Despite being one of the biggest manufacturing countries, the continuous loss of skilled workers might affect their production sooner rather than later. Here at Greatways, we provide Japanese business with highly skilled Filipino workers to support their day-to-day operations. Learn more on how we can help here: https://greatwaysmanpower.com/jp/

The nightwolves and shadows moved quietly. The forest creatures kept a watchful eye; when the wolves appeared, the winds howled, warning them of the grave danger approaching from the flesh-eating predators. “Quick, run and hide! The nightwolves are out hunting." The ground below rumbled as the animals ran helter-skelter. Oh, the animals rushed to escape the vile predators. Unfortunately, some were not lucky and got caught within seconds. Their screams broke the quiet of the night as they struggled to free themselves from the deadly wolves. However, in a swift strike, they were killed and devoured. The tall, dark shadows watched, delighting in the bloodied melee. The nightwolves were at their behest as they tore the poor animals apart. They left behind a trail of blood and a heavy stench of rotting flesh. The forest animals now lived in fear. The nightwolves grew in numbers and returned often to hunt for food. One morning, Tabby, the squirrel, ran to the King of the Jungle, Lion. He was worried sick about what was taking place. He ran between trees and foliage deep into the forest until he reached the waterfalls. He saw the lion resting on a rock nearby. Lush verdant vegetation created a magical facade around the waterfalls, while the sunlight danced on the waters trickling below. “What blissful haven!” Tabby was envious. His part of the forest had once been as blissful, but not anymore. The nightwolves prowled the area often and killed many of his friends. He had to find a way to eliminate their threat. The King of the Jungle sat up as the squirrel approached him. Tabby bowed in respect. The clouds shifted in the sky above, blocking out the sun. A sudden gloom overcame them. “Ah, Tabby! What brings you here? It's been a while,” the lion greeted cheerfully. He noticed Tabby's worried face. “What's the matter?” His voice echoed through the forest. Birds flew from nearby branches, eager to hear what Tabby had to say. A deer perked its ears. “It must be important,” it opined. “Your Highness, the nightwolves have been terrorising our part of the forest, killing the animals and coming back each night to hunt for more.” “The nightwolves and shadows?” Lion demanded to know in an angry tone. He thought for a moment. Tabby's habitat was once renowned for its peaceful ambience. A great sage had lived in the resplendent environment. When he died, his soul returned to live in his prized habitat. “Don't worry, Tabby,” the lion assured him, “The Enchantress will get rid of the nightwolves for us.” “The Enchantress?” Tabby asked, confused. He had never heard of her before. The Enchantress was the daughter of a deposed King whose reign ended abruptly when an avaricious King seized his throne. The old King had fled into the forest. There he fell in love with a liminal being—a beautiful spirit incarnate who lived among the will-o'-the-wisps. The Enchantress was their firstborn and possessed her mother's magical powers. Lion related how she had once destroyed a fire-breathing dragon. Her melodious voice made the feared creature fall in love with her, and, lovestruck, he met his fate when she shot him with an arrow between his eyes. “Hurry, let's not waste any time,” Lion said. “She will destroy the nightwolves for you.” Lion offered Tabby a ride on his back as they hurried there. The birds followed discreetly, gliding on graceful wings of flight. The Enchantress was sunbathing with the mermaids by the riverbank when they arrived. As the visitors approached, the mermaids disappeared deep into the river. Their tails created a mighty splash as they dived. “Ah, Your Highness. What brings you here this mid-morning? And who do you carry on your back?” the Enchantress greeted with good cheer. Tabby was speechless when he saw the Enchantress. Her incredulous beauty astounded him. “This is Tabby from the other side of the forest. The nightwolves are attacking his habitat every night. We need your help to stop them from killing all the animals there.” Lion replied. “The nightwolves are protected by the evil shadows,” the Enchantress informed quietly. “The moon will be out tonight; I will entice them with a song. Then, strike them dead as I did with the dragon.” As darkness fell over the forest that night, the moon appeared to gloss over the clouds. The Enchantress began her hypnotising melody. Hearing her, the nightwolves stopped in their tracks. “Who's that singing?” The wolves questioned. The shadows hurried ahead of them in search of the soulful voice. They saw a beautiful woman on a cloud of mist under the moonlight by the mermaid's stream. The magic of her voice enticed the wolves to fall in love. Filled with rage and jealousy, they began to fight over her until the entire pack lay dead at her feet. Tabby and his friends were finally freed of a deadly menace. The forest was at peace once again. The End.

