2022 Short Story Anthology by skerryuplands

Memories 2021-22 Uplands Short Story Anthology

“I write in order to find out what I truly know and how I really feel about certain things. Writing requires me to go much deeper into my thoughts and memories than conversation does. Writing provides the solitude necessary to reflect on being in this world.” Leslie Marmon Silko

I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old. Charles Baudelaire

“And The Sea Calls” Second Place-Senior Division - Yasuko (12H)

Elysee (10C)

“The Blue Sky” - Vivian (10K)

“A Distant Visitor” - Bach (8K)

“Illustrated Illuminations” - Daryn (10C)

Elsa (10C)

“Memories of a Loyal Dog” - Shirui (Doris) (7H)

“Remembering the Forgotten” - Carrie (9K)

“Do You Want to See the Butterflies?” - Jaycelin Chi-Kay (12C)

Bernice (10K)

“Lost Memories” - Connie (8S)

“The Matriarch had Passed” Runner-up - Senior Division - Nicholas (10H)

“Stolen Memories” - Yi-Jay (8H)

Monica (10K)

“Watching the Petals Fall” 3rd Place - Junior Division - Emeline (8S)

“Painful Pages of The Past” - Edril (7B)

Wai Yan (10S)

“Apologize” - Thomas (10S)

“Pro Patria Mori” 3rd Place - Senior Division - Timothy (10C)

“Memories Continue Blooming” Runner-Up - Junior Division - Swati (9C)

Rui Yang 10S

“To Remember Love and Hate” - Ruoxuan (11H)

Lily (12C)

“In Loving Memory of my Great-Grandmother” 2nd Place - Junior Division - Yi-Liz (7A)

“The Day The Mountain Moved” 1st Place - Junior Division - Olivia (8C)

“GEMFRYNA” - Khardeeja (11C)

Grace (10C)

“Blood into Ink” - Eliza (10S)

“Our Street” 1st Place - Senior Division and FOBISIA Representative - Yoonsong (Elizabeth) (11H)

Jaclyn 13K

“And The Sea Calls” Second Place-Senior Division Yasuko (12H) I saw a sea, and it reminded me of you. Or rather, the way you look at the sea. I remember when we went for a drive along the eastern coast of central Honshu. The rocky paths that led to the open water and, rich like honey, the coaxing songs of black-tailed gulls. I clambered out of the faded silver Toyota as you took my hand, guiding me through the soothing aroma of the salty air. You gave me a look so fondly with a sense of nostalgia flooding your mind, memories of vivid hues dancing in as if the wind was their favourite tune. "Look there," you said, your eyes gleaming in the scorching summer sun. You spelt out the letters, m-e-m-o-r-i-e-s, on the sand with a nearby stick and motioned for me to look down. I stood there watching the word fade away, letter by letter until the surface was once again a carpet of gold. "The words, you see, fade as the waves crash and recede.” A pause. “Don't you think this sums up everything we're going through?" Without notice, you jumped to your feet and turned to face me. For a brief moment, the world fell silent. The black-tailed gulls have quieted down, and the summer breeze has slowed. The world held its breath in anticipation of a child's infectious laughter, which reminded me of what we were as children and beckoned the world to breathe again. Unsure of how to respond, I gave you what I thought was a half-convincing smile. "Our ability to retain information deteriorates as we age," you said as you nodded your head and smiled. “It becomes easier for us to lose our ability to recall information, much like how the waves constantly repeat the cycles of crashing and receding." The waves continued in their cyclic motion, undisturbed. We stood silently, trying not to break the uncomfortable stillness between us. Your eyes were warm, with a glint in their loving brown. Even though I brushed it aside at the time, there was a palpable sense of grief in the air around your presence. “Death will come for all of us sooner or later. So, shall we seize and cherish the happy moments?" In my mind, the rest of the day remains a blur. But I'm still perplexed as to why you adored the sea so much, as if I was missing out on something exceptional. Maybe I was. Perhaps you saw beauty in the small details that I ultimately failed to appreciate. Perhaps I was oblivious to nature's beauty while you watched with eager eyes and a camera in hand, ready to capture all of the beautiful moments in life; you lived in the details, never letting opportunities slip through your fingers. But in the end, I always admired your genuine curiosity, the way you view things with a keen interest, the way you saw me. The last time I saw you was by the hospital bed, when Nishimura-san, the hospice aide, flipped your documents back and forth and declared that the patient had entered the stage known as active dying. I placed my hands on the withered flowers then, which were once a beautiful buttercup that was the blooms of my soul, with each petal so perfect, nurtured by loving mother earth—my final gift.

“Apparently, life isn’t so bad up there,” you said. “Will you ever come back?” "I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you, Nami-chan," you admitted regretfully. Sometimes when I allow myself to wander too far—when that momentary twinge of longing seizes my heart, when that all-too-familiar chill travels up my spine—I am transported back to the rushing waves and the antiseptic scent of the hospital bed. I watched you take your final breath as you sank deeper and deeper into the sea of unconsciousness, your skin cold under my fingers. How could I have expected the darkness to take you away in the blink of an eye without allowing me to say my final goodbyes? I sometimes wish I could accompany them too. To engulf me like the ocean waves, which scoop the sand like cold lava and leave no trace. To suck me in like the black hole that took your breath away. So I close my eyes and surrender to the darkness, the melancholy song becoming the only source of sound ringing in my ear and clawing at my soul. I sobbed into the darkness, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Elysee (10C)

“The Blue Sky” Vivian (10K) I remember when I was younger, my grandmother would tell me stories. She'd point at this worn, crease marked, 1-by-2-inch picture from her locket of a beautiful meadow surrounded by old woods that looked otherworldly, though I suppose it was. Then she’d say, “this is the last bit of colour I recall from before, the last piece immortalised.” A wistful smile would appear as she continued, “this is where I would go hunting for fairy circles with my best friend.” That in the time she went, small deer would peek from a distance, standing guard as they played, seemingly mystified at the games played with the spirits. Numerous stories came of it, tales of scraped knees and broken bones, but there were also adventures full of pixies and fairies. That glade has been gone for a long time, the guardians along with it. I never saw what she described, but from her descriptions, it was a beautiful time—a time when the trees would sway in the wind, a gentle breeze carrying seeds and leaves into the distance twirling to their new homes. How in spring, when there were flowers of every hue, the butterflies would flit and flutter from one bloom to another. Fallen petals would gracefully dance the waltz with the wind. The birds, she said, had the most charming songs, melodies full of joy and goodness. And when it got late, you could see bejewelled green trees reaching for the setting sun through the swirl of dusty pinks and oranges. The kaleidoscope of colours in the sky was beautiful, everchanging, and enchanting. Whether it was the sun changing position, a rainbow appearing or the clouds moving; it was always captivating. Every morning and evening was a symphony of yellows and oranges melding together in a sea of colours. During the day, no one shade of blue was ever the same, but it was always free. It seems like a myth, a fairytale bedtime story. I believe her though, because I saw her pain every time she looked between the cracks in her window pane to see the befouled, soot-covered skyline. I don’t think I have ever seen her happily gaze out her window. Not even when the smoky grey sky was less toxic than usual. She deemed it a despondent city. For it is a community filled with those that never smiled brightly. Feeling that something was missing but never knowing what. The way she described the city for me after dreaming the day away staring at the photo was always full of disappointment and sorrow. Mourning for the past. She’d tell me the bustling crowd below was full of miserable people that had never seen a yellow sun shining on a sparkling sea or a clear blue sky with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of the woods and magic. The concrete monstrosities are all grey and not a speck of colour in sight. The stack upon stack made from the same template, all monotonous copies. Nothing new ever happened, and all the life had been sucked out of the land, left to fall into soot. That is what made her lose hope, just like how the others gave up on hoping for a colourful day. Where you would be able to feel the sun’s warmth on your skin and a fresh gentle breeze ruffling your hair, not a biting cold wind and the poisonous air burning through your lungs. Now no one lives long without the filters. That is a fact. My grandmother’s generation, however, could prosper past one hundred naturally. Her generation could absorb the embrace of the sun, feel it tenderly brush their skin. Her generation could see rivers so clear; you could see the smooth stones slowly eroding. This world is a desolate one. A world of people, trapped, never to feel the natural rays of sunlight. She called it pitiful that my generation had never felt the comfort of the sun or gone on journeys searching for pixies. Instead, everything has faded into shades of grey in this metropolis; the people never smile, the buildings stand stern and daunting, filled with sad people living in a sad world. People that call the stories of the past myths, as if there is no such thing as pinks and oranges flooding the sky, only the dreary grey of smoke.

I wonder what will happen in the future. I pray for a time when you can walk out the door without fear and see the horizon of emerald trees touching a blue sky. A time when there are no filters nor toxic winds. A time when you can walk out into the cresting waves without fear, feel the sea breeze melt away your worries and smile, knowing that the sky will be blue, not grey, but blue tomorrow. I hope for a time when there will be stories once more about fairies in the woods instead of the myths of colourful skies, a symphony of different shades of blue, pink and orange, or the bright white moon hanging out of reach with the stars in the sky all shimmering brightly. The mystery of the kaleidoscope sky is out of reach now, but perhaps one day it will return, and the aurora borealis will signify the freedom that once was.

“A Distant Visitor” Bach (8K) The small, curiously light green meteor flashed and twinkled in the Earth’s atmosphere, heading in a trajectory that would land it in the far south. All the people below were oblivious to the fact that the meteor contained an artifact from a faraway solar system. It woke up to the heat of the scorching sun, and the alien sounds of the surrounding landscape. Buzzing softly, it quickly identified the correct protocols for a situation like this. Then, it set out, looking for the native inhabitants of this strange place. As it trudged along the dry sand, its highly advanced sensors adapted, enabling it to navigate the barren outback. Searing hot wind blast coarse dirt and fragments of rock into its machinery, eroding the wires and insulation inside. As the fiery glare from the sun began to fade, it soon glimpsed the first signs of civilization. The various signs were scattered along the dusty road. All the buildings to either side of it were low but clean, and it seemed that the cats and children noticed it first. It’s tracks groaned and creaked as it wobbled in an unruly gait towards the largest building. It let itself be handled as the people dragged it inside. Then it deactivated itself to preserve the little amounts of energy it still had left, on hold onto life as long as possible to ensure the objective was met. The bright white light shone at it in every direction. It was in a bare room, devoid of windows. A group of people stood next to it. The one in the center, possibly the one of highest rank, stepped forward and questioned him. She said, “Who are you? Why are you here?” “I am old by my creator’s standards. Older than you could possibly imagine. I am an artificial creation from a distant galaxy and was modified to have a much much longer lifespan . I was sent, along with others to colonize a moon, but there was an error, a mistake. The explosion sent us hurtling through the fabric of space. I have been drifting for a long time to get here.” The others started arguing amongst themselves. It caught the words ‘preposterous’, ‘impossible’ and ‘undoubtedly fabricated’ in their conversation. “What was your purpose on that mission?” one of them asked. “To remember. To preserve memories and our history.” “What do you remember? Do tell us” “I will tell you my first memories. It was on a lush jungle planet, in the hot and humid light of a large star. They told me my purpose was to remember. Keep all the memories to guide the next generations. It was a time when the air was not polluted, and the trees were clean. The other inhabitants got along well with each other, and no wars were fought. In total there were 8 seasons although the actual number of seasons later on was much debated. The sky was filled with flying insects and small flying reptiles. Trade was good, money was made and the environment was safe. ”

