The Gobi Dessert
Singapore International School, Jaimie Ho, Fiction: Group 3
I
naajav woke up to the squeaking of his pet rat and the few yet noticeable rays of sunlight
trickling through the worn-out seams of the ger. He dragged his feet lazily off his sleeping
mat, toe nails scraping the bamboo woven flooring. He looked around puzzled; his parents
weren’t there. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed apiece of paper. He knelt down on the
plump cushions strewn across the floor, surrounding the engraved dining table. His parents had
gone to town to stock up on some supplies.
Covering and sheltering himself from the mighty heat waves, he braved the reflective glare
of the mid-day’s glowing sand, and dashed to the tent next-door, where his grandparents lived.
It was silly to go out into the open and become a victim to the blazing sun, but he was all alone
and his grandfather was an amazing storyteller. Inaajav sat down beside his grandfather, head
nuzzled into his belly, and listened intently to the story of the rat and the camel. The first of
the two animals to witness the sun rise first was to be in the lunar calendar. The mouse, being
smart, stood on the peek of the camel’s hump and saw the sun rise over the horizon of sand
dunes. Inaajav almost half asleep, could almost see the superheroes he so often read about in the
magazines his father brought back from town. It was said that from that day on, camels have been
out to get rats and the people who like them. This sent a shiver down Inaajav’s spine. Soon, it had
turned dark and Inaajav had to go home to bed. He walked out to find white fluffy clouds of snow
drifting everywhere. The Gobi was unpredictable that way.
Squinting his eyes, he walked towards his ger. Through his blurred vision, all he could think
about, was his rat, alone at home, so he rushed home as fast as his feet could take him. Had he
known he was going to be so scared without the company of his grandfather, he would have asked
for a fairytale. He switched off the lights and climbed into bed. Lying down, not moving a muscle,
he echoes the written words of his mother in his head. He tried to shake the terrible thought out of
his head, but to no avail.
By 10.30 without his mother and father, the anticipation was killing him and the howling
winds beating their majestic wings on his tent was not helping. He ached for his mother’s warm,
comforting arms. All he could hear was the squeaking sounds of his pet rat and his grandfather’s
last words to the story. He bit his lip in vain to try and calm down. He picked up his rat, hands
trembling and sweaty, and held it to his chest. He told himself there was nothing to be afraid of,
nothing to be afraid of. He clenched his toes and stared jaw-shut, at the door expectantly, fighting
back his tears.
Suddenly, he heard something outside the ger. He swallowed back his saliva and attempted to
stop his lips from turning purple. A silhouette as black as night of a camel-looking figure entered
the room. “Aaahhhh!” Inaajav howled, louder than a wolf, eyes widening to become as whole and
round as the midnight moon. “Are you alright?” exclaimed Inaajav’s mother and father as they
entered, holding a carton box, standing side by side.
