Literary magazine october issue 2013

ENGLISH SOCIETY LITERARY MAGAZINE ● ISSUE OF OCT ‘13

What’s inside this issue: 

A short biography on Jo Nesbø, a famous novelist

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A detailed poetry analysis on The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy

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Teacher recommendations: What to read

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A short story written by one of our own students!

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Winners of the Halloween writing competition!

Writer of the Month - Jo Nesbø

By Marie Lim 5F Jo Nesbø was born in 1960 in Oslo, Norway. After graduating from the Norwegian School of Economics, he worked as a freelance journalist and as a stockbroker. His first crime novel featuring Harry Hole (The Bat) was published in Norway in 1997 and was an instant hit, winning the Riverton Prize, Norway’s most prestigious crime-writing award as well as the Glass Key Award for best Nordic crime novel (an accolade shared with Peter Høeg, Henning Mankell and Stieg Larsson). After the success of his first novel, Nesbø devoted his time to writing and to his other passion: music. He is also the lead singer and songwriter for the popular Norwegian rock band 'di Derre'. He has also had a very colorful and successful job history, from being a football player, a singer, and a stockbroker to even a taxi driver. One would normally conclude that he had been unsuccessful in those previous endeavors, therefore choosing to embark on a career in writing. However, that seems to be the direct opposite of the truth. Jo Nesbø has always achieved success in whichever field he pursued.

Firstly, football, as a teenager he played for top Norwegian side Molde FK until two torn cruciate ligaments put an end to his dream of playing for Spurs.

Then, music, in his twenties he started a band, Di Derre (which his brother, the late Knut Nesbø was a part of as well), which became one of Norway’s most successful pop acts (you can find a nice sepia-tinted video of them performing their big hit “Jenter som Kommer” on YouTube).

Then finance, he balanced pop stardom with a lucrative day job as a stockbroker and lived off his savings while he wrote his first novel, Flaggermusmannen (which translates as The Bat Man but was published in English as “The Bat”).

The Harry Hole novels have been a huge success, hitting bestseller lists across Europe and selling over 9 million copies worldwide.

In 2010, “The Snowman” took the UK by storm and spent more than three months on the Sunday Times bestseller list. His next novel—“The Leopard” was also an instant hit, going straight to no. 1 on the Sunday Times hardback fiction charts, and the paperback is also in the top ten overall bestsellers. His stand-alone novel—Headhunters has been adapted into a movie, which remains the best selling movie in Norway. It was also recently announced that Martin Scorsese has signed up to direct the movie adaptation of his horrific thriller—The Snowman while the rights to his book “Blood On Snow” (written under a pseudonym) is currently in the process of being bought by Warner Bros to be adapted into a movie. It has been reported that Leonardo di Caprio will produce as well as possibly star in the movie.

With his ten internationally acclaimed crime novels featuring Detective Harry Hole (and even more to come), Jo Nesbø has achieved an unparalleled success both in his native country Norway and abroad, winning the hearts of critics, booksellers and readers alike. Translated into more than forty languages, awarded a whole range of awards and boasting record-breaking sales, Nesbø has been lavishly praised by international critics for broadening the scope of the contemporary crime novel, and is today regarded as one of the best crime writers in our time. His novels aren’t just straightforward crime thrillers where entire novel revolves mainly around the body count and the tracking of the killer. Instead, Jo Nesbø delves deeper into the psychological motive behind the murder and exposes us readers to issues such as Norway’s involvement in the Second World War, the nature of ruralurban migration in Scandinavia, Eastern-European gun running, the hierarchy of the Salvation Army, DNA tracing, drug side effects and so much more. Every novel isn’t just a piece of fiction but a glimpse into the elusive culture and issues surrounding these Nordic nations.

Reference: http://www.esquire.co.uk/culture/books/803/the-interview-jo-nesb/ http://www.jonesbo.co.uk/jonesbo.asp http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2011/05/norwegian_mood.html

An Analysis on The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy

by Polly Chan 5D I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-grey, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant, His crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited; An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.

