Hans and Gunther’s Party

Students in E3-5A. Aaron front and center.
Some good vampire stories from the kids in my ZEI class E3-5A. I’ll type out Aaron’s, the best written and organized of them. I made a few small corrections as usual.

The assignment was as follows:

COMPOSITION:

Hans and Gunther are now eleven years old. They are twins. They’re also vampires. They grew up in a castle in Germany, but moved to Taiwan.

Hans and Gunther’s mother wanted them to come to Taiwan because she read in Vampire News that drinking Taiwanese blood is very healthy for vampires. Now they live in a big house on Yangming Mountain and bite as many students as they can.

Hans and Gunther invited some students from ZEI to a party at their house last night. They also invited the teacher, Eric. The two vampire stayed home all day yesterday and prepared for the party.

. . . .

We gave you eight sentences. Write twenty more sentences to finish your composition. Your composition should tell

1) how the vampires prepared for the party;
2) who came to the party and what they talked about;
3) who the vampires bit and who escaped!


AARON'S VERSION:

Click to read!
In the morning, Hans and Gunther prepared for the party. First, Hans hung lights on the walls. Then he cut the grass. Gunther was busy planting flowers in the garden, like lilies, tulips, roses and tree peonies. Then he set the table.

After they completed their preparation, the stood by the gate to welcome their guests. When the guests arrived, they led them to the dining room.

The party started when all the guests had arrived. They ate every kind of delicious food and talked with each other. They were talking about many kinds of topics, some people talked about their children, some people talked about the weather, and some people talked about the decorations in the vampires’ house.

After dinner, the vampires and their guests watched National Geographic Channel and brought everybody to look around the big house. When the guests were looking around the house, Nick was bitten by alligators when he was in the bathroom. (Hans and Gunther keep alligators there.) The vampire, Hans, sucked Jovia’s blood. And then Gunther cut Alan’s face with a sickle and bit Lucia with his fangs and made her become a vampire.

After the party, everybody was hurt and went back to ZEI. Some of them had become vampires and could not go home safely.

E.M.

Check out my Idiocy, Ltd. at Amazon.com and begin the long, hard reckoning.

Casanovites

Drawing of Giacomo Casanova by his brother
Still working our way through a novel--can you guess which?--in our small Saturday reading class, I was telling the four boys a bit about the great Venetian lover Casanova, alluded to in the book. We’d read enough that day, so I gave them a challenge. They had thirty minutes to write out a Casanovan narrative of their own and had to use as many of the words in the handout vocabulary list as possible. The words:

Results from Anthony, Felix, Ryan and Shawn. I edited the tales for grammar, but the narratives are theirs.

E.M.


CASANOVA

by Anthony

He stepped out of the Santa Lucia Train Station, taking in the extraordinary view. He was seeing it for the first time.
     “How beautiful!” he said aloud, and, thinking back on his plan, a sinister grin appeared on his face.
     His name was actually Casanova--yes, the same name. He’d just read Casanova’s Story of My Life, finishing it some weeks earlier, and he considered the lines illuminating. He’d immediately decided to take the man as his ancestor and namesake, and decided as well to do what his great ancestor had done in the 18th century. So he had come to Venice.
     “Plan A”, he thought. “This will almost certainly work, so I won’t have need for any Plan B.”
     He took an object from his elegant Italian bag and placed it under the sun. A crystal prism!
     “Okay, c’mon, ladies,” he thought, peaking at the passing women from where he was standing.
     The prism refracted the sunlight into a rainbow of colors on the slab of marble where he’d placed it.
     To his surprise, none of the women even stopped to look.
     But in fact somebody did notice him, a man standing not far away. A frown bent his face. It was “Alhambra”, nickname of this particular Venetian policeman.
     “What’s that guy up to?” he thought.
     Casanova looked around in disappointment. “Why?” he wondered. He felt it extremely strange that the women showed no interest in this magic of light and color he had brought.
     “Newton was English, not Italian,” he thought. Maybe that was it. In any case, since he’d prepared no Plan B, he put the prism back in his bag and began to walk around. As he walked, he kept his hand on the prism in his bag, which alarmed the policeman watching him.
     Casanova strolled through the streets trying to come up with some Plan B.
     “What’s he going to do?” Alhambra wondered, stalking not far behind.
     Passing through the city and across St. Mark’s Square, Casanova reached the Bridge of Sighs. He remembered some superstition that kissing a woman under the bridge would lead to success in love. He waited.
     Moments later, a girl passing by stopped and looked at Casanova.
     “Who’s she?” Alhambra wondered.
     Since the girl had made eye contact, Casanova stepped up to speak to her.
     “She will have a sudden girlhood crush on me!” he thought. He had dressed himself with understated elegance for his first adventure in Venice, and his clothes gave him confidence.
     He began talking with the girl, and though she began to walk away, he didn’t stop. He followed her closely, talking all the while, asking if she had ever seen a prism refract light.
     The girl felt a growing anguish in the presence of this nervous man speaking English to her. After enduring it for a few minutes more, she shouted: “Stop, please! You are overbearing and swashbuckling!”
     Casanova was taken aback by the odd words she’d chosen. While he wondered how to reply, the girl slipped away.
     Alhambra still had no idea what was going on, and couldn’t understand why this foreign man kept his hand in his bag.
     Casanova then wandered to a different quarter, Alhambra not far behind. In a quiet neighborhood Casanova began to peer through the quatrefoil perforations in the stone surfacing of an old building.
     “No,” Alhambra thought. “Not . . .” Alhambra moved closer.
     A woman’s voice was heard from within. “Pervert!” she finally yelled in Italian.
     The woman came out the entrance, still in her underwear, wielding a broom to hit the foreigner who’d spied on her.
     “You are under arrest for invasion of privacy!” Alhambra announced, seizing Casanova’s arm.
     “No!” Casanova cried. “I just--“
     “If it were up to me you’d languish in the lead-roofed cells atop the palace, you English scum!” Alhambra yelled.
     “But I was just--“
     “This woman is my wife!” Alhambra said, dragging Casanova away.


