1st: Wee De Ren Reuben, 16
Anglo Chinese School (Independent)
The Price of War
The first cherry blossoms bloomed with marvelous amounts of energy, painting the spring sunrise with its pale pink flowers. My mother glided from the dining room to the kitchen and back, carrying the dirty bowls and utensils. Her graceful form matched the tranquility of the morning. The common Japanese Sparrow sung its cheerful song as it fluttered from the rafters. I looked up from the hole, which I was filling to see my little sister sitting on the tatami. I smiled at her with beads of sweat trickling off my brow onto the earth.
“How’s the birthday girl today? My goodness, you’re going to be five today!” I exclaimed excitedly.
She beamed at me while I covered up the hole. The date was 18/04/1942. The hole contained all our provisions, ranging from dried plums to rice. My father had left to attack the Americans at Pearl Harbor. As a vice-admiral, he would definitely bring glory and honor to Japan!
“We should be expecting a warm and sunny day with no rain… It will be clear and sunny day for japan…” The reporter droned on about other statistics regarding the war.
Clang! Clang! Clang! The air raid bell went off, sending shrieks of fear echoing throughout the neighborhood. My mother signaled for me to leave with my sister first.
“I’ll meet you at the bomb shelter! Don’t worry, I’ll make it…” My mother murmured as she rushed me out of the door. Tear glistened on her cheek as she turned back to gather her belongings.
Carrying my sister, I jogged briskly to the bomb shelter. Firebombs were descending over the densely populated districts. My heart palpitated as I rushed for the doors of the shelter. Locked! Wails could be heard overhead, the bombs were still falling!
Mustering all of my mortal strength, I hauled my sister along, to a nearby river. I collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. My sister shifted uneasily, she was on the verge of tears. Her eyes swelled up and she bit her lip.
“We’ll be safe… here for… now. Don’t cry… be strong.” I gasped as I clutched my sister’s quivering hand.
“I want my mother! I want mum! Brother, do you know where mum is?” She ailed.
The gentle breeze caressed my sister’s face blowing away any stray strand of hair from her face. She broke down, screaming for her mother. I stood there; I could not find any words to comfort her.
I trudged home with my sobbing sister in tow. The firebombs that pelted the land, scarring the farms beyond repair, charred houses. Remains of burnt corpses lay on the ground, steaming and smoking. I looked away, praying that my mother would not be amongst them.
My legs crumpled below me as we reached our house. The whole frame was burnt to a cinder. The roof caved in and the robin’s nest was nowhere to be seen. The robin itself was crushed under a fallen pillar, its entrails were scattered on the floor. My mother’s shoes were not here! I heaved a sigh of relief, and tugged my now wailing sister along. She had loved that robin.
“Keita! Keita! You need to come with me!” screamed my aunt Chiyo as she came running up the hill. “Your mother is in a serious condition.” She added in a hushed whisper.
My mother had managed to escape but had no luck when trying to get to a shelter. She was now lying in a stretcher in the general hospital. She was too weak to speak and was covered in bandages. Blisters from the heat covered her arms and legs. I winced and looked away, trying not to cry. I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my cheek.
With the next cool spring breeze, my mother departed from the mortal world. She never had any last words. All she left us was her wedding ring and with that, she was gone with the wind.
2nd: Madeleine Clare Shutler, 13
St. Margaret’s Secondary School
The Freak
I felt like a freak. The suspicious looks that darted at me. The cupped whispers and the glaring eyes. It was my first day at a new school, and I was the odd one out. I felt like a freak.
The crowd parted, just like Moses and the Red Sea. The students drifted in the sea of the school hallway avoiding me. The popular kids sniggered. The jerks laughed. The uncomfortable teachers fidgeted and dared not meet my eyes. I felt like a freak.
I could not find my class. No one bothered to stop and help the freaky new student. I asked them for the time but they scurried away, scampering just like the timid, frightened mice they were. Everyone near me had fearful looks in their eyes and terrified shakes to their hands. I felt like a freak.