As an HR manager, you have an important role in resolving recruitment challenges. As a guide, here are simple yet effective ways to attract and retain a skilled construction workforce in Japan. Hire Foreign Construction Workers in Japan The local government is now welcoming overseas construction workers in Japan through the Specified Skilled Worker (SSW) visa program. This includes the specified skilled worker visa for construction jobs in Japan. Workers receive support such as Japanese language training, safety instruction, and work guidelines. The program also helps foreign workers adjust to life and culture in Japan. Build a Welcoming Work Environment Encourage more women to join your construction team and help break long-standing gender stereotypes. Remember, creating inclusive facilities and promoting work-life balance are key steps toward building a diverse, stable, and well-rounded workforce. A recent study about women in welding reveals a growing number of female welders, proving that diversity brings strength and innovation. If gender inclusivity works in welding, there's no reason it can't thrive in the construction industry as well. Establish Internship Programs Offering technical internship training programs in construction is a great way to attract younger workers in Japan. These programs give students hands-on experience and a better understanding of the industry. By seeing the real work environment, they can move past the common misconceptions of construction being “dirty” (汚い), “tough” (厳しい), and “dangerous” (危険な). Thus this approach helps build interest and respect for careers in construction among the next generation. Maximize Technology and Modernize Construction Adopting advanced machinery and automation can reduce the physical strain of construction jobs, making the industry more appealing to a broader range of workers in Japan. By using digital tools for design and planning, and drones for real-time safety monitoring, companies can modernize construction operations and create safer, more efficient worksites. These innovations not only boost productivity in construction but also contribute to enhancing recruitment—helping attract younger, tech-savvy Japanese who may have overlooked construction as a career option. Invest in Human Resource Dispatch Company To resolve the growing labor shortage in construction, consider partnering with a human resource dispatch company like Greatways Manpower International Inc. At Greatways, we offer reliable dispatch services tailored to your recruitment needs. This approach will help you create a more skilled, flexible, and job-ready construction workforce in Japan. Learn more: https://greatwaysmanpower.com/ofw-news/blogs/construction-workers-in-japan-hiring-guide/

In 2023, the Philippines sent out more than 2.6 million overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) to meet global labor demands. Surpassing the previous year's estimated number of 1.96 million, with a significant increase of 9.8 percent. Projections for years to come show that this number will remain strong, highlighting the Philippines' ability to provide skilled workers to countries facing labor shortages, especially in Japan. Here are more reasons why Japanese companies should consider working with Filipino skilled workers: 1. Young Filipino Workforce vs. Japan's Aging Population Approximately 30% of Japan's population comprises people over 65 years old. In contrast, Filipinos aged 65 years and above only make up 5%. Given this information, filipino skilled workers are in place to contribute vitality to Japan's workforce. 2. Filipino Skilled Workers Are Technically Trained and Globally Ready Before working in Japan, Filipino skilled workers must show proof that they are qualified for their professions. Over the years, Filipinos have earned a strong reputation for being highly trained and experienced. 3.Supporting Service Industries with Specified Skilled Workforce The Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan has listed key industries that require specified skilled workers. These 16 sectors are comprised of the following: Nursing Care Building Cleaning Management Manufacture of Industrial Products Construction Industry Shipbuilding & Machinery Automobile, Repair, and Maintenance Aviation Accommodation Agriculture Fishery and Aquaculture Manufacture of Food and Beverages Food Service Automobile Transportation Business Railway Forestry Wood Industry Japan is especially concerned about the shortage of nurses, caregivers, and medical staff. These roles are essential for supporting its aging population. Although these areas are a top priority, the need for skilled workers also affects many other industries. So, to help fill these gaps, Japan is turning to overseas talent. Granted, the Philippines stands out as a reliable source of skilled workers ready to support Japan's growing labor demands. 4. Adaptability and Flexibility Filipino workers are known for their adaptability, strong work ethic, and friendly attitude—qualities that many Japanese employers highly value. Their communication skills also stand out. Most Filipinos speak both English and Filipino fluently, making them excellent at working in international environments. While Japan prefers communication in Nihongo, this is not a major challenge for Filipino workers. Through the Japan-Philippines Economic Partnership Agreement (JPEPA), they undergo a 6-month intensive Japanese language training. For many Filipinos, learning Nihongo comes naturally, helping them adjust smoothly to Japanese workplaces. Source: https://greatwaysmanpower.com/ofw-news/blogs/specified-skilled-workers-and-japan-case-of-labor-shortage/ At Greatways Manpower International, Inc., we want nothing more than to build great partnerships in Japan. Solve your labor shortage with us. Phone: (02) 522-1322 Email: greatwaysmanpowerinc@yahoo.co.jp Website: https://greatwaysmanpower.com/jp/