WRITTEN ON 31 DECEMBER 1900

An Analysis on The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy

by Polly Chan 5D I intend to discuss 'The Darkling Thrush' by Thomas Hardy because I believe it represents both who he was and what he was most concerned about: industrialisation and the urbanisation of the country he loved. Thomas Hardy's literature often shed light on his depressive nature as well as the many upheavals that he lived through, including the First World War. This poem, dated 1900, is suffused with imagery, which depicts Hardy's bleak outlook towards the future.

The poem is written in first person and begins with the speaker contemplating the barren winter landscape. The speaker projects his emotions onto the landscape, expressing his despair and grief, in contrast to a bedraggled, but delightful thrush, which sings 'Of joy illimited' despite the gloom.

The structure of the poem appears at first traditional, with even stanzas and a regular rhyme scheme (ABABCDCD), as seen in 'gate'/'desolate', 'grey'/'day', 'sky'/'nigh' and 'lyres'/'fires'. There is a regular metre pulsing through the lines, with 4 iambs followed by 3 iambs on alternate lines, giving the poem a light, almost sing-song rhythm that belies the gloomy context.

The first stanza opens with the speaker leaning upon a 'coppice gate'. This relaxed pose bespeaks a thoughtful and contemplative mood, which sets the reflective tone for the rest of the poem. Literary techniques such as personification, metaphor and simile are widely used alongside the regular rhyme scheme and steady metre. This stanza teems with natural imagery as it sets the scene: 'Frost', 'Winter's dregs' and 'weakening eye of the day' suggest that it is at dusk, towards the end of winter because the sun is setting. The metaphor, 'weakening eye of the day' portrays the sun as something fading and feeble, reflecting the narrator's despondency; as the sun sets on the day, so it sets on the nineteenth century. In line 6, the 'tangled bine-stems' are likened in a simile to the 'strings of broken lyres'. A lyre is an instrument often mentioned in Greek mythology. Hence, the 'broken lyre' can be understood to represent a time in the long distant past, the end of the classical era, a time when Nature was unburdened by Man. Recurring imagery further enhances the sombre atmosphere, for example, 'Frost that was spectre-grey'; 'spectre' is an old word for spirit and ghost, which conveys a sense of ghoulishness. Also, 'Winter's dregs made desolate' conveys the melancholy and emptiness of the speaker: winter is often associated with death, which exudes a sense of morbidity.

The personification of 'Frost' and 'Winter' gives them a tangible persona- pagan, god-like qualities that suggest the dominance of nature still in this fast changing world. Moreover, the personification of nature implies the absence of people, reinforcing the speaker's sense of loneliness. While he indulges in self-imposed isolation, ‘Mankind’ finds comfort by ‘household fires’ – a cosy image in stark contrast to the barren landscape. There is a use of sibilance throughout this stanza, as seen in 'stems', 'scored' and 'sky' that further emphasises the speaker’s emptiness, the sound of the wind and the haunting landscape.

In the second stanza, the ghostly world is further elaborated on as the speaker continues to paint a grey picture of the setting. The personification of the land’s 'sharp features' conveys its misery and hunger. Where ghosts haunt the first stanza, death pervades the atmosphere of the second: the land is compared to the ‘Century’s corpse outleant,’ which suggests that the death of the Century, precisely the end of the 19th century, is intertwined with the death of the land. In line 13, 'the ancient pulse' reflects the weakening life of the land, while 'every spirit' in line15 suggests all things are like ghosts in this world. The industrialisation has crushed the life out of the land and the people. The stanza closes with 'Every spirit…Seemed fervourless as I' reflecting the speaker's state of mind and reinforcing his despondent outlook towards the new era. Ending on the pronoun, ‘I’ highlights the speaker’s singular isolation.