The unseen engines inside it made deafening noises, and a nozzle was emitting gas furiously. Before long, a miniature projector showed on the wall and then the robot continued speaking. A bright and modern city popped up through the foggy air. It lay sprawled across the landscape, with trees interweaving with the buildings. Across the whole city a network of slim walkways criss-crossed through the glinting windows, and massive flying ships flew over the durable steel skyscrapers. The lush grass covered most of the areas where there were no structures, giving the city a pleasant and calming feel. “This was our civilization at its peak. It was before what we call the Great Calamity. Diseases ravaged the land. The whole planet was plunged into disrepair, and the most frightening thing is, it was all our doing. We created weapons to use against each other, and they grew more terrible, and inhumane over the years. The radiation from the 8 hour war was still lingering on much of the planet. Artificial viruses escaped through safety errors, and the containment systems failed to stop it. It was a time of turmoil, violence, and fear.” Blue oceans and green land masses then appeared on the wall. It was unrecognizably the planet earth, orbiting the sun. A different shot came up, and showed the unmistakable silhouette of factories, spewing massive quantities of dark black smoke in the air. “I have seen what you are doing to the earth. You pollute the very air you breathe, the water you drink and the land that you live in. You destroy the environment to fuel your huge steel factories, and profit at the cost of the Earth. The greed for wealth corrupts your minds. I have seen this happen, over and over on my planet. You are following the same path. The mistakes you are making echo the mistakes my kind have made. My mission is to keep memories from the past. And guide the future. Our goal to colonize the nearby moon has failed. My purpose is not fulfilled. But, I can guide you. I have generations of knowledge and memories within me. Then, to some extent, I will complete my mission. Always remember that it is never too late to change, and save the world that you live on.”

“Illustrated Illuminations” Daryn (10C) Memories are reflections of yesterday covered by the shadows of today to be seen in the mirror of tomorrow. As I sit in isolation today within the four walls of my house like a caged bird due to the Covid-19 pandemic, my memories of yesterday came knocking in the door to take me into a dream fairyland where once I basked in glory among the gift of nature in a picturesque fairyland. I vividly remember my childhood days living close to the sea coast, attending a village school and playing with children amidst lush greenery in an atmosphere which triggered all my five senses. The smell of greenery, the feel of the wind, the taste of nectar from flowers, the sight of chickens, geese and ducks and the sound of waves in the distance were indeed memorable melodies. My house stood amidst an orchard with palms and fruit trees. It attracted squirrels, birds and iguanas. My life was like that of a bird free and easy. The turquoise sea was kind to the villagers who worked as fishermen. We ate fresh food, drank fresh milk, walked barefooted, wore simple clothes and above all stayed in wooden houses with large compounds surrounded by flowering plants, shrubs and cattle around. In short, we lived united with nature without harming the flora and fauna. My mother would normally visit the beach every weekend and I would always see her in a somber mood, most of the time with tears rolling down her cheeks. I was too small to understand the veil behind her tears and I would think the beauty of nature brings tears of joy in her. I would watch my parents performing prayers at the beach and showering flower petals into the sea. I was too small to understand the prayers and the offerings. I vividly remember asking my mom about my lost brother. Little did I know of my brother except in photos as a small boy. During one of the school holidays I spent the school holidays with my grandmother in Langkawi, an island off the coast of Peninsular Malaysia. My grandmother would always tell me not to go to the beach although it was only a stone throw away from her house. It was here first I heard of what happened to my brother. I pressured my grandmother to tell me why she always wanted me not to approach the beach. Then she told me in detail of a Tsunami which took away the lives of many. According to my grandmother, it was a joyful Boxing Day on 26 December, 2004 when my brother, aged 7, had gone with my dad and mom to the beach for a picnic. They had brought cooked food and drinks to enjoy the sunshine day. It was a beautiful day out and they saw something curious and awful on that day. But, little did they know what the scene of awe would turn into a nightmare.They watched in awe the sea beginning to recede. It created a fascinating scene which was unusual. My brother ran towards the dried seabed as my parents watched him play cheerfully. The sight gravitated a few people to indulge and experience the rare phenomenon. There were not many people as the scorching sun was half way from East to West. My parents were sitting under an old banyan tree not far from the beach and watching my brother picking the many fish on the shore. But my parents were ignorant of the fact that the scene of beauty is a prelude to tidal waves and a tsunami. Within minutes the illustration of the beach changed. The sea roared, the waves thundered and rose to great heights and then they raced towards land, swallowing and destroying everything on their path. It was too late for my parents to run towards my brother who disappeared among the tidal waves. They instead, carried their dear lives in their hands and ran toward upperground. They managed to cling to a concrete structure as the angry waves shook and dragged them amidst floating debris. They somehow survived the raging waves partly shaken and injured. But, they did not see my brother again. As my grandmother removed the veil behind my parents' tears I was traumatised by the sight of the sea. It instilled in me a fear to go to the beach and a hatred towards

the waves. My memories of listening to the tragic incident from my grandmother still rings my ears to this day. 26th December has been deeply buried in my heart and it always appears before me when I lay in silence hearing the sound of waves from far. I always shared the sadness with my parents and gave them strength. They always cried in silence and camouflaged their pain behind fake smiles. It is heartbreaking to see them being responsible for what happened to my brother. Although I am traumatised by the waves and sea, I still love to see the waves and the waters for it is here where the body of my unseen brother rests. Today, I am big enough to know the feelings my parents are going through. I have made them realise that the guilt feeling they are going through is not right. We then made it a point to visit annually the very spot where my brother left his last footprints and offer prayers and ask for his soul to rest in peace. We also pray for all the souls which the Tsunami swallowed. Today is the 26th of December. I am looking at the calm waves and feeling the caressing breeze from the sea as we sit in silence offering prayers. I can hear the waves apologising and the sea promising. Today is a day for many to cheer but it is a day for us to be in tears.

Elsa (10C)

“Memories of a Loyal Dog” Shirui (Doris) (7H) “Hey dog, how long have you been here?” Coby the dog gazes up to see a skeleton dressed in a robe made from shadows. Death is here to collect his soul. He has known for a while that he’d die soon. An animal can sense its imminent death. As there was nothing else to do, he simply responds “3 days.” Death knowingly nods and like he did to billions of other souls, he proposes: “I can grant you one wish, but you cannot ask for life. What do you wish for?” At this, Coby perks up. There has only been one thing he has desperately wanted in these three days. “ I wish to see my master Michael for the very last time!” “ You’re on a highway tied to a pole by a rope and there’s nobody around you except for me in a mile’s radius. You must’ve been abandoned by your master like a sock with a hole in it. Why do you wish to see him again?” “ He’s my master so we are tied together from the first time we met. Our bond can never be severed!” “Well then, would ya like to enlighten me with how you and your master met?” “ My first memories of my master were of bright, warm lights. I was wrapped in a red ribbon and gifted to my young master Michael as a Christmas present. He was the shining light of my life. His parents, him, and I were one big family.” “ How did you become so close to Michael then? What happened so that you feel closer to Michael then his parents?” “It was right after Michael’s school hours, the front door suddenly burst open. Michael ran into the living room and embraced me in a giant hug. Excitedly, he opened his school bag and shoveled out a huge sausage. It was as long as my snout and one quarter as thick. Michael explained that it was from his school lunch, but he couldn’t bear to eat it as he knew I would love to take a bite. He tore the sausage into pieces and placed them carefully into my food bowl. I ran to the bowl and devoured the meat. As I was eating, Michael caressed me with hands full of oil and told me I was his best friend. When I was done, I jumped onto him and licked him all over his face. We laughed together for a while and then hugged again.” Death rolled his eyes. Mortals are sometimes too sappy for him to deal with. “So did you get another sausage after that?” “After the first sausage, Michael gave me a sausage every day and I’d be waiting at the door for him to come home. I looked forward to the sausages as much as I looked forward to walks.” “If you two were so close, how did you get abandoned. Did you scrape metal on a non stick pan or drain the rice in a colander?” “After a while, he just stopped giving them. It was like he forgot I existed. He developed a new interest, which was sitting in front of a big box and playing some human games I don’t understand. My food bowl was often empty too. I had to constantly remind Michael to fill it up. When I circled around him to gain his attention, he would just yell at me to go away.”

“ He doesn’t seem that bad. It’s not like mortals appreciate what they are given anyways.” “A few weeks later, Michael’s parents snapped, and his mom yelled: “ Michael! You forgot to feed the dog again! Also, there is dog hair everywhere!” Michael wasn’t amused and simply yelled back: “ I don’t care anymore! We can just get rid of the stupid dog. He is always in the way, and I have to do so many tasks to take care of him. I’d much rather play video games than be with it!” Enraged, Michael’s mom yelled back: “ Your father and I were hoping you’d become more responsible. You begged us to get a dog as a present for you and now you’re neglecting it!” After a moment of silence, Michael told me: “ Come on Coby. We’re going for a nice little walk.” As usual, Michael and I were walking on our path which was the highway. Suddenly, he dragged me to a pole and tied me onto it. Before he left, he comforted me with a forced smile: “ Stay here for a while. I’ll be right back.” “That, my friend, is a lie. He most probably will not come back.” “I did know that it was a red flag and I even tried untying my rope, but what if Michael would come back to get me? He wouldn’t be able to find me, and I can’t imagine how devastated he’d be. Now that you’re here Death, he wouldn’t be ever able to find me, would he? At least not alive…” Death is touched. The dog still believes his master would come back to him even after he was abandoned. He wonders what he would’ve done if he was the dog. If one thing was for sure, he would’ve lost all hope. Death reproposes: “ I can give you one wish only. Are you sure you want to use it to go see your master?” Coby then replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: “ Of course I will, because even if he got rid of me, there is a part of his heart that still thinks of me as his best friend!”

“Remembering the Forgotten” Carrie (9K) Cabe woke up in a daze with a pale face, feeling very unconscious and exhausted. He seemed completely befuddled as if he was lost in time. Slowly getting up from his bed, he felt something unusual about his head and he couldn’t remember anything. Before he could say anything, he saw a lady dressed in a red cloak with silver outlines. His vision was blurry, but the lady approached him with a smile of relief. She hugged him so tightly and said, “Cabe, you are awake!”. Cabe replied in a confused gesture, “What happened to me?”. 10 years ago Cabe was just an ordinary boy from an average income family. His father was a renowned scientist and was one of the finest in his company. Cabe’s father spent every night thinking of a special formula that can erase and regenerate someone’s memory but his research was to no avail. After years of research and billion was invested in world-class facilities, chemicals and quantum physics, he finally managed to accomplish the right formula. The Quantum Neuro Formula became one of the most sought-after global formulas after being tested on bodies. Cabe’s father became one of the most distinguished and prestigious scientists in the whole world and from then on he and his best friend, Richard, had built a $90 billion scientific and technology firm. Cabe's father's fortune expanded even more, and he became one of the world's wealthiest scientists. Richard was not as successful as him due to avarice. Cabe's father became the centre of attention, leaving him in the shadows. Day by day, his rage and jealousy rose until one day... Cabe’s father showed Cabe his new project in the laboratory, they were having so much fun. Then suddenly, a loud "BANG" came through the iron door. Men in black coats and masks could be seen through the fog as a veil of mist blanketed the entire lab. Without hesitation, Cabe and his father quickly and silently exited the lab through the secret concealed door before being discovered. A hand suddenly yanked his father's arm and dragged him into the fog. "Run!" Cabe's father screamed before being dragged away. “Take this,” he threw over an envelope with a USB in it to Cabe with the word 'Important' written in strong RED letters on it which contains the ultimate and the origin of the formulas. “Now Go! QUICKLY!” Cabe took the envelope and dashed through the hidden entrance. A big explosion erupted as he ran out to the road. "BOOM" was a tremendous explosion that obliterated the entire lab and caused the entire building to collapse in front of his eyes. Everything has vanished. Firetrucks, police cars, and ambulances arrived at the scene after a few moments. Darkness was what covered Cabe from seeing the world he was living in. He was in total shock. What he could smell was blood and felt the pain on his arm, bruises and cuts were what he could see on his body. Blood was all around him and his face was drenched in tears. All was like a nightmare to him in his cold shivering body. Watching the fire engulfing the building made his heart shatter as it has so many memories with his father. Being distracted by the ambulances, Cabe saw men gushing out from the burning building into the forest and they were the men inside of the lab. He decided to follow them into the forest with anger as they left tracks on the ground. Suddenly a man whacked Cabe in the head with a hammer.