I stared out the open window, the cool breeze blowing against my tear-stained cheeks. Is it my fault that my father packed up and left? Is it? My late mother used to say that he had gone overseas in search of a better job. But I know better. He could not handle my condition. My disease. My illness. When I realized, I felt like a freak.
I watched the leaves flutter in the breeze, as they twirled and danced in the wind. “ Come and dance with us. Be part of us. Experience this peace and freedom. Like your late mother is now.” They seemed to whisper to me, their voices echoing in the wind.
“ My late mother” I whispered. I clutched the windowsill tighter as the contents of my breakfast threatened to spill out of my mouth. I trembled, my feet unstable, my mind whirling.
Is it my fault that my precious mother died? That she died in the dreadful fire at our house? I just wanted to cook dinner to thank her for loving me and not leaving me. I did not know that my weak and skinny arms were unable to switch off the gas properly. I did not know that the cool breeze from the open window would blow the pile of papers, across the room, straight into the open flame, setting the entire half of the kitchen on fire. After that fire, I became a freak.
Burn scars cress-crossed over my arms, the raised red-blistered skin standing out against my stark pale arms. The sunken cheeks and dark circles under my eyes did nothing to improve my sullen, sickly pale complexion. I was bald, my beautiful long, raven black hair shaved off after the fire to treat the burns properly. The right side of my face held a long jagged scar that stretched from the top of my eye to my ear. It’s broad size and cross ridges only testified what a deep ghastly wound it had been.
These scars were chains that bound me to my torment. A constant reminder that I was the cause of my mother’s death. That I was a murderer. That I was a freak. My heart could not bear the pain and grief anymore. My mother’s last cries tormented me. They were like a thousand razor-sharp knives piercing my heart, twisting and buckling until they reached my very soul where they would remain to haunt me forever. Such was my guilty agony. I could not bear that world anymore. I could not handle the alienation anymore. I could not stand the never-ending, roaring silence. The darkness, the shadows, the siren calls of depression and evil that call out to me. They creeped in, spreading through my body, dragging me back into the dark pit of depression. Making me more of a freak.
I walked up the stairs and pushed open the heavy door that lead to the roof. I walked slowly to the edge of the roof. The stinging wind blew over me and the change of height caused a feeling of nausea to settle in the pit of my stomach. Did I have the guts, the strength, the resolve to do this?
The cool wind blew against my cheek, drying my tear-stained cheeks. My hair fluttered and flew in the wind. “ Do it! Join us! Be free and at peace once again! We can be your new friends! Join us! Join us! Join us!” the wind echoed in my ears. Their words spun in my head? Should I?
There was a moment when time seemed to freeze and the whole world was silent. Watching. Waiting for me to make a decision. It was like a demon and angel were battling out a war for my life in my soul. It was like I was hanging on to a rope that was slipping through my fingers; soon it was down to a single thread. A decision like this was meant to be easy for a freak like me.
Suddenly, there were footsteps behind me. I snapped my head around. A police officer, hands outstretched as if to stop me, awaited me. Too late I thought as in that spilt second I made my decision. I jumped through the air, spinning and turning until there was no more ground beneath my feet.
Finally, I was free. The wind lifted my soul up and I was gone. Gone with the wind.
3rd: Dion Joelle Khaw, 15
Tanjong Katong Girls’ School
The Porcelain Girl
“So, we meet again,” Polly snarled at the girl in the crimson red hood.
”I only wanted to give you this,” the girl murmured, opening her cupped hands to reveal a bottle of crystal clear substance.
“Ha! You think I’ll fall for your trickery? This must be something Grandma concocted to kill me once and for all. You must be plotting with her to be rid of me once and for all,” Polly crossed her arms and sneered at the girl.
“Molly, where are you? Look at what Grandma has baked for you!” A singsong voice called out in the distance.