The bazaar was a mess of voices, feathers, dust, and sun-bleached tarpaulin flapping like broken sails. Here, amidst pigeons and the metallic clink of old coins, Sergey's stall stood at the edge of it all: a stubborn table of crooked legs and flaking paint, crowned with red and gold onions piled into slouching pyramids. He sat atop an upturned crate, squinting beneath the visor of a cap that had once belonged to his father, bracing for the next haggler to insult both his prices and his parentage. She came at the hour when the shadows began to shift: a woman in black, her habit catching the light like oilskin. A nun, unusual, but not unheard of. She approached his stall with quiet purpose, eyes scanning his products. “These are bruised,” she said, selecting one and turning it over. “They're onions,” Sergey replied, arms crossed. “You want silk, try the rug seller.” “They're soft,” she continued, ignoring his tone. “Not a single one firm.” She prodded another, then another. “I'll take three,” she said at last, withdrawing a purse from the folds of her coat. “But I'll pay seven.” “They're ten.” She met his gaze squarely. “They're seven.” He sighed, muttering curses under his breath, and began packing three of the least disfigured into a paper bag. At that moment, a boy approached, no older than nine, in a shirt too thin for spring and shoes that no longer deserved the name. He hovered near the edge of the stall, silent as a shadow, his eyes wide and dark. He didn't speak. Just looked; not at them, but at the onions. Sergey noticed him and barked, “Go on, move along. This isn't a museum.” The boy didn't move. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his gaze remained fixed on the lowest row of bulbs, as though memorising their shapes. The nun turned slightly, catching sight of him. “He's not harming anything,” she said mildly. “He's not buying anything either.” “Not everyone who comes to a market has coins.” “Then they shouldn't come.” The nun said nothing at first. Instead, she knelt — slowly, gracefully — and drew a small cloth sack from the sleeve of her coat. “How much for one more?” she asked. He raised a brow. “He's not yours.” “No,” she said. “But someone ought to feed him.” Sergey hesitated. He'd heard this tone before: soft, saintly, the kind that always expected an exception. “One more's another three.” She clicked her tongue in mock indignation. “Even bruised?” “Especially bruised.” She shook her head and counted out the coins anyway, pressing them into his palm with a smirk. While he wrapped the final onion, she turned to the boy and offered the paper bag. “There,” she said. “Don't drop them. They're expensive, apparently.” He reached out with trembling hands, clutching the parcel like it might vanish. He looked once at Sergey, once at her, and gave a barely audible “thank you.” But something else had happened, something Sergey didn't notice until they were both gone. The nun had lingered just long enough to distract him, asking about his stall, complimenting his scales, inquiring about the weather. Only when he sat back down did he realize what had happened. One of the bags near the edge was lighter — the one that hadn't yet sold — he counted the onions inside. Plenty missing. He stared for a long moment at the empty air where she'd stood. The boy was already gone. The bag of onions in his hand felt heavier now. He could report her. But to whom? And for what? Theft of a bulb? He scratched his chin. “Trickster nun,” he muttered, not without admiration. He reached into the crate and pulled out the best-looking onion of the lot. He set it aside on a clean napkin, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, just listening to the pigeons above, to the coins clinking down the stalls, and to the faint echo of her voice saying, “They're seven.” He didn't know if she'd return. But the onion on the napkin stayed untouched until dusk — a small, firm hope beneath the pigeons and dust.

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I never dreamed of much. All I wanted was a place where I could work honestly, where my silence was respected, and my effort seen—without needing to shout. I entered the factory with a quiet but sincere hope. I believed that calmness was a virtue and that discipline would be appreciated. But I was about to enter a world that didn't reflect who I was. I moved like a light shadow between machines. I completed my tasks in silence. I smiled sometimes and often swallowed my breath—but never showed a thing. They thought I was quiet, but inside, I was singing… Singing to myself, so I wouldn't break. Every flower that isn't watered by words sings from thirst. I wasn't like the others. I read, noticed the smallest details, loved order, adored learning, and searched for meaning amid the factory's mechanical noise. But this place didn't read. It didn't open a book, hear a song, or ask "Why?" Everything was mechanical: Movements, time, responses—even the smiles. Life was performed here, not lived. And whenever I reached toward the light, A curtain would quietly be drawn. It's as if the world fears those who see deeply. As if knowledge threatens those who've learned to walk in straight lines. Weeks passed in silent repetition. I learned to roam as someone skilled in vanishing. I lowered my gaze, shortened my steps, and hid my thoughts. Not because I had stopped dreaming, but because I could no longer bear seeing dreams crushed beneath collective silence. During breaks, I returned to a tiny notebook. I would write a phrase, record a feeling, borrow a line that sounded like me. One day I wrote: "When no one sees you… learn to see yourself." Then I closed the notebook like I'd signed a secret confession. The factory produced boxes, But I was producing questions. They counted time in minutes, I counted it by the weight it left in my soul. Yes, one day—I cried. Not out of weakness, but out of transformation. And for the first time, I heard my own voice. I knew I'd never return to who I had been. I was not a machine. I was the girl who tried to read… In a place that doesn't.

