[The Final Proposal] Yuna Lee's Re-Write plan!

Sorry it is a bit long~ ^^

Source Text: 'Haroun and the Sea of Stories' by Salman Rushdie (1990)

The story will be re-written fromMudra's point of view. In an original text, Mudra is an able warrior skilled in the art of hand-to-hand combat, and a 2nd-in command to Khattam-Shud, who becomes disgruntled with his master's policies. After his master's death, he becomes President of Chup (dark side).
Who devided the places and named as Gup (light side) and chup (dark side)? Who can say what is good and what is bad?
Mudra has a shadow, well actually each and every person in Chup have shadows - which means there is a light! Maybe it's not bright as Gup's ... maybe it's a bit cloudy down there.
And Mudra can speak or communicate with some kind of 'sign language' or a 'spiritual gesture'. In religious manner, it's a 'seal of authenticity' in Hinduism and Buddhism.
So what? There is a language! People in Chup just value the 'silence' and are called 'Chupwalas', meaning quiet fellows, like people in Gup value the 'speech' and are called 'Guppes', meaning talkative people.
As you can see 'talkative' isn't always good... If everyone is going to talk and talk and talk... who's going to listen? How annoying... Also, more you talk, more chance to make a mistake!
How do you think about a person who likes 'talking', 'stories' and live in an 'imagination'? They gossip about everything and spread it all over and always dream about unreal imaginated staffs.... Can we say that Harou's mum is bad - who fed up with... and tired of her husband's imagination? Was Haroun's dad was a responsible man or father in his family to live in a 'real' world?
Sometimes, it's good to be silent, quite and speechless. Talk less and listen more! And, the most importantly, be realistic!

The other point that the author made was 'freedom of speech and imagination' in his writing. Invasion is a horrible thing but once some country is invaded by another, it's it natural.. I mean restriction on 'freedom of speech' isn't something that follows after invasion? Isn't it reasonable thing to do for invaders? What if, for example, the light side invade the dark side, would they leave Chupwalas (people in dark side) to keep their (life-) style, motif, behaviour etc? Of course not, they might put a pressure on them to speak, and talk about imaginations and stories...
No one invade other countries to be dispossessed (or loose). To achieve the job (invasion), everything has to be under control and any forms of freedom need to be limited.

The ending of the story will be the same as the original, but not the beginning.
How the Chup created? It’s because of the Gup. People loved talking too much – Just ‘talking’. At first it was fine, but as time went there were nothing to talk about anymore. So they start to gossip about others, places, and shops and even spread rumors. Then they start to make up stories using their imaginations – magic, angel, devil, witch, talking animal, and so on. There were also some people who fed up with it – who thought listening, silent, calmness and being realistic are better. So they moved to some different place and built their own country – which is the ‘Chup’ (dark side from Guppees’ point of view). But the families and friends were divided and separated. The Chupwalas decided to unite (?) these two countries (which was an invasion) and to do so they needed to destroy (sort of~) their talkative behaviours and imaginations/stories, at least.

How does it sound? Does it contain colonialist or imperialist assumptions?

proposal for my re-writing

Re-write from 'Wide Sargasso Sea' by Jean Rhys.

The primary topic is 'Daniel Cosway' who is Mr. Cosway's illegimate child,
the character from 'WSS'

if Jean elucidated, in her re-writen work 'WSS', how Antoinette descended into 'a demonized woman in attic' and how her selfhood was bruised by patriarchal world,

I want to elucidate the bruise of Dinel Cosway's.
who had to be named 'old Mr. Cosway's illegimate child' in 'WSS'
who never be welcomed neither white nor black community, much cruel than Antoinette's.

because i thought, maybe, possibly, Daniel is the one who is an object of sacrifice of slavey or colonialism. i am still not sure how my story will goes on however, i will try to make the audience understands 'why he conceived a deep hatred against Cosway family and the world'

- Jisuk, Lee

My re-write plan

Hi, guys.
I am going to re-write based on a famous story called "The adventure of Huckleberry Finn".
Genre of this story is satirical novel, and I've planned to re-write
from an Asian point of view. Thus, the actual novel begins on the Mississippi River,
but my re-write would begin in Korea during the era foreigners were not familiar yet.

This novel was written by Mark Twain, and he wrote during the post-colonial time where
intense whites react against blacks.
Twain took aim against racial prejudice, increasing segregation and lynching, and the generally accepted belief which blacks were sub-human.