MR. MA AND THE GHOST OF CASANOVA

[The “Mr. Ma” mentioned in the story is the former president of Taiwan, Tsai Ing-Wen the current president.]

by Felix

The very day that Mr. Ma finished reading his copy of Casanova’s My Life, the Alhambra exploded, but that’s not important.
     The important thing is that Mr. Ma decided to become just like Casanova and go to Venice. In Venice he knew he would find his boyhood crush, Tsai Ing-Wen, since she was going there on a state visit to the Venetian Republic.
     Mr. Ma approached her on St. Mark’s Square. But as he approached, he also noticed a handsome Italian man with a six-pack doing a perfect swashbuckling scene to impress the foreign woman. Fortunately, after the scene was over, that man had some business, so Mr. Ma seized his chance to ask her on a date. She thought he looked familiar, was a bit suspicious, but finally accepted, and their date on the Grand Canal was everything Mr. Ma had dreamed it would be.
     Over the following months in Venice, he did the same thing to hundreds of women young and old--but especially old.
     One day, Mr. Ma was hitting on a Russian model when the same man appeared, but this time he had a twelve-pack and huge pecs that were bigger than his own head. The man threw Mr. Ma against a low-slung lead-tiled roof and began to beat him savagely.
     But suddenly, the Ghost of Casanova appeared to protect his follower Mr. Ma. The Ghost was now taller than Taipei 101, and it appeared holding a rubber slipper, the kind you can buy at any thrift shop. He swung the slipper down on the man with the twelve-pack, but he swung with such force that the whole city was broken apart and began to sink into the lagoon.
     And so the ancient legend was fulfilled that said the great city of Venice would be destroyed by a rubber slipper.


CUSINOWA

by Ryan

A man in Japan named Cusinowa, inspired by the holy book The Life of Casanova, decided he would model his life after the famous Venetian. So he bought another book from Amazon called How to Seduce Italian Girls and read it carefully. Thirteen days later he packed up his books and notes and boarded a flight to Italy.
     He got lost in the Marco Polo International Airport and met the first interesting girl in the men’s room there. It was a boyhood crushed because within thirty seconds he found certain things about the girl to be disgusting. Cusinowa abandoned her and set out to find his next target.
     The first chapter of How to Seduce Italian Girls said it was necessary to find a nice suit, so he went to buy a pair of jeans and a pair of handsome binoculars. He thought his outfit had understated elegance. He finally found the train to Venice and arrived in the city without incident.
     Cusinowa thought the best way to show how handsome he was was to pilot a gondola by himself. His first customer was a girl, and he happily piloted the gondola into one of the smaller, less busy canals so he could be alone with her. He soon found out it wasn’t a canal, but a sewer ditch that carried the city’s flushings into the sea. Cusinowa, the prow of his canal now stuck in a huge pile of poop, realized he was in trouble.
     The girl happened to be the niece of Antonio Pimponi, former head of Venice’s Department of Historical Preservation. She phoned her uncle to send rescue and had Cusinowa incarcerated in a sea level room in the prison next to the Ducal Palace. It is there that Cusinowa languishes today, waiting for the flood that will drown him and doing his best to concoct sushi plates from the small sea creatures that wash through his barred windows at high tide.


RYANOVA

[Ryan, writer of the previous tale, is made the main character in Shawn’s tale. Ryan is a dedicated fanatic of curry dishes.]

