Page 140 - 2023 eMag Final Draft
P. 140

Written by Jack Yow Jun Lam Sr2ScB
                                           Illustration by Soo Cheng Mun Sr3B








                                                                                                                                      Ashen snow carpeted my body as I came to. Asserting my gaze, it was impossible to

                                                                                                                                      not notice the fuming spires reaching out their sooty arms. Retching up from the
                                                                                                                                      horror, my once white skin long tainted with filth and painted in black. I got up,
                                                                                                                                      spreading my billowing-curtain wings after recovering my equipment.


                                                                                                                                      In the encroaching gloom, the giant oil lamps and their even more gigantic owners
                                                                                                                                      don't comply, lighting up the blank canvas soon drenched in ink. A cure will be
                                                                                                                                      needed, or better yet, something that could prevent this recursing madness if life
                                                                                                                                      perdures.



                                                                                                                                      Atop a mound far-flung from the inkwell, a creek unhurriedly passed through, of-
                                                                                                                                      fering salutations, and so I reciprocated in kind. Reborn and rejuvenated, I returned
                                                                                                                                      'home', a dilapidated shell abandoned by giants, which I related to.


                                                                                                                                      The house, too, was reborn in vibrant hues. Sneaking into my own house, a living
                                                                                                                                      giant smeared in bright colours bent over a worktable, my worktable, charcoal in
                                                                                                                                      hand.


                                                                                                                                      Humiliated and defiled, I unravelled my wings and took a leap of faith, propelling
                                                                                                                                      myself and thrusting my tightly clenched fist at the humongous intruder. As for the
                                                                                                                                      fruits of my labour, I veered off course and planted my face on the surface of the

                                                                                                                                      worktable, most likely due to the deterioration of my physical vessel. Disregarding
                                                                                                                                      the pain and regaining my senses, I turned around to meet the eyes of the evil giant.


                                                                                                                                                                                    *


                                                                                                                                      It felt bizarre, like tiny magnetic ants tap dancing inside a glass jukebox, to stare
                                                                                                                                      face-to-face at a being similar yet unalike. The busybody giant's eyes noticeably
                                                                                                                                      widened, presumably in shock, not often does one come across a snow sprite in the
                                                                                                                                      flesh.

                          Kindred in


                                    Hearth
                                    He               a       r     t   h









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