by THU PHAM (Vietnam)
Tonight, Hanoi seems deadly silent. Perhaps everyone is mourning too.
by KEREN-HAPPUCH GARBA (Nigeria)
Our leave was abrupt and happened before we could have an opinion on staying.
by LINDA KONG (United States)
The Zhou famiy typically ate dinner at a rectangular table for four.
by SYDNEY HEINTZ (Switzerland)
In the fall of '96, I was going through a rather transitional stage in my life.
by PRIYA CHAWLA (UAE)
"Who are they?" Roshni asked her aunt as she poured the chai into different cups
by AMAAL FAWZI (Lebanon)
As if in slow motion, every eye turned to him—a stranger loitering at their fountain.
by KESSLER SHUMATE (United States)
You listen for pleasure to some songs, for pain to others, Robin had said. Which was this?
by ZARA VALE (Australia)
You cringe as the door opens with a loud beep, but no one comes running.
by SHERRY SHU (Canada)
He scuttled furiously from beneath the undergrowth, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath.
by ANYA WILSON (Ireland)
When I arrive home, there are men outside our cottage. But these are not my dada's friends.
by ANNIE KIRKPATRICK (United States)
Rice piled on my plate like a cold white ant bed. Mom adjusted her glasses again.
by AILEEN BAK (Australia)
As a Haenyeo, a Korean sea-woman, her day was just beginning, even before the sun rose in the bitter oceanic cold to ready herself to dive for her day's catch.