The Return (Lit Assignment)
Apr. 20th, 2008 01:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
virginangelicAuthor:
virginangelicRating: PG-13
Summary: Upon news of her father's death, the prodigal daughter returns home.
A/N: I wrote this for my Appreciation for Literary Works assignment. The assignment was something to do with local Asian superstitions with a gothic feel. Thanks to
amandes for helping me to beta! I just wished I knew how it fared or if the tutor liked it. She never did return it back...The Return
“Bao bei, ni de Papa...ni de Papa... Kuai dian lai!
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The ubiquitous rows of flats came into view, a familiar sight from her past. The tall imposing structures, jutted out into the starless ebony sky: eerily uniform with their harsh fluorescent lighting and rows upon rows of windows – all shut, tinted black.
The cab ride to her childhood home was silent, allowing her to think. Sure, she was upset about her old man’s demise but she wasn’t that upset – it was petty, she’d admit but she still harboured some ill will towards the man who sent her away from home just days after birth, the reason being Chinese zodiac (the fearsome Tiger).
It wasn’t until her grandfather had passed away when she was twelve that she was brought back. She wondered why her father who clearly didn’t believe in the horoscopes heeded the elder’s superstitions. Was it out of sheer respect?
She was just thankful that they weren’t any closer, although he tried to make amends the past few years. If they had gotten closer, she wondered, could his death have affected her greatly or if she would remain just as detached?
She knew it was wrong but she wondered if she could get out of attending the funeral procession – she shuddered to think of the state of her ‘in’ tray if she was on leave for a week. She quietly bemoaned the fact that she had forgotten to bring along her laptop on this short journey – she had little time left before the next publication was due for submission. Oh, what a waste of precious time…
The taxi zipped up and down the now alien streets. The streets, illuminated by the amber glow of the tall lamp posts, were devoid of all life, with the exception of the taxi she was in. Nothing was recognizable to her. She pondered if the many changes were a testament to
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“Xiao jie? Xiao jie”
Blinking open her eyes, she realised that she had fallen asleep. She fumbled, trying to shape an apology in Mandarin, but her tongue refused to twist to form the rounded vowels and intonations that she hated with a passion. A part of her was embarrassed that she could no longer speak her tongue but the other part of her was pleased; it was a reminder that her home would never be here.
Stepping out of the cab, her feet landed on peculiar soft ground. The dim orange glow from the nearby streetlights provided barely adequate lighting. But it didn’t take long for the pieces to connect; from the opened packet of chicken rice that laid rotting to the acrid smell of burnt paper and joss sticks that permeated the air, lingering.
She cursed as she sidestepped out of the crudely-drawn chalk circle shaking her feet, trying to dislodge the ashes off her shoes, only to step on the Styrofoam box of chicken rice.
‘Don’t step on ashes or offerings. Will bring bad luck, very suay! So when you suay suay step, must apologise to the spirits! You hear me? Must remember!’
She rolled her eyes as she tried to scrape off the rice off her feet using the metal drain grills. Of all times to remember her late grandmother’s advice – it was pure hogwash in her opinion. In her opinion, it was just a way to make sure one didn’t play with the ashes and get dirty – nothing a quick wash could not solve. There was also the issue of the offerings being associated with the dead, whom rightly deserved respect. But whoever heard of anyone apologizing to inanimate objects? Utter rubbish.
And she cursed the inconsiderate animal who didn’t even bother to use the metal bins provided. Was the courtesy campaign that ineffective? Her newly bought Prada shoes were ruined! She let loose a litany of curses, ignoring the urge to spit at the offending articles that lay scattered on the road. She decided it was better to clean them later rather than spoil them further with the grills. And she wondered if Singaporeans needed another campaign, although she wasn’t certain such a campaign would just join the long list of past ineffectual ones.
In the distant background, she could hear the faint echoes of an opera performance being staged. To an invisible crowd, no doubt, she thought to herself.
She could not fathom why such practices continued to exist, untouched by time. In today’s day and age, wasn’t it best to move on with the times and conserve precious energy, she mused. Also, which opera aficionado would watch some low key Chinese opera when there were theatres and that spiky durian-like dome (what was it called again? Esplanard or was it Esplanade?) The young people – they didn’t watch such shows, unless forced to. She smiled, bemused, thinking of dead youths being bored out of their minds, watching an opera show staged specially for them.
Still, despite her confident disbelief in superstitions and the supernatural (having watched countless Discovery Channel documentaries where the supernatural beings turned out to be nothing more than static or some punk playing a prank), she found herself feeling rather uneasy and queasy. Her heart was drumming to its own erratic beats, so loud she could barely hear anything else. Not even the thunderous drone of the souped-up sport car that sped past her.
