Fiction: Group 3
I get back?’ Mrs Zhu seemed to have read my thoughts, ‘One question at a time, young lad. But I’m sorry
to say, you can’t get back to where you’re from.’
‘What-‘ My face went.
‘Don’t be frustrated,’ Mr Zhu chuckled, “Let’s learn how to farm while you’re still here!’
It was a blazing hot day. I never thought I would had the chance to farm. Due to the harsh conditions,
it was surely a challenging test. We worked, ploughed and worked all day. Finally, after 7:00 p.m, the job
was done! Yesiree!
I laid on the floor, exhausted and out of breath, yet with satisfaction. Mr Zhu walked in, ‘Well, young
lad. You’ve done a fine job. Tomorrow’s a big day. I’ll wake you up at five. Sleep well.’ He then went to
his room. ‘What the-‘ The door slammed shut. I said to myself, ‘Well, guess I’ll dwell in this grim place
forever. Sweet dreams, myself.’ After that, all I remembered was seeing myself drifting to sleep.
Another day on the farm. Mr Zhu came to the living room. (where I slept last night.) ‘We’ll be off
after breakfast.’ He said. I stood up groggily. As I sat down, I saw Mrs Zhu bringing the breakfast out on the
dining table. Bacon, steamed buns, fried egg… It was a totally diverse set of meal.
It’s already been exactly a day ever since my arrival.
Tonight was a special one, Mr Zhu said the inspection team from the World
Farming Federation had arrived in the village this morning. They praised our crops were the best in the
area. So, to celebrate this eventful occasion, we decided to have a big
feast.
‘Dinnertime!’ Mrs Zhu announced. I quickly scrambled to my seat. My mouth was
watering. I half-expected a big fat plump turkey steaming out of the kitchen. But
surprisingly, she brought out a bowl of food. I gaped stared at the prawns. Mrs Zhu noticed my
astonished look, ‘Oh, Kenny. This is a Poon Choi, originated from the Sung Dynasty. In the your
language, that means “a bowl of food”.’
I thought, ‘Literally. Alright…’
Just then, the crowd in the house yelled, ‘Time to dig in!’ We gobbled and munched up the piled
stack of chicken and seafood.
The feast finally came to an end, I felt a little way too full. I then asked the Zhu family whether I
can go take a little evening walk along the river. They agreed.
I walked along the river bank. As the river snaked its way toward the open sea, the surface
reflected the starry night sky. It acted more lively than usual. I was remembering about my past, when I
tripped over a pebble. I fell face-first into the river. The water started to swirl around me. When I
knew it, I shot into a funnel.
I woke up, yet again. Now I saw my four friends. I inspected the surroundings. A TV, life-saving
rings and a first-aid box. That would be the fishing hut near the beach. (Finally! No weird-looking
farm and odd Chinese couples!) A voice shrieked beside my ear, ‘You’re okay!’ I chided glumly,
‘Yeah…’
We sat around the TV. I told them my story. (Actually, it was a dream after all!) And of course, no
one believed in me. I was about to give up, and that’s how miracles happen. The TV showed a news
flash: ‘Mr Zhu from Hong Kong just won the annual farming competition.’
My friends just basically stared at me, their mouths wide open, like ‘How the heck did that
happen?’ or something along those lines.
I chuckled, ‘this ain’t just a coincidence, my friends.’
