SHORT STORIES

The Copies

“We should be second to none. The citizens of our world are tired of being treated like creatures of the dark: unknown and viewed as the blood-curdling monsters we know we’re not.”

An abrupt “ha” left Dad’s mouth, his face twisted with contempt. Slowly, a scowl made a temporary appearance before he drank the coffee in his favourite mug. With a swift grab of the remote, he leant against the cushion of our sofa and lowered the volume of the uproar taking place in the TV: a single man on a single stage, masses of people surrounding his figure of authority with impassioned looks and impassioned cries; banners that read ‘WE ARE THE ORIGINALS.’

“Who do they think they are? Those Copies are all a bunch of freaks!” He spat, and I caught an unwanted whiff of his coffee breath.

“Dad, try not to aim your coffee-infused breath right at my face otherwise I might faint,” I replied to his ongoing rantings while edging away from his animated gestures towards the news reporter, who concluded that the UN were going to, I quote, “mend everything”. That’s what they said last time, but it only escalated towards the spectrum of doom.

The amber hue of the sun through the window transformed into a deep orange, then into a deep red, the sun taking a final peak at the inhabitants of this world as the night’s midnight blue hands took over to create a star here and a star there. I took this as my queue to leave, the alarm on my phone ringing to signal 7pm before I swiped to dismiss.

“Okay, I’m off to work.” Taking my purse, I jumped to my feet and left my dad to his grumblings, his faint “Take care, Violet” reverberating off the white walls of our apartment complex as I locked the door.

I was met by a mob holding banners of opposition when I ventured outside. Dark-hooded individuals wore a grimace that marred their faces, a rectangular banner with the familiar face that I saw just a moment ago on TV etched in the form of caricature where a moustache was drawn in mockery, his golden eyes covered with crosses in permanent red marker. They held the banner with clenched fists as they continued their march around the block, protesting in shouts that the wind carried wherever they went.

The wind smacked my face, waking me up from my trance as I shook my head and walked the familiar way to work. Posters of the same man in the banner littered every wall, and graffiti with words that read: ‘FUCK THE COPIES’ were painted on the streets and pavements of every neighbourhood. It almost seemed like a war took place.

I reached the pizza parlour where I worked, the ‘Open’ sign’s neon blue lights flickering profusely, transforming my manager into a smurf when her head popped out of nowhere. She instantly ushered me inside, pushing me past full tables and into the kitchen. I was instructed to make more dough since the entrance opened every few minutes to reveal another group of customers.

It wasn’t until after three hours that I finally had my break. Steve gave me a nod as he sprinkled some cheese on a finished pizza, offering me a slice for a snack. I happily took his offer and left for the back door.

The wind instantly rushed past me, as well as the smell of rubbish, and I regretted not wearing my jacket because it was so cold. Shouts of protest were still heard as more of those hooded individuals lurked in the streets – they tore posters, crumpled them up and threw them into the air, shouting profanities towards the night.

I looked up – there was a light in the sky… a twinkle from a star probably. I chewed on my pizza slowly. The light was getting bigger. By the time I finished my pizza, it was big enough to blind me, and so I shielded my eyes as I was engulfed in light.

It didn’t take long for it all to disperse and I was once again left with the bitter wind slapping me back to life, goosebumps appearing on my arms.

“Why did you have to push me, you idiot?! You changed our trajectory!”

“Look, I fell over, so I had to grab onto the nearest thing next to me.”

“Grab something else next time!”

It was weird. What came after the light were two men dressed in black coats, and as they stared at me in both shock and confusion only one word shivered itself out of my mouth.

“Copies…” I said, their heads tilting to the side as their golden eyes stared right into mine.

The first who spoke turned to his partner and uttered, “Ah fuck, we landed in front of a human. See what you’ve done?!”

“It’s fine, she doesn’t even look like she’s able to speak right now,” the other replied nonchalantly

“Of course, she can’t! Who would be able to when two guys from a different dimension appear in front of them?!”

“You need to stop shouting – it’s hurting my damn ears.”

I just stood there baffled. Everyone had stated their negative opinions about the Copies, saying they were wretched monsters, but seeing this exchange made me think otherwise.

“W-What are two Copies doing here?” I asked in a stutter, shaking from both the cold and the first-time experience in meeting Copies.

“Copies?” The second one pondered, looking at the other in confusion.

“That’s what they call us,” he answered with a sigh.

“That’s kinda pathetic.”

“A-Answer my question! What are you two doing here?” I asked once more.

