Odds Ever in Our Favour--Writing Games Entry Book

3. The Donkey (HRM)

There was a legend Rui could recall, a well-renowned Chinese tale he had read while he was still a young lad deeply immersed in the literary realms from the books on his mother's bookshelves. He never truly gave thought to it after he moved away from his childhood home, but as he entered one of the many dark and vacant houses on the empty street, images of the tale passed on for many generations flashed in his mind, as vivid as he remembered them. For a moment, he paused in his footsteps, the sounds of metal clanging and wind whooshing and hooves trotting over packed dirt ringing loud and clear in his ears...and he shook his head, a soft laugh emitted from his lips, as he recalled his childhood self and the childhood fantasy he created, kept even if only for a short while.

He remembered how his eyes had widened in awe when he read of the chosen ambassadors and the priest on their perilous journey to the west to obtain the sacred scrolls, primarily the prideful one who could change into seventy-two different forms and could create replicas of himself with a few strands of his fur and a silent breath. A monkey born from a rock atop a spirit mountain and worshipped as a leader of his clan, recognized for the many superpowers he could exercise with a clear lucid mind and a magic staff that could grow and shrink at his will, was already a legend most people have revered, he included. But alas, as he knew, myths were only myths, and such heroes could only exist in the mind's eye, never to appear in the flesh. Sometimes, a story based on true events had to have their fantastical moments for literary flare.

Slowly, he glanced around the vicinity, registering the dark enclosure where he found himself, the feeling of entrapment increasing tenfold. In contrast to the home he had left behind, this building was unfamiliar, the silence too haunting. Rui slowly took cautious steps towards what he assumed would be a sitting room, furnished simply with a leather couch and a stone-cold fireplace, and collapsed on the sofa, fixing his stare at the ceiling above. The view in front of him was much too restricted for him to expand his thoughts and collect what little he already knew. He longed for a time when he could once again see the horizons, far beyond his immediate line of sight, set aglow with every rise and fall of the sun. He longed for a time to break free from the restraints that tied him back, the limitations that defined his inability to be what he always wanted to be.

He was unaware of dozing off as sleep and fatigue overcame him, but next thing he knew, the slightest whiff of peach blossoms made his eyes flutter open once more, arousing his senses once dulled in his slumber. Tingles of invigoration settled into his limbs as he rose to his feet, and with a swift exhale of air, he picked up his bamboo staff, strode over to the closest wall in the room, and struck it down with a single hit. With every broken piece of plaster came a building block that strengthened his audacity, a bravery and confidence he never thought he had. Exhilaration flooded him from head to toe, an inner reverberation of sheer clarity echoing in his once cluttered mind, and a smile curled over his lips, a devilish glint in his eyes under the empty night sky.

Like many others, he too was once a child—an inquisitive one, too, mainly reliant on his imagination to make his innocent childhood fancies come to life. The notion to pick up the habit once more had never crossed his mind before, but something about the scent that lingered in the air reminded him once more of the place where he grew up and made him reminisce and long for everything that once was.

Who was to say, then, that anything in the arena was impossible?

With a sudden screech that escaped from his mouth, Rui leapt forward and tumbled out of the hole in the wall, breathing in once more the fresh and familiar scent of peach blossoms. It was the very fragrance that had once invigorated him to follow once more his childhood instincts, and followed them he did as he sprinted outside in the moonlight, twirling his bamboo staff in his two hands. As he stopped near a wooded glen just at the outskirts of town, he turned around briefly, just once, before disappearing into the darkened thicket with a single whoosh.

The sounds of screeching filled the air the further into the forest he delved; his feet never slowed as he glanced up into the treetops, at the various monkeys that followed him from high above. Bringing a hand to his hair, he yanked a few strands free and, with a simple breath, created multiple replicas of himself running beside him, keeping watch for him like the watchmen he thought he'd never had. All he could feel was exhilaration, coursing through him from head to toe, rendering him almost as light as a bird. The sudden fluidity in his movements made him grin as he somersaulted once on the soft green grass, and he let out a laugh, the sound echoing in the air turning heads and eyes towards him.

Yes, he was a star of the show. Something in him reminded him once more of the operation that used violence to end violence, that initiated the killing of youth to end a global war. Yet for once, he gave it no thought. Years of aspiring to be like the hero he had read about in his age of early youth had finally begun to unfold in front of his very eyes, the thrilling excitement enlivening him once more bringing him back to his youthful days, the days of innocence when questions were harmless ponderings, and ideas, as foolish as they seemed, were unlocked with the keys he had to constantly fashion. Once again, he felt like a child, the child he used to be.

And yet there he was: the boy that had flourished into a man, once again made a child by something as simple as an old familiar scent.

A faint breeze tickled his skin as he sprinted up a steep slope, his pounding feet and his swinging arms bringing as much momentum as he could muster, until he reached the very top overlooking a mountain overpass. Glancing up at the tiny full moon that shone in the sky and the rose-coloured clouds that surrounded it, for a moment he thought he saw his own innocent younger self looking back at him—the self that never felt trapped, caged in an operation that initiated violence to prevent it. The twinkle in his young bright eyes made him raise his chin in conviction, a prideful smirk curling over his lips.

Finally, he had done it. He had attained the childhood dream he once had.

As he stood atop the peak, precariously balanced on one foot in a martial artist's stance, he ignored for one fleeting moment the eyes that stared at him in sheer worry, in anticipation that brought them to their feet, and trusted his inner conscience. Swinging his bamboo staff and twirling it round in his hands, he somersaulted off the mountaintop without a second thought. His arms extended like the wings of an inexperienced bird, his body fully reliant on the nonexistent wind to carry him through the night sky.

Alas, the air around him granted him no wings, let alone support, and it was gravity that yanked him away from what fantasies he dwelled in, sending him tumbling once more to the ground.

The sudden impact of his body hitting the dirt below sent his conscience crashing back to reality, the pain jolting him out of his childhood reminiscences. The sweet scent of peach blossoms began to fade away and dissipate into thin air, and as the rose-coloured clouds dissolved out of sight, he felt the inevitable truth deliver a sharp pang in his chest.

Moments of supposed strength had brought about seconds of certain weakness, and with each second that ticked, Rui felt his resolve crumble and dissipate into thin air. His mind had been oblivious to the fact that the gas was a trap, and as he slowly rose to his feet, he gave in to the vulnerability that constantly tried to pierce his pride.

He had been played for a fool, he knew. A simple scent so familiar to his childhood should not have brought about a reminiscence that convinced him to play pretend once more—yet it all seemed so real, as if it had sprung right out of the pages of the story he had once read. For a moment, he believed it; he believed he had the superpowers of the superhero he had looked up to. Yet, like everything else in this operation, it had only been nothing but a ruse. No childhood fantasy, no matter how powerful it served to be in one's mind, would ever find a way out of the pages of a book.

No childhood fantasy could ever be granted, no matter how hard one believed in it.

Word Count: 1561

Score: 12/15

Ranking: 2nd

Eliminated?: No