Aboard the ferry were a monk, a teacher, a bandit, two antique smugglers, a mother and her child, a young couple, and the ferryman's wife. The ferryman's wife laid down a wooden plank as the two smugglers struggled to push their motorbike aboard. The tall smuggler cautioned his plaid-shirted companion: "Careful!" He wasn't talking about the bike but the cloth bundle in his friend's arms—inside was an ancient porcelain vase. As they strained, the plaid-shirted smuggler called for help. The teacher hesitated, but the young man from the couple stepped forward, lifting the fallen bike. Inside, a refined mother and her nine-year-old son sat quietly. When the smugglers positioned the bike, it grazed her leg. She frowned. The tall smuggler apologized, reaching to brush off the dirt. She swatted his hand away. Behind them, the monk spoke to the teacher about Bodhidharma: "When Huike cut off his arm to prove devotion, he pleaded, ‘Master, my mind is troubled.' The great sage replied, ‘Show me this troubled mind.' Huike searched but could not find it. The master then said, ‘See? I have already put your mind at ease.' And with that, Huike was enlightened." The plaid-shirted smuggler, clutching the bundle, sat near the monk—the safest place. The teacher scowled: "You, sir! Why squeeze in here?" The smuggler muttered: "Forgive me, elder. If this vase breaks, my life is ruined." The young man sat close to his girlfriend, his fingers grazing her belly beneath the coat. She stiffened slightly but didn't move. The boat drifted away. The sky darkened. A lone bird flapped toward the mountains. Suddenly, a sharp voice called from shore: "Ferry!" The tall smuggler waved dismissively: "Ignore them." But the ferryman's wife hesitated. A rugged man leaped aboard, splashing water over the monk. The monk flinched: "Amitabha Buddha!" The teacher muttered: "Looks like a bandit." He was. Yet he grinned politely, casually took an oar, and lit a cigarette. He winked at the ferryman's wife: "The sky is neither sunny nor rainy, yet the day has slipped into dusk." She responded vaguely: "What storm brings crows from the mountain?" The bandit laughed: "A wedding. A sixty-year-old groom, a seventeen-year-old bride." The boat fell silent. The little boy, watching the water, suddenly declared: "I see spirit fish!" The plaid-shirted smuggler smirked: "Kid, ask your mom—spirit fish or just carp?" The mother stiffened, pulling her son close. Just then, the boy reached into the smuggler's bundle and slipped his hand into the vase. His mother gasped: "Take your hand out, now!" The boy tried—but his wrist was stuck. Panic spread. The tall smuggler grabbed the vase: "Damn brat! Always causing trouble!" The mother sobbed: "What do we do?!" The ferry reached shore. A cold wind blew. Then—knives flashed. The smugglers pressed their blades against the child. The mother shrieked: "I don't have money!" Desperate, she yanked a ring from her finger. The plaid-shirted smuggler snatched it. The tall one pressed his knife to the boy's throat. A crimson drop formed. The young man clenched his fists. He ripped his own ring from his finger and thrust it at the smugglers: "Take it. Now let the boy go." At that moment, the bandit moved. With a single, fluid motion, he swung his nunchaku—shattering the priceless vase. The mother wept, clutching her son. The smugglers stood in shock. The bandit smirked and leaped onto shore. The teacher murmured: "That man... a hero! A revolutionary!" The ferryman's wife smiled to herself. She knew better. Alone in the dark, he was nothing but danger. The boat emptied. Only the monk remained. The ferryman's wife hesitated: "Master... it's time to disembark." The monk shook his head: "I've changed my mind. Take me back." She sighed: "I don't ferry people back across." The monk chuckled: "That's alright. Once, the great Bodhidharma crossed a river on a single blade of grass." The ferry turned back. Under the rising moon, the river shimmered like glass. A distant temple bell rang. The monk murmured his mantra: "Gate gate, paragate, parasamgate…"

"What?! The lexicon has never sounded so heavy in my listening vessels before this day. It felt both interrogative and exclamatory at the same time - so loud that I still heard the echoes for some seconds after she said that to me. Kadijat, a petite, dark-skinned, 5'7" angel with long hair and four eyes. We had only recently started talking a semester ago, and we were getting along perfectly. So I thought, but I guess I was wrong in the long run. Kadijat didn't occur to me as someone I should cautiously be friends with initially. She seemed accommodating and full of vibes, so I felt free around her as time went on. We would meet at times and have interesting chit-chats about different stuff - school, life, and so on. Although this occurrence was not a regular routine, it still felt beautiful the few times we did have them. One of those beautiful moments was during our Friday cognitive projects. My group had a really tough one that week because, for some reason, the lecturer decided to give us the most tedious topic. I was occupied the entire week trying to fix it alongside Tommy and another girl; I don't recall her name, but she did excellently well on the project. We successfully finished our project before Thursday that week, and I couldn't feel more relieved. I was just going to take a stroll around school before heading home to