Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 2 -1 2019 | Page 137

The Wreckage of the Sea
Harrow International School Hong Kong, Stranger, Emilia - 11
Tick tock tick tock. Time was running out. Blinding lights flashed in my chestnut brown eyes as my
charcoal hair flew behind me. The colossal buildings towered over my small child figure as I raced down the
unlit, dark alley. My head was faced straight down to the stone floor, making sure nobody could recognize
me. I could smell the scrumptious food from the local dim sum shop down the crowded street. Everybody
was lined up outside like bees in a beehive as I sprinted past it, trying to resist the delicious food. In the
corner of my small eye, a gigantic ship entered my view. Bullseye! I was a cheetah, sprinting towards my
target. A crate met my shimmering eyes. I headed towards it and leapt into it like a kangaroo. Bang!
Everything hurt. I shut my eyes in raging pain as I tried to keep my screaming inside. Slowly, the pain
seeped out of my body in small amounts. I eventually opened my eyes. Pitch black.
I reached inside my bag and pulled out the notebook that I had gotten for my thirteenth birthday. When I
opened the book, I felt like all of my notes were flowing out in a waterfall of secrets. Then, my embarrassing
secrets were leaked out of the crate and into everyone’s minds. They were laughing and chuckling inside my
messed up head but I pushed them out and carried on. I put down my pen and try to move it around but all
I knew was that it was just going to be scribbles everywhere. I needed light. There was a tiny hole in the
bottom of the cramped crate. I was going to get out somehow so I propelled my leg forwards with a lot of
force towards the small hole. Boom! Thin lightning shaped cracks appeared across the splintered wood. I did
it again. Another bang! Splinters of wood flew across the ground as the rough wood collapsed into pieces. I
was out!
As soon as I got out, I flicked through my journal and a piece of writing caught my eye.
January 26th, 1421
Dear Diary,
My friends keep asking why my name is Fēngbào. Well, the not so long story behind my name is that my
name means storm in English. My mother called me that because she had a passion for the sea and
everything about it. She loved sailing and writing about the storms she encountered until she met my dad.
My dad hated my mum going even a tiny bit closer to the water, so she never did because of him. Now that
my mother has passed away the only person left is my dad. He is the only man in charge of me and the
entire empire. So, I am going to follow my mum and sneak away, but honestly, I don't know how.
-Fēngbào
As I shut my journal, I found myself being rocked back and forwards continuously until, Crash! The boat
tilted on its side and groaned at the enormous impact. Deafening thunder whined and moaned outside. I
grabbed my notebook rapidly and opened it to a new page. This was an experience I could write about.
October 15 th, 1422
Dear Diary,
Dark grey clouds were sprawled across the gloomy sky. In a flash, a thin slit of bright white struck down and
split the sky into two uneven parts. It was as if a painter painted a canvas only grey then accidentally spilled a
streak of silver all the way down it. Then, he kept doing it repeatedly and not cleaning his mess up. I
thought that the lightning was bad, but the wind was much worse. It was howling like the opening of every
single horror movie. It was roaring violently while the rain spat down forcefully against the rocky sea. I was
getting thrown around and hung up on the wall like a painting. The waves grew larger and larger until they
crashed against the weak wood. The boat was screaming in pain as I would if I was getting crushed by a wall
of force. Monstrous waves were towering over the crew as they screamed and panicked. They were ants
compared to the gigantic walls of water. I was extremely excited that something interesting had finally
happened in my life. All I ever do is practice my manners and greet people with a phony, fake smile. I want
to be on a boat and in storms at all times but unfortunately, I can’t.
-Fēngbào
I slammed my book closed with enthusiasm as I peered through the holes in the window. I could feel the
cold air punching my face, but I enjoyed it. I was trying to get a better view but then,
“Oi! Whot you doin ere!”
“Oh no!” I whispered under my breath.