ENGLISH LITERARY MAGAZINE
WORDPLAY
CONTENTS ONCE IN A BLUE MOON - 3G CHERRY WONG DON’T JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER - 2F GLORIA MAK SECOND WIND - 5I MATTHEW KWOK
PUT ONE’S NOSE TO THE GRINDSTONE - 4C AMBROSE LEUNG IN THE NICK OF TIME - 5G IVY WONG WINNING PUN SUBMISSIONS
ONCE IN A BLUE MOON BY CHERRY WONG
I was in a white sealed chamber. The first thing I saw when I broke out of unconsciousness were eleven pale, familiar faces, staring at me from across the room. ‘Archie?’ They whispered. I nodded dizzily. They stared at me, their mouths twitching in… fear. Their albino eyes were dull with fatigue, their fangs pushing in and out, thirsty for the one thing we all fed on for survival. A sick sensation sprang through me. How long had I not fed? I moved forward to reach them, but I had only gone an inch before a sudden, potent electric shock rammed through my body, and I fell to the ground, my hands shaking. ‘What a lovely surprise!’ A voice rang out from behind us. I turned around to see a jubilant man jog into the room through a concealed white door on the side of the chamber. He had blonde, brushed-back hair and he wore a slate suit. As he grinned broadly and I stifled a groan. A mundane. I looked at the other eleven leaders of the vampire clans helplessly. Given how careful we all were in the last thirty-five years, it was the rarest of the rare that our kind would get caught. I couldn’t believe I was one of them again. There were twelve vampire clans in Latin America. Decades ago, when our existence was unknown to the mundanes, we all lived together as a huge group, working and living like any normal citizen in LA would during the day, then roaming the night to hunt for blood. But forty years ago, one of us got caught by the mundanes during one of the hunts. The vampire exposed the existence of our kind to the mundanes.
And they have been looking for us since. They executed any vampires they caught. They burnt us, used us for experiments and degraded us all as sub-beings. There was even a new national safety law, deeming vampires as the ‘ultimate threat to mankind’. And so the era of vampire-hunting began. We split up into twelve clans, scattering across Latin America. We were ever so careful. For thirtyfive years, the LA vampires had survived the vampire hunts. But now… ‘Look let’s get straight to the point.’ I spoke up, raising my tone. Being here, we would either die, or fight, or escape. It was better to lay out the options as soon as possible. ‘You’re either a vampire hunter or a scientist. Or the safety police. Now what do you want?’ ‘You’re curious, little one!’ The man twiddled his fingers, entertained. I bared my fangs and growled. ‘Whoa, calm down a bit!’ He pressed a lump in his waist pocket and the electric shock pounded through me. My legs went soft and I slithered down. He snapped his fingers and four squads of armed mundanes rushed into the room from behind the door, training their guns on me. ‘Yes I do like taking precautions, girl.’ The man laughed. ‘You’re wasting both my time and your own. I want to know what you want.’ I demanded. ‘If you really want to know… ’ He sighed. ‘All your clans were destroyed.’ What?! I swiveled to look at the other vampire clan leaders in terror, and their sullen and livid faces confirmed the truth. ‘How?’ The word slipped out of me bitterly. ‘Oh don’t tell me you have no memory of what had happened.’ He shook his head in pity. ‘The government successfully utilized a blood-directed satellite to locate all the twelve clans in LA. Then the clan sites were bombed. Lit up brighter than fireworks. You know, it’s quite advanced; hard to explain it all in the blink of an eye, but… ’
I was no longer listening. Fury boiled up in me, and the blood in my veins rushed like the rapids. They were just mundanes. Filthy. Ignorant. Bastards. Ninty years ago they conducted a genocide of the werewolves, recreated from the faerie killings two centuries ago. We should have known. It takes a great amount of time for a genocide of us supernaturals to happen, but it would eventually happen if we do not fight it. ‘—yeah that’s technology and so what can you say about? Humans are inventors you know—‘ The man was still talking when I sprinted forward at lightning speed, swiping a razor-sharp knife out of the armament belt of the closest armed soldier and flew past the four squads, stabbing them one at a time as I winded in and out of their flying bullets. Then, I swung myself onto the man without the pause of a heartbeat, stretched into his waist pocket and crushed the electric remote with my bare fingers. He squealed like prey, and I licked my lips. I pinned him down to the ground and my fangs sank into his neck. The scent of blood wisped in and out of my throat, and I gulped it hungrily. He pled at me with innocent brown eyes. I ripped his chest apart. Tossing the body to the other vampire leaders, I strode forward to unlock the white door. ‘Archie.’ Bella, the vampire leader of the Elon Clan called. I turned around to see her hop up to me quickly, tearing herself away from the corpse of the man, her fangs dripping with lines of blood. ‘Eww gross.’ I shook my head at the other vampire leaders, who had ripped open his stomach and were biting into his blood vessels. ‘How long have you guys not fed?’ ‘Thirteen days.’ ‘I would’ve died from hunger.’ I gave a forlorn smile. ‘It takes perseverance. You’re still… young – you’ll learn eventually. But Archie-’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Where do you plan to go?’
