Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. The sound of the rain outside reminded me that I still had work to do. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. My head shot up from my desk, and I realized I had dozed off again. I need to take a break, I thought drowsily. I scanned my bookshelf for any book that I hadn’t read yet. Sherlock Holmes, The One and Only Ivan, Whatever After, All-. I yanked the Whatever After book from the shelf. Looking up at the ceiling, I thought about how amazing and magical I thought the series was when I was younger. In the series, the main character travelled through fairy tales with her brother to help the fairy trapped in her basement mirror. I shook my head, replacing the book in my hands with another one. Where the Mountain Meets the Moon. I smiled, remembering about this book. I had gotten it for my birthday a few years ago, yet I had never read it until last month. It was about a dragon. No, wait, it was about a girl. Or, no, it was about— I frowned, criticizing my bad memory. I have such a bad memory when it comes to the most useful information, I thought.
Sitting on my bed, cradling the book in my arms, I sighed as I flipped to the first page. After reading a few chapters, I closed the book with frustration. Each chapter included at least one mini story. I did not remember there being this many mini stories in the first few chapters. I was trying to focus on the main story, but the mini stories distracted me, and I ended up forgetting the actual plot. This feels like a waste of energy, I thought. I might as well save my eyes and my brain from being fried. I closed my eyes and thought of the last book I had read, struggling to remember its name. I should’ve read that book. It was really good, too. I smiled as my head started falling towards the pillows, excited for the peaceful slumber I was slipping into.
BAM! I rubbed my head, realizing this was not the peaceful and quiet sleep I was hoping for. I looked around the vast, dead land, realizing I was sitting in dirt. I immediately stood up and looked around, hoping no one saw me. All the people here were working, and they looked just as dull as the land, maybe even duller. It was as if the life had been drained out of them, like water out of a wet towel. The people smiled when they saw me, stopping their work to look at me before returning to prodding and flooding the land, hoping to coax out rice. I must’ve stuck out like a sore thumb, standing there and watching them work, so I tried to imitate their actions. I hope I don’t look stupid, I thought. What a sad, dreary, place to live in! All everyone did was work and work and work, yet they never got anything done. I suddenly realized everyone was tramping through mud, ruining their already ruined clothes. As I shuddered at the thought, a tired voice began calling. “Minli! Minli! Minli, where are you? Come back home and make dinner!” Minli? I looked around. The name sounded so familiar to me. Maybe I had heard it in a show somewhere? Or maybe a movie? I wanted to punch something, as if that would jog my memory. “Minli!” I felt something or someone grab me, dragging me along. “What were you doing just standing there? Get back home and start making dinner!” With that, the person shoved me into a random house. Well, if you could even call it a house.
The “house” was tiny, just big enough for a family of three. It was more like an old, run-down version of a studio apartment, with a small table in the center surrounded by wooden walls that looked like they could crumble any second. So, this is where I live? I thought. What a sad life for— What was my name again? The person had just said it. I was about to explode with frustration at my terrible memory when I suddenly remembered what the person had said. Get back home and start making dinner! I searched for any signs of food, only to find a small amount of rice, just enough for three people. I must live in a family of three. The number three seemed equally familiar to me, ringing a bell in my mind while it sat on the tip of my tongue. I gave up thinking and returned to the task at hand. I looked for a rice cooker, only to realize “we” didn’t have one. After multiple failed attempts, I finally made “dinner.” “Dinner” was a few grains of rice in a bowl. How could “I” and the two other people in my “family” survive on such meager meals? I decided to give myself a tour of the house before whoever lived with me came back. That’s when I realized: I didn’t know what I looked like, what I sounded like, what I was supposed to act like, and so on. I’ll figure that out later, after my “tour.” There really wasn’t much in the dreary home, except for a blue bowl with a white rabbit painted on it, containing two copper coins. I sighed before sitting down, patiently waiting for the other residents to return.
Sitting on my bed, cradling the book in my arms, I sighed as I flipped to the first page. After reading a few chapters, I closed the book with frustration. Each chapter included at least one mini story. I did not remember there being this many mini stories in the first few chapters. I was trying to focus on the main story, but the mini stories distracted me, and I ended up forgetting the actual plot. This feels like a waste of energy, I thought. I might as well save my eyes and my brain from being fried. I closed my eyes and thought of the last book I had read, struggling to remember its name. I should’ve read that book. It was really good, too. I smiled as my head started falling towards the pillows, excited for the peaceful slumber I was slipping into.
BAM! I rubbed my head, realizing this was not the peaceful and quiet sleep I was hoping for. I looked around the vast, dead land, realizing I was sitting in dirt. I immediately stood up and looked around, hoping no one saw me. All the people here were working, and they looked just as dull as the land, maybe even duller. It was as if the life had been drained out of them, like water out of a wet towel. The people smiled when they saw me, stopping their work to look at me before returning to prodding and flooding the land, hoping to coax out rice. I must’ve stuck out like a sore thumb, standing there and watching them work, so I tried to imitate their actions. I hope I don’t look stupid, I thought. What a sad, dreary, place to live in! All everyone did was work and work and work, yet they never got anything done. I suddenly realized everyone was tramping through mud, ruining their already ruined clothes. As I shuddered at the thought, a tired voice began calling. “Minli! Minli! Minli, where are you? Come back home and make dinner!” Minli? I looked around. The name sounded so familiar to me. Maybe I had heard it in a show somewhere? Or maybe a movie? I wanted to punch something, as if that would jog my memory. “Minli!” I felt something or someone grab me, dragging me along. “What were you doing just standing there? Get back home and start making dinner!” With that, the person shoved me into a random house. Well, if you could even call it a house.
The “house” was tiny, just big enough for a family of three. It was more like an old, run-down version of a studio apartment, with a small table in the center surrounded by wooden walls that looked like they could crumble any second. So, this is where I live? I thought. What a sad life for— What was my name again? The person had just said it. I was about to explode with frustration at my terrible memory when I suddenly remembered what the person had said. Get back home and start making dinner! I searched for any signs of food, only to find a small amount of rice, just enough for three people. I must live in a family of three. The number three seemed equally familiar to me, ringing a bell in my mind while it sat on the tip of my tongue. I gave up thinking and returned to the task at hand. I looked for a rice cooker, only to realize “we” didn’t have one. After multiple failed attempts, I finally made “dinner.” “Dinner” was a few grains of rice in a bowl. How could “I” and the two other people in my “family” survive on such meager meals? I decided to give myself a tour of the house before whoever lived with me came back. That’s when I realized: I didn’t know what I looked like, what I sounded like, what I was supposed to act like, and so on. I’ll figure that out later, after my “tour.” There really wasn’t much in the dreary home, except for a blue bowl with a white rabbit painted on it, containing two copper coins. I sighed before sitting down, patiently waiting for the other residents to return.