This is my idea of re-write so far, and wonder how you guys think about this :)

A1 Re-write plan

My assignment plan for New Lits 2008 Rewrite

I will choose one part of story in "Cousins" by Patricia Grace. Because this story is easy to understand and show post-colonial and Maori culture in New Zealand.

The part of extract may be the in childhood , relationship , bonded marriage.

Backup plan : I might consider children fiction (i.e Oliver Twist , The adventure of Winnie the Pooh (Classical Version)

Re-write Proposal

Hi everyone i have decided to do my re-write on the famous childrens book, Charlie and the Chocolate factory by Roald Dahl. I have decided to use the original text as my base. Due to criticism Dahl rewrote portions of the 1964 edition and republished in 1972.
I will be focusing on the Oompa Loompas and in particular my own creation a Oompa Loompa called doodle. The issuses that i will address are the increasing consumption culture, power struggles and the wider groups disgust with Skeebo (the only Oomba Loompa named in Dahls book) and his need to 'suck up' to Willy Wonka.
I was thinking that a way to introduce the story would be the effects that the new diet of nothing but lollies and chocolate is having on them ie. rotton teeth. In the dentist office.

My re-write

Hi guys,

I am still a bit unsure of what I want to do for my re-write.

I have two main ideas at the moment...

I thought I would do a re-write of two main scenes from the book "In my fathers den" by Maurice Gee. I read this book last year for another English paper and really enjoyed it, also watched the movie they made. I thought it would be good to re-write a few scenes and change some of the story and plot around..

Or, my other option is to re-write some of the movie "Pearl Harbour" as I really love this movie and it is one of my favourite but I thought it could be a bit difficuilt to do...

I thought both of these options were ok because they have important underlying plots or purposes in the story.

Whihc option do you guys think would be better to do for my re-write. Once I have decided which option I will do I will do another post of the option and a more in depth analysis about the novel or movie.

Ashleigh Lack

Proposal for re-writing The Old Man and The Sea

The Old Man and The Sea was written by Ernest Miller Hemingway, and because of this symbolistic fiction, Hemingway won the Nobel Prize in 1954. This novel was on the basis of a Cuba fisherman’s real experience. It created a character of an old man who was unbeatable under the stress mentally.

Some reasonable and inspirer words in the fiction are popular today, and the sentence “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.” giving people deep impression in the world. Why? That’s because the dramatis personae Santiago caught nothing during his eighty-four fishing days, but on the eight-fifth day, he caught a big fish and fought against the fish and other sharks on the sea. Although the enemies are strong, he still had the confidence of unbeatable to the end. However, why the old man did not lose heart from the first day to the eight-fifth day? Readers must be interest in it. So I am going to write a story about the old man’s fishing before the eight-fifth day and I also want to show his great spirit in the re-write fiction.

I have written the beginning section of it that is following:

The Past Eighty-four Days

The old man Santiago has waited for his fish for eight-four days, however, till today he has got nothing. In the first forty days, a boy had been with him, but after forty days, the boy’s parents had told him to go because there is no fish they had got in those days. The boy’s parents believe that Santiago is the worst form of unlucky, if the boy stays with him during his all life, the boy will gain nothing. As expected, the boy caught three good fish the first week when he listened to his parents’ orders in another boat. The fact proved that the boy has touched lucky when he departed from Santiago’s boat. At this time, someone must ask: what is Santiago doing now? Does he feel lonely? Or does he enjoy his life when the boy is away? Is he still an unlucky man? So many questions take us to look back on the past eighty-four days…

This is a nice night, Santiago and the boy are having their wonderful dinner, what the delicious dish is their today’s harvest—a big fish. The boy brings some bottles of beer from the Terrace, and brings the latest news of the baseball game that is Santiago’s favorite game. They knock over a drink and talk about the Yankees of the baseball game. It is exactly a nice night to them, and they are even unwilling to think about tomorrow.

“Cheers!” Santiago says, “Let’s drink, and drink heavily!”
“Cheers!” the boy repeats his words.
“I have never so tied like today. I wish both of us have a break day.” Santiago says. His voice is so slight that the boy can not hear what he says clearly.

That’s exactly, the big fish is so amazing, because it not only is sold with a good price, but is cooked like the nice dish which is on the table. This big harvest makes them tied and desiring for a break is a normal idea that people believed. However, something unexpected happens in the following days is what they do not like to wish and to see.


