Story #333

One evening, a worker working for the construction site nearby walked into my cafe. When he camehe ride the bicycle. It seemed like he had a long time determination to walk in. He said to me he want to try a cup of coffee of our shop. He looked the menu for 1 minute and say:“please do me an caffe Americano.(Note:cafe Americano is the cheapest one of the coffee in the menu). He determined so quickly that I feel a little conflicted. On one hand,I was worried about caffe Americano too bitter for him and destroyed the good feeling of coffee in his mind. On the other hand, I felt it’s not polite to ask him whether he drunk  coffee often and used to the taste and I think it will make him embarrassed. So I asked him if he like sweet drinks and like coffee with milk. He said yes. So I knew that what is really suited for him is Caramel Latte.

I don’t know it’s the coffee or his good mood that day make him so happy.

After a cup of coffee he became so happy and chatty. He began to tell us a lot about family issues,about his son, about his wife in hometown. He thought although his work take him so much time and tired.But his salary can be paid on time. Afterward, maybe because in such a unfamiliar city he find some familiar feeling and heart-warming feeling that he began to sing folk songs of his hometown. This is really a very touching moment. I feel that a man over his 50 years of his life he get up the courage to walk into a cafe and drink his first cup of coffee.

Maybe most of his life filled with work and support his family and left little time enjoying himself. But that day at this special evening he enjoyed himself and we became close to each other without distance and heart-warming and understanding each other~

– Freda Wong, Shenzhen

Story #332

“I think I’ve painted myself into a corner” she said with a nervous smile, looking at the mess around her and at her friend standing by the door at the opposite end of the room. She contemplated her options. She could take a leap of faith, and hope that her friend would want, and be able to, catch her in midair on the other side. She could paint herself out of the room, retracing her steps backward, meticulously erasing every misstep. Or, she could give up, just droop down in the corner, shameful that she’d let her excitement outpace her common sense. Then, once the paint had dried, she could leave and no one, except for her friend standing by the door, would ever know. She counted backward, “Three… two… one…”, then took a deep breath and made her decision.

– Albert, Stockholm

Story #331

I am twenty-six years old now.I am a girl.When I was a child, my parents quarreled with each other seriously .I was unable to stop that. Then I would go outside and cried in a corner in the dark .My  father would take me home after the quarrel stopped.But my mother always tried to commit suicide.I was so afraid that I always held her legs when we were sleeping in order to stop she hurting herself. I think it is a sad story. Now I have grown up, but I never forgot the sad and afraid feeling .

– AZURE, Shanghai

Story #330

Robin Bell looked wistfully out into the storm, the window pane fractured by beads of water running down the glass. As the kettle started to whistle, he hobbled over to the cupboard and took out his favourite enamel mug, white with orange nasturtiums. With his tea made, he shuffled to the table.

SMALL MAN COUNTS TO A BILLION read the headline of the newspaper. Fairies danced in the flames of the fire, flicking back their heads and laughing. Again, Robin walked to the window. It hadn´t stopped raining since the tenth of July five years ago. He would give anything for a snatch of sun. But that would never be possible.

– Scroch Duliton, Warsaw

Story #329

Scurrying along the floor Abby neared her wall but before she could dart into the hole a shrill voice screamed “mouse, mouse” and a huge foot crashed down obscuring her view of the mouse house. Abby scuttled around the humongous foot and to the safety of her little mouse house.

– Anonymous, Aucland

Story #328

There it hung, shimmering. Suspended in the air, floating in flux. Kiki stared up at it, her eyes gleaming and her heart full with awe. The city appeared to be solid, but surely that was impossible. The stars twinkled above, their beauty comprimised by the ustounding sight.

– hat attack, Gluttonbergson

Story #327

The Real Hobo’s Of Bev Hill
                                                                    Cragen’s Haiku
                                                               My Name Is Cragen
                                                 Watch my show now, home-owners
                                                                 Steps are wonderful
                                                       And now, a short bio of Cragen
Cragen’s a hobo by nature, poet by profession. He lives under a step, above which ladies do yoga every Saturday. He has a beard (dirty brown), wears numerous coats(his favorite’s aubergine and has large pockets), and is proud to say that he has a full head of hair.

– Cragen, Bev (Beverly) Hills

Story #326

The first time I was told that I was going to be placed in the Child Care Learning Centre for this course I was really excited because I used to live in east residence and every time I walked past the CCLC I always wondered what it would be like to work in there. After I enrolled, every time I would walk past the CCLC I would tell myself or my friends in a really excited voice that I was going to be working there! I felt like this was an amazing opportunity to learn and practice in the field. I felt like this would give me a chance to learn about my interests and enhance my skills more. This first day I entered the class I was really fascinated with the way the children were so welcoming and incredibly intelligent. I admit it after the first day, when I had to write my very first activity plan, that’s when the anxiety hit me because I had never considered myself to be a very creative person but I really wanted to do well in this course.

– Simran Arora, Guelph

Story #325

Once there was a retired Shetland pony called Morsel the Horsel (he was named after some little kids who often visited him.) When he was younger he was a riding pony for kids, he had keep all his riding gear as a memento. Sometimes, just for fun he would try on his gear. One day while he was wearing his saddle little kids came to visit they fed him dandelions through fence. As they left he neighed goodbye.

– Tilly, Aucland

Story #324

a flower bed with different kinds of colorful flowers in full detail. each of them has a personality, each a different character. they are all very very beautiful, and people pass by these flowers and try to pick the flower they want. But the thing is, each different flower make up the most amazing flowerbed. And the flower bed is the person i love.

– Jazel Khu, Manila