‘To find the others. I’m sure someone survived the attacks launched by the government.’ ‘They bombed the clan sites, Archie. Vampires go up in flames like paper.’ ‘Someone must have survived.’ I persisted. ‘And the government officials could still be searching the sites for survivors… Archie, they’ll execute you if they find you.’ ‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’ I said. Bella nodded. ‘Do what you have to do, Archie.’ If there was anyone out of the twelve of us who should take up such a job, that someone would be me. Forty years ago on Christmas Eve, all the vampires joined together to hunt. We prowled through the night, leaping from building top to building top, snucking into buildings and climbing pipelines like we always did. But I was overexcited. I had come across a mundane couple whose blood were so… amazingly pungent. I fed on them, and they turned and moaned in pleasure, seemingly relishing the pain, so I didn’t stop. I didn’t control myself. And that’s when the government’s intelligence caught me, redhanded inside the building, bloodthirsty evil written all over my face. I was tortured in a small black room. The horrors I’d experienced were impossible to explain in words. It was a miracle I survived. Though what did matter was the result. The world came to know all about vampires. Amazingly, the vamps still went through all the trouble to break into the interrogation centre to save me afterwards. We, all of us LA vampires then fled the city and ventured deep into the rural suburbs and the countryside. It took us five years to get used to being hunted. We were able to escape capture, yet we suffered from constant hunger. Many of us died from lack of blood. Forest fires. We, the once apex predators, grew weak and were drove into vulnerability. I could not possibly compensate for the vampire lives lost. ‘You know, once in a while the world will birth special cases like you.’ Bella said. Once in a blue moon, don’t you mean.
‘Troublesome cases.’ I muttered under my breath. ‘It’s just natural.’ ‘Others do not seem to think that way.’ I said, glimpsing the hateful glares the other vampire leaders were giving me. ‘It doesn’t mean you have no responsibility. And it’s good that you know you have some.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Just be careful, Archie. Don’t get caught.’ ‘That’s not going to happen.’ I winked at her and kicked open the door, running out towards a surprised group of armed soldiers behind it with two gleaming knifes in my hands. Fresh blood splattered across my face as I made my kill. Because I would be the blue moon who finally made the mundanes pay for everything. .
DON’T JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER BY GLORIA MAK Clarence was a pompous girl who came from a wealthy family. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she had always been pampered and spoiled by her overindulging parents, thus contributing to her supercilious and condescending manner. She would ensure that she was the centre of attention in every circumstance and you would often see her with her head held high up to the sky. Hence, to no one’s surprise, she was a snobbish young lady who disregarded everyone else. One day, while she was on her way to the most luxurious boutique in her community in order to purchase some opulent garments for her upcoming birthday party, she happened to nearly trip over an old beggar woman crouching on the side of the road. What this vagabond was doing in this part of town remained a mystery, but Clarence, being a conceited individual, instantly berated the woman for blocking her way. “Move, old hag!” Clarence barked, “Can’t you see that you’re in the way?” “If you had paid more attention, you would have known that I was here…” the woman murmured. “What? Apologize right now, or I swear I’ll sue you!” The woman merely peered at Clarence with sunken eyes. Now, as Clarence took a better look at the woman, Clarence realized that the woman was slightly hunched over and there were countless creases and wrinkles all over her face and arms. Numerous veins streaked up and down the back of her hands as if they were a series of rivers. A tattered shawl caked with dirt was draped around her shoulders, and her shoes were so shabby that there were holes in them, such that the bony white heels of her feet were sticking out. Just then, the woman took something out of the folds of her shawl. Clarence glimpsed that it was a book, though it was by far the most dilapidated book she had ever seen. It looked inconceivably ancient, with its pages all turned to a yellowish hue, and the book’s cover was so worn out that Clarence could hardly make out the words on top. It gave off a musty odour as well, as if it had been stored in some place for a long time. The woman handed the book over to Clarence with a pair of wobbling hands.
