Amongst the Mountains Kenneth Lai (Year 8) I t was at that point in time, when the sun was starting to descend below the mountains and into the depths, that I found myself in the town. It had been a treacherous journey, during which I had ventured for many moons without pausing. And now that I had arrived at this small fishing village, I could rest peacefully alongside the many inhabitants of this place, and the setting sun. As I ap- proached the mountain cliff, I felt a powerful gust of cool, fresh air rush towards me, a refreshing and revitalising blast. Despite the usual wintry weather, the calm breeze was rather pleasant and comforting. I took a deep breath in and exhaled briefly. The cliff I now stood on towered a staggering forty feet above the ground below, possessing a noticeably oppressive dominance over the rest of the precipitous terrain. I felt a mix of emotions: eagerness and dread to find out the secrets and mysteries that lay beyond the mountainside. Preparing myself, I trudged up onto the sheer edge of the cliff and took a moment to enjoy the picturesque view that was laid out before me. The sight I saw was surreal. The jagged snow-capped peaks were littered everywhere, stretching for miles on end, further than the naked eye could see. The sun cast an aura across the deep blue sky, with countless hues of yellow, orange, red, pink and purple. Myriad colours streaked across the canvas of sky, wrapping it in an ethereal blanket, which danced across the cobalt blue that resembled outer space. The lake be- low was placid and tranquil, glistening with the reflection of the many colours of the ether, as well as the aquama- rine of the water. My gaze gradually shifted towards the numerous red brick houses which bordered the lake and resembled a town. Copious flickering lights shone in the darkness, accompa- nied by an abundance of fireflies. Their luminescent glow, which ranged from shades of crimson to amber, twinkled, as if welcoming me. Even though the sky was beginning to be engulfed in blackness, the brightness of the lights guaranteed warmth and comfort. As I pictured the houses in my mind, the soft, quiet chatter and laughter of the people inside replayed itself again and again in my ears. This was a place I called home. Excited to continue my journey, I slowly approached the town. Instantaneously, I was enlivened by a fragrant aro-
ma of memories which wafted towards me, greeting me. I felt hope, joy and jubilation as the nostalgia and euphoria overwhelmed me. Memories flooded through my brain, causing a multitude of thoughts to arrange themselves. Just as I started to remi- nisce about my past, I was reminded of something – this town was indeed my home. Flashbacks resonated in my mind, bringing me back to my childhood. Questions buzzed like bees, carrying thoughts along with them. Questions, like ‘Is this a dream?’ Realising that I was re-living my past, I decided to venture into the village to explore more of it. I slowly wandered past the thick, dense blanket of snow and frost on the outskirts of the village and found myself on a cobbled path. Upon reaching the heart of this miraculous town, I started to explore its wonders. It was an extraordinary place. The strong but pleasant scent of cooking in the houses drifted through the open windows and towards me, tickling my nostrils. I could taste the bitter fog, which meandered its way throughout the town, wishing for it to depart. Hundreds upon thousands of different sound waves carried noises of various pitches, rhythms and volumes from all over the town, twisting and turning in the night air, winding and weaving through the trees and lampposts, undulating across the village, hurtling towards me. The joy was a large, fluid mass that floated in the air, gliding smoothly past the pedestrians who were on their evening saunter. I watched the multicoloured sailors’ boats and ships rest quietly along the harbour as they lulled themselves to sleep. I watched the many lights from far and near illuminate the scene, as if communicating to each other. And I watched the bright red walls and asphalt grey roof of the houses, which matched the colours of the sky, and brightened the mood. As I looked in the direction of the mountains, I caught a last glimpse of the beaming sun peeking over the horizon. By now, the town had become so silent that I could only hear the occasional swish-swash of the water in the lake, and the whisper of the wind from the mountains. The sky was a navy blue, and dazzling stars had started to emerge. I watched intently through the windows of hous- es. Many people had dozed off, and had been transport- ed to another world, where anything was possible. This was a place full of marvels, and merriment and mirth. This was the place where I had grown up – alongside the beauty of nature, in a small world which was encapsulat- ed by mountains and encircled by a vast body of water.
the colour of his hair. He sat down meekly and wordlessly, thoroughly ashamed of his grievous disruption. After more onlookers filed in quietly, the battle was to commence. Eyeing one another up, the pair paced around the low stage, circling one another like prize-fight- ers under the dim light, poised to trade blows. The senior of the pair, Hutchinson, was short and stout, his body not unlike that of a penguin, but with a vulture’s beak. Small, gleaming eyes glared out from under a perspiring forehead. His opponent, Professor Taylor, tall and gangly, thin arms clutching papers, Adam’s apple bulging over his collar, gazed back with wide, glassy eyes. Both were prize products of careers in academia. ‘Ha-hem!’ In needlessly indulgent language laced with classical ref- erences, the senior don introduced himself, his opponent, and the topic of contention, seeming to be champing at the bit for a fresh opportunity to display his intellectual prowess to his adoring fans in discussion of the most famous play of all time. ‘As argued in my 1989 thesis, with which I do hope the serious among you have familiarised yourselves in ad- vance of your attendance…’ The professor’s thirty-minute soliloquy, discussing in depth the tragically understated role of Guildenstern, began, soon becoming white noise to my ears. My naïve oasis of academic ambition gradually evaporated under the unforgiving sun of painful disinterest. Their voices droned on, humming mosquitos in a languid tropical heat. The feeble air conditioner struggled and warbled, as darkening spots emerged under scholarly armpits, and perspiration descended down long, pale foreheads. ‘Goethe’s interpretation of Hamlet’s indecisive plight is little more than a gross oversimplification of male in- security, and is overall more indicative of the outdated attitude of the nineteenth-century critic…’ ‘Disregarding the stance of a writer from the nineteenth century while discussing a work from the end of the six- teenth century is wholly preposterous…’ By now, all I could do was wonder how such men, who all read much the same thing, managed to understand everything so differently. Perhaps it’s the different quartos. ◎
It was a natural phenomenon. It was a place that I adored and cherished so much, one which was so dear to me. It was my home. Silver slivers of moonlight shone upon the houses, a stark contrast to the pitch-black atmosphere. The infinite vac- uum of night had dawned. Immediately, I felt an urgency. One that screeched and squealed at me. An urgency that screamed for me to leave this place. I wanted to find out more about my hometown, but no – I had to leave. I grasped onto a lamppost as I fought against my own instinct. Slowly being tugged away, I clung on harder. But I sensed a danger which lurked in my subconscious, telling me to turn back and leave this place at once. Cold sweat ran down my neck and back. Screams of agony swallowed by the deafening silence, I felt myself being pulled further and further away from the town. Along the winding paths, through the thick snow, over the rolling hills, up the steep cliff, and back to where I was before. Struggling to breathe and frozen in shock, I gave up. Silence. Pin-drop silence. Silence as silent as silence. A soundless, noiseless silence. One which consumed the town. Silence that was con- cealed in nothingness, poised for an attack. It was so silent that I could hear nothing, not even my own breathing. The sky was a dark, black cloak over the mountains. The lake was a pool, endless and inky, that swamped the village. Reluctant to let go of my home, my past and my memories, I took a last desperate glance at the town. And I left. ◎
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THE ALLEYNIAN 711
CREATIVE WRITING
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