The first following day…

The old man Santiago and the boy got up early as usual, although they were dead drunk last night, they had to ready to put to sea for their catch in this early morning. The boy took the rolls of line in the basket and the harpoon and gaff, and the old man carried the mast with the furled sail on his shoulder.

To be continued……

Rewriting plan

I think that a novel is criticised in various ways according to the point of view and the generation. I was incensed by reading ‘Jane Eyre’ in two parts of the novel. First part is why Rochester didn’t look after his hidden wife. Jean Rhys already exploded her feeling through the novel ‘Wide Sargasso sea’ about this part. Second part is why Rochester and Jane Eyre can be reunited and had a marriage.
I will try to adapt the ‘decentring’ concept of post colonial theory to last part of the novel by intertwining the story. It can be changed like that Rochester tried to find Jane Eyre and met her at last but she didn’t accept his proposal of marriage because Jane Eyre wanted to be free from the restraint and exploitation by him.

My Re-Write

I am re-writing the novel “Virgin” which is written by Robin Maxwell (2001). Also Michael Hirst has written the scenes for movie called “Elizabeth” which take place in 1558 - 1603. In the novel was focusing on the Virgin Queen’s life only. She was under pressure to marry and produce an heir, but her lover Lord Robert Dudley is not considered suitable. The queen realises she has some decisions to make, the most important being who rules England. I’m writing from a different angle, focusing on Lord Robert Dudley’s marriage with Amy Robsart whom later found dead and how he wanted to get involve with the queen. The setting will take place in the 16th century and 17th century and in UK mostly and also I might mention a little bit about the Spanish Amarda in 1588.

My proposal for re-write

My proposal for my re-write is to write a story based on Wide Sargasso Sea. My story will be told by Amelie's point of view, such as how she and Mr.Ronchester started thier affair and how she saw the marriage of him and Antoinette.

I think it's gonna be quite dark, since the story will be about an affair. I will also include significant points within Wide Sargasso Sea, for example, descrimination towards different races and stuff like that.

My proposal for re-write Lust Caution

I am going to re-write the Chinese film called “Lust Caution” which is directed by director Ang Lee. The film is based on the short story and it is a real historical event and rewritten by Chinese writer Eileen Chang and the story was published in 1979. The story happened in Hong Kong in 1938 and in Shanghai in 1942. In that period of time, Japan invaded China and government of Wang Jingwei only a puppet regime of Japanese. Six Chinese university students devise a plan using an attractive young woman named Mrs. Mak to tempt him in order to assassinate Mr. Yee who is a high-ranking official in the government of Wang Jingwei.

The affection between Mr. Yee and Mrs. Mak is complicated. To some extent, their affection is unacceptable in that period of time in China. So, I wanna re-write the middle part of this story and I want to focus on the inside struggle of Mr. Yee and Mrs. Mak and re-write the process of how the enemy become the lover and how the final cruel decision was made by Mr. Yee at the end of the story.

My proposal for rewriting the fairy tale Jack and the Beanstalk

I’m going to rewrite the English fairy tale Jack and the Beanstalk based on Joseph Jacob’s version in English Fairy Tales (1890), which is believed to closely adhere to the oral versions and most commonly reprinted today. I will use the third person narrative(do I have to use the first person narrative as does those novels?; it seems kind of some conflicts in Foe) to avoid much confusion because I’d like to try an anachronic order, as does the Japanese anime The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya directed by Tatsuya Ishihara.

In my story, the main character Jack must be not a hero anymore, but a side character. When I read the fairy tale as a child, I thought it was really funny having such a pathetic hero and I felt pity for the giant; thus, I’d like to make the giant the hero, but I’m also very interested in his wife who will face agonies of patriotism and feminism, and in his harp, in which a disabled girl will be mystically merged into, to show an Oriental sentiment that is different from the Western one. The beanstalk would be a symbolic path used by the English searching for colonial territories.

The story will start firstly from a Catholic Father visiting an elderly woman in the present. Then, it will shift to the past which will show a country, ruined after an English invasion owing to Jack’s successful enterprise. After this, the story will go further back to the past; about the secret of the giant’s born. Next, it will come to same time period as the original story, of Jack’s visit. As for after that, I have not a clear idea of what to do, although I have a vague idea and wrote a rough draft of half of the story. I’m not sure if this is fine for rewriting.