He regained consciousness with a puzzled expression, confined in a chamber with chains around his neck. He noticed a man approaching him. Someone he was familiar with. Someone he has known for the past 15 years, Richard Tempus someone he adored so much. “Mr Tempus! Help, please. Get me out of here!” shouted Cabe. “Oh my, the famous Cabe Rodriguez. Your father was such an icon, a great friend of mine and a great partner, although he outshone me and continued to push me into the shadows,” said Richard cunningly. While Cabe and Richard were having their conversation, a man dressed in a lab coat entered the room with wires and a strange syringe. “What are you doing with that?” Cabe asked puzzledly. “Oh, does this look familiar to you? Well, let me answer this for you. This is the formula your father and I created. ‘The Quantum Neuro Formula.’ It is only used when a person sees what he is not supposed to see. Like you.” Richard said with a grin on his face. “Me?” Cabe asked with shock. “Who do you think I am, a fool? I killed your father to get this potion and now, it's mine. But there is still one more thing I demand from you. The envelope of formulas. ” Richard said immorally. Cabe's expression became blank and then erupted in rage. He was enraged and screamed as though the tinted bulletproof glass was about to shatter into shards. “How could you! My father was the best person in the world, your best friend, your partner…….” Cabe interrogated him. Richard slammed the table and said, “Your father was a disgrace to me, Cabe. All he wanted was fame and pride. I remember 5 years ago, your father & I were experimenting on this formula and he used it to turn against me. He blamed me for all his mistakes and he almost sent me to jail for killing the test subject. He wanted to erase my memory, kid. So this is how I would take my revenge.” Richard administer the syringe on Cabe’s face in between the eye and said, “Goodbye Cabe!” “NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!”, shrieked Cabe.

“Do You Want to See the Butterflies?” Jaycelin Chi-Kay (12C) "A cup of iced Americano please." It was 4 a.m. on a Saturday. Jake stepped out from the convenience store and took a deep breath of the petrichor. Anything could be chirpy, except for Jake's mind and mental state. The manager assigned him to do a survey in Enton, the community Jake grew up in. This could turn out to be his last task in the firm, for they were planning a massive layoff. Jake had never really liked his job but he still didn't want to lose it. He was never confident in himself so his worry never stopped. Jake got onto a bus to Enton and took his MP3 out, then started listening to the 60's songs he and his dad used to listen to together. The nostalgia sharpened. The bus arrived in Enton. After more than 10 years since Jake's last visit, the community became modernised. There were still slight hints of vintage from the same park but with renovated facilities, and the 50's rollerblade diner that never left. Jake got off the bus, took another deep breath. This time, the air was warm and fuzzy. The roadside flowers were blooming, a butterfly that was circling the flowers caught Jake's attention. It has opal-like wings, a faint aura, and sparkles as if stars would sprinkle all over the place. It was surreal, fanciful. Jake wanted to be a lepidopterist when he was younger, he knew a lot about butterflies but this was a mysterious one. Was it an illusion or an undiscovered species with a bit of Jake's imagination filter? The butterfly flew around Jake, leading him down the street. It felt magical and he was uncontrollably attracted to it. He followed the butterfly to a house, he recognised it right away. His heart went soft and felt a sense of comfort that the house gave him. The feeling calmed him down, and he was ready to go on a fresh journey in Enton. The butterfly changed its colour to a dreamy pink tint, it gave off a soft cotton candy scent. Jake was led to the cinema, he remembered that he had his first date there with his first girlfriend in 11th grade. They broke up 2 years later, Jake's heart was so broken that it took him months to heal. Now that he thought about it again, he appreciated that they at least cared for each other, and created these romantic and supportive times. The butterfly waggled, rolled in the air and turned into orange citrine colour, refreshing like tropical fruit punch yet sour like freshly squeezed orangeades. It somehow reminded Jake of the basketball practices he had with his teammates to prepare for the interschool competitions. He smiled and walked to his school for a visit. That youthful energy from his memories ignited his heart. He wondered whether his teammates are doing well. Lemonade aroma from the butterfly drifted into his nose. "Lemonade! Did you know I'm thirsty? I mean I had coffee but lemonade seems to be what I need right now. I wish I could drink the lemonade my mother used to make." Jake groaned. "By the way, I like your sunbeam glow!" The butterfly graduated to glimmering lime green just as how humans blush. It flapped its wings, a few more sundry coloured butterflies joined them. They chased each other, it looked like the 7-year-old Jake running after the butterflies in the neighbourhood. The time when Jake was stressless and was able to pursue his wildest dream of being a lepidopterist, fun times that he dreamt to bring back in his adulthood. The number of butterflies around Jake had increased, it eventually became a kaleidoscope with sapphire blue butterflies. They flew away like an opening gate, suddenly Jake was transferred to Enton Park. A familiar woman was sitting on a bench. She turned back and their eyes met. Jake would never imagine himself seeing his grandmother who passed away, ever again. He burst into tears. He missed seeing her. He worried that her face, the inside jokes they share and the lessons she taught, will be forgotten as time passes. "How are you

my Jakey?" a warm greeting from grandma could make a grownup man collapse. Jake was confused, a deceased person could never come back to life. He couldn't hold back, he just had too much to say to his grandmother, even if it was just an illusion. "Jakey, my only advice for you is to live at the moment, appreciate what you have. Many years later when you look back, they're just memories. Beautiful ones." Yes, Jake understood because what he had just experienced, was exactly what grandma meant. "Also, if you don't like your job, if you got fired, then fight for the better! Aim for what you really want, maybe… be a lepidopterist?" Frankly, without this journey, Jake wouldn't realise his never-ended passion for butterflies. Grandma started fading, they were aware that there wasn't much time left for them. "Jakey, did you see butterflies when you came?" "Yes I did, they were enchanting! I wonder what species are they?" Grandma smiled, "They are butterflies called Omoide, a Japanese phrase for ‘memories’.

Bernice (10K)

“Lost Memories” Connie (8S) Seattle, with it’s extraordinarily high crime rates, has been my home for my whole existence. It was utterly stupid of me to have been walking alone that night knowing what would have most likely happened. Me and my friend, Callie, and the new girl, Kate, were having a girls night out in the Westlake Center Mall. Being the teenage girls that we were, the clothing outlets and shoe shops were a must-go. The temptation of buying everything in the stores kept us there until half past ten, which was way past my curfew. We said our goodbyes at the exit and went our separate ways. ‘Bye Izzie!’ Callie called from across the parking lot. ‘See ya tomorrow!’ ‘Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s saturday… Oh yea! The beach at 10 right?’ ‘Girl, how could you forget?’ ‘My memory is terrible, Okay?’ By the time our little conversation ended, Kate was already long gone. I’ve actually never known much about her, she’s always been quite introverted. I took my usual route home, knowing that I would be grounded the second I set foot into the house. How would I explain to my parents that I lost track of time? As I reached for my phone, I noticed something peculiar. Right across the street, a group of motorcyclists were all staring at me with unusual amounts of curiosity. I passed them, keeping a distance, but they still somehow managed to get closer. The mob of people started surrounding me. I tried to scream but nothing came out. I broke into cold sweat, they must’ve noticed and started laughing hysterically. Panic started to take over as they continued closing in, forming an impenetrable barrier between me and my own house. How could my parents not hear me? Oh right, they installed a sound proofing system last month so that Jared could play his drums without disturbing our neighbors. ‘Where are my keys?’ I said under my breath. As I jumbled through my bag in frustration, I felt a gut wrenching realization that there was someone right behind me. A pair of strong arms swiftly gripped my neck and arms, was I going to die right there? By the time I caught my breath, his nails were digging deep into my skin and his grip on my neck was suffocating me. ‘This isn’t going to end well,’ I murmured to myself as my head spun and I felt a drop of blood trickle down my neck, onto the pavement. SPLAT! I woke up in an ICU bed to excruciating pain in my back. My eyes were blurry and I could feel dizziness from anesthesia. Why was I in the hospital?

‘Oh my goodness! She’s awake!’ This was the first thing that I heard since I woke up. This woman who had dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes basically sprinted into my room the second she heard what the nurse said. I desperately tried to sit up and greet this woman but my failed attempt left me in even more pain than before. ‘ARGH!’ I groaned. ‘Sweetie, you alright?’ a nurse called from across the room. I tried to reply back but all I could manage was a high-pitched wheeze. ‘Don’t try to talk yet, they operated on you a few days ago. Your vocal chords suffered a lot of damage from the attack.’ This person beside my bed insisted that she's my mother, but somehow, in no way does she seem familiar to me at all. In fact, out of the 3 people in this room, the only person that I recognised was myself. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for what felt like forever, numerous jagged scars stretched from my jawline to my chest, there was also a noticeable incision in between my collar bones. How did this happen? A million questions raced through my mind as the doctors entered the room to check on me. I was given a whiteboard to communicate with and I immediately wrote: What happened? My supposed mother gazed at me in disbelief and said, ‘You don’t remember what happened? Darling, you were attacked that night and we had to rush you to the hospital. You hadn’t woken up for days, your father and I were worried sick!’ She burst out in tears right after so I cleared my whiteboard and tried to explain: I don’t remember anything. I don’t know who you are, sorry. The doctor dragged my weeping mother out of the room to discuss my current situation. Thankfully, my acute sense of hearing picked up every single word they said.

‘The anesthesia can cause short term memory loss and is nothing to worry about. Her memory will probably come back within a few days and everything will go back to normal.’ ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ ‘We will continue monitoring her and inform you when her memory is back.’ ‘Thank you so very much.’ Of course, I knew that this was not just temporary memory loss. There was this gut feeling that this would last forever, and of course, I was correct.

