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Rolling Hills & Rice Fields

By Grace Tran

  1. Amorphous
    By Olivia Lee
My childhood was written in rolling hills and rice fields. The wind delivered distant tales of sailors and soldiers. While my mother and I sat under the low cradle of the banyan tree. I would look up from time to time; Her ashen hair would cascade down her slender shoulders, her soft smile would entice the cicadas to sing, and her face was the epitome of lithe beauty. She was the one who I admired the most.

Together, we would suck on sweet mangosteens. With sticky mouths and sticky fingers, we would trace loose figures in the earth until the feathered skies blackened with soot.
Father would come home when the geckos’ chirps we’re drowned out by the buzz of mosquitoes. He would tell me fantastical stories of heroes and treasures and faraway lands: Places so far from home, they did not seem real. Those were the memories that I cherished the most. His words etched themselves deep into my mind, so that when I dreamt, the world unlocked itself and I saw his reality, and in the lull of the night he would disappear, like one of those fantastical beings he so often spoke about.
When the sun would raise its crown over the horizon, I would ask my mother about father, but my questions would be hushed away. Into the dizzying hours of the day until the geckos and mosquitoes returned again.