If only,

If anything, I thought my life to be a dime in a dozen. Excogitating I was a commonplace adolescent in the midst of battling puberty. Juggling school, family and friends. Dealing with stress, examinations and studies. Boiling others behind their backs with people I libeled as “friends”. Acting ignorant and rebellious when being carped at.

All these seemed to be thoughts I would have until I reached quietus. Until the moment when I would cease to exist, I thought, my life was normal.

I could remember

The prosaic alarm jingle came on. I trundled unto my side, reached out a weary arm and snagged the snooze button. I slouched up, trying to pry open my heavyweight eyelids. After finally summoning sufficient strength, I slid off my bed and droopily trudged towards the toilet, bone-tired.

The frosty tap water felt wonderful on my skin. It took a ton off my eyelids and had me ravenous. The usual Saturday morning breakfast, Jean’s delectable ham and cheese. Just the thought of the toasted delight made me salivate. I skipped down the auburn oak stairs and settled in my usual seat at the dining table.

I chirped a cheery “Good Morning!” only to receive echoes of my very own voice from inside of me. I finally took notice of the intense atmosphere, impatience palpable in everyone’s actions. Did something horrible happen?

In any case, my appetite was reduced to scraps. I needed to get out of this dreadful place, to escape from this barrier of repugnance. I promptly stood up, announced I was going for a stroll in the nearby park and made a beeline for the main door.

You.

The gentle spring breeze blew and tossed my hair around in carefree abandon as a cloud mercifully shielded me from the blistering Sun. As I strolled along the park, passers-by who spotted me began giving me sympathetic smiles.

What was going on? I slumped unto a park bench and closed my eyes for a moment. Everybody was acting peculiar today. April the fifth, my birthday. It’s my birthday today. Did nobody remember? I let out a reverential sigh, and laid down on the welcoming bench, drifting off into a light sleep.

And see

“Joan, Wake up!” I squinted to see who had interrupted my temporal amity. It was my brother, Joe. “Hey, what’s up?” His voice felt like sunshine after a rainy day. I sat up to give him space, and snuggled back down unto his lap. Joe of all people would understand. He was always there for me. His smile seemed to brighten up my days. With him, I knew not the meaning of sibling rivalry. What would I ever do if I lost him? What would I ever do should he someday leave? He always made troubles seem far away. He was like the trusty door of the little room in my heart, the one that provided security, the one that protected me with utmost love and concern.

He began humming a lullaby Jean had always sung to us when we were toddlers. It was our all-time favourite. Joe and I would always sing it together. Although he began going out of tune when his voice began breaking. That was when he stopped singing it altogether and only agreed to hum it to my singing. I grinned and sang softly along, “Sleep now, little one. Sleep when the blue moon rises. Wipe away your little frown, for tomorrow will be filled with surprises…”

Suddenly, his smile morphed into a frown, creasing his handsome features. His legs began to turn charcoal black, as if rotting and blood streamed down his eyes. I stared goggle-eyed with a level of horror and was stunned into speechlessness. As my screams pierced the air, and my tears streamed down my face like the Mississippi, Joe was as if consumed by the flames of hell right before my very eyes.

I felt like the bottom had just fallen out of my world, and I was at a complete loss. “Joe, don’t go.”

That beautiful face

I rose from the bench with my heart racing and cold sweat dripping down my chin unto my over-sized black American Exchange shirt, which was Joe’s. Was that a dream? Thank goodness it was a dream. What would I do if Joe were gone? What would I do if…

The fright I received from that ghastly dream had not vanished. I got up and sprinted in the first direction my body felt obliged to go. Sweat began beading all over and my legs trembled uncontrollably. I was quaking inside.

Of yours

An intrinsic bridge came into sight. Puzzled, I scurried up to see Jean sobbing in John’s arms. Why was my mother crying? John was attempting to console her, to no avail. Jean must have spotted me for she ran over and began hitting me, trying to say something over loud sobs. “Murderer!” was all I could pick out. Murderer? Me?

John grabbed Jean and cast a look toward a flower patch the bridge was overlooking, as if signaling for me to go look. I hurried over and my heart cringed at what I saw.

The flowers were in full bloom and they were breathtaking. They spelt out the words, “Happy Birthday, Joan.” I twirled back and asked, “Who?” At this question, Jean sobbed even harder as John managed to squeeze out, “Joe.”
I was utterly confused. “Where is he?” I was now desperate to know what was going on. I was sinking every moment. Sorrow was like quick sand, constantly pulling me into its fiery grasps. An indescribable desolation swept over me when Jean screamed, “He is dead! Dead!”

Pictures and words began flooding into my head, memories of my favourite lullaby, memories of Joe, memories. And the final memory, one that showed me possibly the biggest fear buried in the depths of my heart.

A fire had started in the old “playroom” Joe and I had set up in the gardening shed behind our house on my tenth birthday, April the fifth. Desperate to save the antediluvian recording tape of our favourite lullaby, I cast away all cares, blocked out the worried cries from my worried family and rushed into the collapsing childhood wonder.

When I got my hands on the precious tape, the fire had devoured everything. The flaming planks of what used to be the roof of the shed threatened to fall onto me. Just at that moment, Joe rushed in and covered me in his muscular body, in the body that I would never embrace for warmth, for security, again.

His last words, I vowed never to forget, “Hey Joan, what’s up? Seems like you got the tape. Great job.” He died for all our precious childhood memories, he died for our favourite lullaby, he died, for me.

I collapsed when the vague words I had overheard at the hospital floated in, “I am terribly sorry Mrs. Trent. I’m fear the worst for Joan. The loss of her brother was too great and has triggered an a chain reaction, leading to amnesia. I’m afraid that she might never recover her memory.”

For four whole years, four years, I had forgotten the lullaby, our lullaby. I’d forgotten Joe. I’d forgotten the sacrifice he made for our memories, our happiness, for me. “Sorry Joe, sorry.”

Summoning all my strength, I looked up, and for a horrifying moment, I thought I saw an alabaster white figure behind my sobbing mother, flashing me the warmest smile I’ve ever seen, humming that ever-so-beautiful tune. “Happy Birthday, Joan.”

Once again

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I like the way you wrote the essay, but I didn't get what happened. Wasn't she sleeping on the park bench? How did she go into the shed? Would she wake up on day and remember everything she forgot? Why would Jean call her murderer at the present for something that happened 4 years ago?

I overall like this sory very much. I have not much to say about this part.

Pretty good English you got there.

The essay seems rushed, there’s no elaboration, no description of how much they love each other, or anything else. Everything happens on Jen’s deathbed. The limit for each essay is 1200 words originally when you submitted, but you only used 491 words, slightly over the borderline. You can explain much more about what happened in the 5 years of their marriage. Emphasis on the ‘Music’ section is also very low. How did she write this essay if she is dead?

The way you arranged the things that happened from their childhood to the marriage is very rushed. I didn’t understand what happened in between that made them love each other so much. Will studying together have any help to their relationship? You could improve on this part. If she were so sick, how did she write a letter? And if he had been with her for the whole time, will she get a chance to write it secretly? It is in her hands, it is obvious enough for anyone to notice, I believe he will see it too. I was in the hospital, dying of 4th stage breast cancer. My grandmother had also died of cancer, so it was in my genes. We had both gotten our degrees in doctor, and spending our fifth year in marriage together already.’ Why do you skip from her grandmother to her husband? You make it sound like her grandmother had a medicine degree and was married to you for five years..

I can’t say much about this section, but I spotted a few grammatical mistakes.