Shrewsbury International School’s entry into the 4th FOBISEA Short Story Competition 2014

Listen

By Miu Miu Chanya Leosivikul

“Do you believe in magic?” she asks, turning to me, her wide green eyes watching me intensely.

We were sitting on a grassy hill. The sky arched high above us. “Yeah.” I say, smiling. I thought she was just playing around when I turned to her, but she was dead serious. “Can you hear it then?”

“Hear what?”

“The magic, the songs.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to explain. I don’t know, just listen.” I strain my ears.

“I can’t hear anything,” I say. “What does it sound like?”

“It’s different, everything has its own song,”. I glance sideways to look at her, she was absently picking at the grass, her eyes bright, a faraway expression on her face.

She was a unique child. Clever, observant and wise beyond her years. I liked spending time with her.

“Like the wind, for example, it’s song can vary but today its lively and fun. It makes me want to dance.” she says, a smile in her voice. I didn’t really know what she was talking about. “And the trees,” she continues. “Their song is slower, starting low but getting higher. Like it’s growing taller. I like the sky’s song best. It’s clear and light. Makes me think of the clouds.” She was watching as the trees swayed side to side. Graceful dancers moving to a song I couldn’t hear.

I look at the sky, searching for clouds but there were none. The sky is the bluest I’ve ever seen. It’s endless. It is the perfect shade, not the washed out blue of winter or the crisp cerulean of autumn. But a clear blue with the slightest hint of turquoise. The kind of sky you only had in summer.

“What about the birds, up there?” I ask.

“Well, their song is quite energetic and fun. I know you’d love it,” She sighs, a frown tugging on her features. “I wish you could hear them too.”

She smiles sadly at me, the wind whipping her blonde hair around her small face. She seemed so innocent, so tiny, so vulnerable.

Maybe once, I had been able to hear those songs too. Children always seem to be able to see and hear things better than those of us who have grown up. I envy her. I wish I could still believe in magic. I had stopped believing a long, long time ago.

“Maybe I can sing something for you!” She says and her eyes seem to light up. She tilts her head back, the sun kisses her blonde hair. I watch curiously as she takes a deep breath. And then, and then, a sound graces my ears. She hums softly. No words, just sound flowing out of her. It sounds wistful and longing.  She stops and says, “That’s your song.”

“Oh. Is that what I really sound like?”

“It depends. That’s what you sound like now but when you’re happy, it’s more lively.”

“Oh…” I wonder what her song sounds like.

“Shall I sing the wind’s song for you?”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes and the strange overwhelming sensation pours over me again as she hums. It sounds clear and pure. It might just be my imagination but the wind seems to grow stronger as she sings. I feel as if it could just lift me off the ground and just carry me away far, far away to some unknown place.

The melody is wild yet calm. I want to run a thousand miles. It’s beautiful.

I can imagine a whole orchestra accompanying her as she sings. All the animals coming out of the woods around to play for us. A trumpet, a harp, flutes and cellos. The drums, beating steadily, the violins sing. The notes flowing into the next, as bows danced over strings. The clash of a cymbal. The ring of a bell. The chimes, glittering in the background. The orchestra of nature.

All the different, beautiful sounds combining to be one. To be as one with the voice of the little girl. Her voice is enchanting. I feel as if the wind would whisk me up into the air, to the sky and we would soar over the treetops until the trees were ants and mountains were as small as the nail on your pinkie.

What I can see is only a small glimpse of the wind’s song. There’s so much more inside. So much beyond the music. It touches your emotions, it wakes you up, it triggers the old memories that you’ve long forgotten.

I could watch her sing forever, drowning all my fears, living in my dreams.

She stops abruptly and looks over at me worriedly. She’s afraid. Afraid of rejection. Her friends, her parents, not really ignoring her, but neglecting her all the same. No one understands her. I feel the pain she carries everyday because no one ever believes her. No one does, but I do. “I wish I could hear…” I whisper.

I thought she’d be upset but she grins at me instead. “Come on!” She says excitedly. “I’ll sing more, we can dance too! I can help you hear!” Maybe, maybe I could learn to believe again. Her smile is so wide and she looks at me like I’m her best friend not her babysitter.

She jumps up and grasps my hand. Soon we’re running together, hand in hand, down the hill. We tumble down to the bottom, laughing. She’s lying on the grass, giggling like mad and so am I. I close my eyes. Then, something melodic and quiet fills my ears. It’s her song. I open my eyes, a new wonderful world revealed before me and I could see it because I believed, because I believed in her.

 

Runner-Up

Molly 7SF

The Knife

Sokhem was ten when it happened. As was usual, he was making his way up to the hills to collect scrap metal to sell. The area was once a battlefield, so the treasure was ordnance left over from the Cambodian war. It sold for one dollar per 10 kilos. He had just arrived at a platform near the top when he heard the click.

Sokhem knew immediately that he was in trouble. He had seen and heard way too much to not know that there, at the bottom of his foot, lay a landmine.

He panicked on the inside and felt like screaming, yet he remained calm and still like a gravestone. He knew that if he moved there were two possibilities. He would either get blown to pieces, or at the very least lose his legs and bleed to death, alone, on the hilltop.