Proposal for my re-write

Proposal for my re- write

Original: Great Expectations written by Charles Dickens

My Plan

Narrator: Mostly Estella (first-person) but partly Havisham
Time: The early twentieth century.
Setting: England & Korea

The story begins with a scene of Havisham’s funeral where Estella encounters a few people, whose complicated relationships with one another are revealed through looking back……
In this story, I’d like to deal with issues of gender, race superiority and social hierarchy through Estella’s point of view – her mysterious background will gradually be unveiled. In that process, also orientalism - “a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the orient” (text book, p.88) will be focused on, as I twist the role of Pip.

My Proposal

Proposal-LAST SAMURAI



I am re-writing the movie Last Samurai for my first assessment currently, because I’m quite interested in the orientalism. As Edward Said (1978) states that orientalism refers to how does the western designers, writers and artists depicts the various aspects of eastern cultures in their own points of view (Edward, 1978).


And this movie mainly reflects that how an American warrior, Nathan Algren, brings himself into contact with Japanese Samurai from 1876 to 1877 in Japan. Also, I am re-writing this story in Algren’s perspective. The film place great emphasis on a radical conflict between ancient and modern fighting method. But I will focus on Algren’s attitude about the spirit of the Japanese Samurai. As a western warrior, he recovers his soul from experiencing the traditional eastern Samurai culture. Also, he once again observed and learnt a real warrior’s loyalty, courage and honour from the Japanese Samurai.


This is the first draft which I have written.But I have't finish yet.




I sat up in bed, and walked out of this tiny cabin slowly. I really want to go for a blow. As evening came the sun faded into darkness. It is a beauteous evening, calm and free. But winter is coming soon and the sea breeze blowing on my face is a little bit uncomfortable. This steamship is churning its way across the great Pacific in a steady rate. I am standing right on the deck, looking out into the endless waves, with the whole world as far as I can see on all sides.


I am not too sure how many days we spend at sea. I am going to Japan because I am hired by Omura a few days ago. Five hundred bucks per week. My job is to train Orientals to soldiers and help suppressed the rebellion of a Japanese tribal leader, named Katsumoto. Apparently this is only job which I am suited. Actually I won’t be afraid of anything in the battlefield. And I have taken part in the American Civil War and Indian Wars. However, I am haunted by massacre of Native American civilians at the Battle of Washita River. Many old people, women and young children were killed by my chief and colleagues. I especially can’t forget that an Indian girl died, but her eyes stayed open. I often dream about these horrible scenes of massive slaughters. Sometimes I even think that I have already lost a warrior’s courage and spirit.


“What is the Samurai?” I can’t help and think aloud. Suddenly I experience extremely cold. I went back to the cabin, open my suitcase, and inside is my U.S. army uniform without insignia. It is seemed to be new still. I dress it up, this immediately reminds me those scenes of massive slaughters again, and soon I take it off. I used to feel no past, no future and hopeless after I retired from the army. But this time, I am going to take up my duty as a soldier. The sky is becoming darker and darker. “What is the Samurai?” I am still keep thinking about this.


Next morning, as the steamship arrived in Yokohama Harbour, green fields, wood houses and crowded streets came into insight. It is a grim, rainy day. The mountains seem to be hazy in the distance. I don’t feel at ease at this strange country. A fat guy waits for the arrival of us on the dock. And a series of rickshaws await our voyagers which besides him.
“Excuse me? Are you Captain Algren? I presume?” This fat guy asks.
“Yes!” I replied.
“Jolly good! May I introduce myself first? I’m Simon Graham. Did you have a good journey?” He asks politely.
“Not bad.” I said.
Bagley gets into a rickshaw with Omura. I climb a rickshaw beside Graham. He smiles at me and wags his tongue and talk about his knowledges about Japan all the time.


“Twenty years ago, this is quite a small town. Now you can look at it. You might be able to easily find that the Japanese Emperor is mad for all things western. However, Samurai believe to its changing too fast and touch theirs benefit. They abide by its old and traditional rules. So there is a great conflict between modern and ancient culture in Japan now. So the guy, Omura, try to employ every western expert as much as he can, such as lawyers from France, engineers from Germany, architects from Holland. Of course, like you, a professional warrior from America. Also, me, I am from British, some years ago, I was soon relieved of my position……………….” He becomes more and more expansive.


I don’t quite like this talkative man actually. Strange country, bustling streets, everything is new to me. So I reply nothing and my eyes are staring at those pedestrians at this crowd street. Many Japanese women all made their faces like white paint on the wall. It is said that they are geishas. Some Japanese men are wearing the western suits but some of them are still wearing their traditional clothes.


