Story #1

Unbreakable Bond

I can’t even think straight. By now the sun is at its highest point in the sky. Hours of writing the same character again and again is going to make me never write again. What’s the point anyway? 

Oh, right. So that I don’t bring shame onto the family. Mother always tells me I am too much like my older brothers. While I kneel for hours, she laments in her chair, weeping her fake tears through her danfeng eyes, that I write, sleep, eat, play like a boy. I am getting tanner and learning the palace maids’ undignified ways because I am friends with them, blah blah blah. 

I slammed the brush onto my desk. There’s no way I’m doing a little girl’s homework. 

Outside, magpies flew overhead. I knew I didn’t have my parasol with me, the sun burning my face. My feet hurt walking in these worn out slippers, my dirty brown robe and pants grazing my knees. No one will know I am the daughter of the Emperor. 

And so I snuck out of the palace grounds, avoiding the main gate by going behind the big koi pond to a hole in the wall, then to a bridge leading me to freedom. 

In the village market, food vendors lined up with fried goods, candied hawthorns, the smell of pork steamed buns in the air. I looked downwards to my right side…

Clink! Clink!

My heart froze like a fish that saw Xi Shi. I whipped my head back while patting my pockets, trying to catch sight of the thief, all at the same time. How could I be so stupid?!

Just then, an exotic merchant, bringing in peacocks and Persian rugs, swaggered into the throng, his camels wearing necklaces of coins. 

Oh. I sighed, hanging my head low. My pockets were already empty. I left without bringing money.

Turning around, I started back towards the palace. 

“Daiyu! Daiyu!”

I smiled. I know that voice from anywhere. 

“Huiyan! Over here!” I yelled. She’s one of the palace maids my mother disapproves of. Mother doesn’t know her. Huiyan is the only palace maid about my age, the rest were older ladies with heavy hands, flat and big like oars, using them on young maids. Because they couldn’t use them on the royal children, they spoke flattering words smooth like wine to me and my siblings, expressing their grievances at dinner time away from my mother’s shadow.

“Wha–what are you doing here? The head maid will kill me if she sees me with you!” she fretted.

“Shhh! Not if we don’t get caught,” I giggled. “Do you have any money? Let’s stroll around the marketplace!” 

“Daiyu, I got to get back–”

“It’ll only be for a little while–”

“But–”

“No buts!” I shouted, a few heads turning towards me. 

I snatched a string from her hair, her tight bun loosened into dark locs, straight like straw. 

“Hey!” 

“Catch me if you can!” I ran deeper into the marketplace, an excited Huiyan chasing me. We ran down the street, dodging carts pulled by mules, vendors with their goods, a few elders who shook their heads, the whole market a blur of brown, gold, and silver. 

Story #2

Free Bird

*Please don’t mind the nose, AI isn’t very good at drawing them*

I looked out the gap between the rocks that was a window. Then came white wings skimming the water, fish flopping between its beak. I wonder why I wasn’t a bird. 

A bird has no common sense, or a brain like a human’s. They don’t cook or wash clothes. They don’t have to solve problems they can’t understand. Free to fly, free to do whatever they pleased. 

They don’t look out windows to procrastinate from spinning more wool. 

I know I had to spin wool; that’s how my family earns money from selling to the tall men with their fancy hats and nice buckled shoes. I’m grateful I could eat. But birds get to eat too and they don’t spin wool. A bird dives to get their catch and that’s enough for them. My family spins and weaves and spins and weaves and spins and weaves faster than a spider can, only for five pence a week. 

What or who determines who gets a bigger lot in life than others? Did those rich girls in the market with their fancy dress and buckled shoes the size of a baby’s feet spin wool for their wealth? Perhaps someday, God can turn me into a bird so I can get out of here, or maybe He will make a star fall and I will wish to be one of those girls, to be like those men.

I sighed. Ma is calling me. She doesn’t understand it’s unfair. 

I pulled away from the window, dragging myself to the wheel, spinning wool again. 

Story #3

The Unashamed Stars

“I told the stars about you.”

He softly laughed. “What did you tell them?”

“I- ” my cheeks turned hot red, as I let out a shaky puff of cold air. I can’t tell him. Can’t tell him all the things that make him better than me. Popular, smart, athletic, talented. All the things I’m not. 

We sat in silence under the twinkling stars watching us from above, his deep eyes lost in thought. 

“Do you know what I would tell them? The stars?”

I turned to his face, now as red as mine. 

“I would tell them how beautiful you are when you smile,” he grinned. “How your eyes sparkle every time you’re happy.”

“It’s– it’s nothing, really.” I flustered. “I have rather big front teeth, and–”

“And how you outshine the stars tonight…”

He should’ve been with her. 

He paused. “What’s wrong?” 