rest when I saw Kadijat completely immersed in her notebook on the walkway. This was unusual; Kadijat wasn't one to be so serious about schoolwork. “Hello, K! Can you hear me?” I called out again. This time, I guess she heard me, as she turned her head slightly toward my direction. “Hi, dear! What's up?” she said with a weak yet spontaneous voice. She sounded like she was going to collapse at any moment. “I'm good, just taking a stroll,” I responded, still worried about her demeanor. “Are you okay? What's keeping you so busy?” “Oh, it's my project, dear. I'm just so tired right now. My other group members left me to sort it out as the group leader, and I can't help but feel so confused.” “Oh, sorry about that,” I said. “Projects can be so draining when you have the wrong set of people on your team, you know.” I slowly reached for the project topic, which was already written on the paper in her hands. “Is this your topic?” “Hm, you're lucky, you know. I have done a personal project on this before.” “Really?” she asked, her eyes opening wide as if she had just woken up from a nap. “Yeah,” I responded. “Maybe we could sort it out together with my work and then make changes where necessary.” She felt relieved to hear this, as though I had lifted a huge burden off her shoulders. We spent time sorting through the project. It was quite time-consuming, but I didn't notice the time passing as we had both fun and beautiful conversations while working on it. A few hours later, I was seeing her off to her street, from where I would later turn back to reach my own house. I felt tired, but it was worth it. I didn't get to socialize with people every day, so the few times I did were so beautiful to me. Kadijat was absent from school for a while, or let's say she stayed away from school. I noticed that after a friend called my attention to it. So I decided to reach out to her via a phone call. I was eager to know why she was away, and at the same time, excited to share all the school gist I had with her. That was when I heard the word, "What?!" I couldn't respond for a second, still trying to process from where such a cold response emanated. I mean, I had the right person on the line - Kadijat. Yes, she was the one I had, so why this hostility in response? I tried to make excuses for her in my head. Maybe she wasn't in a good mood, I said, but nothing prepared me for the next sentence. "Why are you calling me?" she added. It was at this point I realized she was serious about her tone. I simply told her my reasons for calling, and she felt touched. Me reaching out to check on her was so sweet to hear. But I could barely continue the call; I was lost in thoughts. So I bid her goodbye and ended it. I didn't do that without asking the reason for her tone, though. She based it on the fact that my number wasn't saved initially, so she didn't know it was me, which was even crazier. I had a really busy day at school earlier, but this night was more stressful than the entire day. I had just learnt something invaluable: to stop assuming your place in people's lives. Yeah, you heard me. You never really know what you mean to them until they show you. This was someone I thought of as a friend, it turned out we weren't even acquaintances, lol. Now I have to listen to "Sincerely Benson "so "What?!" do not keep ringing in my head.

A sudden crash jolted me awake. Yells of surprise followed, the sound seemed to have come from the kitchen, perhaps someone broke a plate. I could smell something tempting—fish frying. My belly rumbled in response, I couldn't ignore the lure of that delicious aroma. I slipped out of my makeshift house—the old, dusty store near the family's home. My stealthy steps were silent as I navigated past the garden, careful not to alert the dogs. The clattering of plates being set for dinner can be heard from outside. I settled in front of the kitchen door, a sliver of light slipping through the gap beneath it. The sun had set, and darkness covered everything, except for the comforting glow from the kitchen. As the family enjoyed their meal, I waited, hoping for a crumb or two. Though I wasn't adopted by them, I reside in this family's abandoned store. I'm just a stray—one of the many cats wandering the neighborhood in search of food. My days were spent hunting rats and scavenging garbage bins. When hunting failed, I'd sneak into houses and swipe whatever scraps I could find. Humans almost never greeted me warmly. They can be cruel. All I wanted was to fill my belly but they'd chased me away with brooms and slippers. I learned that leftovers from the kitchen sink would get me in less trouble than the more tempting food on the dining table. Yet, occasionally, the allure of the table's offerings was too strong, and I would risk a snatch. Once, a human caught me stealing a chicken leg. It was smaller than most adults but bigger than the little ones who screamed and chased me. Expecting a slipper to fly my way, I darted out of the house. But when I returned later that evening, I was met with an unexpected kindness. Instead of scolding, it offered me food from a bowl. It was the same food they gave to the dogs. It had a meaty aroma with faint traces of chicken. The dogs in this household lived in luxury, with humans going through the trouble of drying mashed chicken and shaping it into small circles for them. The family had finished eating, and I heard them