Fiction: Group 4
The Lost Utopia
S.K.H.Bishop Mok Sau Tseng Secondary School, Choy, Tik Man Mandy - 15,
Fiction: Group 4
here is a stir in the water. I am pulled out of my reverie as I idly stare at the moon beaming at its
own reflection in amusement. Ripples in the seawater reflect the shining stars, the stars seem to be
cavorting across the night sky with exuberance. I begin to remember how tumultuous life has been
in the city. The garish lights emanating from the buildings, the incessant clings and clangs of construction
and the faint miasma of polluted air made me feel somewhat inebriated. I sigh despondently as my memories
trail back to when the whole Pearl River Delta was mostly still a kingdom of small villages roaming with
fishermen. Back when I was still a young boy immersed in the tranquility of Xunliao Bay.
My eyes sprang open as I caught a whiff of smoke piercing through my nostrils like daggers. Drops of
sweat trickled down my cheeks as I lay awake, sweltering in the stuffy room. The surroundings were as dark
as ever and it soon struck me that my sister Ying was roving in the middle of the night again. A dim-lit
candle stood at the corner, allowing my eyes to slowly pry open in the dark. The throes of snores emitting
from the other deeply slumbered family members indicated that it was nowhere near morning. Still catching
the scent of pungent smoke, I slipped into my sandals and tardily made my way out of the house.
The soft sand beneath my feet supported my weight with reluctance, slipping through the cracks of my
toes and sandals, but yet they felt warm against my skin. I squinted and spotted an orange flame beaming in
the middle of the beach.
”Aren’t you supposed to be asleep brother?” my sister sneered, sensing my arrival.
“Your bonfire has a rather peculiar smell.” I quipped. Hearing my sister sigh with exasperation, I trotted
over and sat next to her.
“Losing sleep again?” I asked in worry as I gaped at my sisters’ once lustrous black hair now transformed
into a matt of entangled weeds. We were solemnly sitting next to the fire before my sister finally responded
“I’m sick, how could I ?” she dolefully replied.
I stared at her drowsy expression, remembering how father used to take us fishing back when the water
was safe to tamper with. “Maybe the development really is going to improve our lives.” I remarked
optimistically. “Really? Look what it did me,” Ying seethed in hate. With another crash of the waves, she
stood up and began strolling off. I watched my sisters’ feeble retreat, her lanky body slowly vanishing into
the night, leaving bits of sadness behind. I heaved and tilted my head backwards, getting some shuteye next
to the warmth of the orange flame.
There were hums. I jostled awake, the fire seemed to have died down a bit as the sky became a tad
brighter. The low murmurs continued on without concession. Who would be humming such a horrid tune
at this time I wondered. I traced the source of the sound and got back into the house to inspect every room,
but there was not a single movement. The indecipherable low hum was beginning to drive me crazy. Maybe
it was one of those roguish boys marauding nearby again. I jogged along the coastline, only to come face to
face with nothing but a deserted area lined with ubiquitous stalls and drowsy wooden houses. Empty creels
and fruit baskets were the only detritus of a cramped and loud beach a few hours ago, leaving the ominous
hum dancing across my eardrums.
The intensity of the galling hum increased as I stepped closer to the shoreline, the source of the sound
seeming to come from the sea. The sun barely rising above the veil of mist that perpetually concealed what
lay beyond far ahead, the entire sea seemed quite somnolent. I couldn’t quite make out what was on the
other side. Abruptly, the subsonic hum transformed into crispy whistles, leading me to insouciance.
Compelled by the pleasant sound, I had the sudden urge to paddle out in search of the person or creature
who hummed these tunes. Being the usual pragmatic person, I tried to figure out carefully where to head
first, but there wasn’t any time left to spare as the sun crept a little higher. In the end, I came to a decision
and hopped onto a random canoe parked along the shore, paddling fanatically towards the mist, heading
straight for the area of enigma. Ancient folklore of our village stated that a lost island of enchanted grounds is
situated at the centre of the surreal smoke, luring people in.
With the canoe shimmying as the waves gently bumped the sides of it, only a single match in hand, I was
aimlessly floating around, finding nowhere to land, like a speck of lost star in a misty sky. I listened raptly as
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