“The Matriarch had Passed” Runner-up - Senior Division Nicholas (10H) A cruel irony it was — our last conversation. I perched myself facing you on the hospital bed, lightly handing over the day’s newspaper. Medical tubings wrapped around your ears and through your nose, assisting your troubled breathing. Fatigue radiated off you, and the occasional deep cough and gurgle came as you spoke. Your voice was hoarse and required much effort for the slightest sound; eyes only slightly opened as eyebags formed. Even so, you seemed better than a few days prior, when you couldn’t keep from a deep, difficult slumber. The nurses described your returning appetite with subtle reassurance and elation. Your dry humoured personality slowly crept back in; the family in the midst of relieved sighs. We giggled over affairs I shared, and likewise your fussing over unpleasant hospital conditions caused an element of nostalgia to seep in. You always maintained strict hygiene — not a single speck of dust or smudge was to be found wherever you inspected; be it at home, travelling, or confined to a bed. It was proof enough your flame was still far from embers. A smile etched itself across my face. When we exchanged goodbyes, I said, “I’ll see you at home soon, yea?” You answered, “Yes…yes. Goodnight.” A couple days later, just as the grandfather clock chimed 11 at night, my mother burst from her room, her face drained of all positive light; a tenuous consternation visibly carved onto her. She moved with impulse, fluttering the room in search of her pouch. When I hastily inquired, I observed her voice deepened a shade. “Ah Ma’s dialysis failed…they’re resuscitating her now.” It took me a long minute to comprehend. No — it was as if I abstained from acknowledging it; blocked myself from believing it. The sheer presage of what may follow was enough to knock me into a dampened daze. I sunk deeper into the couch. Snapping back, I jolted on my feet and prepared to leave, but my mom halted to remind me protocols were in place; I simply could not go. I cursed, but reluctantly accepted it. For fifteen minutes I knelt at the foot of the deity’s altar, eyes closed and head lowered; at no time had I ever been so pious. Religion never mattered much to me, yet I quietly returned to it to plead it loosen death’s grip. The occasional lingering premonition returned to haunt; when it did, I tensed my hands into a near fist and exhaled deeply. A single conversation replayed itself; rang in my ears as if not from memory at all. A small chuckle escaped my lips, but so too did a tear trickle down. “-listen, I don’t know if I’ll be here by that time, but I can only wish to see you off to uni. Hopefully, I can keep myself from deteriorating to see that day come. Better yet, to be present at your graduation, if fate allows…wouldn’t that be nice?” “Aw, Ah Ma! Don’t talk like that…you’ll be by the front door when I depart for uni, and when I return, diploma in hand — I’m sure of it. Besides, everyone parades your remarkable health at 84. Don’t fret, alright?”

My eyebrows lowered further and knitted themselves together, drawn up to the inner corners; my eyes blinked at varying paces, though they remained shut. I yearned for that assurance — that what I said remained true. But how could it be, when it was uncertain you would still breathe tomorrow? The ceiling fan was on, windows slightly opened, yet it felt like the air hung and remained still as my wait drew ever longer. Time’s march slowed to a distressing crawl. Alas, my phone rings. I had still clutched to shreds of optimism, and responded with faint enthusiasm. However, the next sentence spoken trampled all of it. My head fell onto my hands — for a few moments it was too heavy to raise. I slouched in a chair, heart sinking down as limbs trembled and phone dropped in defeat. As if some caustic joke, I faced the photos of graduations prior; my vision clouded with tears. I flinched. Across the dining table, silhouettes emerged of a young boy returning from school, quickly dropping his belongings and feasting on his grandmother’s mouthwatering delicacy — buttered toasts, soft boiled eggs and cup of warm chocolate. Hearty recollections of erstwhile experiences filled the room, echoing through the otherwise dull hallway. Years dashed by in a matter of seconds, and his build matured and overshadowed her, reaching nearly double her size and stature. Still, he always sat intrigued, no matter how many times the story repeated. 10-minute meals turned into hour-long discussions over conflicting views of old and new as the sky outside slowly dimmed into a darkened yolk-like hue, shadows dancing on the walls around. His grandmother patted him and jokingly remarked she hoped he would hit the doorframe head in no time. There was the usual chortle, but he also gravely noted her hair began to turn a stronger tone of grey, and she wobbled more on her feet. She dismissed it, but he soon found her stumbling upon her words or mixing up moments of two different ages. He’d promptly remember her memories better than her. Even so, she’d always chuckle, “Wah, I’m becoming forgetful, huh?” Then, silence ensued. A figure slowly munched the same delicacy, but it was just that. No words spoken, no laughter; no presence beside him. The anamnesis dispersed. I found myself at a dark crossroad. Beside me, you gently bestowed me a guiding torch you had always held up from behind. Your usual, indistinct smile made visible before you stepped backwards, bid farewell and slowly dissipated from the light. It was akin to you boarding a liner one last time, bound for a distant shore; all we could do was stand from the jetty as the steamer moved away. Who would’ve thought that exchange of goodnights would be our last, before you drifted off into your eternal slumber? The matriarch had passed.

“Stolen Memories” Yi-Jay (8H) He was in her mind. Each memory, experiencing it first hand. Memories of her childhood, her loving parents, her school field trip, her first pet. “Forget, forget, forget!” he chanted. His hand moved swiftly across the pages. Penning down the memories, in great detail and proficiency. Her memories became his memories, and now onto the paper. His hands continued scribbling furiously “Forget! Forget! Forget!” he chanted louder. His patient was now screaming in pain as her memories one after another emptied her mind; being sucked away into a vacuum. It must have been hours before he dropped his pen. The screaming stopped as the patient sank into her chair, her eyes rolled upwards; knocked out by the ordeal. *** “Answers to your most profound questions!” Only One Pound! - read the sign that hung at the front of the tent. Just reading it made Amelia dizzy. But she had to know. Amelia stepped into the tent and handed the fortune teller her coin. The tent was covered with dust and there were rats scurrying around. At the centre of the tent sat the fortune teller dressed in a white buccaneer shirt with gathered sleeves. Without looking at her, she said, “A pound, an answer. Understood?” “Yes,” said Amelia. She turned around facing Amelia and upon seeing her face she smiled showing her huge stained teeth. “Ah, Amelia Williams. I have been expecting you.” Amelia took a step back surprised that she knew her name. “So what is your question?” Amelia took a gulp of air, “I want to know who I am.” She signalled for Amelia to come closer and to put her hand on the table. With her hand opened she stared intently into her palm like a doctor inspecting a patient. “The books, the books,” she said finally. “Wha-what do you mean?” She shrugged her shoulders. “One pound, one question,” the fortune teller demanded. Amelia looked on helplessly. That was the only pound she had. “If fire is strong enough then it will,” the fortune teller said at last and waved her out the tent. *** “The books, the books.” That was all that played through Amelia’s mind. She was back at her owner's house dusting the huge mansion. The mansion was indeed grand. The interior was mostly marble and the ceiling hand painted with pictures of goddesses and angels. She didn’t know what the word books meant but it had to mean something, “ Argh! My back!” She gripped her lower back. Her fingers pressed against the back of her spine. It

felt wet. She looked at her stubby fingers. Blood. *** Days turned into months and months turned into years. The meeting with the fortune teller was now almost a forgotten dream to Amelia. Today, she had gone to get groceries and was leaving the market when a hunchbacked man hissed to her at the corner of the street. “Fancy a book miss?” He was wearing a scruffy overcoat and his nails were long and filthy. Amelia knew better than to follow the stranger to an obscure street but the red binder looked so familiar. “Is that a novel?” she asked as she followed the little man. The little man laughed. “Novels are fiction. These are real memories taken from real people.” Stunned, Amelia stepped back. Engraved on the red velvet leather read: John Andrews. “20 pounds for the memory of him with his beautiful wife and family,” he went on. By now, Amelia was already walking backwards frightened. She used to know a man called John Andrews. A man with a loving wife and two kids. Rumours had it that he was deep in debt after an unsuccessful business venture. Now, he wanders the street, like a lost soul. Not only did he lose his family, he no longer knew who he was anymore. Before the man could say more Amelia was running away as fast as she could. *** Amelia could no longer contain herself. The red velvet book looked all too familiar. She had seen her owner receiving it from a strange man time after time. Once receiving it, he would take the binded book and walk directly to the attic. Once Amelia caught him locking it up in a trunk. Braver than she actually felt, she marched up to the top floor and entered the attic. It was the only room without windows. At the corner, was the wooden trunk which she knew contained the red binded books. She quickly locked the door behind her. Using the crowbar, she forced the trunk open “Come on, open up.” She was so close to prying it open that she banged the trunk forgetting to be quiet. “Amelia? Is that you?” she heard her master call out. By now, she had managed to open a small gap in the trunk. She peered inside, and a chill ran down her spine as she read Amelia Johnson, engraved on the top of a red leather cover. “You're not supposed to be in there!” He was now banging the door violently. She looked around desperately. Her memories were locked inside this trunk. She had to get them. She had to know who she was! ‘If the fire is strong enough then it will.’ “The matches!” She fumbled inside her apron pockets searching for the matches she used to light up the stove. She struck it, and without hesitation dropped it inside the trunk. It was only a small flame at first but before long the whole trunk was on fire. By now the banging at the door had stopped, as smoke filled the tiny room. Amelia laid on the wooden floor almost passed out from the lack of air. Memories were flooding back to her. Memories of when she was a child, memories of her loving parents, memories of being abducted and her abusive employer. Everything made sense now.

As she drew in her last breath, she smiled faintly. The memories had freed her.

Monica (10K)

“Watching the Petals Fall” 3rd Place - Junior Division Emeline (8S) History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again. - Maya Angelou “Daddy! Look, ducks!” Robert was out on a walk with his four-year-old daughter, Madeline, in the park. She had a huge smile pasted on her face and her blue eyes were wide with fascination. Robert beamed down at his daughter, and picked her up in his arms. She was giggling, and it was like hearing Rose’s giggle once more, as he set Madeline back down onto the ground. *** It was a beautiful day, with a comfortable spring breeze kissing his cheek and the earth all around him rejuvenating. In the light of the sun, Robert could see Rose again. She was laughing, and called out to him. She pulled Robert into an embrace and brushed her lips against his. He still remembered vividly the first time they met; it was here, this exact same park. Robert had clumsily stumbled over to her, smitten by her exotic beauty and asked for her number; his heart racing as she contemplated and nearly jumped out of his chest when she finally agreed. This was where they had shared their first kiss. This was where he had gotten down on one knee, with a bouquet of flowers and a ring. Robert looked down at his daughter again. How Madeleine had grown, resembling her mother more and more. “Robert, turn around, ” Rose had said one spring evening. Her eyes were forever twinkling with delight and her mouth a beautiful smile. “I have a surprise for you.” Robert felt Rose’s soft hand cover his eyes, before revealing what she had discovered earlier that day - a white stick with two lines on it. Robert’s heart burst with joy and pride at the realisation that he was going to be a dad. He couldn’t help tears of delight cascading down his cheeks as he swept Rose off her feet.They celebrated that very evening, in their usual manner - a sumptuous takeaway treat from their favourite Chinese. In between mouthfuls of culinary delights, they laughed and argued over names, colour schemes and everything else that excited first time parents would do. Madeleine, Rose finally suggested, the tone unmistakable. Rose’s mind was set. And if it’s a boy? Robert had asked her. Rose just shrugged and said that the baby was a girl, that she could just feel it. She was right. Beautiful Madeleine arrived that very winter, several days earlier than planned. It was like she just couldn’t wait to come out to see the world. She had her mother’s beautiful eyes, filled with curiosity and spirit. Everything was just perfect. “Wow… daddy look…squirrels!” Madeleine’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of a bushy red tail flit across a tree branch Her hand was clasped in Robert’s, just like the way he had held onto Rose once. Robert’s hand held tightly onto Rose’s. It was as if to keep her life from slipping away. Her cheeks had hollowed, her face gaunt and her lips were dry and cracked. Robert saw Rose’s frail hand, traced with veins.