preparing food for the dogs. The clinking of metal bowls and the sound of kibble being poured made me drool a bit. The kitchen door creaked open, a normal-sized human appeared—it was the mother. It wore its outdoor slippers and its gaze fell on me. Our eyes met briefly before it said sharply, “Why are you here, filthy parasite? Go away!” Its words stung. It's true my actions are considered parasitic as I, a stranger, welcomed myself in this household and live off a family who isn't mine. Yet, being likened to the ticks biting my fur made me pity and disgust myself. I scurried away, hiding behind the old outdoor restroom close enough to the kitchen for its light to reach. After the mother fed the dogs, it glared at me and warned me not to eat the dogs' food. I'm not foolish to try—those dogs were eight times my size. They'd rip me apart if I attempted to steal their food. Rain began to fall, the gentle drizzle prompted the mother to return inside. As the doors closed, I was left in the darkness. I slipped inside the restroom for shelter. The rain quickly picked up, and in the silence, I could only hear the dogs' loud munching and the increasing pitter-patter of rain on the stones. If the rain continued, it would be a cold night. I needed to get back to the shack or risk staying in the restroom till it stops. As I was about to leave, the kitchen door swung open again. A bright light spilled out, and I saw a silhouette, smaller than that of the mother—it was the little human. It had a bowl in its hand. “Oh good, you're still here!” it said with a hint of concern. It crouched down and dumped a small pile of fish bones near me. “Luckily, Mother didn't give these to the dogs,” it said, “I left a bit of meat on mine for you.” Some of the bones had bits of meat, not much, but enough. "Better eat that before the rain pours down," it said, then closed the door. The fish bones lacked the aroma of the cooked fish I had smelled earlier, not even close to the faint scent of the dogs' food. They barely had any meat and weren't very appetizing. But food is food; one must eat whatever they can to avoid starving. With the rain pouring down harder, I quickly gathered the fish bones and dashed back to the shack, each step hurried by the increasing intensity of the storm. Once I had transferred all the fish bones to the shack, I called to wake my young ones. They responded with their tiny voices. I checked on them, licking their fur as they nibbled on their meal. Afterward, I cleaned myself, my fur wet from the rain. The storm grew louder, a heavy downpour that seemed endless. After my little ones had finished their meal, I curled up with them, seeking warmth amidst the pile of old fabrics. The rain continued to rage outside, but we were safe for now. We survived another night, with bellies barely full, huddled together in our small refuge.

If I remember my childhood, I was mostly a very belligerent and cheerful child. Almost every day I came home with a bleeding nose and a torn shirt. Every time I used to gossip behind the backs of my schoolmates who fought, I thought my decision was right. One day, a boy and I got into an argument about picking fruit from an ordinary tree. That boy insulted me in front of my friends, and I got angry. I couldn't control myself, and when he turned around, I threw a stone at him. The stone hit the boy on the head, and blood started to flow from his face. My friends around us ran away in fear. I was in a hurry and wanted to run away. But I decided to help him. The boy did not say anything, took out a handkerchief from his bag, and held his head. Fortunately, the wound was not serious, and the bleeding stopped after a while. As I washed my hands in the ditch near the tree, my anger had subsided, and I was thinking about why I had thrown the stone at him, because at that moment I realized that I had almost lost my mind. The boy dusted his clothes and started to leave without saying a word, picking up his bag. I was shouting after him to stop. He did not look back and walked slowly along the side of the road. The boy's curly hair glistened, either from the trail of blood or from the rays of the setting sun. I didn't know what to say to the boy as I walked by him. Both of us were walking together in silence. The boy and I were returning home together when he entered a restaurant at the beginning of the road and took out two samsas. He gave me one of the samsas. I was very surprised because I hadn't even apologized to him yet. Later, I found out that his mother worked as a simple dishwasher in that restaurant, and the boy gave me the samsa that he got from his mother for no reason. I went home and thought for a long time. I couldn't say sorry to the boy's face. I wrote all my words on a piece of paper and gave it to him during the break. He forgave me. Later, we became very close friends with him. Sometimes I think that he could take revenge on me, but he never did. Even though he was poor, he was always kind to me. But I know for sure that even if he were rich, he would not take revenge on me. But he is now dead, and I miss my friend very much. It was the greatest experience of my life. Currently, I have successfully resolved many conflicts; I have turned enemies into friends; I try not to make a decision when angry in any conflict, not to be jealous of someone, and to do good to my enemies. This experience was given to me by a friend.