The third stanza not only serves as a transition from the nineteenth century to a new era - the 20th century, but it also stands in stark contrast to the morbid imagery presented in the preceding stanzas. The ‘darkling thrush’ of the title is finally introduced in a joyous and delightful manner as it sings 'a full-hearted evensong of joy illimited', beauty defiant in the face of misery. However the thrush is in a poor and meagre condition: 'aged', 'frail', 'gaunt', 'small', 'blast-beruffled plume'. The adjective, ‘darkling’ reflects the colouring of this bird, but also suggests it is transforming from a thing of light and joy into something that has grown darker and weaker. The fragility and weakness of the thrush is a metaphor for the nineteenth century. At the same time, its appearance mirrors Hardy himself: he is part of the joyful thrush, but dominated by the despondent speaker. The startling image of the thrush 'flinging his soul upon the growing gloom' is perhaps a reflection of Hardy's own desire to defy the depression and pessimism he feels.

Finally, in the last stanza Christian imagery enters: the speaker sees no reason for the bird’s ‘carolings’, and is unaware of the bird’s 'blessed Hope' for what lies ahead. By personifying 'Hope', we are led back to 'Frost' and 'Winter'; although the pagan gods have died, Christianity is a new religion for a new age, but one that holds little joy for the speaker, and possibly Hardy. The conditional tense in 'I could think there trembled through/ His happy good-night air/ Some blessed hope' emphasises the speaker's momentary distraction from his gloom- the thrush has made him pause to ponder and reconsider his stance. However, the fact that there is 'so little cause' for hope, confirms the thrush is deluded. Hence, it is clear that Hardy himself is not committed to the new era and that he does not hold a positive attitude towards it.

To conclude, this poignant poem acts as a meditation on the decay of civilisation and the great industrialisation of the nineteenth century. At the same time, it mirrors Hardy's despair and dislike for the world that he lived in. Surprisingly, Hardy's negative view contrasts greatly with how the British of today look back at the nineteenth century: it was an age of magnificent literature, unparalleled engineering feats and Britain was a large empire. Unbeknownst to Hardy at that moment, the tragedy of the First World War was about to change his world even further.

What are teachers reading? - Ms. Ingrid To

by Jamie Lai 3C Recommendation: Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad This book was published in 1899.

It is a frame story (a story within a story), also a novella (a narrative normally longer than a short story, but shorter than a novel.)

The story is about Charles Marlow’s job as an ivory transporter down the Congo River in Central Africa. As he travels to Africa and then up the Congo, Marlow encounters widespread inefficiency and brutality in the Company’s stations. The native inhabitants of the region have been forced into the Company’s service, and they suffer terribly from overwork and ill treatment at the hands of the Company’s agents. The cruelty and squalor of imperial enterprise contrasts sharply with the impassive and majestic jungle that surrounds the white man’s settlements, making them appear to be tiny islands amidst a vast darkness.

What is so fascinating about the book?

The book shows an accurate recounting of the methods and effects of colonialism. Students who are interested in History will certainly find the tale as a frightening but important one, and surely the author’s description of the great jungle in Africa will stick in the readers’ minds.

The description of the setting is the most powerful element in this book.

In addition, the sophisticated language used in the book also initiates the backdrop of the story, and turns the impenetrable forest into a special and even mythical realm.

The book explores the issues surrounding imperialism in complicated ways. As Marlow travels, he encounters scenes of torture, cruelty, and near-slavery.

Some also criticized the book for de-humanizing Africans, denied them language and culture and reduced them to a metaphorical extension of the dark and dangerous jungle into which the Europeans venture. Africans in this book are mostly referred to as objects: For example, Marlow refers to his helmsman as a piece of machinery. Africans become for Marlow a mere backdrop, a human screen against which he can play out his philosophical and existential struggles. Their existence and their exoticism enable his self-contemplation.

Rating of the book: 4/5 (recommended mainly to students of Form 3 or above, but younger students can give it a try too!)

