Winner
Home of a Different Kind
SKH Lam Woo Memorial Secondary School, Kwok Tsz Ching, Fiction: Group 3
N
ajia hissed in frustration as the last of the cottontails vanished into the shades of
the sand dunes. Swift and agile, she still was outwitted by the intelligent desert
hares. She reckoned hunting was her second nature-----before she suffered from
several ineffective attempts at shooting hares for supper. The day’s hunt had not been
fruitful; the desert was everything but generous. Stomach grumbling in protest, Najia started to
trek back home.
The sky was a red dome securing Najia and the other peoples of the desert. Feeling the
increasing ferocity of the wind, she buttoned her jerkin and made haste. Wearily, she squinted at
the sinking sun behind those craggy precipices at the northwest of the desert. If she didn’t make
it back home before darkness roamed, the plummet of temperature could easily overtake her, not
to mention the rage of beasts spying for preys. But for now while the evening beauty of dunes
lasted, she allowed herself to immerse in it. It was the domain of beige, or as Ma would’ve put it,
‘everything copper and clay’. True, the reddish brown colour of the dunes held an astonishingly
similarity to that of copper and clay, but never had Najia grown bored with the monochromatic
scenery. She smiled to herself as she recalled her childhood memories: play-fighting with her
siblings, under the caring eyes of the desert.
And when she spotted the wisps of smoke fifty paces away, her smile grew broader. Although
dinner would be bland without hare meat, she was grateful for a bowl of hot stew alone after a
day’s hard work.
Buzzing noise greeted her when she finally stepped into the encampment of the nomads. A
dozen of tents scattered within the area; tall poles with colourful flags dangling from them stood
regally. Najia put her knife back into its sheath before going indoor, and helped herself to some
lamb skewers of yesterday’s leftover. When she was sated she came out of the tent again, and her
gaze rested on another group of Mongolians.
Dwelling with the nomads temporarily was the caravan: merchants and camels loaded with
souvenirs for tourists. With a jolt, Najia realized that the desert actually grew with her. It was
becoming more crammed as foreign tourists flocked the place, resulting in the prevalence of
commercial caravans: a single ride on camel could cost up to 80 Yuan. The basic infrastructure
of nomadic dwellings had also been improved and equipped by water pipe systems and postal
service. Whats more, she soon adapted to the clicking of cameras by the directors filming
documentaries when she was six; she found that part of the modern world had integrated with the
unspoiled terrain.
‘This is only natural,’she muttered silently,’can’t expect us staying as primitive as before,
right?’ She wished she could persuade herself that these changes were good; but honestly, she
wasn’t sure about that. Now that her home was more advanced, she started to grow strangely
uncomfortable.
Najia heard the pounding footsteps behind her, and turned to find Ciao, her younger sister
running towards her, holding a piece of paper.
‘Najia! Najia here! A letter...from Brother!’