They looked up. I followed suit. More lights started appearing in the night sky. They were everywhere. To the right, to the left, north and south… the night was ablaze with lights that were burning bigger and bigger. The shouts I heard, and were still hearing until now, stopped abruptly to throw questions into the air.

I looked towards the two Copies, who were now staring at me with smirks etched on their faces – their golden eyes seemed to glow with the answer that I already knew.

“We’re here to take over your world,” the first one replied, and everything was engulfed in light.

Amaterasu

At first, the idea of spending my summer at an old manor surrounded by nothing but the eerie woods was a no-no for me, but as the car pulled up the driveway and my little brother awoke from his slumber and jumped on his seat with excitement, I was met with a feeling of home… and a familiar feeling of hunger – which I get all the time in long-car journeys.

My feet touched gravel when I got out and the crunching sound filled my ears, together with the frantic yells of my parents who were trying to stop Kian, my little puffball of a brother who was accident prone and also seemed to break things. A lot.

“Kian, get back here otherwise you won’t get your nuggets for lunch!” My mum shouted after his running figure, arms flailing.

Dad sighed beside me, opening up the trunk and handing my suitcase with a shake of his head but nonetheless, he wore a smile at Kian’s bubbly personality and habit of exploring.

“For a four year-old, he never gets tired, does he?” He asked with a slight Japanese accent since dad was, of course, Japanese.

I grinned at him and nodded in agreement as we made our way to the entrance of the manor, met with extravagant-looking flowers with, probably, extravagant yet confusing names to say.

The exterior of the manor was striking: brick buildings that had a gothic feel to them like a castle in some dark novel; imperfections marred the walls but it reminded me of a treasured ruin than an insignificant residue.

Mum and Kian were already at the entrance: oak double doors that seemed to rise into the heavens, making mum and Kian look like ants. The doors were impeccably polished, gleaming with a shine that rivalled that of a jewel’s. And when dad opened the doors with a mighty shove, a weird feeling of deja-vu overtook me.

Midnight blue carpet overflowed the floor like the sea at night with silver suns whose rays swirled around its figure – it was embedded in the carpet, slightly faded into a dull grey but could still somehow catch an individual’s eye. Up ahead were a flight of stairs that halted at a single, massive portrait of… myself.

Kian’s head was turning back and forth, to me, then to the portrait like a bobble head continuously bobbing its head in a never-ending cycle of bobbing.

Dad erupted in a laugh and mum was wide-eyed as if she was a deer caught in headlights. “She looks a lot like her grandma when she was young, doesn’t she?” Dad answered my questioning stare with a question and realisation dawned on me.

“Oh,” I replied, my mouth slightly agape.

As dad ushered us to shoo away from grandma’s grinning portrait with her hair falling in effortless waves, a Japanese hair ornament adorning her head, my eyes wouldn’t leave hers even when I followed my family up the stairs – the feeling of deja-vu stronger than before.

“Mei, Mei, Meeeeeiii,” Kian whined, attacking me while I was trying to get some sleep.

He’d been at it for two hours now and I was not amused. Groaning, I thrust the covers aside and grabbed him by his shoulders. “What?!” I answered, irritation rising from my guts and about to blow out of my ears. All he did was giggle whilst trying to wriggle out of my grip. He woke me up at four in the morning and all the little puffball did was giggle; GIGGLE.

“I can’t sleeeeep,” he replied, black, puffy curls (hence the nickname ‘puffball’) obscuring his brown eyes from view. Raking his annoying-yet-cute fringe curls out of the way, I looked him in the eye and said, probably, the most heart-wrenching words a four year-old ever heard in his entire life: “No,” since I knew what he wanted to say.

“But Meeeeeeeeeeiiii.” And that ladies and gents was how my brother got me into playing hide and seek with him.

Hiding behind a curtain, I tried not to remind myself that it was pitch black outside and that a monster could be lurking just outside the window and tried to get some shut-eye… until, of course, a familiar, overjoyed shout woke me up with a jump.

“Found you!” Kian bellowed, poking me and already looking for a hiding spot when I emerged from behind the curtain. I unwillingly counted to ten, but by the time I got to six, an ominous chiming of a grandfather’s clock and a lute playing echoed.

My eyes trailed to the portrait since the lilting melody seemed to be coming from inside. Thinking of myself as insane and that this was all my brain’s doing from lack of sleep, I went to go look for Kian but froze in my tracks at the sight of something… absurd.

