Draw the draft

At least I wouldn't be a pawn in their app store game anymore..... I fired up my trusty map app, eager to find that new ramen place everyone’s been raving about. But instead of the usual clear directions, my screen glitched. The map spun wildly, zooming in on random streets, then jumping across town altogether. I tapped the screen, muttered frustrations, but the app continued its nonsensical dance. This wasn’t a one-time thing. Lately, my map app had become increasingly erratic. It would reroute me on scenic detours that added hours to my commute, or point me towards dead ends. It was like some unseen force was messing with my navigation! Then, the news broke. The EU was accusing Apple, the maker of my map app, of bullying app developers. Allegedly,Apple was forcing developers to use their expensive payment system, even if there were cheaper options. This made me furious! Suddenly, it all made sense. My crazy map app wasn’t a bug, i

He knew the cycle would continue, fueled by desperation and the shadows that danced at the edge of the dance floor..... The bass throbbed through Dima’s chest as he scanned the faces in the club. Sweat clung to his body, a welcome contrast to the bite of the approaching Russian winter. Unlike the others lost in the strobe lights and pounding music, Dima wasn’t there to forget. He was hunting. His quarry: young men, restless and disillusioned, ripe for the promises whispered between rounds of cheap vodka. Dima wasn’t selling bootleg cigarettes or knock-off Nikes. He was a recruiter for the Wagner Group, a shadow organization that offered escape, purpose, and a hefty paycheck. Escape from the dead-end streets of their provincial town, purpose beyond the drudgery of daily life, and enough money to finally break free. The club owner, a man with a shaved head and a scar that ran like a lightning bolt across his cheek, steered a skinny kid

The seminar closed with a toast to the future, one where wine could once again find its place in the hearts of a new generation, cherished for its stories, its quality, and its timeless appeal..... The “Cool Women’s Drinking Methods” seminar had an eclectic mix of attendees, each with her own unique story of joy and sorrow. The seminar, designed to make wine more approachable to a younger audience, was filled with a blend of excitement and nostalgia. Among the attendees was Helen, a retired teacher in her late sixties. Helen had always been a wine enthusiast, savoring the complexities of a good Pinot Noir. She had seen the wine industry evolve over the years, from a staple in American households to a niche interest among younger generations. Helen’s joy came from the community she found in wine tasting groups and the memories of sharing a bottle with friends. But sorrow touched her heart as she noticed the dwindling interest in wine am

Their work had just begun, but they were prepared to face the challenges ahead with determination and expertise, knowing that their efforts were crucial in navigating the complex web of international diplomacy and national security..... The conference room buzzed with urgency as the young staff of the Korean government’s Ukraine issue working team huddled together. President Vladimir Putin’s stern warning against South Korea supplying arms to Ukraine had sent ripples through the administration. Each member of the team knew the stakes were high. Min-jun, a junior diplomat from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, adjusted his tie nervously as he stood before the team. “We need to address Putin’s statements comprehensively. This isn’t just a diplomatic issue; it’s a matter of national security and international relations.” Ji-eun, a defense analyst known for her sharp insights, leaned forward. “Putin’s reference to the new mutual defense pa

The coffee fields might be their present, but they held on to the hope that the future would be different – a future where their labor was truly valued and rewarded..... In the verdant highlands of Central America, Juan and Maria stood at the edge of a sprawling coffee plantation, their faces etched with a blend of hope and frustration. Migrant workers from a small village, they had journeyed far to work the coffee fields, enticed by promises of better wages and the dream of a brighter future for their children. Each morning, before the first light of dawn, Juan and Maria joined the other workers, toiling tirelessly under the sun’s relentless glare. They picked coffee cherries with nimble fingers, aware that the fruits of their labor would eventually make their way to the bustling markets of the US and Europe. These were the lands where coffee was not just a drink, but a cultural staple. The very thought of their humble harvest reachin

And that, for me, was the greatest gift of all..... The news buzzed on my phone, a notification about Thailand legalizing same-sex marriage. A grin split my face wider than it had in years. This was for my sister, Mei. For years, she’d hidden a piece of herself, the fear of rejection a constant shadow. Now, the sun was finally breaking through. We weren’t always the closest. Growing up, I was the typical overprotective brother, fiercely loyal but sometimes oblivious. It wasn’t until college that Mei confided in me, her voice barely a whisper. Her secret wasn’t a shameful one,but the fear in her eyes tore at me. I realised then how much I’d taken for granted, the freedom to be myself. Since then, I’d been Mei’s biggest cheerleader. I met her girlfriend, Lin, a kind and funny woman who made my sister laugh in a way I hadn’t heard before. Seeing them together, their love so evident, filled me with a fierce protectiveness,but this time, i

After all, in the land of three sisters and a dwindling cookie jar, every day was an adventure..... Maya, the eldest at seven, bounced on the balls of her feet, watching the golden cookie jar with the intensity of a hawk. Inside, only two chocolate chip cookies remained, the last survivors of a generous batch. Across from her, Lily, the ever-practical five-year-old, meticulously counted the remaining treats on her fingers. Behind them, Emma, a whirlwind of boundless energy at three, tugged on Maya’s shirt, her big brown eyes pleading. “Cookie, cookie!” she squealed. “There are only two left, Em,” Maya explained patiently. “We have to share.” Lily, ever the voice of reason, chimed in, “Maybe we can split them in half?” This suggestion, however, was met with frowns from both Maya and Emma. Half a cookie? The injustice! Suddenly, Maya’s eyes lit up. “I know!” she declared. “We can have a four-day workweek for cookies!” Lily’s head ti

it was a testament to the enduring power of human connection..... In the heart of downtown, nestled between towering office buildings and a long-forgotten diner, stood a relic of the past: Midtown Video Rentals. Once the bustling epicenter of weekend plans, it now exuded an air of quiet nostalgia, its neon sign flickering with a stubborn resolve against the passage of time. The store’s proprietor, Sam, was a man in his late fifties with a kind face and a perpetually hopeful demeanor. His love for cinema was surpassed only by his love for the people who wandered into his store. Despite the advent of streaming services and the closure of many other rental stores, Sam remained steadfast, believing in the magic of personal interaction and the tactile joy of browsing physical shelves. On a rainy Thursday evening, the doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of one of Midtown’s few regulars. Emily, a young woman in her late twenties, shuffled