by Shawn

After Ryan finished reading The Life of Casanova, a copy of which Eric had given him for his birthday, he couldn’t get the famous womanizer out of his mind and decided that becoming a 21st century Casanova was the best thing a young man could hope for. Borrowing money from everyone he knew, he used the sum to buy a ticket to Venice. To his great frustration, he took the wrong flight and ended up part of a tour group heading to Spain.
     “I can’t afford another flight,” thought Ryan. So he decided to follow the tour.
     Visiting the Alhambra, he broke away from the group and set out on his own. He had put on his understatedly elegant black suit that day, which made him stand out, given the June heat.
     Around lunch time he caught sight of a curry stand behind which a slim Pakistani girl was making curry. The sight of slim girl, the smell of curry, and the June heat struck him with a sudden force. This was more than just a boyhood crush.
     “That’s my spicy stuff,” he thought. “The love of my life!”
     He took out his wallet and stepped toward the curry stand.
     “Hello,” he said to the girl. “It must be hot selling curry in such weather--and hey, your stand even has a lead-tiled roof! That’s crazy!”
     The girl said nothing to this, busy making another customer’s order.
     “Please give me . . . uh, your best curry chicken,” Ryan said, “along with . . . er, your milk tea.”
     “Okay,” the girl said.
     Ryan got his curry and started eating, the whole time watching the girl.
     Before he had half finished half his meal, a policeman approached.
     “Papers?” he said.
     “Huh?” Ryan said.
     “Your passport,” the policeman said. “Please show it to me.”
     “Uh, I don’t have it,” Ryan said. “I’m with a tour group.”
     What Ryan didn’t know was that the police were looking for a terror suspect, a Pakistani immigrant whose complexion and height were not very different from Ryan’s, and who also was known to prefer wearing suits regardless of the weather.
     “Come with me,” the policeman said.
     And so Ryan never finished his curry that day, and never again saw his beloved Pakistani curry girl. Three days later, when he had finally cleared up his identity with the police and returned to the street where he saw the stand, she was nowhere to be found.

Shawn Chuang (莊崴翔), Ryan Tsai, Anthony Huang (黃聖翔), and Felix.

Whatever are you waiting for? Read my new book Idiocy, Ltd. and begin the long, hard reckoning.

Ryan and the Cherubs

It's a small class, but in it Ryan, about fourteen, is the class clown. And somehow we got on the subject of him and cherubs. Since Ryan has a penchant for all things cute and roundish, it wasn't too out of line. But then it also came about that we were discussing the word torso, as it appears in Dan Brown's recent novel Inferno, which we're reading in this class, a class of five Taiwanese teens who meet every Saturday to discuss novels. And that day it was cherubs and Ryan and torsos. When we'd been talking and reading for an hour and a half, and I had only thirty minutes left with them, I did what I often do: I gave them a quick in-class assignment. They were to write something, anything, on the theme of "Ryan and the Cherub". Results follow.

Eric Mader
Taipei

* * *

Ryan and the Cherub

by Johnny Jiang (江寧)

Once upon a time there was an old man named Ryan. He was an ugly person, so that nobody wanted to marry him and even no boss wanted to hire him.       

One day, a little cherub flew through the street by Ryan's house and saw him crying because no one was there to remind him to turn off the gas stove and so he burned his dinner.      

The cherub was so kind and felt so sorry for Ryan that he decided to help him find a good wife.       

Next morning, when Ryan went to the market, the cherub followed him, planning to wait for a young lady to stand in front of him.       

Poor Ryan, even if old grandma saw him she would jump up from her wheelchair and run away!      

No young woman stood anywhere near him.       

Finally, in one shop, a clerk came up to Ryan and told him to leave the store because he was standing and talking to himself.       

The cherub thought this was his only chance to find a woman for Ryan, so he quickly pulled out his arrow and shot the unlucky clerk.       

Ryan screamed and ran out of the shop. The clerk also screamed and fell to the ground.       

The cherub realized that he had taken the wrong arrow: it was a real one. The cherub was shocked and embarrassed and flew away up into the clouds.       

What a poor clerk!


Ryan and the Cherub Avengers

by Anthony Huang (黃聖翔)

High in the clouds, a troupe of cherubs circled together, examining a mangled and gruesome object. One of them held it in his outstretched hands.      

"This must be one of us," he said. "But where is the torso?"      

"Who would dare do this?" another said. "We must find the killer! We must avenge our brother!"      

And so it was that the Cherub Avengers came to be: Ironrub, Greenrub, Captainrub, Thunderub, and Eaglerub. They each had their special weapons with which they would exact their terrible vengeance.

They traveled the world, seeking the enemy who had dared kill one of their holy brotherhood.      

One day, searching through Xin Yi Road in the city of Taipei, they came upon a strange boy eating curry ice cream in front of a building with a sign that read "ZEI: Costco of Torsos!"      

They came down and surrounded the boy.      

"Excuse me," Captainrub said. "What does this sign mean?"      

"It means go @#&*#% yourself, angel boy," the boy replied.      

The cherubs found this to be a rude reply. They sent Eaglerub into the building to find out the truth.      

Suddenly the strange boy leered, shouted "Torsos!" and grabbing Captainrub by the wings he twisted him around and cut off his head.

"It is you!" the other cherubs cried out, and so the combat began.      

Ironrub slipped into his iron suit and shot love missiles from his springloaded fists; Greenrub became a giant Cherish and tried to attack the boy with his green love punch; Thunderub flew forward to smash the boy with his love hammer.      

But the boy squirmed out of the way of each of these attacks, and spitting curses and foul curry, he drove the cherubs into a startled retreat.      

As the cherubs tried to regroup, Eaglerub flew out from the building, crying: "Hey! This kid has got some wonderful torsos in there! I want to buy some!"      

But nobody paid him any attention.      

"Alright then!" Eaglerub said. "I'll pick some myself!" And he flew back into the building.      