Two men wearing kimonos emerged from the portrait: one had pale, blond hair that almost looked white – plucking the strings of a lute in his arms while the other had jet-black hair, a serious expression etched on his face.

Serious-face appeared in front of me in a flash, bowed once then cleared his throat and uttered in a deep voice: “Mei Hiroshi, descendant of the deity and Sun Goddess, Amaterasu, you are to come with us.”

Your Name

From his bed, he stared at the drops of rain slapping against the slightly open window. Some stray drops forcefully infiltrated his bedroom, the wind flinging his window open and jabbing his chest. Gripping his bed sheets tight, a scowl distorted his face as he pointed towards nothing.

“Shut up!” He screamed at the roaring thunder and the darkening heavens, which seemed to smirk at his provoked state. With haste, he jumped from his bed and slammed the window closed. Clenching his right hand, he punched the window multiple times until blood dripped from his knuckles and shards of glass stood tall in his skin.

“She won’t get me first I’ll be the one to get her first I’m not going to let her no I’m not going to let her I’m not going to I’m not going to do that but I have to don’t I? I have to do it.“

Rapid murmurs escaped his mouth, his hands clutching at his greying hair as he squatted and rocked back and forth on his heels. A lone glass winked from his foot, drowning in a little pool of blood. He stopped and picked the glass, eyeing the bending light inside with a small smile playing at his lips.

“Oh, I know what to do!” He exclaimed, dropping the glass as he leapt to his feet and skipped towards his bed. The oak bedside table glowed yellow from the lamp standing precariously over the edge, which illuminated a stack of papers that held the names of certain individuals. With newfound determination, he flipped through to the last page and grabbed a pen, scribbling a name in cursive handwriting.

The scowl fell from his face, replaced by a triumphant smile and a little jump in his step as he made his way to the telephone. He dialled a memorised number while playing with the beige wallpaper, scratching and scratching.

“Yes, sir?” A deep voice answered. He continued to scratch the wallpaper.

“I’ve finished the next batch. I’ll send the same person to give you the documents.”

“Understood,” the person replied just before the line was abruptly cut. His scratchings on the wall morphed into letters: S O O N.

With her brown hair in a messy bun, she quietly entered the room, a glass of water and a bottle of pills held in her hands. She took note of the scratchings on the wall and the ruffled bed sheets, locating him at the corner of the room as he pored over the list of names.

“I have your medicine for the day,” she said, kneeling in front of his hunched figure. In response, he brought his index finger in front of his mouth and told her to shhh.

“I’ve finished the next batch. You have to bring it to him again.” He gave her a wide grin and handed her the documents, which caused her to drop the bottle of pills. She glanced at the slightly crumpled sheets in concern and nodded, “I will.”

A few days later, she found herself sitting in a train. She eyed the people outside, her thoughts running and colliding against the walls of her skull, which gave her a headache. In her hand was a beanie in the colour of a calm, pastel pink, and she played with it until a familiar voice broke her out of her constant caressing of the woolly material.

“Do you have the documents?” The man, who decided to sit across her figure, asked.

Slowly, she looked up and was met by the same steel grey eyes that eyed her cautiously a month ago. Without answering, she rummaged inside her shoulder bag to present the crumpled documents. A total of fifteen pages.

Hesitant, she held the papers with both hands and gave it to the man. She grasped it tight, almost never letting go until he gave another one of his steely stares. A smirk appeared on his face when she decided to surrender.

Swiftly, he took the documents, his smirk staying glued to his face. Grabbing an item in his coat, he turned his gaze to the worry etched on her features, his smirk widening as he pointed an object towards her. The pounding against her skull increased; the barrel of a gun stared at her forehead.

“I-I don’t understand,” she stuttered, her eyes darting around the carriage for any sign of help, and it dawned on her that they were alone in this far-end section of the train. Her chest heaved in panic as she clutched her bag, thinking of ways to escape. Her best option was to hit him with her bag and run, but with the man’s overwhelming physique that looked like it could crush a human being with a slight nudge, she knew it was futile.

With the hand that held the documents, he flipped through to the last page and showed her a name in black, cursive ink.

Everything then slowed, even the people outside who seemed oblivious to what was happening inside the carriage. Her mind replayed memories from her childhood in black and white mosaic: her father’s grin when she successfully created her first snowman, his fake-death when she threw a snowball at his face, his look of surprise when she threw him a birthday party with the help of her mother, and the best memory of all… her father sitting her down and giving her advice whenever something troubled her.

She could always count on her father.