I didn’t notice my crestfallen expression, a tear dripping down my cheek.

“I’m telling the truth,” he whispered, as though he confessed his biggest secret. He gently wiped away a tear, his finger soft like a pillow. 

“What’s up?”

I couldn’t reply to him, choking on my words, my tears now waterfalls. 

“Come here,” he pulled me into a hug. 

“You’re way out of my league,” I sobbed. “Your friends, the other girls, everybody else at school, they say you shouldn’t be with me.”

“They’re wrong.”

“They’re right! I’m–”

“Shh. Don’t tell me any of their BS, you’re not who they think you are,” he muttered.

He pulled away, took a deep breath, and kissed me, for the first time, for a long second. 

Suddenly I felt a little better. 

Story #4

Belong

 I can’t remember the last time my family ever had a stroke of luck. Year after year some disaster always falls upon us. They’re so random it’s scary. A few months ago, the water in the village well turned black, all of a sudden. Uwani, the woman who lives in the hut next door, couldn’t find water to wash her eight children’s clothing. They like to play in mud and grass, so for three days everyone could smell the stench on their clothes, even smelling it through the hut when they’re inside. 

I’m not sure why I’m to blame for the incident. My mother and father say something bad always happens when I’m outside. They didn’t remember the time when Amani’s chicken died suddenly while I was inside. 

But the village had enough, and one day I woke up to find myself alone in the thick jungle, the scattered sunlight struggling through the treetops. By the time the sun started setting, I found my way back into the village, but two boys stood guarding the village, and refused to let me in. I cried hot tears that night. Why, oh why me? 

Not knowing what to do, I turned around and wandered, stumbling like a lame man. 

Then I heard the waves crashing against the shore.

I walked, anticipating, hoping, though for what I don’t know. 

I stared into the vast open sea, empty and hopeless. I’m no longer who I used to be. I’m no longer a village girl, I have no home. 

Splash splash! My stomach rumbled. I might as well try to catch a fish. I was excluded from tonight’s feast. I foraged around the sand, looking for grass or anything for a fishing net. Nothing. 

A big fluke rose from the sea, inches away from where I was. I felt stupid, but I grabbed the tail hoping to pull the big fish onto shore. 

“Ah!” 

I dropped the tail, unsure whether it was my voice. 

“Watch it!” 

Nope, that wasn’t me. 

“Sorry,” I mumbled. Then I saw her. This was no fish. 

She looked at me, scowling through her hair, some parts clinging to her face, dark and wet like rich, fertile soil. 

An… aicaya? They’re real? 

She tried to drag herself towards the ocean, her arms in front of her, but her body barely budged. She’s stuck, like me. 

“Can’t you help me out at least?” she grunted. 

I put my hands on my hips, like my mother used to do. “Only if you will help me.”

She turned around, amused. “Help you do what?” 

“I don’t have a home. My village kicked me out. They said I’m the one causing trouble in the village, that I’m the source of all misfortune in the village. I’m homeless, like you once were. I don’t have anywhere to go and I need— I need someone to—” I paused. “To accept me.” 

Her scowl softened.

“Please, I really don’t know what to do. I need somewhere, anywhere other than my village. Other than this island. Take me to wherever the aicaya are. Where you guys are. I’ll follow any rules you guys have, I promise.” 

“There is only one rule we have,” she said softly, “every black sheep we find we guide back to the pen. Help me first, and you can come with me.” 

I hooked my arms under hers, walking backwards until I was wading in waist high water. 

She lent out her hand, and I swam with her out to the sea. 

Story #5

Nandi

Everyone likes her. Nandi Banks, the pretty one. Her golden brown ringlets cascade over her shoulders, her lips a natural rosy pink. Her brown doe eyes boys long to stare into. 

Three guys in my grade like her, all of them in the same class. Zane, who gets teased relentlessly for it. Shane, who bullies Zane for his crush on Nandi, but hides his own feelings to keep the peace. Alex, who knows Zane and discusses their feelings for her occasionally. All in the same class. 

There’s probably more guys that like her, but those three are the only ones I know of because I’m in that class too. Strangely, she doesn’t seem to have any friends.
I will admit, I wonder what it’s like to be like Nandi, to have so much power. To be wanted. Desired. To be so pretty and yet mysterious. 

I have ashy black hair, so ashy it’s practically grey, chapped lips, and blue eyes. Guys don’t ever approach me, and whenever they do, it’s because they think it’s funny. Guys always ask me for my friends’ phone numbers, never mine. And no one ever offers to pay for me. I wonder how many freebies Nandi gets. If she has a huge collection of tokens people gave her over the years. 

I’m a little jealous. A little. I don’t know why I am, because I don’t care for guys. 

Nandi. I wonder.