Interesting facts about the story: It has had numerous radio, television, motion picture, theatrical and operatic adaptations in various languages and countries.

Two video games have also been considered as modernized adaptations of Hear of Darkness.

Letting Go

By Serena Chan 3A

-2013It is time to turn off the life support machine.

I look around and see the accusatory look on my brother’s face. I know he resents my decision to let my mother leave. I know most of my relatives do too. But I don’t think they know what she told me, all those years ago, when everything was going wrong and I asked her, sobbing, what could I do.

“It’s not easy, Susanna. But you have to learn to let go when the time is right.”

Seeing her become thinner and thinner by day until she is no longer anything but bones jutting out, her face with lines of frustration etched on her face, her head bare because of chemotherapy – I can see her pain. And deep down, I know it’s time to let go.

-1994“It’s the third relationship in 2 months, Susanna. You can’t go on like that.” My best friend chastised me harshly as we sipped coffee. “It’s not like I want to…” My voice drifts off as she reached out and shook me. I guessed her words before they even tumbled out of her mouth. “You want me to let go.

But it’s not as easy as you think.” I didn’t think anyone could how I feel right now. All these relationships – to cover up the pain of losing that one person that I love, to try to forget him.

I lived the life of crying, sobbing, binge eating – because I couldn’t face reality. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that me and the love of my life had broken up. I thought that if I kept holding on, I could convince myself that nothing had changed.

I didn’t understand what my mother was saying at first – “What do you mean, me letting go? I can’t!

You don’t understand!” But slowly, time took its toll as the pain I once thought insurmountable slowly washed away. And then, at a party 5 months later, I met Peter, my husband.

-1995I couldn’t put up with it any more. Those “office politics”, the irritating ladies pointing and whispering behind my back, the jeers directed at me. I was sick of everything, but I couldn’t just walk away, could I? I needed the job. I needed the income. I was torn. If I just walked away, I would lose the muchneeded salary – I couldn’t do it. I would be laughed at, because I would look weak.

Until my mother told me again.

“It’s time to let go, Susanna. If you feel like you’ve been violated, let it go. Don’t be bothered by your dignity. Do the right thing.”

The next day, I left my job. And no, I couldn’t get a new job, but I was satisfied. I had let it go.

-2013My hands are trembling as they flip the switch from “on” to “off”. It’s eerie how life can be ended so suddenly, so simply – just by moving a finger. I see the ashen faces of my brother, my relatives. I know that they don’t want to let go, not just yet. But if my mother knew, I knew what she would say.

“You’re right. It’s the right time to let go.”

“I am hitting my head against the walls, but the walls are giving way.” – Gustav Mahler

By Prudence Cheung 4J Growing up, we have all encountered problems of our own. A subject you were not good at, perhaps, or an exam you had to sit the next day but did not have enough time to revise for. Something that had you entertaining the idea of giving up, but you bit the bullet and did it anyway. Now imagine going through the experience again as your present self.

Does success still seem unattainable?

People tend to get accustomed to routines, becoming comfortable with what they’re familiar with. This is your comfort zone, in which you are ensured security, relaxation and happiness. While it may seem attractive, little is gained from repetition. Though, of course, we all need a respite once in a while, too much of it becomes monotonous. There is no improvement in sticking to the safe and comfortable – without any resistance to work against, any goals to work for, we slack off. Not only do we forfeit precious learning opportunities, slowly, we will find ourselves unable to do what we’ve accomplished in the past.

Stretching your limits is like exercising. It helps to keep you in focus and in shape, and preserves and sharpens your skills.

After a while, your muscles will have adjusted to the exertion, and you’ll be able to stretch yourself even further.

The effect may not be immediate; you may wonder why you still struggle to complete similar tasks.

Over time, the influence of your actions will become more noticeable. Each push moves the walls further away, broadening your range of abilities, and reduces the complications of the problem, until it no longer poses as one to you.

Beverly Sills once said, ‘you may be disappointed if you fail, but you’re doomed if you don’t try.’