“Why is my name on there?” She asked, cautious as she tried to calm her screaming heart. Sweat began to drip down the side of her face, but her hands continued to grip her bag. She made no move to leave or resist while the man played with the trigger.

“Do you even know what this list is?” She shook her head, her knuckles turning white. He raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “Alistair didn’t even bother telling you?”

“No…”

“This is your father’s hit list,” the man replied, pulling the trigger.

BTS Fan Fiction

White cars line the front in perfect formation. You look up and come face to face with a tall building; multiple glass windows reflect the light from the sun, dazzling you. Slight sweat drips from your forehead and you try to fan yourself with your hand. With a deep breath, you grip the strap of your bag and walk towards the double doors.

Upon entering, air conditioning kisses the heat from your skin and you relish in the cold air. You meet the eyes of a receptionist and make your way towards her, gulping. She seems to eye your whole being before asking for your name, which you give in a stutter.

“You’re here for the internship, right?” she asks while looking through some documents and rummaging in a drawer. She presents a lanyard and an ID with your name, accompanied by a not-so-decent photo of you trying to stop yourself from sneezing.

“Yes,” you answer, taking the lanyard and eagerly placing it around your neck. You still can’t believe that you were chosen amongst the five hundred people who applied for an internship at Big Hit Entertainment, home to one of the biggest boy bands. A boy band plastered all over your bedroom wall in the form of A3 posters around three, red letters: BTS.

The receptionist stands and walks around the marble desk, gesturing for you to follow. “I’ll show you around the premises,” she says, and you nod with glee. She takes you down a corridor with wooden flooring and a few doors on both sides. You hear music coming from the room the receptionist knocks on first, and after a few seconds, the music stops as the door flings open.

Oh my God. Your eyes almost pop when you meet two pairs of brown eyes. One had teal-coloured hair while the other sported copper in a messy, yet elegant sweep, a few stray hairs falling into his eyes.

“Suga, J-Hope, this is our new intern. She’ll be around for thirty days.” The receptionist gestures towards you and you suddenly find it hard to breathe. You do all you can to suppress the feeling of wanting to scream, as well as shushing the fangirl inside of you.

J-Hope grins as wide as stretched dough and offers you his hand. For a minute, all you do is stare.

“Nice to meet you,” he greets, and you’re brought back from momentary daydream. You stutter a reply while Suga gives you a nod and another greeting, which you also reply with stumbling words.

“Oh, Rapmon, didn’t know you were there,” the receptionist says with surprise and a person with strawberry-blond hair turns around on an office chair. Seeing his dimples in real life stuns you, so you suck in a breath as your inner fangirl slowly turns back on.

“I heard what was said; it’s nice to meet you.” Rapmon glides forward on his office chair, offering you a hand. You take it, yours shaking slightly.

“Oh, there you are, Mira!”

The receptionist turns towards a familiar voice and you follow her lead. You almost lose your balance when you see four group of men walking your way. One of them adorns silver hair with multiple ear piercings while the others embrace the tousled look.

“V, Jungkook, Jimin, Jin… what do you guys want now?” Mira, the receptionist, asks with a slightly irritated look.

“We need some assistance for a project,” V replies while staring into your soul. You find it hard to look away, especially when the others also start staring curiously.

“Who is she?” Jimin asks. Mira looks towards you and smiles.

“She’s the one sent from above to rid of all our troubles,” Jin answers Jimin, throwing you a playful wink. You blush as Mira shakes her head.

“Hyung, stop it.” Jungkook slaps him on the shoulder, laughing and grinning, which Jin responds with another wink. Mira shakes her head again, her lips twitching from the emergence of a smile.

“This is our new intern. She’ll be here for thirty days and since you need assistance, this can be her first task.” Mira grins at you and you discreetly grip the wall to stop yourself from falling into a pile of fangirl goo. The idea of spending the whole day with four of the members makes you question whether you’re still alive.

“Funny because we need help too,” Suga chimes in. You turn to look at him and find him already gazing at you, pleading through eye contact.

Mira turns towards you with her arms crossed, her grin widening at the disbelief on your face.

“So, who will you help?”

Song Bird

Written by 14-year-old me

Blood. Blood everywhere. My arrow - my favourite one, the one with the leaf markings - fly back to my hand. The droplets of blood on the granite floor came from its tip. The tip that just took another life. Did I feel anything, anything at all? Seemed like the answer was no.