Robert’s eyes were bright with unshed tears of grief as he watched his Rose slowly withering away. Her heart beat on the monitor grew fainter and fainter by the minute, her breath shallower and shallower, until there was no more. “Goodbye, my Rose,” Robert leaned over to kiss her forehead. The ache in the heart and engulfing grief were indescribable as Robert sobbed inconsolably. How was he going to carry on without his Rose, his dear Rose who had been the light in his life. Six months of never ending battle against cancer, hoping against all odds for a miracle at the end of the tunnel had wilted his Rose to mere skin and bones. Yet through it all, her spirit was indomitable. She had kept him going with her optimism but now… *** Rose had once whispered to Robert that they’d get through it all, reach the end of the tunnel, to the light. They had to stay strong for Madeleine, they had to. Robert did reach the end of the tunnel, but when he emerged, he was alone - with baby Madeleine to raise. Robert had wanted to quit, give up, but was that what Rose would have wanted? It was the memories of her that kept him going, fuelled him everyday. Yet Robert still couldn’t help yearning for a different present, one with Rose in it. If only. If only Rose had gotten a medical check up earlier. If only they had had more time. If only the past could be rewritten, changed somehow. Then perhaps, perhaps Rose would still be alive. If only…

“Daddy?” Madeline looked up at her dad, tugging his sleeve. Robert snapped out of his reminiscence and looked at his daughter. “Yes sweetheart?” “Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Madeline looked up at her father with eyes wide with worry, and her dark hair strewn across her chubby cheeks. Robert forcefully blinked back tears of love. “Yes sweetie, everything is alright. I’m fine.” Robert stooped down to plant a kiss on Madeline’s head. Perhaps the past was always meant to be - unchanged and unchangeable, Robert thought with a wistful smile as he turned to face the future.

“Painful Pages of The Past” Edril (7B) I sat in solitude on a driftwood under an old palm tree along an isolated strip of beach and gazed at the dancing waves in glee. The sea was calm but murky and the once white powdery beach has now lost its glitter and pride. It was an eye shore to see the very sea coast which brought my ancestors to this land. This was where as a child, I walked, ran, jumped and played with joy. Not far from here, once stood my humble rustic wooden house amidst swaying coconut palms and lush green paddy fields. As I sat and stared into emptiness, my illustrated past reflections began to dance on the waters of the calm sea. The waves then projected the reflections on the screen of the isolated sands of this forgotten beach to dance in my inward eyes. The memorable reflections of my past made me stand up and walk back in time to recollect my childhood memories. As I walked the sundrenched sands, I was unable to see any left traces of my ancestors. Their footprints are now deeply buried in the very sands where they once lined their colourful boats and hauled their nets to shore. This is the very coast where my ancestors once landed from their poverty painted homes on the island of Sumatra in Indonesia. They came here in search of green pastures during the time colonial masters ruled the seas. They sailed the rough pirated infested waters of the Straits of Malacca in deplorable conditions using unseaworthy vessels. With the passing of years, they assimilated with the locals and started new lives as farmers and fishermen. Soon, they lost their original identity and created a new identity of mixed unique cultures, cuisines and clothes. I walked aimlessly along the beach imagining my past chasing tiny crabs which played hide and seek on the glittering sands. I saw no seagulls casting tiny shadows on the sea as they flew over diving for fish. Neither I saw colourful fishing boats lining the beach nor fishermen hauling nets with melodious tunes. I saw no children making sandcastles and no tourists basking in the sun. All around me were heaps of rubbish strewn all over by the angry waves who once caressed, cajoled and constantly kissed the powdery sands. I passed the spots where green leathery turtles once came from far to lay their eggs. I remember vividly how tourists flocked at wee hours shining their torches in the dark to get a glimpse of giant turtles as they deposited their eggs in holes dug using their hind flippers. Today, the turtles are no more in fame as they have been booted in shame. An old abandoned hotel painted with moss and decorated with leaves from overgrown plants stands in the very spot where these turtles once came. Deep in me was a question; “ Did the turtles face the same fate as my ancestors?” Lost and forgotten! I left the beach, crossing a huge sewage pipe that deposited into a tiny stream that flowed into the sea. The weight of rubbish made the stream narrow and shallow on some parts which enabled me to cross with ease. I walked towards the village where I first learnt to crawl. There was not even a single trace of the village to refresh my memories. All I saw were rows of high rising flats resembling pigeon holes. The sight brought both anger and tears in me. The small river close by, which irrigated the fields and farms is now a

concrete highway filled with carbon monoxide. The migratory birds which frequented the trees around the river are now only a vision of illusion. Walking away from here I headed to the village school where I first learned numbers and alphabets. At the spot, I saw a pooling outlet where punters came to gamble on numbers. It was heartbreaking to see a school that taught you numbers to be changed into a gambling outlet to use them. On the pavement sat an old beggar raising both arms in hunger. Touched by his age and his inability to make a living, I squatted beside him and asked what brought him here. He was a former fisherman from my village whose livelihood had been deprived by development. Finally, I walked to where my villagers once toiled the fields, attended to their cattle and shaped the orchards. Dancing green paddy fields, big black buffaloes lazing in muddy pools, storks dotting the fields in shades of white and evening sunset penetrating through tree leaves and glittering the golden paddy fields are now only a dream of the past. I stood and imagined walking through the once picturesque fields where morning glories and sunflowers tossed their heads to the lullaby of the sea breeze. Everything has vanished and now I see smoke emitting factories polluting the atmosphere where birds chirped, butterflies fluttered and leaves rustled. I left the area with a heavy heart with tears rolling my cheeks to the condominium prison I am living in now. The environment is changing not for the better but for the worst which we are beginning to experience. We have pawned the gift of nature for our greed to deprive the next generations to live in harmony with nature. There are millions of villages like mine all over the world which have either disappeared or are waiting to be bulldozed. Will our children live to see them or live to read about them? Memories are at times painful and painful memories give you salvation.

Wai Yan (10S)

“Apologize” Thomas (10S) To me, for me. "You and me, Got a whole lot of history." What has happened, do I recall? Times Square is beautiful on new years eve, isn't it? No, only in black and white. Where did everyone go? I watched as she walked out the door. Was I a butterfly? Something with precious dreams of a life that disappears instantly in flashes of lightning. An insect portraying treasure but never offered love by others. What remains is a world of pure darkness. My memories gave me the courage to work harder, the courage to take on what had been left behind, but now moments only flee back into obscurity, separating me from who I was. So what did I do? What has the world done to deserve this eternal pressure added upon ourselves? I asked him. He didn't reply. Instead, cold rain came surging down from the mountainside, submerging me within my opaque thoughts. Was it sinful to be depressed? Was it the drizzle, or was it tears held upon my eyes, for I did not know, did not understand. I want these reflections within me to cling onto the falling shower, let it drift within streams, submerge deep within lakes, the ocean; then, I'll truly be safe. How did my school look last March? I want to stroll outside, wander away from where I lay, frozen in time and space. Can whoever's done this apologize, please? It seems like my present is in the past, and my future, concealed behind mountains, behind shadows of dust and rain, refuses to save me. Can what's ahead of me already pass? Time should be reversed. I'd rather remain in my past; at least I knew who to trust – no one – at least I knew what to accomplish – nothing. How is it May already? The connection between my thoughts in the past seems to have been drowned out by the raging current. I recall how everything seemed special, pure people with precious views, an unlimited outside world. What have we become? Computer screens have developed to the sole item grabbing on to me, my only friends. These optimistic projections shot through my head like arrows, or was it gamma rays? My room distracts me from meaningful decisions. Chemistry sure is boring right now. Autumn weekends brought us November. My birthday! Tell me, when will it pass?

Everything has shifted the wrong way. Had the virus infected my brain, encircling these positive thoughts? Life's been going well, hasn't it? I guess everything runs loose at some point. How do others tolerate these harsh conditions their opinions pressure them around? Why have I been given this sacred gift that he, the champion of heaven’s lore, bestowed? Merely for me to suffer? "We could be the greatest team, That the world has ever seen." No. What has happened, do I recall? Aren't December nights cold? I don't remember. Isn't it Christmas? Where is he? Did the reindeer leave him too? My parents neglected me, rejected me because of my sorrows and my 'self-pity.' What have I done to them to deserve this? They say I must be open to them. They say we should solve these situations together. All they scrutinize for are problems they formed on me. Did I not give them enough of my time? Why can't I freeze it? Move into fantasy, where memories are forgotten, and life remains pure. Why can't I take it away? Erase it; I’ll do anything. My life these past two years or more has been akin to sprinting through the fog, so talk not to me of faith; I have earned my stripes and then some. The forgotten new year. Where is Times square? I have nowhere to go, no place to remain. So, don't lie to me. I know you've done it; I've seen what happens in deceptive times. For graphite has already covered my shaded body and for the rest of my life. Oh, may the frozen floor consume my already frozen heart. Why is she, of all people, like this? Where do I have to go to burrow away from your sorrow and pile it up on my mountains? "You and me, Got a whole lot of history." Why have I noted this down? To remind me if sorrows forget. Can a strike, a moment, hurl me away from who I had become? Did you already bypass what you know? So why stack the most challenging moments together, chained within my head, held third-person obstructing my other views, just for me to witness, to cry upon?

"So don't let it go, We can make some more." Perhaps there's a reason. There are moments in time that transform everything. When lightning strikes a tree, the course of distant streams is altered, driving links between rivers – connections to form. Have I heard of the butterfly effect? These tiny creatures flutter their faint wings, constructing small wind currents that echo thunderstorms. To me, for me I only realize the rain is cold, for my skin carries the heat of my blood, because my inner fires burn strong. And as I stride onwards, my eyes are constantly seeking the rainbows given by the light. For I only needed the light of day, the comfort of home, of loving arms, and I will spin my dreams into gold that is as intangible as wishes yet as natural as the rocks and soil of Earth. My path was given to me by the divine hand, dancing into a future that calls my wandering soles. So for better or for worse, maybe life's most cherished moments are to remind me of my losses as a younger self, to help me enhance my forthcoming state, to fulfill my desired vision. May I treasure all that I remember to help truly shape my hidden future. So, what had happened, I recalled. Perhaps I won't see it now, but may the lightning strike my dreams – connections to form – light up my world. "We can live forever…."