“Open it,” she said simply. Clarence, revolted by the presence of the book, shook her head and pushed the book away. “Why? It’s such a dusty old book! I’ll never touch it.” Clarence shrieked. However, this time the woman shoved the book directly into Clarence’s hands, and told her to open the book with a tone that suggested insubordination was not an option. Reluctantly, Clarence opened the volume. The pages, already flaky, made a crackling sound when they were turned. At that moment, Clarence felt the pull of an immense force, as if a thousand magnets were tugging at her. Before she knew it, she was sucked headfirst into the book! When Clarence finally landed on something, she realized she was lying on the street. Sitting up from the hard and chilly concrete, she surveyed her surroundings and discovered that she was dressed in ragged clothing similar to that of the old woman. There was a canister with a few coins inside in front of her. She put her palms together and found out that they were calloused and rough, unlike the smooth and flawless skin she had always taken for granted. While Clarence was still pondering about what had just happened, she noticed that someone was walking towards her. No, not walking; strutting was the word. With a jolt, Clarence made out that the person was actually herself! The other Clarence swaggered up to her and without a word, kicked the canister, scattering its contents all over the street. As the other Clarence strode away, the real Clarence heard her cackling almost maniacally, as if what she had just done was the funniest thing in the world. Stunned, the real Clarence sat with her mouth agape. Not only was she dazed by what she had just seen, she also vividly remembered that this particular incident occurred only a few weeks ago, but the difference was that she was the one knocking down the canister of a young beggar girl. Suddenly, Clarence felt an overwhelming urge to cry as she experienced a huge tide of emotion, catching her off-guard. Almost instantaneously, she lurched forward and was transported back into the real world. The old woman was staring expectantly at Clarence when she came back. Clarence broke down and apologized for how she had been behaving for her entire life. She lowered her head and promised she would never be so hubristic or self-important ever again. When she looked back up, the old woman was nowhere to be seen, the ancient book lying on the ground the only indicator that she had ever been there. From that day onwards, Clarence never forgot about her exceptional experience inside the seemingly ordinary yet ancient book. Whenever she glanced at it, which she had stored on her shelf, she reminded herself that she ought to improve and change her proud ways, and eventually, Clarence became more than she could have ever imagined.
SECOND WIND by Matthew Kwok
On breezes I drift, Listless and numb. Searching for drive, Hoping for strife. Aimless drifting, Sapped of strength. A wish to plummet, The storm approaches. Hefted on winds, I wake. Spurred on in spirit, I rise.
In the nick of time By Ivy Wong
The child blinks up at him with wide curious eyes.
“You’re Santa Claus, aren’t you?”
Nick freezes, wobbling from where he’s poised on tiptoe over the fireplace mantel. The ribboned box slowly slides from his fingertips, coming to a rest below the scrap of a pine tree.
The child tilts their head. “Mr. Santa, your beard is on fire.”
The ends of his white headpiece are smoking, and as soon as he looks down, they burst into merry flames.
Nick yanks the ridiculously trailing hat from his head and stomps on it, smothering the fire. “For fffff-heck’s sake, I told Blue we really need to change our uniforms. Someday we’re going to burn to death and I’ll get to say i-told-you-so.”
“So who are you? Santa?”
Nick sighs. “Yeah, sure, I’m Santa. How else am I supposed to explain showing up at your house in the middle of the night? Look! Gifts!”
The child crosses their arms. “Mister, Santa isn’t real. Which makes you a liar.”
“I- well, that is-” Nick stutters, flailing wildly. “I brought presents?”
“Who are you? You can’t just be showing up in people’s houses! I’m going to call my mom!”
“Wait, wait wait wait wait-” He clamps a hand over their open mouth. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you the truth. Just don’t scream, okay?”
The kid nods.
Nick steps back with a flourish, flicking the ends of his red jacket, and bows. “Agent Nick of the Time Corps. Nicholas St. James at your service. How do you do?”
“D’ya want to know my name? It’s-”
Nick clamps his hand back over their mouth. “Whoa, whoa there, don’t do that! Names have power!”
