A funeral

“Arrrrrrr!” my cousin, Gerald, shouted, enthusiastically, raising up the celery sticks and pretending that they were swords. In defense, I took a piece of olive to act as my shield. My cousins, Gerald and Zachariah, my sister, Anabel, and I were playing a game of pretend and Gerald was the pirate. They had promised that during the next round, I can be the pirate. Just as it was my turn to put on the pirate hat and eye patch, my grandpa came into the kitchen and beckoned us to go to the living room.


“But... But... It's my turn to be the pirate now!” I whined in protest and refused to go to the living room.


“Come. Now!” There was a note of finality in his voice. I have never heard grandpa use that tone before. He was always kind and gentle to us. Afraid, I started to move to the living room warily.


Two policemen stood in the doorway. I watched them in awe - there was not even a ceased on their crisp uniform. Aunt Beth was crying, and Uncle James had his hands on her shoulder, comforting her. All morning we had been told to stop touching the Thanksgiving dinner or we would be punished. Who would have expected to go to jail because of those celery sticks!


Grandpa then pulled Anabel and me onto his lap and hugged us close. “Your Daddy and Mommy were on their way to fetch Uncle Williams but a truck hit their car.” He started crying and I could not make up the rest of his words except that my parents were in heaven with God. Anabel broke out into loud, uncontrollable sobs which escalated into wails. I just stared blankly at Grandpa and blink continuously. Where is heaven? Are my Daddy and Mommy having fun right now? Does heaven has treasures just like the pirates in the olden days? I still did not understand why were they crying. I wished that grandpa would let me down though – his breath and his clothes reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke.


Later in the day, Anabel and I went home with Aunt Beth. My stomach felt empty and it was hurting. I wondered if anyone heard the tiger noises coming from my stomach. But everyone was crying so I did not dare to say that I was starving.


The next morning, I had expected everyone to feel better. Instead, they walked around the house expressionless, just like the walking dead. Their eyes were puffy and their noses were red. We were all made to dress in black and white as we were going to a place called “the cemetery”. Aunt Beth wore a black hat with a big black feather. As she put on her bright red lipstick, I stifled a laughter – she look just like the clowns from my circus colouring book! When Aunt Beth started driving us to the cemetery, I was puzzled. Are Daddy and Mommy still at heaven? Why is Daddy not driving today? I wanted to know what happened, but it seems that no one was in the mood to answer my question. When we reached the cemetery, Grandpa gave Anabel and me each two yellow flowers. He said we were supposed to give it to Daddy and Mommy and he pointed to two long, wooden boxes, called the coffins, in front. Yellow was not my favourite colour – it was Mommy's. I wished they had gotten pink flowers instead, then maybe Mommy would allow me to keep it.


I peered into the first coffin, Mommy laid there. She wearing her favourite blue chiffon dress, with a peaceful look on her face. Her cheeks were rosy, like how she always looked like in photos. A white satin blanket covered her feet. I placed a flower on her and moved on to the next coffin. Daddy's hair was gelled up like always but his face looked so white, as if he had make-up on too. Folded newspaper were hidden inside his trousers legs.


In the afternoon, we were made to kneel down and pray together with the pastors for a long, long time. The sun was so hot that there was a stinging sensation on my skin. Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead and they glistened under the glare of the sun. The back of my blouse was soaked and it clung onto my back. My knees were sore and I was feeling restless so I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. Aunt Beth saw what I was doing so she touched my shoulders and whispered, “Amelia, stop that rocking. Kneel down please.” I scowled at her. Why are all the adults so moody after the policemen visited us?


After the prayers, Aunt Beth went over to Daddy's coffin and kissed him. She then lifted me to do the same. I touched his cheeks – it was stiffed and cold, so I kissed his forehead instead. We moved to Mommy. Aunt Beth lifted me again. I kissed Mommy and stood on a stool nearby. I moved down and lifted up the white satin that was covering Mommy's feet. She was wearing black shoes underneath. I moved back towards her head, touching her as I went. Her hair was soft and wavy like always, but her lips, although blood red with lipstick as usual, were not soft. Overcame by my curiousity, I pressed on her mouth. It was tight so I pushed my fingers into her mouth. I saw and felt cotton. Aunt Beth was horrified at what I had just done and pulled me away quickly.


Everyone was then gestured to move away from the coffins. Two men in a black suits pulled down the backs of the coffins. I scanned the sea of faces. Everyone was either praying or crying. Gerald, Zachariah and Anabel were all bawling. Aunt Beth was weeping so much her flora designed handkerchief was soaked. Her tears flowed freely down her cheeks, her neck and onto her dress. Grandpa was blowing his nose and sniffling. His face was etched with sorrow. Even Uncle James, who is usually cool, had his face tear-stained. I tried to comfort him, “Mommy and Daddy are in heaven where there are lots of pirates treasure now. Why are all of you so sad? They must be enjoying themselves now!” He merely shook his head, wiped away a tear with the back of his hand and forced a faint smile.