Though success is not guaranteed for every attempt, keep in mind that failure is just another way of learning, so don’t be disheartened if you fall short of your goals. Mistakes are to be learned from, to be avoided in the future. In time, you will find your efficiency and adaptability improved. By taking risks in a controlled manner, you undergo anxiety and uncertainty where they are still manageable, and this prepares you for times when you are forced out of your comfort zone.

Potential can turn into ability, but unless you put it into practice, you can never tap into that gift. To really live life to the fullest, here are two words of advice: challenge yourself. Don’t say it’s impossible when you haven’t even tried.

Tattered Rags upon the Pyre

by Vanessa Lee 4J

He doesn’t usually bump into things, but then he doesn’t usually run around in a big white sheet. Still, there was no one in front of him when he looked through his eye holes, and then they shifted so he shifted them back and suddenly there were legs. His bum hurts a bit now, but his sweets, all 36 of them, are alright so he doesn’t cry. The legs are still in front of him.

He looks up and sees a monster. He opens his mouth to scream but stops himself because screaming is what humans would do. Now he’s the evilest supernatural being ever to have roamed the earth. Everyone else, human or monster, shall cower in his presence, including the one in front of him. So he stands up, cranes his neck, impales it with his piercing glare, and in his menacing Doctor voice, politely (only because Mam told him to) demands all its sweets or he will haunt it to hell and back.

The monster stares at him with big, round eyes. He thinks of the puppies from the pound.

To be honest, he’s quietly impressed. The girl— he thinks it’s a girl, from the loose strands of hair that cling off her scalp and the burnt tatters of what looks like a dress— the girl seems to have dressed up as those trees by the river whose bark peel off in clumps, only humanoid and bloody. Scratch that— he has no idea what she’s dressed up as. Yet she must have poured all her effort into it, what with the wig (or whatever’s hiding all her hair) and extensive makeup. He can see teeth and bone and much more of the eyeball than normal, and he thinks it’s much better than his sister’s attempt to be a zombie. She’s red and black and pink and purple all over, but mostly a deep, dark crimson. Her skin actually looks convincingly cracked and blistered, unlike all the failures he’s seen other kids sport, and he fancies he could peel it off like the bark of the trees by the river. He doesn’t though— he shudders to think of Mam confiscating his candies for ruining the girl’s getup.

Overall, he feels a bit intimidated. This girl is a threat to his rightful first place honour in tonight’s costume contest.

He realises that’s impossible, because the contest’s only for the small kids and she’s more of the big kids, like his sister. She’s so tall that she must be able to easily reach all the doorbells which are still out of his grasp. An idea suddenly forms in his head.

“I propose an alliance,” he huffs. He can make up for his height in his demeanour. “You get the doors open while I trick the people of their sweets.”

The girl’s head tilts slightly as she frowns. Her mouth opens, and closes, and then she settles with an expression that reminds him of his sister’s when a crossword puzzle bests her.

“Oh, come on,” he laughs as he takes her hand and leads her to the nearest house. He gets his own hands all slimy but that’s a small price to pay in becoming the king of trick-or-treat.

Operation Get-‘em-All is a complete success. It was awkward when people consistently forgot to give the girl sweets, but since he’s feeling so generous tonight, he offers to share his rewards. She doesn’t accept, but she does smile and pat his head.

He hates it when Mam does that, yet this time he feels funny inside. Then he feels like his heart hits the ground when they round the corner and bump into a group of big kids he knows well.

“Is that you, Chuck?” the tallest one says. “I can recognise you from your chicken arms.”

The others burst into snickers and flap their arms around. One of them asks, “Why are you holding out your hand, Chuckie?”

Chuck wonders if they’ve flapped their intellect out when they were doing the chicken dance, because even an idiot can see he is offering his sweets to the girl. In fact, he starts to get annoyed on her behalf at how no one pays attention to her. They should be staring in awe at her amazing costume. He articulates this particular thought.

