I finally reached the other side, there was a cluster of people that I had to make my
way through, people hurling insults at me as I elbowed and pushed past them. My heart was
almost jumping out of my chest and I was breathless, but that didn’t matter as long as I reached
Maggie before it was too late.
However, by the time I reached the train station, she was gone.
 Topic: My first day at a new school

I have never been particularly fond of teen movies, especially the ones that begin with the
cliché of the new kid. Yet as I walked into my new school, I felt as if I had been the protagonist
of one.
Everything that surrounded me screamed ‘wealth’ and ‘snobbery’, forming a picture that
I didn’t fit in at all. My adoptive family, however, had always had, which was how I had ended
up in such a place.
Since the fit to the newcomer stereotype had already been established, I was casually
waiting for someone to pick on me, to mock me for my unsophisticated clothing style, or my
lack of accessories, or my tomboyish hair and I saw the right type of people to do that in front of
my locker.
A girl that seemed straight out of a magazine approached me, and I braced myself for the
worst. However, her lips curled into a warm smile and she extended her hand. Soon, I found
myself right in the middle of that group as introductions were made. They told me that they had
been informed that I would be transferred to their school and they had decided to make my
transition easier. I had to make sure my mouth wasn’t agape – how could these people, that were
the depiction of bullies, be so nice?
I spent the rest of the day with them. They showed me around, introduced me to other
students, and had lunch with me. By the end of the day, I had learned that appearances truly
don’t reflect the truth.
 David had asked me to meet him at the corner bakery. I had asked him over and over
again to tell me what for, but he had refused even when I had threatened not to show up. He had
insisted that it had been important to him, and I had finally given in an agreed.
I knew David was quite a prankster and I expected him to pull something off again, but at
the same time, a paranoid part of me worried that it truly was of importance for once and I was
afraid not to let him down when he needed me. So instead of questioning his motives, I got ready
and left home.
He wasn’t in front of the bakery as I had expected, and I texted him to find out where he
was. He told me he was inside, which put a frown on my face – the bakery had been closed for
renovation for two days. His insistence, however, overpowered my skepticism, and I finally
followed his directions.
The bakery was empty when I walked in, and I had almost turned around to walk away in
frustration when people popped up from underneath the tables and confetti was thrown at me.
David arose from behind the counter, wearing the most satisfied lopsided smile.
I hadn’t thought even for a second that my promotion would be such a big deal to my
friends, but they had planned this surprise to celebrate, and David was behind all of it. I realized
that I had the best friends in the whole wide world.
 No sooner had our romantic evening started than an urgent call came through. My
husband shook his head in disbelief as I muttered an apology while picking up the phone. The
nurse on the other end was so frantic that I barely had time to process what she was saying, and
hung up before I could even say goodbye.
My husband motioned for me to go, already resigned. I hated that he had to put up with
me cancelling plans and interrupting dates, but as duty called, I got up from the table and rushed
out of the restaurant.
The car trip to the hospital seemed to take forever, but I eventually made it. I went
straight to the locker room and changed into scrubs, then ran to the emergency room, where I
was informed that an accident had occurred involving a tour bus and two more cars, and the
number of victims was overwhelming and every member of the staff was needed there.
I was immediately led to one of the patients who required surgery and promptly presented
the case. The woman was bleeding internally and I had to stop it as quickly as possible. I asked
the nurses to prepare her for surgery and dashed to do so myself.
As I was scrubbing in, I thought of my husband, whether he was eating by himself or had
left the restaurant. It pained me to know that I had disappointed him yet again, but I knew he
understood the situation, just as he always did. Saving lives came at a cost.