My mother, Tallulah, comes to me on my 21st birthday and says, today is the day you get to meet your grandparents. She's wearing a loose sky blue dress and her hair strands blow freely across her face. She is happy, a subtle glow around her cheeks, as if I was staring at her aura. My eyes widened and air escaped my lips. I never met my grandparents, in the flesh, only through letters and sporadic phone calls. I always thought something terrible happened between my mother and her parents because we live so far from them. Why now, I thought. Especially when I have made plans with Shelly and Marina. Shelly and Marina are coming too, she says. My mother is like that, it's like she can always read my mind. I remain speechless. Looking down at my fingers, which tingle, I utter the words, ok. Before I know it, I see my big sisters' beige volvo pull up in front of our little pale blue house. They promptly run out of their car and serenade me with birthday songs and glee. Smothering me with kisses and hugs. I smile and thank them for their kindness. I have always been shy. We all pile into the volvo, my mother in the front and Marina and I in the back. I stare out the window as our house gets smaller and smaller. We drive all day, laughing, and singing. Mother is so thrilled to see her family and that her parents get to meet her girls. I notice Marina and Shelly smile coyly at each other. What does that mean? I think. I'm antsy and ready to get out of the car, unnerved that I have spent the majority of my birthday in this old volvo. Not before too long, Willa, my mother says. We are close. Again, she knows what I am thinking before I even say it. We enter a town and pass a sign that says WELCOME TO INDIGO BAY. It looks like a little beach town. Pale sand scattered for miles and miles. The sky matches my mothers dress and it is very breezy. There is no one in sight, no houses, just sand, a very old lighthouse and an ancient white picket fence that is barely standing up. We walk to the part of the beach where the water rushes to your toes and I am confused. It's okay Willa, you will understand soon. I stare at my mother and think, How do you always know what I am thinking? She smiles. Because, dear, I have special powers. We all have special powers. My stomach knots and I feel faint. What is HAPPENING. My mother takes my hand to the right and Marina takes my left. Shelly takes my mother's left hand and they all close their eyes. Close your eyes Willa. And trust your family. But I can't swim, I say. Oh, yes you can, my dear. We walked together into the shallow parts of the water until it gets deeper and deeper and I can no longer feel the sand on my toes. Or my toes. We are completely under water still holding hands and I hold my breath until I can't anymore and accidentally breathe in the water. But I am fine. No water enters lungs. I look at my toes and see a green fish tail instead. I am swimming. I am alive. I am..A mermaid? Yes dear. My mother says as she swims in front of me, caressing my face. We are descendants of Indigo Bay of the Royal Ocean Blue family. Your grandfather is a Triton and your grandmother is his queen. The 21st birthday is a very special day for every mermaid, for you can finally see where you come from. My sisters swim to my side, proud to finally share this moment with me. I know this because I can hear their thoughts. I really hope you love Indigo Bay, Marina says. If you like it, you have the choice of staying permanently. Shelly points to an oceanic glowing town towards the bottom of the sea. I realize my family have been waiting for me to become of age to return back to our aquatic roots. But is this for me?

There is not a single day here in the village of Maroź. Night followed by constant night is all the townspeople know. Daytime is a myth, a legend at this point. Not a single soul alive has seen, or felt the sun on their face. Cold dreary days are all that we have to look forward too. Until the prophecy of old is fulfilled that is. The elders in our village have passed down this tale for decades. A young man on his 21st birthday will come into his magic and enter the spirit realm where he will stand the test against time. He is to save the Sun Goddess who has been lost to the spirit realm, a prisoner of the dark spectral world. She has been gone for so long, no one believes in her story anymore. The start of the end of this tale, begins now. The rain was beating so hard upon the ceiling, the wood slats couldn't squeeze tight enough for the moisture to not penetrate. The liquid, making its way down the posts, dropped onto Koulders face. Waking him for the tenth time that night. He just wanted to sleep past midnight and get his birthday over with. Ever since his mother passed away he has not had much motivation to enjoy these days. He decides to sit up and think. It was all he was good at anymore. It didn't get him very far nor did it get his mind off hard subjects. Trauma was his way of life, all he knew. All he would ever be. He would have laid back down and drifted off had it not been for a short rap on his door. Filled with a sense of anxiety at a social visit, Koulder made his way to the door. There stood a hooded figure drenched from the nights torrents. Koulder slammed the door shut and locked it. He didn't know who that was and he wasn't prepared to find out. He just wanted to go back to sleep. Another rap much louder then the first sent him throwing the door open and demanding the visitor state his business. The hood came down. There stood a woman of middle age, with long brown locks tied up in a bun. She stated she was cold wet and hungry and asked if Koulder could help her. Unable to turn the poor creature away he invited her in. Once inside the woman was no longer a mere woman. A sorceress, old and evil and of the spirit realm had just entered his domain, knowing very well who Koulder is and the prophecy he doesn't know, that's about to kick in. She attacks Koulder with his back to her, holding him by his neck against a wall. He doesn't know what to think everything happened so quickly. She is too strong to pry off of him and the evil dead stare in her eyes was all too much for him Koulder passed out from the anxiety of the situation. Waking up, Koulder is surrounded by a thick white fog. He is not in the dwelling he knows so well. Feeling full of energy all of a sudden, he gets up to investigate. As he stands he here's a woman scream. Wanting to investigate he heads to where he heard her. Flying ghostly apparitions appear left and right, Koulder is realizing he is in the spirit world that his master had warned him about. Go head to head with a Banshee and she could send you to the spirit world where it's hard to remember who and why you are while she she dines on your body in the waking world. Koulder was lucid enough to remember his masters words. His magic hadn't grown in him yet so he was unprotected in a hostile world. Reaching the area he heard the scream he is blinded by a light so bright he can't even comprehend what it is. Behind the light, the silhouette of a very beautiful and naked woman stood trembling. She sees Koulder and begs him to leave before the Tempest returned. An evil old banshee more powerful than the simple monster he has encountered. Seeing her standing there vulnerable broke something inside him. In just a short time Koulder, who has surely turned 21 by now, was rudely awoken by the angry leaking sky, attacked by a banshee and sent to a creepy land to come across a beautiful naked angel and she is terrified. Too much has happened to make him just turn away. Focusing and breathing, he can feel the power surge inside him. Something is awakening. He won't run. He will get his peace and rest. He will save this woman. Knowing the realm has a portal from past stories, Koulder and the mysterious woman set out to find it. Aware the tempest could catch them at any moments notice. Before the left he set a trap for the old banshee so she wouldn't be able to follow them. The bright woman told a story as old as time itself tho it felt like hours to her. She was kidnapped from her home in the sky. Forced to live in darkness so the banshee could have full domination in the dark. She was the Sun Goddess. Recognizing Koulder was the man to fulfil the prophecy, the bright lady touched his forehead. Power shot out of his head and into the sky above him, illuminating the space between them. He was the lamp to her light. Thru the portal she kills the banshee and together they bring the sun back to a world lost to the dark for way too long.