The tallest boy looks at his gang and snorts. Then he turns around and his eyes harden and he holds out his hand expectantly. Chuck knows how it’s going to end but still clutches his bag of sweets to his chest. The boy saunters forward and Chuck closes his eyes. He feels the girl leave his side and a moment later the footsteps stop. There’s a gasp, a pause, and then two heavy thuds. He opens his eyes and sees the boy lying face down on the ground beside the girl, the others staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the motionless figure. Their glances flicker between the boy and Chuck, and then they run, dragging the boy with them.

The girl stares at their retreating body, and then she turns back to look at Chuck with an expression he can’t make sense of.

He doesn’t think much about it though because he wants to kiss her like how Mam kisses him when he’s a good boy, but she’s too tall so he opts for a bear hug. His big white sheet gets all dirty but the girl smiles again.

He sees a column of smoke in the distance and remembers there’s a bonfire tonight. He takes the girl’s hand and heads off towards the school grounds. She frowns again and keeps tugging at his hand while casting imploring glances at him all the way. It’s when the bonfire comes into sight that she suddenly stands stock-still. No amount of pulling reverses it; it’s like she’s glued to the ground, while her eyes are glued to the fire, eyes very wide and very round. Then she’s running, running so fast from the fire that his tiny legs can hardly catch up. When she finally stops, they are by the river where the trees with peeling bark are. She’s leaning heavily against one of them, clutching her arms like she’s so, so cold, gasping and shaking.

“Don’t,” she chokes. “Don’t burn me.”

He’s scared that he’s hurt her, but then she slides limply to the ground and he’s rushing forward to hug her. He gasps at how icy her skin suddenly feels and quickly wraps his sheet around her. When she finally stops shaking, they look at the stars. He thinks he must have fallen asleep because when he opens his eyes, the stars are fading and the sky’s beginning to glow.

“Mam’s going to be angry,” he sighs.

The girl pulls him to his feet, wraps the sheet around him, and nudges him towards the village. He clings to her instead. She smiles like how Mam does when she wants to be serious and yet can’t help grinning. Then she leans down and kisses his head, and prods him towards the village again. He sets off but looks back after a few steps. She waves and he does so too, before continuing forward. He stops again and turns back, but the riverbank’s empty except for the trees. He stares for a moment, and then walks home.

It was Halloween.

by Jasmine Shek 1A

Grandpa had a hair-raising nightmare that spooky evening. In the dream, he was standing in an old attic room with grey streaks of black across the walls as mold from the damp nights began to seep in. Flaking speckles of paint lined the floor with dust while the curtains hung limp and moth-eaten. In the room, there was only a cold, lifeless, rotting corpse, which was already filled with bugs and maggots that were eating away the dead flesh that had been protecting the mound of glimmering gold moments before. And in the entire dream, he stared at the corpse. Without a single sound, without a single move.

The next day, grandpa’s son passed away suddenly. Nobody could tell why, not even the top professional doctors in the whole universe. A miserable year passed. It was Halloween again. Grandpa had the nightmare again that night.

In the dream, he saw the same lifeless corpse in the same old attic room. The only difference was that there was another corpse in the room. It was grandpa’s son. And in the entire dream, he stared at the two corpses. Without a single sound, without a single move.

The following day, grandpa’s best friend died, Once again, nobody knew how she died. It was a mystery. After that day, grandpa had the recurring dream every night, but with his best friend’s dead body in the room. Half a year later, his cousin met her death. Grandpa’s dream continued, with his dead cousin in the room as well.

The puzzling thing is, that all these people were neighbors, If you came down to the road ,you would see grandpa’s son’s house first, then his best friend’s house next to it, after that his cousin’s home...and next to it…was grandpa’s house…

It was Halloween. That day, grandpa took his last breath. It was the last night he had that mysterious dream.