“Pro Patria Mori” 3rd Place - Senior Division Timothy (10C) “Private Henderson, we’ll leave you alone with your brother. He fought a good fight. Take heart,” The general’s baritone utterings were just another distant hum uttered into a void of emotional agony, barely more meaningful than the nasal chattering of the cicadas in this wilderness. Were those his only words of comfort? That he fought a good fight? Would he say the same to Mama? I stared at his unmoving visage, devoid of life, while attempting to suppress the tumultuous emotions surfacing on mine… Three months passed. That last encounter with my older brother now sadly remained my only memory of him. I had woken up in cold sweat during countless nights, willing myself to erase his bullet-ridden unrecognisable face from my blurred memories. “Pro Patria Mori...Pro Patria Mori...” I incessantly whispered to myself, a mantra instilled into us upon enlisting- anything to distract myself from the thoughts of Larry’s lifeless body; to remind myself of my purpose here. Beads of perspiration trickled down my temples; they were asking to be wiped, but I knew better than to remove my helmet. Listening intensely to the slightest of sounds, the rustling of the leaves around me startled me relentlessly.The thick, humid air coupled with the breezeless atmosphere shrouded the battleground like a stifling blanket. Cracks of sunlight peered through the narrow gaps between the luscious leaves that occupied the canopy of the tropical jungle. They could be anywhere. Clenching the handle of my rifle tightly, I stole a glance over the bush, my only form of concealment from the enemy’s omnipresent vision. A spark. Then, a metallic whizzing split the silence almost instantaneously. Pivoting my head in fearful anticipation, I caught a glimpse of the bullet, as it speared into the bush behind me. My thoughts were preoccupied with the ginger mop which peeked just over it. I heard it. The lead plunged deep into the soldier’s chest. Not just any soldier, but my closest friend- Spencer. My only companion, now that Larry was gone. Without hesitation, I immediately crawled onto my belly towards him. A dark crimson sluiced his sweat-soaked uniform in a mesmerising onslaught. He writhed about in excruciating pain; his initial cries of agony, and now slowly abated moans etched in my head. An ungovernable terror swiftly gripped me, as the fear of death sunk in. Taking the King’s Shilling was the biggest mistake of my life. It was not long ago that honour and pride were what filled my heart, yearning to grow out of my boyhood. Tears welled up in my eyes; the very same that had formed, as I stumbled over the roots of the apple tree back in Somerset. I remembered as Mama dusted off the wound, lovingly whispering words of comfort into my ears. The same tears that she gently wiped away a year ago, as she said, “Promise me that you and Larry will return home. I’ll wait for you.” Those blissful days were a distant past. Before the war... before I had been stationed in Malaya... before I left her… Turning back to look at Spencer, whose increasingly shallow and laboured breathing was now more ragged, vengeance filled my heart. I could not allow the same fate to befall myself- I gave chase without a second thought. “Private Henderson!” instructed General Kane, his voice was a guillotine, reverberating throughout the impenetrable forest. “Retreat this instance!”

His stern warning falling upon deaf ears, I fled immediately, determined to hunt down the perpetrator. Staggering through the thick sludge and leaves that carpeted the forest floor, I brandished my rifle as I went. I ran forward erratically, trundling through whatever befell my path; the adrenaline possessing me like a tormented animal in anguish. The thick, dense foliage surrounding me was unable to restrain my rage. Then, I saw him at a distance, the still dissipating smoke rising from his weapon a telltale sign. Raising my rifle to take aim, I fired, plunging my fury into the shot. The gunshot echoed throughout the atmosphere, its recoil forcing me back a couple of steps. Feeling the utmost satisfaction when his silhouette tumbled to the earth, I ran forward to finish the job, to seize my prize. There he was, slumped against the protruding root of a tree. His right thigh was bleeding heavily; a pool of burgundy stained the leaves that were crumpled by his impact. The putrid smell of thick, fresh blood was distinctive, despite the odour of decaying rainforest plants and the faint lingering smell of gunsmoke. I was taken aback to see how small he was, how youthful he looked, perhaps not older than my younger brother, Cameron. His black and tousled hair half masking a gaunt, pale face. His skin was sallow from weeks of starvation, deprived of sunlight, hidden in this prison of a jungle. He mumbled some incoherent Japanese words to me, in a pleading, desperate tone, both hands raised feebly in surrender. A slight movement now from my index finger would end his life right there. As I paced towards him slowly, I stared into his quivering, obsidian eyes. Suddenly, I saw flesh and blood. I recognised his terrified demeanour; one that had been mine not too long ago, I realised his fear at facing death in the eye. Immediately, happier memories of Larry and I came flooding back. Frivolous times when we ran barefooted down the streets, playing football. Reckless times when we challenged each other to run deep into the rolling moors. And challenging times when we waited for our fate in this merciless jungle, knowing we at least had each other… As I looked closer, I realised he was yet another human, just another victim of this atrocious war that has neither a beginning nor an end. I saw in him a soldier who had a duty to perform; a son with a promise to fulfil; a boy to a mother who is waiting at home anxiously for his return. I saw in him; myself. And I walked away…

“Memories Continue Blooming” Runner-Up - Junior Division Swati (9C) 3:51pm. I still have 9 minutes before I meet up with my high school friends. Everything about today has been ideal. My job interview went smoothly, I met my grandmother for brunch and my cat went out into the garden today! That seems like something normal, but she is 13 years old and barely gets out of her chair anymore; so this was exciting.The day has been beautiful, the wind gently brushing across my face and the sky, as blue as the ocean, is smiling back at me. It has been such a perfect day, nothing can go wrong. With all the stress, consuming me over the week, today has been comforting. This day has been perfect. Too perfect. 4:01pm. I'm late, this is what admiring the singing of birds and watching the trees dance in the wind does. I start jogging, then move into a run. It has been forever since I have seen them. I am not going to be late. I hurry across the road. I am several meters from the cafe. I am sprinting at this point. As I am running, time delays as I turn to see a truck. I need to continue moving but I feel as though my legs are stuck in quicksand and the more I move, the more my legs feel jammed. Coming closer, closer, closer… I am half unconscious laying on the ground. My head was in excruciating pain, as though it had been stabbed with a knife through my skull. Blood covering my face, my hands. I hear people shriek. I hear someone calling the police. I keep telling myself, “Everything is okay, it's just a nightmare” But it was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Then I register I'm not on the road anymore, or even laying down. I'm standing at the corner of my 3rd birthday party. I observed a 3 year old me. I was wearing a paper party hat my mom made for me, my smile as bright as stars. My mom, dad and childhood best friend, Holly, were standing around me singing “Happy Birthday'' while I blew out the candles and made a wish. I still remember my wish .. I wanted ice cream after the cake. I called out, “Mom! Dad!”, but no one answered. Then I felt a sharp pain in my head, my eyes gradually became heavy and began to shut. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer at my 3rd birthday party, I was 6 years old! This time I was sitting at the edge of my parents bed, crying. I watched as my mom tried to calm me down. It was because of my tooth. My first tooth had just fallen out and I thought it was a punishment for finishing all the cookies. I chuckled at myself. My mother was telling me about the tooth fairy and how if I placed my tooth underneath my pillow, the tooth fairy would visit and give a gift in exchange for my tooth, that seemed to lift the mood in the room. I flashed forward to the next morning, where I looked underneath my pillow to find a $10 note. I was overjoyed, I started dancing on the bed, filled with excitement, as my parents smiled at me. The aching pain burns through my head again. Now it's me studying in my bedroom. I remember this one, I was 11 years old at the time. My parents knock on my door. I got annoyed since I had a difficult assignment to complete by the next day but I still opened the door. Then I saw a kitten, a ginger kitten, with a white stomach and navy blue eyes staring at me with a pink bow around her neck. I ran to hug the kitten and we cuddled on the floor as my eyes started tearing. I wanted a kitten

my whole life and I finally got one. The pain strikes back again. As I look around, I’m now in a hall with many people. I see my 18 year old self celebrating at my graduation. I'm dancing and singing with my friends, spending time together for the last time. High School was over ! It was time for us to move to University. Later that night, I watched as me and my friends cried while hugging each other. We were going on different paths, not knowing whether our paths would cross again in the future. These were the same friends I was supposed to meet this afternoon. As the sharp pain comes back, I watch as me and my friends take one last photo together, mascara running down our faces and makeup smudged. As they said their goodbyes, so did I. Now I am watching myself. This was today. I was talking to my friends on the phone, expressing how excited I was to see them. I watch myself leave the house and walk towards the cafe. I check my watch, 4:01pm, I am late. I watch myself stupidly run across the street without looking for oncoming traffic and watched the truck hit me. I watched as the ambulance rushed to help me while my friends were outside of the cafe looking as though their blood had run cold. That was the last memory I saw before the darkness took over. 9:48am. I feel that sharp pain in my head again. I look around the room, I'm in the hospital. The scent of the room was as though it had been submerged in a pool of hand sanitizer. My head was wrapped, my body was linked up to a heart rate monitor. I sit up and ask for assistance, my family walks in and gives me a hug. My highschool friends, I was supposed to meet up with, had also come to the hospital and brought some food and drinks from the cafe. We started to catch up. I guess my memories will continue blooming.

Rui Yang 10S

“To Remember Love and Hate” Ruoxuan (11H) Karl doesn’t remember when his brother stopped coming. It wasn’t until he looked up one day from the astrology books and realised he’d been talking to empty air, hunched over the dusty library with stale tea untouched in the corner. Thickening dust on the curtains kept out the piercing rays of light that once illuminated the letters on the desk—specks scattering scandalously across his wary eyebrows. He wasn’t sure if Ander had told him, or left a letter hidden in one of the parchments beneath the table, and went as he arrived. The days had grown longer. Every corner and curtain that they’d once hid in during the masquerade balls was a ghost town. Every shrill, meticulous yell through the castle hallways about tampered homework grew damp with silence. Sometimes, the lonely nights that had hosted moons with lopsided grins and crow cackles taunted his loss. On those days, Karl had been afraid of the dark. However, when Ander’s gigbag became unzipped, the darkness that haunts his dreams get swept away by the melody of the guitar like a moth drawn to a brighter flame. His brother spun tales of gold and fables of time through ballads—shanties too, when the feeling of belonging had long been drained from the corpse of the seven-year-old. From the proud pirate captain on valorous treasure hunts to the trojan hero of wars, Karl had never once commented on the lack of evil in the stories he’d been told. He’s selfish. A part of him wants to be the villain because he learned that there was simply no ending to a tale that only accommodate the good. Without evil is to be without purpose. Ander does not tell stories of deception—he simply sways away from the path of the truth. Karl remembers him finishing off the song on a high note, smiling as he twirls his fingers between the last chords. Unfinished symphony. Incomplete. He also doesn’t remember the last time his brother played his guitar. Years. Decades. Possibly more passed. He began to look for his own fulfilment, finding the silence as a competent companion. Together, they weaved through shires and towns; the knowledge and rumours clash to dominate their minds of the truth, leaving no mercy nor options for Karl but to keep travelling in limbo. They’d left behind caverns with bandying gossip and drinks, simply waving away the tobacco as the night dragged on. Once he was sure that the unconscious bartender had fallen to sleep like the others, he would leave some loose change and the promise of returning one day—hopefully, as something more than ordinary. When the midnight clouds drape over the stars like wrinkled silk, the ‘Memory Man’ would set off on his raven steed and ride off into the dawn to bring more myths and legends to the light. It was catharsis, at last, or something close to it. To watch the brother you loved remain safe and healthy after lost time was more than relieving, but ever so defeating. Karl wasn’t certain if it was angst or his current state that lead to his brash emotions. The smile was so triumphant that it held the sun—tooth-rotting, sugary sweet and the certainty of success was contagious. The people—no, citizens—cheered and danced to life as the shiny crown sat lavishly on Ander’s brown curls. Beneath his cape, Karl’s nails gripped to stone as droplets of blood rained down his hand.