I jumped to the broken window, the shards of glass laying next to the bodies now motionless, lifeless. A hand twitched. I took one arrow from the pouch on my back, adjusted it on my bow, and fired. Bullseye. I was born to do this. This is my destiny. I will forever be a monster.

And then my eyes snapped open.

Breathe... Breathe. In. Out. Good, that's good Sierra. I gazed at the dream catcher hanging from my window. Useless. Absolutely useless. Sighing, I relax my body from the position of knees tucked under my chin and tossed my duvet to the right. 03:55 am, my clock read. I let out a groan of impatience. Why can't it be seven already? Dreadful dreams like that have been happening to me for as long as I can remember. At first, blurry, but whilst growing up, they've become even more prominent. Every scene would jump at me, leaving me helpless.

I rubbed my arms with my bare, cold hands and stumbled outside my bedroom. The landing was dark, which didn't help my growing fear of being watched. Eyes following your every move. Hand reaching for your arm and... I whipped around. Nothing. I swear I heard the tap tap tap of footsteps. Shaking my head, I quickly told my feet to hurry up and get to the bathroom, hauling the door open and slamming it shut.

A glance at my reflection in the mirror clearly showed my lack of sleep. It was all that stupid dream's fault. I turned the tap on and splashed cold water on my face, opened the door, took a breath and ventured outside. It was when I took my first step when the creak of the floorboards entered my ears, made my heart beat furiously in my chest, and made my eyes dart all over me. Man up, Sierra. I let out a breath and took another step. And another, and another, and another. By now, I was facing my bedroom door, about to yank it open when the feeling of someone's breath on my neck made me scream, and then laughter. Laughter could be heard.

"Pete!" I yelled, throwing lame punches at his side. He was clutching his belly while sprawled across the floor, me on top of him as he continued to laugh at my face. This is my dork of an older brother, who loved to scare me to death.

A bedroom door swung open and out came Mum, wrapped in her purple robe and her hair in a messy bun. She glared at us, but ended up bursting out laughing. This was a common occurrence in the Blanche household.

Scribble. Scratch. Swoosh. My sketchbook was full of pointless drawings, but this one... this one was nowhere near pointless. I continued to add shading to the bow in my dreams, making sure to accentuate the leaf markings. I had the feeling that this bow and that bizarre, yet dreadful dream was going to occupy my head with questions. Trust me, though, I would much rather forget about it than have it stuck in the recesses of my brain.

The radio was playing the latest tracks and my seat belt still annoyed me. Pete was drumming with his hands, playing the tropical beat on his lap and Mum was humming along to the music. I, Sierra Blanche, am very lucky to have such a crazy family. Note the sarcasm.

After about twenty minutes or so, Mum pulled up outside Evergreen Secondary School as Pete, looking like he might just pee on the car seat, thrust the door open and slammed it shut, happily running over to his posse. Mum turned to give me a crazy look, which made me burst into snorts of laughter and kissed her on the cheek as a sign of "see you later". I climbed out and looked at the throng of students piling outside the buildings. You wouldn't think that this place was a school. More like a gothic-looking cathedral.

"Sieeeerra!" I whipped to my right and found my best friend, Josie, with her arms wide open, running to me. Josie gave the most painful hugs, what with her Dad being a boxer and growing up with yelling at the TV and fighting with her four brothers on who would get the last chicken for dinner. I sometimes wonder what her secret for survival is. She couldn't be alive right now, considering her four brothers were huge. And I meant, huge HUGE.

I stepped away from her figure with my arms out in front of me, shaking my head. As much as I loved my best friend, I didn't want to die right here on this spot. Nuh-uh. She gave me a pout and the cross of her arms, but I still shook my head at her, pushing my way to form with a sulking redhead behind me.

Today seemed like a drag. I waved to Josie as she got in her Dad's car, her Dad smiling at me and giving me a thumbs up. I grinned. Josie's Dad was awesome. As I waited for Mum and waved bye to Pete - he had band practice - I kept myself busy by continuously kicking a stone. After a while, the place felt deserted and I felt the creeps creeping into my stomach again.

Hurry up, Mum.

The wind howled in my ears and I shivered, feeling the eyes, feeling the hand... I whipped around and there in front of me, stood a boy. He slowly walked over to me, my heart beating an unfamiliar drum pattern. I know I should run, but I was frozen.

Soon, he was in front of me, his breath on my head.

"Are you Sierra?" He asked. I nodded. He looked into my eyes, his penetrating mine and poring into my soul as he whispered two words.

"Song Bird."

And I knew he was referring to me.