The Angel in the Church

by Steki Cheung 1E The Halloween last year had gone as quickly as it had come, but her innocent white face stayed in my heart—forever.

I remembered that it was a really spooky Halloween. I invited my best friends, Jose and Gwyn, to give people a scary night of trick-or-treat. In the very first beginning, everything was great as we were getting a lot of biscuits and candies when we went house to house. We passed a lot of trick-or-treat along the way, and saw weird and odd costumes. It was really a fun time! After a while, we grew tired of the trick-or-treat game and decided to do something more exciting. Being an adventurous child, I suggested that we went to the old church because it was said to be haunted by a ghost crying every night in recent days.

The church was old with a little bit loopy-sided as many earthquakes happened after it was built.

Everything around gave us creeps. Suddenly we heard something but wasn’t sure whether it was crying or murmuring. Although it frightened us to death, we mustered up our courage to open the door and stepped inside. As soon as we opened the door, we peeked inside and saw a bundle of white cloth at the other end. We glared at each other and nodded, and then we took our first step in. To our surprise, the bundle of cloth turned around and we began screaming our heads off. The bundle began to grow larger—I was the only one who did not close my eyes—and it was moving towards us! I widened my eyes in horror, when it got closer; I realized that it was a pale little girl, around five or six. She shook, and passed out on the ground.

I yelled loudly to ask if my friends had brought a mobile phone with them for me to call the ambulance, and Gwyn fumbled in her bag for her phone. I knelt down to examine the girl with a torch. The girl was wearing a set of pajamas, with blue and white strips, and to my surprise the pajamas looked terribly alike to the ones the patients in the nearby hospital wore. She was still breathing, but her face was as pale as a sheet of white paper, and there were dark circles under her eyes, like a vampire. She got little hair, which was light brown in colour.

After a while, the ambulance arrived and the little girl was carried onto the ambulance on a stretcher, while we walked onto the ambulance.

We waited in the hospital after we got permission from our mothers. Later, the nurse told us that the girl was conscious now, and we might visit her. As we were still in our Halloween costumes, the people in the hospital stared at us like we were some kind of monsters. We stepped into the room of the girl.

She was sitting on her bed, smiling a weak but welcoming smile, which made us feel very heartwarming.

The girl started introducing herself first, ‘My name is Kathy. Thank you for saving my life— I wasn’t supposed to--’she started coughing, ‘to be in the church.’

We were amazed by her sweet voice, and we introduced ourselves one by one.

‘Do you go to school?’ Kathy asked us weakly.

‘Of course we do,’ all of us were surprised why she asked such question.

‘Oh—how I wish I could go to school!’ she said with her eyes closed. ‘Mommy told me not to go to school and stay in the hospital about a year ago. A driver drove his car carelessly and it hit me. Although I recovered from the injury, my classmates didn’t talk to me from then on and kept away from me as far as possible. They said that I’m a monster.’

My friends and I exchanged a glance of sympathy. We knew exactly what had happened to Kathy.

Couldn’t think of any comforting words, we continued listening to her.

‘The doctor said that I was seriously ill. He didn’t tell me what’s wrong with me and didn’t let me go anywhere away from the hospital. I feel so lonely, so I go to the church every night and talk to God. Nobody will ever think I dare to visit that church,’ her facial expressions became very sad, ‘God listened to me every night and he always makes me feel better.’

All of us were touched by her story—we thought that this would only happen in stories. Now, the one before us was a girl who was suffering from an incurable disease and we didn’t know what to say.

‘You will be able to go to school later,’ I managed.

Kathy grinned at the sentence. ‘I hope too, I want to join the graduation ceremony. I wish to play the piano there.’ She was smiling really broadly when she said to us, and even her eyes like smiling.

‘You love to play the piano?’ Jose asked her.

‘Yes I do, but there isn’t any piano in the hospital. I haven’t had my practice a year or more. hope I can play in a concert one day after I recover,’ her face drooped again.

I

‘Oh,’ I lowered my head.