He understood now, what their brotherly bond was made of. Lies…Lies…LIES. There was no love or regret when he’d left, it was anything but kind. In attempts to break out of his puppet string, he’d landed in another puppeteer’s web to be spun again, so lost and in need of light. Karl feels dry, magma tears claw against his eyes. He refuses to cry. He had a life before this. A mother and a father. He imagined the simple, cottage life that he sought his whole life to find. Chickens clucking at the geese in the pen; a loved one standing close to his future, close to his kin. Fond smiles exchanged underneath a ripe, pomegranate tree in the hot, summer wind. The sweet juice that tickled his neck instead of blood, a pair of warm, soft hands clasped his own. He wanted to feel a warm hand that had no scars, but it had been so long—too long—and all he remembered was a district of war and power. Ander had won, at the expense of Karl. The cycle of him chasing for love had been futile. (You wanted to be the villain, no?) He’d been caged from the beginning—a bird in an aviary so beautiful it thought it was home, melodies keeping him tamed and chipped away the feathers one by one it only left the crown and the weight of an empire on his head. Karl sees red and black as their eyes meet from across the dais. He swears to avenge his memories, the ones he’d kept close to his heart for 20 years. He swears to avenge himself.

Lily (12C)

“In Loving Memory of my Great-Grandmother” 2nd Place - Junior Division Yi-Liz (7A) ‘Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.’. George Eliot With a plastic chair pulled up close to the hospital bed, I have planted myself beside Nai Nai’s bed. My eyes and nose were red from hours of crying. My heart shattered at the sight of my terminally ill grandmother. My eyes were blurry with tears. As I slowly wiped them away, I gazed out at the only window in the room. The warm, orange sun was slowly rising. There were gay birds chirping and along the side walk trees dancing to the wind. Will Nai Nai ever open her eyes to see another day? I wondered, as I peered at her face. Her body is riddled with diseases, her organs failing one after another. Her face which was once full of color, was now as pale as a sheet of paper. I held her frail and wrinkly hand. I couldn’t accept that these were her final days, or even worse, her final hour. By this time, fresh tears were flowing down from my eyes like two rivers running down my cheeks. . *** “Nai Nai, it hurts!” I sobbed, as Nai Nai cleaned my wound with yellow iodine. I fell on the pavement and there were dots of fresh raw blood on my left knee. “There, there.” Nai Nai said in her comforting yet firm voice. “Just a little while more and you will be up and running again,” Nai Nai said reassuringly as she finally stuck a pink Hello Kitty plaster onto my knee. “See Mei Mei, you are much stronger than you think!” She gave me a big bear-hug. “Ice-cream, Ice-cream!” we heard a familiar voice call out, followed by a ringing bell. It was as if Nai Nai had read my mind, as she declared, “Ice-cream for a brave girl!” I skipped happily towards the ice-cream bike, the pain in my knee magically disappearing. *** I closed my eyes, my heart in my throat. ‘You are much stronger than you think,’ I could almost hear Nai Nai’s voice affirming me. I peered at her face again, expecting her to utter more. But she laid motionless except for the sound of her laboured breathing. Nai Nai has always been there with me and for me. How could I possibly face a world without her? Once again my mind wandered off towards the window, and a pretty spotted butterfly caught my attention. *** “Mei Mei! Come quickly. Look what I caught!” Nai Nai called out to me. I ran as fast as I could, and plopped myself down beside her. I stared in awe at the bright wings close up. Nai Nai had cleverly trapped a beautiful yellow butterfly in a transparent plastic container. It’s delicate wings fluttered like crazy, trying to free itself. “Let's feed the butterfly some honey and punch some holes for air,” suggested Nai Nai. “Yes! Yes! Let’s!” I cried.

For the next few hours I fussed over my new found pet. However, by night time the butterfly was no longer fluttering. It’s wings no longer bright but shivered up. It looked almost as if it was no longer alive except for the tiny movements in it’s legs. “Nai Nai what’s wrong with the butterfly?” I asked her. “Mei Mei, I think it’s time for you to let the butterfly go,” Nai Nai replied gently. I stared at her wide eyed, “But I want to keep it with me,” I protested, “It’s my pet!” “Mei Mei, it is the right thing to do,” Nai Nai persuaded patiently, “The butterfly needs to spread its wings and be free.” I gave a heavy sigh. Reluctantly, I opened the lid. At first the butterfly laid motionless. Slowly it’s wings began to flutter, faster and faster and soon it took off from the ground. With a heavy heart, I watched it until it disappeared into the night sky. *** I was eight then. However today I felt like that little child all over again. ‘If you really love something you have to let it go’, Nai Nai’s words echoed into my mind. I sobbed into her hand, not wanting to let her go. Nai Nai you have taught me many lessons over the years, but you have not taught me how to live without you. I was not ready. ‘Mei Mei you are much stronger than you think’, Nai Nai’s voice whispered into my head. I nodded. I took a deep breath and slowly pushed my chair backwards. Standing up, I gave Nai Nai a kiss on the crown of her head and hugged her scrawny body. I must have hugged her for a very long time. ‘If you love me you will let me go’, Nai Nai’s voice came to me again. It was time. “I will always and forever love you Nai Nai,” I choked out. With the back of my hand, I dried my remaining tears and walked towards the door. “Zai Jian (Goodbye) Nai Nai ,” I whispered, as I stepped outside the room and clicked the hospital door shut behind me. I will always carry the memories of you with me wherever I go…

“The Day The Mountain Moved” 1st Place - Junior Division Olivia (8C) The glorious, golden rays of the setting sun illuminated the deep-blue sky, sending different shades of crimson red and yellow hues across the landscape. “How different the sky is up here, compared to in Singapore,” I thought quietly to myself, mesmerised by the myriad of colours above me. The rich, dense tropical trees below stretched for miles beyond the horizon. My muscles were aching. Both my legs felt heavy and numb after the many hours of hiking and climbing up the rugged mountainous terrain today. I could still see beads of sweat glistening on Grace’s forehead. My body was fatigued, yet my mind was enlivened by the majestic scenery surrounding me. I could smell the freshness of the air and the mountain seemed so alive. “This place is beautiful. I wish I could stay here forever,” Grace announced abruptly, as her voice broke the silence. Up till then, the three of us were huddled together on the hard, sandy floorboards of the wooden hut in Laban Rata. “Are you kidding? It’s freezing cold up here!” Mei-Ling interrupted, barely hiding her annoyance at such an absurd suggestion. Staring up at the starless night, in almost a whisper, Grace said “You know I am leaving after this term break with Uncle Eddie for Guangzhou. I don’t know when I will be able to see you two again. I am just tired… moving from one place to another… just when I think this is home, I have to move again. I have lost count on the number of places or schools I have been to” Without thinking twice, I sighed loudly, then added, “Mei-Ling and I will miss you so much. This trip is going to be the last time we can be together. Let this trip be our memory forever,” were my lame, yet comforting words. “That’s right! I know I’ve never been the most cheerful, with my circumstances, but you and Mei-Ling have been so understanding. Please don’t forget me, even when I have moved away. Remember me when I am at my happiest. Remember me when I am doing all these crazy things with you two. Just remember me. Memories will be all that we have of each other, and it will be our most precious gift to one another.” Mei-Ling asserted in her quiet solemnness, “Yes, as they said, a picture is worth a thousand words, but a memory is priceless. Things end, but memories last forever.” Her usual wisdom belying her twelve years of age. And we sat together in precious silence for the next few hours, staring at the darkened skies, before Grace got up and wrote in her diary, “June 4th 2015. Tomorrow, I’ll conquer Mount Kinabalu. Bring it on.”

The next morning, we woke up early, got dressed in our striped-green T-shirts with the words TKPS (Tanjong Katong Primary School) emblazoned at the back, before putting on our jackets, trekking shoes and equipment. We were divided into groups of five, with Grace and I in one. “Mei-Ling, we will reach the top first. Your group will be next. We will wait for you,” I chirped excitedly, adrenaline pumping, as I thought of the exciting challenge that awaited us.

Our mountain guide, Sarim, despite his small 5-foot frame, spoke loudly, yet reassuringly to our group. “Have all of you got your bags and everything that is needed? I will harness a rope to you, and I’ll ensure that you are safe with me. Remember to stay close to me.” We started our ascent. The jagged, narrow rocky paths were much steeper than yesterday’s. Despite the rugged granite stones, I was pleasantly surprised to see the occasional coniferous trees and lianas that crept around them. The rapidly cooling air failed to dampen my spirits. Suddenly, we felt a rumble. The mountain started shaking; gently at first, and it very quickly became vigorous. The initial deep groans associated with the gentle tremor, swiftly turned into deafening, thunderous roars that echoed through the mountain. “What’s happening?” someone yelled from behind. “EARTHQUAKE!!!” screamed Sarim, as we desperately hung on. Large boulders, rocks and trees rained down from above, as people started screaming. Thick plumes of cloudy dust blurred my vision, as I tried to hang on and stay close to Sarim, who was just ahead of me. Sarim quickly whisked me to a small crevice in the mountain. He was about to grab Grace who was behind me, when a massive rock crashed straight down into her. I could hear her terrorised scream…then silence. Despite the pandemonium that ensued over the next few hours, I sat huddled in the dark hole with an uncontainable terror seizing me. My mind was blank, except for the thought of Grace… As I sat numbed on the pew, with the chorus “Closer to God, I come to Thee…” along with the melancholic tune of the accompanying church organ, floating distantly from my thoughts, I stared at the obituary; the first line read, “Grace climbed the mountain and found the stairway to heaven.” I could not stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. A hand stretched over and held mine. “Yee Wen, remember what Grace wanted us to do. Remember her…and remember her… at her happiest.” Mei-Ling’s stuttering voice whispered to my ears. At that moment, I was determined to do just that… to keep Grace’s happy memories, the way she wanted us to. This is my tribute to those who died during the Sabah Earthquake, especially the students and teachers from Tanjong Katong Primary School.

“GEMFRYNA” Khardeeja (11C)

The first drop splattered on her head. Like Zeus could hear her sorrow, raindrops trickled down from above and sprinkled across the pavement as Katrina jogged up the stone stairs until she stood in front of the glass-wooden door. An indignant expression crossed her face as she looked up towards the stormy sky. “Is this what I get? For not returning to Olympus?”, she muttered under her breath. Katrina thrust open the door and walked into the bookstore. Many young children, parents and teenagers flooded the store as Katrina stood behind the podium and read out snippets from her published novel. Once the talk and book signing ended, Katrina roamed around the place while acknowledging a couple of her admirers. Minutes passed until her eyes settled on a certain someone, who was looking back at her. Something about his eyes appeared so familiar to her. Time stilled as the two stared back at each other. It was him, who started to approach first. He took slow steps as he walked up to her and there was not a second where their eyes disconnected. When he stood before her, a gasp was caught at the back of her throat. It really was him. Neither of them spoke a word. Just gazed. They looked at each other so easily as if it’s something they once did. Everyday. His eyes never left her face as he studied her closely. The look on his face was clear. He refused to believe she was her. Katrina’s hand fisted once he whispered the name she never wishes to hear again. Her name from the life he met her, “S . .sapora?” Katrina’s nails dug into her skin. “How?” She inhaled a shaky breath at the sound of his voice. It was deeper now. Although he was no longer the young boy she once knew and is now much older, she knew it was him. “You’re . . . young.” Katrina masked a blank expression. Thinking it was better to tell him what she told others, she calmly said, “Sapora was my mother.” His eyes widened for a split second. “You’re . . .her . .” “Daughter.”