It was then that she was aware of a dull throbbing ache at the back of her head. She moaned. Could her trip back get any more horrendous, she thought to herself as she tried to will the headache away.
When a chill blew past, she shuddered – had
Another gust of cold wind blew past and she had this impression that someone was following her. Her mind ran wild with imagination, conjuring vivid images of her lying dead in some drain, stripped naked and sexually assaulted. She shuddered, crept out by the mere thought of it. Sure,
And then she heard her name being called.
She stopped, her heart pounding violently. She could feel her legs giving way and her stomach was doing somersaults. Her hands started trembling before it spread to the entire body. Her mind was blank.
But she took a deep breath, gathering up what little courage she had and turned.
There was no one behind her.
Immense relief washed through her and she sent a quick prayer to God for the surprising turn of events – she was certain she was going to be another hapless victim of some perverted egomaniac serial rapist-killer.
When she turned back, she was puzzled to see two teenage boys, hands entwined together, strolling past her. How was it possible that she had never seen the two boys earlier? She shook her head, trying to somehow relieve herself of some of the fatigue. Clearly, she had been so tired and lost in her own world to have even noticed them. She wondered if the two boys were runaways, if their parents knew they were out. Didn’t the boys have school? What kind of parents allows their children to roam the streets at night? Didn’t they know it was unsafe?
Stop being such a kaypoh
But both boys were gone.
Was she seeing things?
At that possibility, she slapped herself hard across the face. The stinging pain in her palm and on her cheeks burned like hot embers but it was definitely effective as a wake-up call.
It was just the Oriental version of Halloween, she consoled herself. It was just the Seventh Month of the Lunar Calendar: just a bunch of superstitious practices with no scientific basis whatsoever. Maybe, maybe they had their merits like respecting the dead, she thought but she could not care less. The elders had merely continued the tradition because they didn’t know any better.
It was absurd, she told herself, for a modern, independent and intelligent woman to believe in such things. They are not real, she told herself repeatedly as she proceeded to walk on but it was hard to swallow down the gulp that was forming in her throat.
It was with such thoughts that she continued on towards the lift lobby.
The fluorescent ceiling lights of the lift lobby were flickering, like a scene straight out of a cheap, grade C horror film, casting weird shapes in the darkened space. In the background, she heard the distinct sound of marbles being played and wondered which occupants had lost theirs. She could understand if anyone played mahjong late into the evening but marbles?
She was reminded of one of her father’s precautionary tales which he had picked up from one of his colleagues at work.
If you hear marbles being played at night, just ignore it because the genie’s children are playing.
She let loose a guffaw. Oh she had forgotten how ridiculously hilarious some of the superstitions were. Climbing up the platform steps with her heavy luggage bag, she groaned when she saw that both lifts were on the thirteenth floor.
What bad luck, she thought.
She was tired, irritable and all she wanted was for the new day to start so she could settle the affairs of her father’s will and return back home. It had been barely hours since she had landed and already she wanted out. Pressing the button repeatedly, she tapped her feet, the sounds echoing down the empty void deck.
13…12…11…10…
There was a loud ‘pop’ and the entire neighbourhood was instantaneously shrouded in shadows, as though someone dumped black paint all over. She bit back a scream.
As her eyes slowly got adjusted to the change, she yelled.
Damn it, of all times to get a blackout!
Grabbing her bags, she hiked up the flight of stairs in pitch black, all twelve flights of them. She needed some shut-eye and she was determined to get what she wanted. By the time she had set foot in front of the doorstep, she was panting heavily, beads of perspiration running down her back. She was uncomfortable, stinky, tired and was in a foul mood. She wondered if she could even make it into her old bedroom or if she would just collapse; she could barely reach for the doorbell button. Pains shoot through her fatigued body with every movement that she made.
She pressed the doorbell and waited. There was no response.
She tried again a couple more times before she realized the possibility that the doorbell was not functioning, perhaps due to the blackout.
She gritted her teeth and knocked on the door.
The door flung open but she was not prepared for the sight before her.
“Papa?”
“Finally, you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you,”
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I leave the end to your imaginations. :)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2008-04-20 09:14 am (UTC)Also, If you hear marbles being played at night, just ignore it because the genie’s children are playing.
I just remembered, the version I heard had something to do with young dead children being bored and playing.
AND FINALLY: NINJA YUNJAE
no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 09:27 am (UTC)But I added in slash. I wonder if she picked it up though...won't it be hilarious if my tutor's a slash fangirl too? lol.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 09:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 10:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 10:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 11:20 am (UTC)