Little teacher Station. My all exams finished and I was waiting for bus. At that time sudden, I saw little, so pretty, sympathetic, clean and stylishly dressed a boy. He is about 4 or 5 years old. He used to collect garbage around the sidewalk so take it to special conteniars. I was watching the clever boy during a few time. This Street crowded, in this case lot of people look at the boy and shying for casting own garbage to walkway. They watched the boy a fewer time and blush from own behavior. I also watched the position so thought about doing goodness for enviroment. The goodness absolutely return to our life, even will influence to future. Definitely, being decent isn't depend on to age or format of humans. Those only depend on a person's soul and behavior. I figure out, the boy teach me that lesson, besides stayed at my mind as little teacher.

"So, you've finally caught up, huh? It took you agents quite a while. As for your 'kings and queens,' they're probably too busy lounging in their opulence to care about the real struggles of the people," she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. The agent tightened his grip on the weapon, a glint of irritation in his eyes. "Watch your tongue! You're in no position to provoke. We're here to deliver justice, whether you like it or not." The woman, undeterred, maintained her defiant stance, shielding her family with the strength born out of desperation. Her eyes glared at the agent, a fire of defiance burning within her. "Justice? You're just puppets dancing to the tune of those in power. You won't find justice, only oppression," she retorted with a steely resolve. Her mind raced, searching for any opportunity to shield her family from the looming threat. The agent, unmoved by her words, signaled to his comrades, tightening the grip on his weapon. "Enough talk. Your rebellion ends here." The atmosphere grew tense as the woman braced herself, ready to face whatever unjust fate awaited her. The lead agent's voice reverberated through the room, a stern declaration of charges that hung heavily in the air. "Ezzah Edison, you are under arrest for plotting and leading a rebellion against the government, a treasonous act that undermines the very fabric of our society. Your involvement in initiating a conspiracy against the I-Landers, spreading false rumors, engaging in hate speech, and attempting murder can no longer go unpunished. Surrender yourself voluntarily, and justice will follow. Refuse, and we will use force to uphold the law."The weight of the accusations pressed on Ezzah like an unrelenting force, but her eyes never wavered.With a defiant gaze, Ezzah stood tall despite the circumstances. "Arrest me if you must, but know that the rebellion will not cease with my capture. You can imprison my body, but the spirit of resistance will endure," she declared, her words cutting through the tense atmosphere. The children, wide-eyed and terrified, clung to each other, absorbing the gravity of the situation. The lead agent, unmoved by her rhetoric, motioned for his team to secure Ezzah. The room became a battleground of wills, a clash between the enforcers of authority and a woman determined to defy the chains of oppression. As they approached her, she couldn't help but notice the trembling hands of her children and the anguished expression on her husband's face. Ezzah Edison, once a pillar of strength in her community, now faced the harsh reality of the consequences of her actions. The intruders closed in, their movements deliberate and unyielding. The sound of metal restraints echoed in the room as they prepared to take her into custody. In that moment, Ezzah glanced at her family, finding solace in their eyes despite the fear. She whispered words of reassurance to her children, promising that the fight for justice would endure. As the agents restrained her, she cast one last defiant look at the lead agent, a silent vow echoing through the room. "Fear not, my cherished ones. Fear not, my beloveds. In the shadow of adversity, the robin and swan shall stand guard over the sanctuary of our souls," Ezzah whispered tenderly, her voice carrying the weight of a mother's unwavering love and a rebel's undying spirit. The arrest unfolded like a somber dance, a struggle between an individual's quest for freedom and a system determined to maintain control. The children, now forcibly separated from their mother, clung to the remnants of familiarity, their world forever altered by the intrusion of authority. The room fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the bustling village outside—a stark contrast to the turmoil within the Edison household. "As I tread the path to trial, know this – I am the embodiment of truth, and you stand on the wrong side of history. The grim reaper may soon beckon, but the flames within my spirit shall endure. Fire, my friends, cannot be extinguished with more fire," Ezzah declared with a serene yet resolute demeanor, leaving the gathered villagers with a lingering sense of defiance.