“Mrmgph.” The child looks at him with coin-wide eyes. Then, the child licks his palm.
“Dude! Uncool!”
“What’s wrong with knowing my name?”
He sighs. “Names have power. Just because you’re a normal person doesn’t mean I’m not always being watched. Aren’t you a bit young to be mixed up in timelines and fate?”
The child glares at him. “I’m not young, I’m seven years old!”
“Seven, huh?” he chuckles, ruffling their hair. “That’s a powerful number. Aren’t you all grown up.”
They nod proudly. “Ms. Jenkins says that I’m top of my class and also a quick learner!”
“Ah- Dammit, kid, what did I just say about names? You’re going to put your teacher on the radar of otherworldly beings.”
“Oh. Can you fix it?”
“Meh, I’m sure they’ll forget about it soon. Not like me. I’ve skipped around space and time so much that I’m definitely on someone’s radar.” Nick fans himself, yanking off his red coat. “Phew, it sure is hot in here.”
“It’s cold at night, and it’s really noisy too. Madam says that the Germans are going to kill us, so if I light the fire, I’ll have to close all the curtains.”
“...Right. I forgot when we are.”
“We’re at...” they look to the wall. “A bit past midnight?”
Nick laughs. “Thanks, but that’s not what I meant. Besides, time isn’t real, sweetheart. Neither is space, not really. You can just fold things and get to places. Sorta like that one book? Have you read it yet?”
“...Book?”
Nick smacks his forehead. “Right. It hasn’t been published yet.”
The child looks at him, confused.
“Okay, so, time is just relative, right? So us Time Corps, we can sort of fold the fabric of space time so we can get stuff done. Pretty cool, right?”
The child stares at him. “Are you sure it’s real? Ms Jenkins said that there were people who have strange visions and that I should avoid crazy people like that on the street.”
Nick huffs incredulously. “It is real. Plato’s theory of forms posits that nothing’s real, that we’re all just images projected instead of the real thing. Descartes, however, thinks that anything is real as long as we think it is. I mean, he says that we’re real because we’re conscious, but my extension is that anything we perceive is real to us, so it’s gotta be real too, right?”
“Are unicorns real, then?”
Nick coughs, surprised. “I mean, if you want? Technically nothing is real either, since it’s all just what we think we see. It’s not like money is actually real, it’s just what society says it is.”
The child brightens up. “So it’s all just stupid society playing games?”
He hisses through his teeth. “Well… I don’t want to get into trouble with your parents. Bedtime is still real, so don’t say that to your mother. You should very much be asleep. And while most things are society playing games, your teachers and classmates are part of society, so you should probably play the game with them.”
“I don’t have a mother.”
Nick blinks, taken aback. “Is that why you’re up so late?”
They nod, then shake their head. “No, I wanted to see if Santa was real. Ms Jenkins said he isn’t, but she also said that my parents would be back for me in a week. It’s been a couple years now. Do you think they’re dead?”
He hesitates. “Sweetheart, you know there’s a war, right?”
They nod, eyes welling with tears. “Susan said that my father’s probably dead in a trench and that I’ll be next. Is that true?”
Nick sighs. “Oh, sweetheart. Come here, okay?” He wraps the child up in his arms. “It’s all going to be fine.”
“How do you know that?” the child almost wails.
“Did I ever tell you my job?” he murmurs into their hair. The child shakes their head. “I’m part of the Time Corps. Emergency Branch. I’m called in at the last moment, when all else is lost.”
“Are you part of His Majesty’s army?”
He shakes his head. “No, we’re more… interdimensional. Larger scale. We only involve ourselves when everything is screwed up, or sometimes when we’re bored of the present and go back to the past.”
The child looks up. “Is that why your coat is so weird?”
“Yep. It’s from about… twenty years into the future? You’ll see it if you live to that age.”
Their eyes fill with tears again. “Mister, I don’t want to die. I don’t want my parents to die! I just want to go home.”
He sighs. “The Time Corps, we try to save who we can without messing up the timeline. I’m taking a break tonight, but I’ll look for your parents, okay? I’ll try and save them for you. Just stay alive and wait.”
The child nods, rising up on tiptoe. They whisper their names into his ear. Then:
“Will you tell them something for me?”
Nick grins. “Wait and tell them yourself.”
He glances up and yelps. The clock on the wall displays a merry ten-past-four. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! It’s late, I have to go.”