“Polly, I’ve never tried to trick you. Ever. Please, just stop being so stubborn and trust me for once! Can’t you hear her? Grandma’s coming so why would she-”
“Molly, I know you can hear me. Why won’t you come to Grandma? You don’t love Grandma anymore?” The voice was inching closer and closer to them.
Grandma’s voice, along with the spiteful wind aggravated Molly. It made her crimson cloak flutter in the wind like a red flag. She would be even easier to find now as Grandma had planned if she ever got lost in the woods. Her hood was thrown back by the harsh gusts to reveal a glossy white face that made her look like porcelain china doll. Her petite smile looked forced, betrayed by the anxiousness in her eyes, the first feature one would immediately take note of upon looking at her.
Polly studied her twin’s face in shock, reaching out to touch her cheek then shrinking back. They were once identical. No one could tell them apart except Grandma. But now, one would scarcely believe that they were related. Molly’s face was crawling with vermicular cracks, spreading over every patch of porcelain there was until only two shining, determined, baby blue orbs could be seen.
Molly reached out to grasp Polly’s limp hand and placed it above where her heart was supposed to be. The chilling wind made Molly’s hand feel as if they were in sub-zero temperatures. The place where her heart was supposed to be had no resounding heartbeat and no bodily warmth, almost as if she were… dead.
No, it can’t be! Polly screamed in her head, but a little nagging voice of conscience told her the truth. The best friend she had once shared secrets with, the sister who could understand her, the twin who had kept her sane while slaving for Grandma and even believed in her, when everyone else had abandoned her, was gone for good. Polly stepped back from Molly, who had a single tear streaking down her porcelain cheek.
“What happened, Molly? What did the old hag do to you?” Polly rasped, showing her evident anger and pain at the lost of the only family she had left.
“Grandma needed a test subject,” Molly whispered, her voice fading. Her baby blue eyes dimmed and glazed over, her arms turned limp and dropped the glass bottle she was holding. The swirling patterns on her face were slowly eating at her life force. She was dying and Polly could do nothing about it.
“I have to go, sister. I can’t stay any longer. She’s calling me,” the girl in the crimson red hood gave her a hug that sapped what little strength she had left before stumbling away from Polly, in the direction of Grandma.
The bustling winds became a gentle breeze, seemingly blowing Molly away.
Polly watched Molly sway further from her before disappearing all together. The trees rustled quietly amongst themselves, as if gossiping with each other. The birds flew away, as if Molly leaving gave them no other reason to stay behind. Even the woodland creatures scurried away to return to their homes with food for their young.
Polly stooped down to pick up the bottle Molly dropped and let the tears brimming in her eyes flow cathartically. The cauldron of mixed emotions she felt, including regret and self- pity, was bubbling. The trees had each other, the birds had their flock, the woodland creatures had their own families to tend to, but she had no one, not after Molly left.
She was just a naïve teenage girl then, running away from home because of a boy she thought she would marry, a boy she thought she would have children with, a boy she thought she would grow old together with. Molly was always the compassionate one and she disapproved of leaving Grandma all alone, no matter how mean she could get.
Polly laughed bitterly at the irony of having left Molly behind with Grandma, and now Molly leaving her for Grandma. She uncapped the bottle and drunk its contents in one gulp.
How could she have thought that Molly despised her when it was Grandma who had been trying to hurt her? How could she have suspected her loving younger sister who stuck by her all those years? Why had she been so blind all this while?
Uncapping the bottle and finishing the contents in one gulp, Polly wiped her mouth and choked on the searing liquid that burned her throat. She felt refreshed and alive with Molly forever living in her heart.
She will not let Molly’s sacrifice be in vain. She picked herself up and strode with a clear new purpose in mind. The woods darkened as evening fell on that fateful day when Polly decided to initiate a witch- hunt. After all, revenge is sweet.
No comments:
Post a Comment