“We are going to meet the Japanese Emperor tomorrow in his palace. “ Graham suddenly interrupts my thinking.
“Alright!” I replied him with impatient mood.
This fatty guy shut off his mouse and keeps in silence. He may know what is good for him at the moment.


Next morning, I, Graham and my chief, Bagley approach the ancestral palace. The broad steps in front of the palace made it looks very dignified. Graham starts to share his valuable experiences again with us while we are climbing the majestic approach.


“Gentlemen, mind the step. It is really steep.” Graham was out of his breath but he continues to talk: “You know, there were no any commoner ever have a change to see the Emperor during these two hundred years in Japan. What an absolute great opportunity is it? And you must remember that the Emperor is a wise man and only ………………”

“So which proprieties should we observe later on?” Bagley interrupts this fatty guy and asks. He seems to give a damn about what he is saying.
I also believe it is honour to us. But I don’t want to ask anything from him, so just listen. Because I dislike Simmon’s bossy and lofty attitudes about my enemy, Japanese Samurais. He is not a warrior, but I am. A real solider never looks down upon his enemies.


“You may look at the Emperor, but do not speak unless he asks something to you first. Of course if he stands you must bow, if he bows you must bow lower than him. Do I look presentable today?” This fatty guy asks back to us.


We didn’t reply anything to him and continue our way. I guess both of us feels a little bit nervous and worry about this meeting.


“I haven’t worn this nearly ten years.” Graham replied himself.


Actually I have ever heard from Omura said that this divine Japanese emperor is an intelligent and curious young man. But I think that a really warrior not only is loyal to the Emperor, but also should know more about the enemies. “What is the Samurai” I am still wondering this question.


We finally reach the entrance of the imperial palace.





To be continued.


Could you please give some comments and suggestions? I'd very appreciate that.

Proposal for my re-write

I am re-writing Charles Dickens novel Great Expectations which he wrote in 1860-61. I am changing the point-of-view to that of Magwitch, and I have altered the setting for most of the story from England to Australia. The timing is only slightly altered from the original and focuses on his time as a convict in Australia. I have used a first person narrator, as in the original, but altered this from Pip.

about my write-back

I’m thinking to rewrite the part one of “Wide Sargasso Sea” from Tia’s point of view. Although there are lots of problems such as my unfamiliarity of the situation in the place in those days, I think it may be the same if I choose other stories related post-colonial. I’ll think the detail from now on.

Basic structure of my story:
Tia’s feeling during holding a good relationship with Antoinette
Tia’s feeling after breaking the relationship (or the process from Tia's point of view)
Tia’s feeling after hearing a kind of successful marriage of Antoinette’s mother
Tia’s feeling during the time that is from hearing a plan of black people’s attack against Antoinette’s house to throwing a jagged stone at Antoinette.

If I cannot summarize the story, I’ll shortly mention Tia’s feeling when she heard Antoinette’s marriage, and Antoinette’s destruction.

Example of a rewrite

The Second Star to the Left

“What made the red man red? What made the red man red?” Even now, with water engulfing the whole of my body, I could hear his voice singing it over and over again. A few curious fish whirled around my head as if examining an alien object which had just been plunged into their pond. My feet floated slowly along the current but my hands were tired tightly to a heavy rock underwater, holding my body to stay where he had placed me.

“Is it cold in there, Lily? I doubt you would feel anything,” sneered Peter Pan as he was floating over me, his smirking face right above mine.

************************

It was when I was looking after the kids at the South Shore that I noticed something huge was moving towards us from the sea. It could move afloat like our canoes, only much bigger and threatening. For a moment, all of us paused and looked at it in awe, not knowing what to do; We had been living on this island longer than anyone could imagine, but not even once did we have a guest from the outside world. I took a step back and leaped into the wood, heading to where my father, our ogima, was.

“Father! Father!” I began to shout as the thickness of the trees faded, revealing a group of wigwams which sheltered us from rain and storms.

Mahkah, a young man with a long, deep scar on his cheek, came out of his wigwam as soon as he heard my alarming voice. “What’s wrong, Hurit?”

“Mahkah, have you seen my father? There’s something, someone, coming this way from the South Sea.”

He looked at me blankly for a brief moment as though my words could not reach him. I might not explain it thoroughly enough but he clearly sensed terror in my voice. Mahkah nodded before pointing west, to another part of the island where my father loved to spend his afternoons hunting. “He has just headed out that way. If we leave now, we should be able to catch up with him before he goes too far.”