When the two men with ropes lowered the coffins into the graves, Aunt Beth fainted. Fortunately, there were people nearby to catch her. One of the pastors who was leading the prayer came over and gave Anabel and me each a white flower. Mine was turning brown and the petals were falling. I gave mine to Grandpa instead so that I could wipe my perspiration off with my free hands. Anabel and I were then led to a big, black car. We sat on two little pull-down seats behind Uncle James as he drove us home with him. On the way home, I let my mind wandered again. Where exactly is this heaven that those adults speak of? When will Mommy be back? I miss her bedtime stories.

My first love.

Disclaimer: During an English lesson today, our teachers made us write a story on our first love. It seemed silly and ridiculous, but after one of the teachers saying that this is one way that we can get over it, I decided to give it a shot. Everything in this story is true at that point of time.

-

Today is one of the days when I miss him - the lonely I-wonder-what-he-is-doing days. I do not have them often anymore, but once in a while I do, when I hear his favourite song or visit the places we used to go. I'm not sure why is it that I still miss him. It has been nearly seven months since we broke up for the second time.

Deep down in my heart, I believe that as the days go by and each time he begins to slowly dematerialize from my mind, I am one step closer to leading a better life without him. Yet it seems that I am taking forever to get him off my life and it is the toughest task to convince myself that he is no longer a part of my life.

The first time I met him I was completely infatuated with him. I just knew that I had to be with him and one month plus later, I was. For a while, I thought that my life was perfect. He was different from the previous guys I dated - he was someone who acted silly with me, someone whom I completely trusted, someone who truly understood me. I was always happy, I felt beautiful around him.

eventually, my immaturity began to surface. Three months into the relationship, I started to feel like my freedom was dwindling. I still care about him a lot, but I was feeling exhausted. I needed a break. He was not ready to let me go, but I was not going to let that stop me. tearfully, I chose to take the road of independence and broke his heart along the way.

I dated other guys, but he would creep into my mind a couple of times. None of the guys measured up to him; none if them gave me the special feeling that I longed for day after day.

I have made a grave mistake but I have never regretted being with him. I am aware that I reap what I sow. What I learned from him and the relationship was worth all the painful times we went through. There were many happy memories too.

Sometimes, I hate myself because I know that I am to blame. Maybe I will survive somehow though I have regrets, maybe I will learn to forget and just keep moving on. I know that when love is gone, I have to be strong. I know that once touched by pain, I will never be the same but time can heal my heart again. So I try to smile, but after a while, memories come back. And this time, I learned that love can burn. There is no right or wrong, I got to be strong.

Someone behaving suspiciously.

"Regine, time for dinner!" my mother hollered from the kitchen. "Coming," I replied as I put my hands into my drawer to search for my hair band. I touched something soft. Something fluffy. I took it out. My diary! A wave of nostalgia overwhelmed me. As I flipped through the pages, one particular entry caught my attention. It was dated 21 December and along with it attached a photograph. I looked at the photograph. Everyone looked so radiant, especially me. It was my 13th birthday. I was wearing an intricately designed pendant that my best friend, Steve, had given me. I had always cherished it, more so now. As I moved my fingers slowly across the photograph, memories of the past replayed in my mind.

The saccharine sunlight shone languorously on the vivid colours of the foliage. The sky was clear blue and the fluffy white clouds waltzed across the vast blue sky as a gentle breeze blew, caressing my cheeks and ruffling my hair. I took a deep breath. The fresh air filled my lungs. I felt rejuvenated. I was on my way to school when something caught my attention. An old woman wheezed as she walked across the street. Furtively, she glanced around before peeling off her wig and discarding her jacket, picking up a mysterious parcel afterwards. It was actually a man! As he turned around, I caught a glimpse on his face. His skin was leathery. His pockmarked and oily face was bony and long, that of a horse. There was an evil looking scar running down from his eyebrows to his cheeks. A million thoughts raced through my mind. Who was this man? Why was he dressed as a woman? I questioned myself repeatedly.

"No harm done. It's just a glance!" I persuaded myself. Curiosity gripped me as I followed him into a warehouse. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something moving. My heart skipped a beat. I stopped and listened intently as I cast furtive glances around me.

Nothing . Not a soul.

I heaved a sigh of relief and assured myself that it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. However, as I headed towards one of the rooms in the warehouse, I spotted a shadow behind a pillar. By the next second, it was out of sight. I peered at the pillar through my thick lenses. There was a shuffling sound behind me. I spun around and stared wide-eyed at the horrible sight. "Oh my gosh! Steve, what happened to you?"

Steve was my classmate and also one of my best friends who often kept to himself. Recently, his mother phoned the school and explained that Steve was down with flu, hence unable to attend school till further notice. His face was pale and his eyes bloodshot. There was a hint of terror in his eyes as he lifted his index finger to his lips before leading me out of the warehouse

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?" A voice thundered across the rundown warehouse and we froze. I turned around. It was that man that I saw earlier on! his eyes and mine met for a fraction of a second. I tried to force myself not to scream but fear overcame me and I let out a scream. The man with greasy hair snarled as he brandished a mean-looking blade. Steveleant forward and sank his teeth into his course thick palm. The man screamed and shook his hands free, flinging the knife into the darkness.

