Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 370

Down the Memory Lane
Shanghai Singapore International School, Immaneni, Karthik – 15
H
azel was typing furiously on her decrepit laptop. It was late and she felt a dull ache pulsating
within her head, but she couldn’t afford to stop. The publisher had been accommodating for
the last three months but last night, he didn’t mince his words.
“If I do not receive the script by Saturday, you can forget all about it!”
I’m too much of a perfectionist, she thought. She had written and re-written the script until s he
thought it was perfect.
It wasn’t until the warning message flashed on the screen that she realized her battery was low. While
rummaging through the jumble of papers and files on her desk, in a bid to find the charging cord of her
13-inch ‘scrap-book’, she swept most of them on the floor. Plugging in the cord, she tried to read
through the script.
“I was walking through the narrow jagged street. Rows of houses with wrought iron gates, a hawker
shouting out advertising his wares, the laughter of children running around …it was a different world
…”
She rubbed her eyes. The weather reflected her mood. It had been raining since morning. The sky was
invisible under a thick cloak of clouds. The patter of rain on the windowpane was drowned by the
shrieking noise of the air conditioner, which pumped out lukewarm air ineffectually into the bitterly
cold hotel room.
Her eyes fell on the dripping umbrella and her wet shoes by the door.
This morning she had been so optimistic about finishing her book. She had gone to interview Mr.
Chen and found his house locked.
She waited till noon, hoping he would turn up. While she waited, she had a few steamed baozi at a stall
nearby – it was all she could afford now. Eating at a western restaurant was out of the question. By the
time Mr. Chen came to the door, it was evening.
Despite her pleas, Mr. Chen was disinclined to talk.
“Please, Mr. Chen, I just need you to tell me a few things from the past... I am writing a book…”
“No! I don’t talk to reporters. You are all bad. You will write something, you will write lies, and I will
get into trouble! Go away!” He said, getting red-faced.