Fiction: Group 3
The Realistic Dream - Pearl River Delta, Hong Kong
King's College, Yip, Ho Cheung - 13, Fiction: Group 3
hat’s up, guys? My name’s Kenny Foster. I’m 15 and I live in the USA, New Jersey. I love
school and I enjoy surfing with my friends on public beaches. Riding the waves like a pro,
enjoying the momentum while propelling over the sea like a dolphin. Man, I never had such
awesomeness while I’m surfing. In school, I have this weird interest in studying Chinese History. When I
grow up, I’m gonna be a historian. Speaking of which, let me tell what change my whole life around, the
dream to be a professional surfer to a Chinese History researcher.
So anyway, the day after my 14
th
birthday, I told my parents, ‘I wanna go out with my buddies.’ In reply,
my mom said ‘Okay, okay. Get yourself going.’ I immediately ran off to my room to fetch my surfboard.
My heart was pumping: ‘This is gonna be freaking fantastic! I could surf all day!’ I was about to open the
front door, when a voice boomed my parents’ room like it’s reading my thoughts, ‘And don’t forgot to
cautious at anytime, you could get yourself drowned!’ Gosh! Mom is so irritating! I shouted back ‘Okay! I’ll
be back in a while.’ Then the door went ‘Ka-chunk!’
It was a quarter pas two in the afternoon. The sun was shining with blazing heat, incinerating everything
that came across its ‘death rays’. No clouds were seen within a mile. My four friends and me bounded and
bounced off to a nearby beach. When the coast was clear, we jumped, launching ourselves like a volley of
humanoid cannonballs into the soft, leathery, warm sand. Dust flew everywhere. When the dust parted
away, we saw ourselves buried under the sand. We giggled and laughed till our bellies burst open.
After all the banter, we finally started the main event, surfing. We all got to our surfboards. Minutes later,
we’re on our boards, surfing like cowboys riding on backs of untamed mustangs. We rode the waves like
there was no tomorrow. After a while, the hype inside us apparently left. We sat on the sand, bored,
sunbathing. There was not much left to do. Then all of a sudden, thunder boomed, the color of the sky
dimmed. In the far away distance, a line formed, just big enough to see with the naked eye. The water level
dropped, revealing bits of coral and seaweed. I knew a little about oceanography, so I assumed a colossal
tidal wave was coming. Now crowds of people were beginning to either take cover, or run to higher
ground.
Without thinking, I grabbed my board. I ran to the sea at top speed.
‘What do you think you’re doing? Kenny!’ shrieked Greg, my best friend, ‘You’ll get yourself killed!’ I
shouted back, ‘No worries! I’ll handle this just fine.’ (Now come to think about it, my answer was pretty
darn dumb.)
As my friends watched in horror, I plunged into the coast. Sure enough, the tidal wave came surging in
on top of me. I mustered up all my courage, then I slammed into the wall of blue. The water current tried
to bash me to bits, but I battled it, trying to hold up to the force coming from everywhere. Then the worst
case happened. I choked. As I sank, fish swam around me curiously. I had the last glimpse of light filtering
from above. Then my mind went blank.
Seemed like a millennia just passed by. I opened my eyes. Black spots still lingered. After a minute or
so, I finally came to my senses. I sat up, dazed. Am I dead yet? Or am I in heaven? Then my eyes came to
focus. I was (luckily) washed to shore. But where am I? There’s no way I was stranded on a deserted island.
Way too big. I got up for a second, then instantly fell back down. I fainted once again.
This time I woke up in a different place. I found myself in an old shackled wood hut. I spied the area.
Wood tables, chairs, an oven etc. A typically poor household. Then, something occurred to me, I was saved
by someone! Just then, an odd old couple hobbled in. Their skin are a sort of pale-ish yellow, and their
cheekbones are way higher than usual Americans. They whispered to each other in a foreign language.
Somehow I managed to catch the word ‘white people’ in the conversation. Finally, the old man walked
towards me, ‘We will give you a nice place to stay in. During your stay, you can help us with the crops and
learn our culture.’ My heart pumped. ‘Come this way. They led me out into the opening.
It’s not just the plain old America lands. Farms were everywhere. It felt just like a miniature factory,
but using humans to produce instead of machines.
‘Where am I?’ I murmured. The old woman explained, ‘This is Hong Kong. I am Mrs Zhu. And this is
Mr Zhu.’ A thousand of questions instantly popped out of my head, ‘How did I end up in China? How can
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