"You're tired of living!" he hissed as he struck Steve on his head, raining blow after blow, punctuating his sentences with profanities. By the time he stopped, my best friend was lying stiffly on the ground with his limbs in contorted position. A tingling sensation ran down my spine. "Help! somebody help me!" I was near hysteria. Driven by fear, I raced blindly ahead for the door. I ran... and ran... and ran... till my face turned red and my feet went numb. When I finally mustered enough courage to stop and turn around, he was not there anymore.

I called for the police and the ambulance to send Steve to the hospital. I followed, all the way praying that the injury was not fatal even though I know in my heart that the chances were slim. I was sitting outside the operating theater when Steve's and my mother arrived. My mother put her hands around me and gave me a knowing nod. It was one of the waits of my life. Seconds plodded by, eachseparating from the rest by eternity. The air became heavy, damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Finally, the doctor came out of the operating room.

"I'm sorry. We've tried out best." I did not hear the rest of the doctor's words. I broke out into loud, uncontrollable sobs which escalated into wails. No words could describe my sadness. I was in a state of shock and terror.

"Regine! How many times must I call you before you'll come for dinner?" My mother jolted me from my thoughts. I wiped away the tears that had slid down my cheeks. I learnt after that that Steve was kidnapped by afugitive on the run and due to financial difficulties, his mother was unable to pay the ransom . Steve was going to run away that day. If only I did not follow the man that day, Steve might have been able to make it out safely. If only the man attacked me instead of Steve. If only things could change. If only... If only...

A burglary

I looked at the photograph. Everyone in it looked so radiant especially me. It was my tenth birthday and I was wearing a gold necklace with an intricately designed pendant which my father had given me. I have always cherished, more so now. As I move my fingers across the photograph, memories of the past replayed in my mind.

I was burning midnight oil, revising and taking down notes for the English test tomorrow. My parents were in their room, asleep. Only me and my loyal companion, Bobo- my dog was awake. The stars gaze unblinking. The air was cool but my heart was heavy. Even the beautiful scenery of my garden, which usually cheers me up, looked so depressed. I heaved a sigh; it was the perfect night to be sleeping. If only I had work hard before, then, burning the midnight oil would not be a "must".

I looked away from the window and turned my attention back to my textbook. Numbered with exhaustion, I stared blankly at the lines of words on the book. I stifled a yawn and rubbed my bleary eyes. I could feel the weariness in my bones. My eyelids felt as heavy as a lead. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not leave them open anymore. The untidy scrawl gradually reduced into illegible snakelike drawings.

After what seemed like eternity, I finished revising for my English test. As I was sleepy, I did not bother about keeping my textbooks. Nor did I bother to close the windows.

I dozed off the moment my head hit the pillow. It was about midnight when I heard Bobo barking.

"What... What happened, Bobo?" I asked softly, rubbing my eyes sleepily. Suddenly, something at the corner of the room, in the darkness of the room, caught my attention.

A dark shadow walked towards me. Wild thoughts raced through my mind. Who is it? What does it wants? Was it a burglar? Or a ghost? I questioned myself repeatedly. Alone with Bobo in my room, I was dizzy with fright and anxiety. The intruder's eyes and mine met for a fraction of a second.

"Do not say a word," he hissed. I opened my mouth to answer him, but no words came out.

I tried to force myself not to scream but fear overcame me and I let out a scream. The burglar was shocked. Suddenly my door knob was turned. Two sleepy yet worried heads popped in. Upon seeing someone in my room, my father sprang into action and wrestled the burglar down to the floor. My mother immediately rushed forward to comfort me. As white as a sheet of paper, I could not breathe properly. Bobo was barking all along. My father ordered my mother to turn on the lights. I saw that the burglar had a mask over his face. In a struggle with the burglar my father pulled off the mask. I gasped when I saw the burglar's face. I saw the burglar's face. His pockmarked face was oily. His skin was leathery. His breath reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. His evil-looking scar made me shivered. My father glanced at me for a second to make sure I was alright. The burglar seized the chance and took the hammer he had been holding to hit my father's head. My father screamed as blood oozed from a cut on his head. My mother and I stared at each other stunned, not knowing what to do.

The heartless burglar took to his heels.

"You will pay for this!" I threatened, jumping out of bed while clenching my fist tight, with green veins rising like tides of river. My words echoed emptily in the air. The burglar may kill me, but I did not care, after all, he had injured my father.

My mother called for an ambulance and sent my father to the hospital. I followed, all the way praying that the injury was not fatal. I asked for God's help. My mother and I sat outside the operating theater. It was one of waits of my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the rest by eternity. Air became heavy, damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Finally, the doctor came out of the operation room.

"I'm sorry, we have tried our best." I didn't hear the rest of the surgeon's words.

My mother and I broke into tears. No words could describe my sadness. I was in a state of shock and terror

"Dory, have your dinner now!" My mother jolted me from my thoughts. I wiped the tears that had slid down my cheeks. . I hate the burglar for killing my beloved father, but sometimes, I hated myself for not closing the windows of my room that night. Till this day, the burglar did not receive the punishment he ought to receive. The burglar is still at large but I believe that one day, he will receive the punishment he ought to receive.