The child tugs at the corner of his jacket. “Will you visit me again?”
Nick looks down at the child. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“So why are you here in my house, Mr. Nick?” The child lets themselves be led quietly through the corridors to their room, rubbing at their eyes.
“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Nick whispers as he tucks them into bed. “Santa isn’t real, but Nicholas sure is, and I’ve got time. I’m trying to be a saint. I’ve got gifts to give people.”
The child yawns, trying not to fall asleep. “But Mr. Nick, it’s almost sunrise. You won’t have time to deliver the rest of the gifts.”
“Time is relative, remember?” Nick winks, putting a finger to his lips. “Besides, I work best on deadlines. I’m Nick of Time. I’ll come through.”
PUT ONE’S NOSE INTO THE GRINDSTONE BY AMBROSE LEUNG
Sitting at the house, I spent quite a bit of time watching him navigate the novelty of learning to stand and walk. He tried to walk across the parquet floor. It might be a bit too hard for him. First, he pulled himself up to stand on the arm of his favourite armchair. Legs wobbling. I understood how hard this was for him as it was his first walk. He stood, clung tightly to the chair, looking at me for recognition, finding his confidence. I nodded, giving the encouragement that he wanted. It’s now winter, the wind roared outside, though sunshine spilled through the window, giving us hope. Standing tall, he looked like a giant. Who said he was not? I knew that he had put his nose to the grindstone to practise his walk. Almost everyday, he practised this by using the armchair in the living room, sometimes even before I woke up. He pushed himself to the edge of his physical capability. Sadly, little progress was made. I remembered the first time I walked. My mom and dad put me on the rug every morning. To ooze self-satisfaction and make my parents feel proud of me, I also put my nose to the grindstone to practise my first walk. I liked leaning my shoulder into my favourite highchair, though it might not have enough weight to act as a stable pillar for a chubby boy. Also on a winter day, I primed for my first steps. Suddenly, the chair slipped away. I was unaided. My dad made a lunge to grab me before the fall, but it was too late. I crumpled hardly to the rug. A wail had gone up. It was tears of failure, frustration and forlorn. I kicked at the chair, blaming it. My dad’s hand rested on mine, holding me tight as I wiggled. “Let’s try it again, son,” he told me. I gathered my energy again for my next attempt - one more step, two more steps. I gave my glance to Dad, then a beaming grin. He smiled - it was one of those great memories. A memory a long way from childhood.
I looked at him again. He wanted to walk to me, one metre away from the rug. His gaze was so determined but at the same time, with a flicker of fear. I was unsure if he would be able to make it this time, for he has failed for a hundred times. He pumped his knees, pivoting back and forth, with the hum of concentration. His legs teasing. His eyes opened wide. I was afraid that he would fall. I leaned over, giving him encouragement, and pressed my forehead against his. I felt his slight tremble. He needed my support obviously. I gave my hand to him as a reciprocate. His right hand slipped over my left. It was a thin, gaunt hand with deep wrinkles. The fingers of this hand clasped hard around mine. “Let’s try it again, Dad,” I told him. His eyes told me he was still a giant, undefeated. He looked forward again, took a step, still holding my hand. Then he let go, taking the first step on his own three months after the stroke. Incredible joy filled the hearts of him when he found stability and walking to me. Big smiles exuded, just like the day when I was able to make my first walk.
AUGUST 2019
VOL. 29
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EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR'S MESSAGE According to Wikipedia, a newsletter is a regularly
For example, newsletters are distributed at schools
distributed publication that is generally about one
to inform parents about things that happen in that
main topic of interest to its subscribers.
school. Newsletters are published by clubs,
Newspapers and leaflets are types of newsletters.
churches, societies, associations, and businesses.
Winning pun entries Thanks for your participation!
NG SZE HON
STEPHANIE CHU
3G (09)
1A (23)
What happens when four children
The dead batteries were given
lock themselves in a wardrobe?
out free of charge.
That’s narnia business.
HO YUI CHIT JOSHUA
CHOW CHEUK LAM
3E (05)
1B (17)
No pun intended? Nope,
What happened to the guy who
unintended.
sued over his missing luggage? He lost his case.
IVY WONG 5G (21)
CHARMAINE WONG 1D (29)
What did Hitler say to Chamberlain after he violated the Munich Agreement?
Please don’t make my funeral too early. I’m not really a morning
Czechmate.
person.
THANKS FOR READING!
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