The battle continued, curry and love arrows and hammering. The boy roared out: "I'm Ryan, Curry King and merchant of cherub torsos! You will never defeat me!"      

The three cherubs fought like heroes, but none could harm Ryan.      

Finally, in the heat of battle, the Curry King opened his huge mouth, baring his foul curried teeth, and began to suck violently. The screaming cherubs could not bat their wings fast enough, they were sucked into his mouth. Ryan chewed them and spat their limbs and torsos onto the sidewalk next to him.       

At this moment Eaglerub exited the building with a large white shopping bag. He saw the scene on the sidewalk.      

"Uh oh," he said, and shot straight up into the sky.      

And that is the story of the rise and fall of the Cherub Avengers, the stupidest Hollywood movie of the year.


Ryan, Ryanair and the Cherub

by Ryan

Once upon a time, there was an unnamed man called Ryan. He was a pilot working for Ryanair.

One day, as he was flying an old Boeing 787 to Costco, a terrorist with a bazooka began shooting passengers from his seat. So Ryan locked the door of the cockpit and continued listening to music.

Suddenly, a cute cherub appeared outside the cockpit window, 25,000 meters above the ground, and magically entering the plane, he went back and shot the terrorist with an arrow.

The terrorist died immediately.

“Nooooo!” cried the cherub. “He was supposed to fall in love! With me!”

Ryan was finally getting angry. All this was too much for one flight. He left the cockpit and went back into the cabin. First he yelled at the cherub, then he broke his little bow and arrows; finally he began to beat the cherub’s round head, hands, legs and wings. Even the passengers, the ones who hadn’t been killed by the terrorist, thought this treatment was excessive.

But what none of them knew was that the terrorist had also planted a bomb on the plane. It exploded, blowing off the back half of the cabin.

Ryan grabbed what remained of the cherub and struggled to the cockpit. As the broken front half of the plane spiraled to the ground, he got on his emergency parachute and jumped.

And that’s how Ryan lost his job at Ryanair. But it’s also how he got his first cherub torso.


The Psychopath and the Cherub (after Dan Brown’s Inferno)

by Claire Fan-Chiang (范姜詠欣)

“Ow!” yelped Ryan as the arrow struck his forehead. He looked up to locate his attacker.

Oh, he had never seen such a handsome young boy in his life! Blonde curls that shone and flickered in the evening light, the clearest eyes whose colors seemed to be changing like a kaleidoscope, skin pale yet beautiful as alabaster, and a smile more radiant than the golden sun itself.

Ryan leapt up, pinning the cherub down and accidentally squashing his wings against the floor of Florence’s famed Palazzo Vecchio. Ryan’s parents were on the other side of the great Renaissance hall from him, studying Vasari’s huge mural The Battle of Marciano. They’d taken their son to Italy with them to learn about European culture.

As Ryan held the wounded cherub pinned to the floor, the museum guards struggling to pull him off, a low humming filled his head, the murmur of many voices, then the thunder of soldiers’ footsteps, and a high scream sharp enough to rent The Apotheosis of Cosimo I in two.

But it didn’t matter; for all that Ryan knew was that the cherub looked delicious.

Half an hour later Ryan was seated, handcuffed, in the back of a black van. Next to him was Dr. Elizabeth Sinskey and the handsome soldier gripping her left calf. The streets of Florence flew past through the van windows. But that didn’t matter either. All Ryan remembered was the cherub’s face and that delicious taste that left a tang of iron inside his mouth.

* * *
A flash of blonde wove through the crowds of summer tourists. It was Sienna Brooks, running madly down the stone pavement along the river, tears splashing down her cheeks.

Sienna had never felt so betrayed by anybody, her mind was blank--an emptiness caused by the shock she’d just suffered. She stopped. A gentle wind touched her cheek. She screamed a venomous curse over the olive green water of the Arno.

* * *
Up in the palazzo’s massive garret, Vayentha and Langdon were sitting on the viewing platform. She was listening to Langdon talk about his Mickey Mouse watch. Vayentha didn’t catch every word Langdon said, but it didn’t matter. All she could think of was how beautiful Langdon seemed at that moment.

If only this could last forever!

* * *
The cherub stared up at the rent canvas, mouth agape, full of hatred for the garish ceiling of the Hall of the Five-Hundred. Warm liquid oozed from his broken body; nothing the medics did seemed to stanch the flow. A buzz echoed in his brain; his mind was in chaos now, memories flashed by, fleeting images of wings and clouds and lovely limbs. A tear slid down his cheek. How stupid he was to attack a trained assassin! If he had not, he would not have been shot; and if he hadn’t been shot, he would not have fallen, hitting the psychopath with his second arrow. How had that boy leapt so high? How had he not swerved from his grasp? Had he only swerved in time, he would not have been pinned to the stone floor and the crazed Asian boy would not have gnawed into his flesh as he did, a fatal wound.

His vision swam before his eyes, his consciousness slipping away. Finally darkness took him in its soft embrace.

* * *
Six months later, a shop opened its doors near the old Taipei Sogo. The space had formerly been a tapas restaurant, neither very small nor very large. The new shop owner had installed an imposing wooden door; through cramped, yellow-tinted windows the merchandise could barely be made out along the dimly lit interior.

