Creative Writing

She is making noodles for herself. The water bubbles and boils like the laugh of a child and the thick udon noodles swirl slightly in the pot. She portions out a generous chunk of the stew, making sure to pick out the sharp bony pieces. The smell of chili oil and tender beef fills the tiny apartment, wrapping around her like a familiar embrace.

The forest took her, small and thin. A shadow lost in bark and skin. No name was whispered on the breeze. Just echoes tangled in the trees.

On a Tuesday morning that already felt like a Monday, Zach stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast. But instead of the hum of the refrigerator, he heard… nothing. Then a loud ahem.

I traced the raindrops on the fog-covered window and gradually saw shapes appearing. Shapes, circles, the blue and sunny sky, the ocean.

If I could talk to myself from five years ago, I would be eight years old. The first thing I would say is, “Have fun and enjoy everything! Time goes by really fast.” When I was eight, that was when COVID-19 started. Everyone had to stay home, wear masks, and not go outside. At first it felt kind of fun because I didn’t have to go to school, but after a while I got really bored. I missed my friends, my teachers, and even just being outside with other people. Still, even with all that, I feel like those years went by so quickly.

Ryan Peng English 19/7/25 Ants In the idyllic and rustic countryside of a far away, foreign land, where the flowers...