Tucking his hands into his coat pockets he apologized, “Sorry.” He chuckled softly and shook his head. “You look exactly like her.” Katrina crossed her arms against her chest, rocking back and forth on her heels before replying, “She had strong genes.” He nodded. “She did.” “How did you know her?” To her dismay, Katrina yearned to talk to him again like they once did. A mix of emotions flashed in his eyes. “ High school.” Katrina lowered her gaze as she asked, “Were you close?”, curious to know what he thought of her. “Yeah, I think. It’s . . . .complicated.” Her head shot upwards. “How so?” He lifted his brows, surprised by her sudden curiosity.“We were friends. Best friends . . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “She left for college and we lost contact.” “Is that . . it?.” Katrina knew best friends didn’t hurt each other, the way they did. His face hardened. There was a long pause before he said, “The day she left . . . .she confessed she liked me.” Abruptly, he turned to walk towards the book display table and grabbed the published book, reading aloud the title, “Gemfryna?” A faint smile crossed his lips and Katrina’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘He . . .remembers?’, Katrina thought. “Who is Gemfryna?” “Um . . . . .” Katrina decided to return an altered version of the true story. “Mother . . .used to tell me a story about this goddess. Her existence was never told in mythical legends. Creation of the gods . . . their daughter. Her name was Gemfryna.” “Used to tell you? Where is your mom?”, he questioned. Katrina had to lie. She had to. “Gone.”, she answered, avoiding meeting his eyes. Another long silence followed. “Her phone password”, he spoke suddenly and Katrina momentarily closed her eyes. He does remember.

“Was Gemfryna.” “It’s easy to forget.” I heard him chuckle lightly. “I was ordered not to. She told me if anything happens, I’m the only one who could unlock her phone.” Katrina held her breath as she asked the one question she’d been dying to ask forever, “Do you like me?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, did you like her?” Her eyes remained on the floor, waiting for the reply she was unprepared for. “I wish I admitted”, he said. “I did.” She looked up to see him standing closer to her now. When Katrina peered into his eyes, she saw the guilt, the regret and the loss. He took a minor step closer. “I also hated her..” That was a knife to Katrina’s heart. “We could have been different if life took it easy. Things changed between us and I blamed her, but I knew . . I also did wrong.” His eyes softened. “We’d always say we hated each other. I’d say I hate you and she’d say -” “I hate you too.” He was right. Things could have been different, easier with no consequences. However, to Katrina, it could have been that way if she’d never existed in his life. “I should go. Nice meeting you, Evan.” Confusion covered his face. “I never told you my name.” “She mentioned you.” Katrina dared to look directly into his eyes. “The boy she hated.” Truthfully, Katrina really hoped that pained him, inside. She walked away somewhere and returned with a copy of her book, pushing it to his chest. “It’s free.” She turned to leave but glanced over her shoulder to see his face, for the last time. Officially. “Page 16.” That was it. Then, she was gone. Frozen, Evan stood there. He felt the pain as he watched her disappear.

Again. He flipped open the book and read the words. He said, “I hate you.” She said, “I hate you, too.” Oh, how twisted was the way they said, I love you. At the bottom corner of the page, there was an autograph, written in pen. . . .

I’m sorry. - The girl you loved. In the end . . . . She was his memory . . . And he was hers.

Grace (10C)

“Blood into Ink” Eliza (10S) The crack of a pistol. The countless nameless bodies. The splintering shrapnel. The. Loud. Bang. From the translucent plastic tubing down through the fine metal nib, the ink is flowing. The pen, though held in my stable fingers, is quivering at the tip, hesitant before it’s final dance across the pearly stage. Years of tears have left my eyes now dry, impassively gazing beneath my furrowing eyebrows. The local clock tower chimes twelve as I gingerly stroke the page. My breath is slow with every deep inhale and my posture stiff. A clumsy gesture across the desk sends an shower of pens clattering across the floor. My pupils dilate. Darkness shrouded my vision as dread encapsulated me standing motionless in this corrupted environment. A series of heavy footsteps conducts an ominous symphony to accompany the agonising screams and grunts filling the hazy air. The forceful shockwaves of a boom resounding of the dirt walls muf le more shouts into whispers, ringing the drums of my ears violently. Looming menacingly but biding its time, thunderous clouds hover above my head. Its lightning has not yet been struck. The whirlwind of memories spins whisks me into a daydream, my mind deviates from my carefully scripted message. The concoction of happiness, anger, fear and sadness conjures an image of confusion. The laughter, the tears, the shouts, the screams. Dizziness overcomes me as I sit rooted to the chair. Through the cloud of my fantasies, something disperses the fog: the flashbacks that constantly seize my mind: of worry, of wastelands, of weakness, of the war, all crystal clear. The pen leaps onto the stage. The air thickened as gas suf ocated me, squeezing my lungs. Dust clawed down my throat as I swayed absently following the flow of a slow meandering river. My chin hit the dirt as the bitterness of blood permeated across my chapped lips leaking from an open gash. A weight sank in my gut as I contracted in anguish. Like a gaggle of hungry children, the pain grasped greedily at my sanity and fell voices sneered in my ear. It’s become my permanent, unerasable mark, haunting my every step. Leaving me always one step behind the shadow and forever in gloom. The clap of fireworks, the pop of a balloon, the snap twigs, all drag me mercilessly back to the nightmare. It debilitates me like a chronic, incurable disease. A shock of adrenaline urged me to my feet. A rush of air from ambushing aircrafts penetrated my ears and parades of bullets followed it up into the dismal sky. The acridity of fresh blood and sweat infused with dirt lingered on my tongue. My breath was hoarse as I hobbled for cover. My boots were stif with a thick layer of caked mud as I stumbled into sturdy hands: Jake. How naive we were, pawns blind under command. Ignorant to the fact that the war, in essence, was men fighting men, all equal in the belief “for the greater good”. Time was lost, an eternity in the ditches with the sole route being over and through the barbed wire; into no man’s land. As fatigue grew, the igniting motivation was drawn out into a thin, fragile wire. Each timeless moment chipping away at our faith in liberation and virtue, wearing out slowly like a craggy cliff with every tidal wave. We walked ambly, almost laughing in each other’s company, dispelling the treachery of war. Arm in arm, the sense of formidability crept over me. My lips drew a small grin. Sweet memories are overshadowed by evil. It bode its time, it waited for my vulnerability to show, when I was

most alone. Attacking first sporadically in my moments of darkness at any resounding bang. Years bore on as my barriers wore out, crumbling without repair. Its attacks frequented, terrorising me at every chime of metal. An unstable, erratic character evolved out of despair, a demon escaping from the depths of its dungeon. It ruthlessly severed my ties with the evolving world as my isolation spiralled into chaos. A sudden whistle as another rain of incendiaries knocked me of my feet and sent me burrowing into the sludge. My vision was a haze yet again. My calloused hands were sharp snif er dogs as they ran over the rough dirt till they met soaked clothes, finding him breathlessly sprawled against the earth. “Tom” his voice was but a guttural whisper. He reached out weakly as blood gushed out of his side, each drop a sharp stab of agony and hopelessness. I only saw him, through the chaos of the explosions and desolation, my mind was transfixed on him. The pool of scarlet oozed through the soaked rags as I buckled to my knees beside him, silencing my own pain. Our eyes were locked till his shallow breaths finally ceased. His tawny irises drained of life as death, once again cruelly asserted its power over man. A tirade of anger was clasped in my fists. There’s an urgency to kill. A stream of bullets left my gun aimlessly but purposefully as they soared across the barren land. The moment a white flag flew through the smog, like a butterfly escaping its cocoon, was the long awaited beginning of freedom. But short lived. Oblivious, I rejoiced, leaving one war only to be hurled into another where I’m trapped in this timeless loop of distress and angst, encased in my delusional nightmares of the destruction. My mind is shackled to the land of horror, the trench is my underworld and I, it’s Persephone. The war had never left me but the world did, left me to battle my own war years on. After spending years searching for an exit, why can’t all that be the past? The crack of a pistol. The countless nameless bodies. The splintering shrapnel. The. Loud. Bang. Spilled across and down the page in lopsided cursive, the ink is dry.

“Our Street” 1st Place - Senior Division and FOBISIA Representative Yoonsong (Elizabeth) (11H) This was our street, Paula and I’s. It was narrow and lined with rough cobblestone blocks that had cracks and were crumbling in some places. Cramped tightly together were swollen brick houses and if you walked only a few meters ahead, numerous corner shops littered the land. Its ragged neon billboards would flicker on and off sporadically through the night, infringing on the night’s darkness before retreating again. There was little greenery except for an oddly placed oak tree that loomed over the dusty path. It would surrender its leaves to us every fall, its brittle foliage crinkling and crunching under our weight as we dived into them each morning. We learned to ride our first bikes on this street. They were silver with gold stripes and glittery pink streamers that Paula’s sister helped attach so that they formed delicate ringlets that danced with the wind when we raced each other home from school. On rainy days, we would speed through puddles, purposely trying to splash each other until our mothers called us in for dinner. Hair plastered to our foreheads, mud staining the bottoms of our pants, and completely soaked to the bone, I still remember our mothers’ chastising tones that rang throughout the neighborhood as they took in our bedraggled states. Every Thursday, we waited on the tight steps of our houses, keeping an ear out for the tinkling of the melody that signified the old man and his ice cream truck that he would haul around town, attracting the attention of ecstatic children that tugged relentlessly on the hands of their exasperated parents until they yielded. As soon as we caught wind of the soft tune, we would bolt up and follow the saccharine aroma of sugar and artificial flavoring that pervaded the air, clutching the coins we had collected throughout the week closely to our chests. Captivated, we would watch the shovel dip into the container and glide smoothly across the semi-melted ice cream. 1 scoop, 2 scoops, not too cold so that we would have to nurse a brain freeze later but also not too warm so that it would immediately melt under the unforgiving afternoon sun; just perfect. Once we obtained our precious snack we would settle ourselves on the playground swings as sweat glistened on our foreheads, drinking in the scent of mellow vanilla and savoring the cold dessert that dissolved on our tongues. In a flash, the ice cream would vanish from our hands, nothing left as evidence of its previous existence except for the sticky residue left behind on our palms and dripping down our chins onto the front of our shirts. Then, gripping the ropes of our swings, we would soar, ascending towards the sky while air whistled through our ears. “Higher, higher!” we would yell, getting closer and closer to the stars of tomorrow. Paula used to say that she envied my hair. That she wished to have my long, pin-straight locks that fell flat on my back. However, I didn’t see the appeal. I thought it was limp and stubborn, never listening to combs and always falling out of rubber bands in annoying wisps. In my eyes, Paula’s hair was beautiful. Neither completely straight nor completely curly, an in-between that was so uniquely distinct in a sea of ordinary. Memories are fickle. Sometimes they are painful, sometimes they invoke joy, sometimes they are so minuscule not even you can understand its significance. Some are best remembered with others where you can laugh and cry, commemorating, reminiscing. Some are so treasured it feels like a violation to share it out in the open, as if you are broadcasting your most private and intimate moments for everyone to see. But we must remember, for time moves on and our memories will become the only testament in capturing our sorrows, our triumphs, our fears, and our flaws.

Though our faces have been changed by time and we now all walk different paths, let’s yell together, “Higher, higher!” soaring through the air once more, reaching, hoping, yearning for the warm embrace of yesterday, for shiny bikes, for air that smells of vanilla, for our street of comfort. Gummy grins, plastic dolls. Higher! Yellow clouds, flushed cheeks. Higher! Growing up, growing apart, unspoken farewells. Alone. Faltering, hesitating, then plummeting from the pages of our memories.

Jaclyn 11