You pushed through the heavy door, curious to verify if what you had seen could be true. You heard the heavy click of the automatic lock snap shut behind you as the door swung closed. And then, stepping forward, the mad leer of the patron, his familiar crazed and gleeful cackle: “Welcome back.”

Suddenly, from behind, a cloth was pressed against your face as a strong arm seized you round your chest. A heavy medicinal smell filled your nostrils and stung your panicked eyes. In your last instants of consciousness, you realized that the shop, the dim lighting, the tinted windows, the sign--“Cherub Torsos”--it was all a trap to draw you in.

But now there was no turning back.

* * *

Ryan, international man of mystery. And crackpot.

* * *

Yes, in fact some people don't believe that my Taipei teen students, who don't even speak English as a first language, can write prose as good as what you find on this page. They say that I must be writing most of the stories for them, or heavily changing the stories. This isn't true. I only edit the pieces, correct grammar or usage problems, and sometimes add phrases to make the stories clearer or sharper. Here's a photo of one of the pages from Claire Fan-Chiang's piece, to give you some of idea of how much I typically edit. Click on it and enlarge if you want to see the details. I'm even going to be so bold as to claim that some of these kids write English better than most American kids their age. And English is a second language for them! Which should tell us something about American education. Sigh. --Eric Mader

The Inverse World

The assignment this time was to begin with the sentence “On the other side of the mirror is an inverse world.” Students at the Zephyr English Institute (ZEI) had about twenty minutes to write out a description of this “inverse” world. Claire, as usual, wrote brilliantly (this time I had to edit her more, as some of her sentences weren’t clear) and Ryan was up to his usual ryanism. The other students couldn’t finish in time, so took the essay home. I’ll add more as I get them.

Oh, and I wrote my own too, at the bottom.

Oh, and though I wrote it while the students were writing, I cheated a bit, working it into a final draft at home.

Oh, and I’m kind of a ryanist too, aren’t I?

E.M.

Claire Fan-Chiang

The Mirror

On the other side of the mirror is an inverse world. In that world, people do not exist until you kill them. Living, continuing to survive, is what they most fear. Once they have been killed and enter that world, work is no longer necessary; they are dead. Finally they exist.

You are dead from the second you enter that world. It is upside down in relation to the world on this side. Once there, you float up towards the ground.

Killing and maiming are virtues there, but saving and healing are vices. Whenever one heals or saves, and the operation is a success, the saved one regains life and enters the world on this side of the mirror, where we stand now, the world of the earth.

Those who are unlucky enough to enter our world from that one are disgusted by the human race. They can’t accept that killing others is illegal, while saving people is seen as good. To live is seen as shameful on the other side of the mirror.

But if too many die and enter that inverse world, the number of corpses grows too large. Slowly, some of them begin to come loose from the ground and fall down into the sky, which has the special power to give them life. This falling causes a certain panic in the inverse world. The most decayed are the noblest, while the newly dead are of the lowest rank. Fighting to hold onto death, the newly dead work to heal or restore the more decayed bodies, or push them down toward the sky. They work day and night to resuscitate them, healing as many as they can until the inverse world gains balance again, and they can feel secure in their death.

The fight starts again every time a plague or disaster reaps lives on the earth. The dead crowd into the inverse world, they understand that death is to be cherished, and they fight for their death.

--Claire Fan-Chiang

Monsieur Ryan

The Mirror

On the other side of the mirror is an inverse world. In that world, everything is backwards.

Clerks give customers money to take their products away.

People use fire extinguishers to start fires in malls and public buildings.

At schools the students stand during the class and watch the seated teacher.

When lunch comes, everyone throws up their lunch boxes.

At dinner time, cows use steak knives to cut people into “peoples”.

People eat food with their navels.

People use parachutes to jump up into planes when they want to travel.

They use elevators as subways.

People are punched to death by punching bags.

--Ryan

The Mirror

On the other side of the mirror is an inverse world, where disasters bring joy and celebrations end with leaders promising “Never again.”

In that world the nations compete to see who can ruin their economy faster.

The superstitious wear amulets to attract bad luck, and the beautiful are shunned.

Population shrinks yearly, abandoned land filling in with forests and fields, polluted lakes clearing one by one, new species appearing out of nowhere.

Even the lives there are backward: everyone starting out crippled and old and regressing to childhood.

Youth is thought of as a sad inevitability.

Which is why women spend untold sums keeping their skin wrinkly, adding sags under their eyes; and self-conscious men, once they see their hair start to fill in, take to wearing wigs with artificial bald spots.

But in general the people do what they can to avoid being noticed.

They have their own version of Facebook. When you sign up, you start out with hundreds of friends, most of whom you hardly know; the number slowly whittles itself down to your real friends, who then disappear one by one, leaving you finally with only your profile picture, which you delete.

Their Facebook won’t last long, however, because every year exciting new technologies are forgotten. Dumps and vacant lots are stacked with equipment the people have forgotten how to use, devices they no longer comprehend.

