Author: Annabelle Wong HIn Sang

Annabelle Wong Hin Sang (9) | STAFF REPORTER

I tug on the brass handle. Chips of paint flake as the door reluctantly creaks open, dusting worn floorboards. A soft square of light forms in the centre of the room as clouds part, revealing a blanket of pink and orange beneath. I step inside, gazing over the attic’s contents when I realise I left a lot more than I remember. read more

Annabelle Wong Hin Sang (10) | STAFF REPORTER

Exactly one year ago, the house on the hill burned down – I think I’m the only one who remembers. read more

Annabelle Wong Hin Sang (9) | STAFF REPORTER

The station was eerily quiet.

X glanced towards the conductor, who slept soundly in the ticket booth. Pushing past the turnstiles, he looked around warily at the empty space of the subway station, not a single person in sight. X headed towards an escalator, the sound of ceiling pipes shifting around echoed as he passed by. Somewhere, there was the sound of water as it slowly dripped, making a sound as it hit the station floor. He hurried to the escalator, shoes tapping against the metal stairs as he made his way down. read more

Annabelle Wong Hin Sang (9) | STAFF REPORTER

The man turns his gaze to the smoky skies. It’s the same sky he wakes up to, and the same one he sees before drifting to sleep after hours of forcing himself awake. He cups his calloused hands together, holding them out as grey ash slowly drifts towards what is left of their barren planet. read more