Suddenly, the doctor came in. ‘Kathy, you need a rest.’ Then he turned to us, ‘why don’t you go to the waiting area?’

The doctor brought us to the waiting area.

‘Are you friends of Kathy?’ the doctor asked us.

‘Yes, we are,’ I replied.

‘That girl is really unfortunate. She was diagnosed HIV-Positive after blood transfusion last year.

The medicine she is taking has terrible side effects. Diarrhea, hair loss, anemia……but she never complained ’, the doctor said.

‘She told us that she loved playing piano very much but there isn’t any piano in this hospital.’

Gwyn told the doctor.

‘Oh yes, she keeps asking us about this every day. She is gifted in music. She got her Performance Certificate examination Debut at five last year,’ the doctor sighed again.

‘Are there any ways that we can help her, like holding a piano concert for her and fulfill her dream,’ I said hopefully.

‘I’m afraid this is not a practical suggestion,’ the doctor said. ‘Holding a concert requires large amount of money and more important, Kathy’s body condition may not be sustainable to hold a concert.’

‘Her body condition? Does it mean……’ my voice tailed off.

‘Yes, she can at most live for two months, and I don’t want to tell her about that,’ the doctor said in a volume that was lower than a whisper.

We nodded in unison and said goodbye to the doctor. Suddenly, a piece of chocolate fell out from my pumpkin bag. An idea came to me and I nearly jumped up.

‘How many candies do we have?’ I asked my friends anxiously and started counting the sweets in my bag immediately. Both of my friends were confused by my request but started to

count the candies. ‘Thirty-six, Thirty-nine,’ Jose told me.

‘Great! We can donate these candies to The Candy House. That is a charitable organization, where you can donate one hundred candies and invite them to sponsor musical instruments and a place suitable for the concerts. And now, we have over a hundred candies and we can start working now!’ I was so excited that I nearly yelled.

That week, we wrote letters to The Candy House, telling them Kathy’s story. To our surprise, The Candy House accepted our invitation just two days after we sent the letter, and they decided to hold the concert near the hospital. They even provided us with a place to practice the piano. We told the good news to Kathy and she was as happy as ever.

‘Thank you for all the things you had done for me! I’ll play for you the most extraordinary piece in the concert!’ Kathy’s face was glowing with light.

For the whole month before the concert, Kathy practiced hard for the concert. All of us could not believe that a six-years-old girl could sit so still in front of the piano for hours without moving until the doctor came to ask her to take a rest. However, her condition continued to worsen. The doctor told us in an apologetic tone that she could not live more than two weeks. ‘I am very sorry, but the medicine can’t cure her anymore at this stage,’ he said.

The scale of the concert wasn’t too big, and Kathy only invited her parents, the staff of the hospital and us. She was very pale before the concert started, but she was determined to play in the concert.

Her scarce hair was floating like waves around her thin body and she wore a pale purple dress trimmed with laces. As soon as she sat down in front of the piano, wonderful music started flowing in the hall.

We, the audience, were enchanted by her lovely music; a piece of music with was never heard by anyone before—her newly composed piece named ‘My Music’. Her tiny fingers jumped joyously on the white keyboard and her face sought to be glowing with a light that couldn’t be described with words—she was like an angel at that moment. I was absorbed into her music and nearly saw the story that she was telling—a story of her own life. Every single musical note shocked deeply into my heart. The music almost made me faded away from reality.

Suddenly, the music stopped. The darkness of the concert hall pulled me back to reality. Feeling dizzy, I asked Gwyn sitting next to me, ‘Is she still playing?’

Gwyn answered, ‘Yes, she is still playing. She is playing with the angels now.’

From then on, my friends and I joined The Candy House as volunteers. We collected candies from children at Halloween and used the money after selling the candies to sponsor musical instruments to AID patients who loved music. It was Kathy’s innocent face which encouraged us to do so.

FUN CORNER Can you get from the bat to the cat?