Idealists can dream of the day writing will be uninvented, then agriculture.

At the edge of the park the bushes mark their territory on every passing dog.

Tombstone inscriptions are tattooed on your mother’s belly after you’ve entered the womb. Her pregnancy recedes, until you are forgotten; until there’s only lovemaking, then dates, then glances across a room.

I know this because for a time I was in that world myself. I even won the lottery. They came and took everything.

--Eric Mader

Return of the Rabbit-Lobster

Short compositions from my teen students here in Taipei--some of them brilliant, some of them chafing at the bit. The assignment was to pick any person, then imagine them waking confused from a dream in which they dreamt some part of their body had morphed into something else. Students had twenty minutes to write, but some cheated.

Some of these compositions, placed at the end, are unsuitable for kids. Heck, some, which I couldn’t even bring myself to type, were unsuitable for adults too.

Eric Mader

Eric’s Elbow

by Claire Fan-Chiang (at ZEI)

Eric woke from a strange dream this morning. In the dream he was in a small, dusty park. He was sitting under a tree chewing his elbow passionately. He suddenly realized that his elbow was a hippo’s head.

Eric was amazed. He couldn’t believe he had accomplished such an incredible thing. His elbow was now a wonder of nature! Reporters from around the world would come and interview him, while biologists would simply sit and stare in admiration, unsure how to begin. On the Internet people would discuss him day and night, and fans would gather round him for autographs and selfies.

“Hey, you! What are you doing!”

A rock hit Eric on the head and he turned to see who’d thrown it. He couldn’t believe anyone could be so rude to him. He was now the World’s Most Special Person!

Finally he realized the rock had been thrown by a soldier dressed in traditional English armor with a bucket-like helmet on his head. As the soldier approached, he raised his sword, pointing it directly at Eric’s elbow.

“What the--?” Eric swore. Was this some stupid cosplayer that wanted to rule the world? But before Eric could say any more, the hippo on his elbow devoured the soldier.

Eric gaped at the empty space where the soldier had just stood. His elbow--had he perhaps grown it to save the world from all kinds of stupidity that may cause sickly seasons and the extinction of many races?

It had to be so!

Eric decided that from now on his mission was to make the world a better place. He would create a world of order and peace. Women would admire him and men would simply be jealous of him. Yes!

In fact his hippo-elbow companion ate anything near it, Eric’s teaching plans, his car keys, his cell phone, his comfortable sofa, and more. It also ate a very bitter old lady who stole kids’ candy, a rabbit-lobster that was peacefully crossing the road, and a short Godzilla hairdresser known for tending people’s hair with exquisite care. It swallowed all the plague samples in the laboratory and the paper bags containing a few cockroaches and a piece of stale bread. Eric was convinced that through all this he was creating order for the world: setting a new balance for the ecosystem and cleaning up the streets besides. He’d never been this happy before!

However, Eric soon met a French guy whose knees were two pythons. Eric felt envious because he only had one hippo while the French guy had two pythons. Angrily, he demanded the stranger’s name, only to discover that the stranger’s name was Eric too.

Oh, Eric couldn’t bear it that this French Eric had accomplished more than himself! French Eric saved beautiful ladies from frightening monsters and had won the lottery ten times in a row.

Furious, Eric challenged Eric to a duel. But just when the duel was to begin, Eric woke up because he had to pee.

Eric now sat on his bed, sulking. He had absolute confidence that he could have beaten the French Eric. But now he’d never find out, since he was already awake and his dreams were different every night.

So he drew a hippo on his elbow and two pythons on his knees. He is now extremely satisfied with himself.

Yes, Claire Fan-Chiang is brilliant. Just . . . brilliant.

Tom Hanks’ Thumb

by Anthony (at ZEI)

Tom Hanks woke from a strange dream this morning. In the dream he was on the set for the movie version of Dan Brown’s new brainchild Inferno. He was washing his hands at a small sink and he suddenly realized his left thumb was a man: Wow! It was Dan Brown!

He stared at Dan Brown for a moment, not knowing what to say. Finally, Dan started to shout: “What the hell are you doing, idiot? Concentrate on your acting!”

Tom Hanks glanced around the room. Nobody had noticed his thumb yelling.at him. So he came down closer to Dan and whispered: “What’s going on?”

“F—k!” Dan roared. “You giant oaf, why are you asking me! Just Be Your Langdon!”

Tom looked over at the actress preparing, the one they’d chosen to play Sienna.

“Nice girl again. But what about Sophia, Vittoria, and . . .”

“C’mon, Hanks, forget them!” Dan snapped. “Focus! This is Inferno, so of course the female lead will change.”

“But what does that say about my character, that he keeps--”

“Oh, Jesus, Hanks! I don’t give a damn about things like feminism or what. Just FOCUS!!!”

Frank’s Legs

by Tommy (at ELT)

This morning Frank woke from a very strange dream. He was in his bedroom, and he started touching his legs. He realized that his legs were really incense sticks. He didn’t pay much attention to them at first. However, when he got out of bed and started walking around, he realized his incense legs were burning. With the smoke now floating around him, Frank had no idea how to stop it.