I hurried after Mahkah, heart pounding fast with anxiety, eyes darting left and right, desperately looking for a sign of him. The sick feeling in my stomach told me that this arrival would not bring good news.

“There! Lesharo!” Mahkah cried out and rushed to him.

My father was checking his spear when he heard Mahkah’s call. Lifting an eyebrow, he walked back towards us. His eyes moved from Mahkah to me, then back to Mahkah again, silently demanding a proper explanation of our sudden appearance.

“Hurit said someone was coming from the South Sea,” explained Mahkah.

“I was near…the South Shore with other kids…when we saw it, their canoe.” I added, trying to catch my breath. “It looked a bit like our canoe but much, much larger…with a strange sign on a big cloth that’s hung from…” I wished to give him as many details as possible but it was not easy describing something you had never seen before to someone who did not know it, either. “From a very tall pole in the middle of their canoe…” I trailed off, frowning. Despite my attempt, these words did not seem to make any sense and I was sure they confused both my father and Mahkah. I looked down at the grass near my feet, feeling completely useless.

To my surprise, my father came over me and patted my head. “Thanks, Hurit. I see you’ve run all the way to tell me this. Can you take me back to where you saw it?”

Though I was panting heavily, I tried to force a weak smile and assured him that I could take him there as soon as he wanted. He smiled back approvingly before telling Mahkah to go back and get four more men to meet us at the shore.

Mahkah nodded silently. They exchanged a last worried glance and he dashed into the path we came from. Without saying another word, I scurried towards to the South Shore with my father close behind.

************************

“Who are they?” asked Mahkah nervously, looking at the newcomers from the place we had been hiding not so far away. Not long after my father and I got here, Mahkah appeared with our men, each clutching a spear in their hands. My father told one of them to escort the kids back and make sure everyone remain calm. As the oldest girl, this duty should be mine but I insisted on staying there with the rest of us. After a short moment of hesitation, my father nodded.

There was no answer from any of us. Leaning on the ground under the bush next to me, my father was observing them cautiously, unease and worry obviously reflected in his eyes.

When we arrived, the big canoe had stopped near the shore where I had been with other kids. Three smaller canoes with three or four men on each of them were coming towards us. By the time they almost reached the beach, I noticed something I could not see before from a further distance: their skin colour, unlike us, was pallid white.

“Are they...humans?” Another man beside my father murmured the question that was already ringing in our minds.

I had heard many stories about spirits, both good and bad ones, but had never come across any in my life. A shiver ran down my spine as I watched them getting off their boats. Perhaps they were spirits, I thought as I noted their strange dresses. My arms, even under the shadow of the bush I was hiding in, were reddish tanned. I had never imagined humans with other skin colour than this, but here they were, right before my eyes. My stomach turned as I watched these dead people, pale skin like blood had been drained from their body, strolled along our sandy beach as though they were still alive.

After we returned, there was a long discussion and everyone in our tribe, except for children, was summoned. There had been some strong arguments but at last it was decided to send five of our men, including my father, to talk to them to find out who they were and what their intention in coming to our island was.

The idea of sending our ogima with this group when we knew nothing of the strangers might be peculiar, but my father always considered himself one of our warriors.

“I won’t be hiding in the safety of my wigwam while I send other of our friends to risk their lives,” declared my father when someone disagreed with his decision, and it was settled.

When my father and other four men who volunteered to accompany him were ready to leave, it was already late afternoon. The rest of us saw them off at the farthest wigwam where the forest thickened. No one said a word after they left. There were concern and uncertainty floating in the air.

That afternoon seemed to last forever while I was waiting anxiously for them to come back, whether with good or bad news, and at last five familiar figures emerged from the wood. My father waved away all my questions as soon as other members in our tribe and I rushed to them, saying that they were exhausted from the trip.

After he and his men had a short break for some water, my father began to speak. “We had a talk with one of their chiefs. He told us that they were ‘pirates’.” He continued as he noticed confusion on our faces. “They said ‘pirates’ travel across oceans, looking for adventure and treasure.”

“What are they doing here then?” One of the men who were surrounding him asked.

“Getting some food and water for their journey, at least that was what they said.” My father let out a heavy sigh. “But I feel there’s something more to what they told us.”

“I don’t like the way they looked at us.” Another man next to my father shifted agitatedly. “Like they were sneering or looking down on us. Even their smiles made me feel threatened.”