He scanned the platform. He felt sick to his stomach, and hopeless. He didn’t know that the situation was about to get worse, much worse. It begun when pain shot through his right leg and cramp set in. He felt strangely nauseous as he struggled to stay still.

He thought long and hard, as he forced himself to stop shaking. Tears slid down Sokhem’s face, and he couldn’t brush them off; just as he couldn’t slap the mosquito now sucking blood from his neck. Thoughts of his flesh and bone being torn to bits entered his mind. He knew death well, like an old foe, as he had lost his father and two brothers to that miserable war. Looking into the sky he then decided there was no point in waiting any longer to make his move.

He had heard from some of the older boys in the village that if you wedged an object tightly between your foot with some brands of mine, and no one he knew could verify this, it could lock the mechanism for a few seconds, and you had a chance.

In his belt was a small knife, it had been his father’s before his death. It had a silver rim, and a fire-breathing dragon had been carved into it.  When his father had died, this had been the only thing that remained in the crater. Ever since, Sokhem has kept it with him night and day.

He pulled it from his belt and ever so slowly bent down. Carefully, he slid the blade under his shoe feeling the hard metal underneath. He felt around for what seemed like forever, sweat dripping down his face, stinging his eyes as the mosquitoes feasted.

click

He waited.

The blade had found its spot and stuck hard.

He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and took his foot off the device…

He opened his eyes, unsure if he was dreaming or not. Sokhem made a break for it, taking refuge behind some rocks on the ledge.

A loud bang followed rocking the ledge and the strong smell of sulfur filled Sokhem’s lungs. He looked around and walked toward where he had been standing only moments before. There, lying in the center of the ledge, in perfect condition, as if it had never moved, was his knife…

 

Runner-Up

Maomi 8PD

The Believer, the Skeptic and the Follower

“Hey, do you see that tree? The big bodhi one.”

The two men stopped and looked to the side of the trail they were walking on. The surroundings were very unruly, with leaves and twigs scattered all over the place. Robert glanced up at the huge tree that loomed over them. It had long thick branches that stretched out high above, each one adorned with brilliant green heart-shaped leaves. There were several cloths of different colours tied around the trunk of the tree, flapping eerily in the wind.

“Yes. What about it?”

“You notice how there are lots of colourful cloths tied around the trunk? That’s because it’s considered a sacred tree. We Thai people are very superstitious, and we believe in spirits that reside in these trees.” Dang explained.

Robert shuddered. No wonder the bodhi had such a creepy sensation.

Dang paused for a moment. “Do you believe in the supernatural?” he asked.

Robert hesitated. “I’ve always been intrigued by the idea of it, but I have to say I’m quite sceptical about these things.” he decided.

Dang shrugged. “There are so many strange things in the world that the scientists are still yet to explain,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t true. In fact, there was a very curious incident about this very tree that happened a few years ago.”

Robert was instantly interested. “Is that so? Please do tell me about it. I know very little about Thai culture.”

“It started when a man came to this exact spot to pray on this tree to get rich.” Dang said, gesturing to the place where they were standing.

“And did he get what he asked for?”

“Well, weeks passed, and still nothing happened. One night, he came back drunk and went over to the tree with an axe to cut it down.”

“But obviously he didn’t succeed.” Robert said.

“No and yes. While he was hacking at the trunk, a large branch fell from the tree and hit the man, crippling his hand, which was so badly mangled that it had to be amputated. This resulted in the man receiving a large sum of money from the insurance company, granting his wish.”

Dang paused, letting the story sink in.

“Excuse me,” said a voice at his shoulder. “What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere? This is a sacred tree, and you shouldn’t be snooping around.”

The two men turned around to see a man standing behind them. He appeared to have overheard their conversation.

“Oh, nothing,” Dang replied, seeming quite annoyed by the man eavesdropping on them. “This is a public path. We were just passing by. Why do you ask?”

“Just my curiosity,” the man said, shrugging. “I’m Pauno, by the way.” He extended out a hand, which Dang and Robert both shook. After the introductions were made, Pauno glanced behind him, and looked up at the tree warily.

“I don’t see many people around this area,” he said. “It’s isolated, and it’s risky. Only strange people come here. But I do know a few things about this place, and there’s something I would like to do here.”

“I see. What is it that you intend to do?” Dang inquired.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Pauno, waving off the question. “Just tell me; what do you think of the man in the story?”

“I think he was very foolish to come here in the first place,” Robert said. “Praying to a tree won’t help you get your wish. If you want something, you’ve got to work hard for it. And nothing comes without a price.”

Pauno looked at him levelly. “I take it that you are a non-believer, and I have no intention to convert people like you. It will just be a waste of time. But just because something has no logical explanation doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Remember that.”

There was a moment of silence. “You still haven’t told us why you are here yet,” Robert said finally, trying to divert the conversation away from him.

Pauno sighed. “Oh, very well. I came here because I wanted to see this tree again. I definitely believe it to have something paranormal, you know. I have to come and pay respect to the tree every once in a while, or I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. If something terrible has happened here, then it is best to stay on the safe side.”

“Oh? And why do you think that?”

Pauno gazed at Robert for a while. Then, in answer to his question, he slowly lifted his wrist out of his pocket.

He had no hand.