Suddenly he remembered the film 127 Hours, in which a man had to cut off his hand to save himself from dying in the wild. Frank was in the same situation as the character: he had to take action immediately, or he would burn to death.

He started looking around the house for something to cut off his legs, but there was nothing. The smoke was getting thicker, and he could start to feel the burning. Frank rushed outside as quickly as he could; he made great effort to reach the railway crossing near his house. Once there, he put his burning incense legs on the rail. The train was already coming. He started counting down: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . . RIIIINNNGGG!

Frank woke up with sweat all over his body. He reached over and turned off the alarm.

“What a strange start for a day!” he thought, and reached down to check if he had his normal legs.

Tommy and Serena

My Chill Belly

by Jenny (at ELT)

This morning I woke from a very strange dream. I was on my bed, and I started touching my belly. I realized that it was really a refrigerator. Confused and surprised, I slapped myself to check if I was still dreaming. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a dream.

“What happened? Where will the food I consumed go to?”

Dozens of questions sprang up. However, not wanting to distress my family, I decided to conceal the secret. I got up from the bed, trying to reassure myself: Maybe it wasn’t so bad. With such a special belly, I could store food inside instead of preparing a lunch box.

Thinking this way, I felt more relieved. And besides--a new day was beginning, perhaps a brand new life.

But then I felt my head getting colder and colder. I realized it was changing slowly. It was becoming a freezer!

The Party in My Hair

by Tatiana (at ELT)

This morning I woke up from a very strange dream. I was in the bathroom, and I wanted to comb my hair. But I realized my hair was really a swimming pool. I saw all my friends were in the pool. I wanted to go in too, but couldn’t, because I had to take a shower to get ready for school.

Suddenly Angela, who was also in the pool, held up a water gun and started to shoot me. I was angry, so I picked her up and stared at her. Angela is so tiny! Ha ha ha! I thought. And I started to shake her around violently while singing a K-pop song from a band I knew she hated.

After a while, when Angela was screaming and almost crying, I remembered again I had to take a bath or I’d be late. So I put Angela on the toilet and went to take the shower head. But as I held it I had a thought: Wait! I’m totally naked! Everyone in the pool just saw my body!”

I quickly turned on the shower, and began to spray myself, but at the same time I started to wake up. Interesting, my hair was all wet.

Tatiana and classmates.

My Electronic Eyes

by Frank (at ELT)

This morning Frank woke from a very strange dream. He was in the park, and he reached up to rub his eyes. He realized that his eyes weren’t natural: they’d become electronic eyes. When he touched them, they turned on, and he saw a screen light up in his field of vision, similar to a smart phone screen.

The screen had several options: X-ray eyes, games, instantaneous movement from place to place, normal eyes. He chose the third option, instantaneous movement, to get back to his house, and it actually worked! Then he chose some of the other options, just for fun. But not long after, he felt they were really pretty boring, and didn’t help him much either. So he chose normal and his electric eyes turned off. When he tried to turn them on again, however, just to see if they still worked, he couldn’t.

He was thinking about this, still trying to turn them back on, when he woke up.

Jay Chou's Screenface

by Lulu (at ELT)

This morning Jay Chou woke from a very strange dream. He was in a closet, and he he reached up to scratch his face. He realized that his face was really a TV screen. He still could see clearly from his eyes, but he started to feel very nervous.

Then he noticed his wife was next to him in the closet--For God’s sake, why are we in a closet! She was watching his “face” and laughing. He felt awful because he knew she was watching Sponge Bob. He told her he hated the stupid plots in that cartoon. How dare she watch Sponge Bob on his face!--but she ignored him. He tried to turn off his face, but couldn’t, and she kept watching and laughing.

Jay got angrier and angrier and was trying to grab for the controller from his wife’s hand when he woke up. His wife was in bed next to him watching him nervously. -

Ted

by David (at ELT)

This morning Eric woke from a very strange dream. He was in bed, and started feeling around his right shoulder. He realized that his right shoulder was Ted.

“I’m still dreaming,” Eric thought.

But when he tried to go back to sleep, Ted slapped Eric’s face with his paw.

“Get up!” Ted yelled at him. “It’s time to save the world! It’s our responsibility to save the lonely women of planet earth!” the bear yelled at him.

Eric started to wake up.

Simon’s Remote-Control Arm

by Christine (at ELT)

This morning Simon woke up from a strange dream. The dream was really long, like a movie. He’d never had such a dream before.

In the dream Simon was lying on a sofa in a house with many chandeliers. He started to scratch his left arm and realized that his arm was really a remote control. Pressing different buttons, he quickly learned that he could control the light in the chandeliers, the air conditioner, the TV, everything.

Soon a woman came into the room wearing a silk evening gown.

“Oh, Simon, my love--here you are!” she said to him and sat down.

Simon felt the woman was kind of strange: he didn’t recognize her. But when he looked at his arm again, it was no longer a remote control, but a kind of screen, like an iPad screen. And words started to appear on it: KISS HER, FOOL, the words said.

Simon looked at the woman. She was smiling, waiting for him to kiss her. But then a man came into the room and stepped quickly up to Simon.