“I agreed with you on that.” My father gave him a faint smile and turned to the rest of us, raising his voice to make sure we all could hear. “But they promised they will leave by nightfall tomorrow, and that should be it if they leave without causing any problem. There is no point raising our weapons to every stranger just because they look suspicious.”

A few people murmured in disagreement but the rest of us were satisfied with his decision. For strangers who came in a huge canoe and dressed in such weird clothes, I had no idea what kind of weapons they had, possibly ones better than ours. What the result would be – even with our strongest warriors – if we had to fight. I cast aside my fear and wished tomorrow come fast. Tomorrow when they would leave this island as promised.

But I was wrong.

We all were.

The strangers turned out to be enemies, and they did not play clean. They attacked in the middle of that night when most of us were sleeping, except for some who were sitting outside the wigwams, guarding our place as my father ordered. Since there had been only our tribe on this island, guards were never needed. Wild animals would not stray near our place as long as we left the fire on.

I was woken up by the sound I first thought was the roll of drum, but almost immediately realised it was something much more intimidating. Startled, I instinctively reached out for my mother. It was gloomy but not completely dark so the moment I touched my mother, I could see that the place where my father should be was empty.

“Father told us to stay here.” I heard my mother whispering, her voice trembling with dreadful fear.

We said nothing else. I clung closer to her, wishing desperately that this was only a dream – a nightmare. Soon I would wake up, my mother beside me, laughing when I told her about my childish dreams. But I did not wake up, and the sound that reminded me of drum roll was still continuously thumping, with shouts and screams in the background.

A few figures passed our wigwam. Dim though it was, I would never mistake my closest friend, Adsila. Her arm was bleeding and she was wailing frantically. A tall man, whom I remembered seeing in one of the canoes that afternoon, was violently dragging her. Behind them was another man, slightly shorter with long fair hair. Strolling casually as though it was a late-afternoon walk, he seemed to be enjoying himself by the surrounding chaos. His right hand was cheerfully swinging something resembling a black stick.

“Adsila!!” I reached out for her without a second thought, and it happened to be the thing I regretted the most in my entire life.

“Hmm, what have we here?” The man with fair hair poked his head into our wigwam, a broad evil grin on his face. My mother swiftly pushed me behind her but it was too late. “Give me that girl.” He commanded. “Give her to me, stinky redskin, or you die,” repeated the man. Something in his voice chilled me to the bone.

“Damn you!” My mother screeched and lunged to him.

Everything happened in a flash. It started with the familiar deafening noise I had been hearing since I woke up. My mother fell to the ground, blood gushing from her neck. The man, smirking, stood still where he was, barely moved. Thin smoke came out from the end of the stick in his hand.

“MOTHER!!!!” I screamed with terror, rushing to her side. “Mother!! Mother!!” Her neck and the ground around her were covered in red. I could smell blood everywhere; It must have hurt her severely, yet, through her tears, she tried to smile at me.

“Come, you red-skinned bitch.” The man with a broad grin grabbed my left arm and pulled me up so hard it ached. But my arm did not matter. He did not matter. Nothing did matter anymore when she was gone.

“Mother!! Mother!! Don’t die on me!!” I pledged at her lifeless body, fighting to let go of the hand that was squeezing my arm. Tears were running down my cheeks. I could barely see anything but her last picture still shone vividly in my mind. “Mother!!”

“Ah, shut up!” He rolled his eyes and murmured in annoyance. The next moment I felt something hitting me hard at the back of my head.

And it all went black.

************************

“Yeah, just leave them in that room.” A familiar voice shouted orders in the distance. “Make sure the door is locked. Smee, you’re on guard here and make sure no one goes inside before I come back from a shower.”

“Aye, Captain.” Someone barked.

Captain’s menacing laughter slowly died away. I remembered now as his devil grin reappeared in my head. The grin of the man who killed my mother.

Shaking my head slightly, I tried to get up from the dusty floor I was lying on. A sharp pain rapidly pierced me at the back where I was hit and I let out a shriek. Other girls and young women who heard my cry came closer to help lifting me up.

“Are you alright, Hurit?” Adsila was the first to rush to my aid and was now sitting beside me.

“I’m okay.” Biting my lips, I turned away from her, feeling a lump in my throat. The picture of last moment before I blacked out came back once more: my mother in blood, suffocating, I was hit and brought here; All because of her. If she had not passed my wigwam, my mother would still be alive.

Another girl sobbed silently and other girls and women, too, started to cry as if the fence that was holding back their feeling was finally torn down. Adsila went to hug the youngest of us though her eyes were shimmering with tears. Shame began to sink as I watched her hushing the girl. We were about the same age but I, the only daughter of the ogima, was doing nothing but blaming her best friend for something she did not do.

I was helping myself to get up when I heard a defiant shout from outside.

“So this is where the Great Davy Jones is hiding, isn’t it?”

Those near the door peeked through the only window and gasped in amazement.

“He is…flying…” One girl muttered as I forced my way to the door.

“Come, Davy, let’s fight!” The boy, dressed in a green shirt and pants, was not much older than me. A red feather on his hat was fluttering as he flew swiftly around the ship, over the terrified crews.

“It can’t be…” I whispered in disbelief.

“Kitcki Manitou must have sent him to save us!” Someone yelled as she began thumping the door, crying with replenished hope. “Here! We’re here!! Help!”

“What’s this?” He hovered in front of our door. “Huh? You want me open this, girl? Sure!”

“What is this mess!?” Captain with a towel around his head bellowed angrily before spotting the invader. “And what the hell do you think you are doing, brat?”

“Oh, just…trying to help these ladies. I’m Peter Pan, by the way.” His hand lifted the bolt and opened the door for us as he introduced himself.

“Catch him!!” Davy Jones roared at his stunned crews. “Dead or alive, get him!”

A human who could fly might be frightening but his men seemed to know better what would follow if they did not capture this boy. They reached for their weapons at their waist and the moment later the black sticks in their hands begin sending out a spark with the familiar earsplitting noise.

“This way, Hurit!” Adsila barked, dragging me behind a barrel. Other people were running madly for cover.

“Hmm, you don’t really think you can stop me with those things, do ya? Sorry, but bullets are too slow,” grinned Peter Pan, drawing his dagger. “Try this!”

He swooped down on the helpless crews with the speed no man could do, slithering around their wrists to drop their sticks. Painful cry could be heard everywhere as the wounded crews fell down to their knees, grabbing their injured hands.

“Hey, it’s not that bad. At least I didn’t cut it off!”

It might be either in the way he laughed at them or the way he took in his absolute triumph that raised my doubt. Despite the fact that we were rescued, he, too, was a complete stranger. Unlike most of us, I did not believe that he was sent by the Great Spirit Kitcki Manitou.

“C’mon, ladies, let’s go home first! They’ll have to pay for this,” howled Pan as we were jumping into small canoes.

“That’s enough!” Davy Jones bellowed, a gun in his hand pointing at Peter Pan.

“As you wish, sir.” Pan, beaming, glided to his side and chopped his hand off in the blink of an eye. “Don’t die yet, Davy.” Pan lowered his voice as he uttered the last sentence. “If you’re still interested in those redskins and this island, we can have more fights, and that would be fun.”

If I had been a little faster, I would already be in the boat with others, not having heard it.

“What the…”

“Come ladies!” He circled vigorously above us while we started rowing back to our land.

The refreshing scent of wild flowers from the forest at last completely replaced the salty breeze from the sea. Since we landed on the beach, we had been scuttling hysterically and there were the sound of laughter and cry along the way. We were caught, freed, and unbelievably we were heading back to where we belong. Though what lay at the end of this road was still a mystery.

“But at least we’re going back home.” I whispered.

“Not you, bitch!” A hand stifled my mouth, holding me back from others ahead of me. “You’ve heard it, haven’t you? That’s why you’ve to be the first to go, erm...” Peter Pan paused before started his flight, with me struggling in his arms. “Tiger Lily! Your name is Tiger Lily, then. Well, not that it matters” He shrugged.

************************

Thinking about it now, everything originated from an arrival of that large canoe, followed by their dirty attack on us. Some of my people got killed. Girls and women were taken to quench their sexual desire. And just when the worst part seemed to already turn up with screams, tears, and the smell of blood thick in the air, my mother got killed protecting me. But her life too was wasted for I was taken as well.

It should have been the end of it when the boy with his feathered hat came to save us, except for that he did not come to help and we were never rescued.

I thought I was dead since my mother had gone, yet I was wrong. Pan took me to another part of the island where no one would hear even if I screamed to death. It was there, deep in the wood, where he pushed me to the ground, mumbling the name I did not possess. On the earth of my very own land, all my happiness, hope, dreams, and even my life were scattered before me. I tasted the last salty tears on my cheeks and wondered how many deaths we had to suffer before we could truly die.