“Your arm: you must use it to help me,” the man said.

“What?” Simon said.

“Through that screen you have the power to discover the passwords of all the world’s major CEOs,” the man said. “I want those passwords. Using them, I can become fabulously wealthy.”

“What will I get?” Simon said.

“I will give you some of the money, and you can marry my daughter.”

The woman on the sofa next to Simon was angry to hear this, and she made a noise in protest.

“I will do it,” Simon said.

Then, while the woman was still there pouting, Simon and the man found Bill Gates’ password. The man took out a laptop and quickly used the password to get into Bill Gates’ email. But within a minute police rushed in and, seeing the screen on Simon’s arm, they arrested him.

In the next part of the dream Simon was in jail. The man’s daughter, now his fiancee, was there visiting him. She was fat and ugly. Simon didn’t mind being in jail if he could avoid marrying her.

NOTE: The following dreams, from the students in ELT class 005, are unsuitable for child reading. In fact I couldn’t even type out most of them. The class has a serious perv to it. I do my best. If they don’t write what’s on their mind, they really can hardly write at all, since by the time I get them (8:30 p.m.) they’ve already literally been in classes for more than ten hours. They only wake up when they get a chance to make up unsavory stories about the class hero: Simon. (The above composition is by the one girl in the class at present, who bravely puts up with the atmosphere of grim juvenile hormonics.)

Keith’s Shifty Nipples

by Simon (at ELT)

This morning Keith woke from a strange dream. In the dream he was lying on a bed in a motel and he started to touch his nipples. But he realized his nipples were really a girl’s nipples. They were his girlfriend Judy’s nipples.

In fact during the dream Keith actually was in a motel lying next to his girlfriend Judy. He had fallen asleep because he drank too much. Judy, however, was still awake. When she saw Keith touching his nipples like that, she thought, “What the hell! He’s touching himself like he’s a girl!”

But while typing out this dream, Eric realized it was too yellow to include here. Sorry, Simon.

Simon’s Flashlights

by Kris (at ELT)

This morning Simon woke from a strange dream. In the dream he was in a dark room, he didn’t know where. He reached down to touch his penis and discovered his testicles were really two little flashlights. As he was shining them around the room, a man appeared behind him.

“Your testicles are so beautiful,” the man said.

“They are my favorite part of my body,” Simon said. “You can’t take them away.”

Then Simon turned up the light on one of his testicle flashlights and shined it into the man’s eyes to blind him. And he tried to run away. But since the light was shining on the man, Simon didn’t see what was in front of him and he crashed headfirst into a wall. The blow knocked him unconscious.

When Simon woke up, both his penis and his flashlights were gone. Simon was very sad. Then he noticed a window on one side of the dark room and went to look outside to find out where he was.

Down below, on the street, he saw the man riding away on a bicycle, using Simon’s testicles as a bicycle light.

“Mama!” Simon yelled. “Mammmmmaaaaaa!”

Simon’s Chin

by Bill (at ELT)

This morning Simon woke from a strange dream. In the dream, he was on the street. He reached up to scratch his chin and realized that his chin was really a pair of testicles.

But this dream was too yellow to type. Eric needs to keep his job.

Simon’s Fingers

by Ken (at ELT)

This morning Simon woke from a strange dream. In the dream, he was at a motel with Victor. They were playing on the bed when Simon realized his ten fingers were really ten . . . . But what his fingers were really and what happened next cannot be included here. Eric can’t believe how yellow this class is.

Ken Becomes a Father

by Eric (sometimes I just do my own composition while they’re writing)

This morning Ken woke from a strange dream. In the dream he was riding the Taipei subway. The train had just stopped at a station. Ken was watching people come in through the open doors when suddenly he heard a loud “DING”.

Ken looked down and realized that his belly was really a microwave oven, and that it had just finished cooking something. Before Ken knew what to do, a hunched old woman came up to him and poked his left nipple. The door on his belly opened and she reached to take something out. Ken tried to block her reach, but she swatted his hand away. She took out a large red bowl with clear plastic wrap on top.

“Hey! You can’t--” Ken started to say, reaching for the bowl, but the old woman raised her hand like she was going to hit him, so he stopped.

The old woman slowly lifted the plastic wrap off the bowl. Steam began to rise from it. She blew into the bowl and looked.

Ken felt very embarrassed because everyone in the subway car was now watching.

“It’s ready,” the old woman said to Ken, and held the bowl up toward him.

Then Ken saw a little Simon head slowly coming up out of the bowl. The little Simon head looked at him with wide innocent eyes.

“Dad!” the little Simon said to him.

All the people in the subway cheered and began to applaud, but Ken screamed out in terror.

He awoke covered in sweat.

Thanks to AgelessAndEvergreen for making the digital version of the rabbit-lobster above. --E.M.

Grass Eating (啃老族)

Shawn Chuang’s name was Shawn Chuang, but everyone called him Steve Chuang. He lived with his mother in a large flat above a bowling alley in the Shih Lin district of Taipei. The flat was large and the sofa in the flat was large and Shawn Chuang spent a lot of time on the sofa.

Though Shawn had been out of university for two years, he still hadn’t found gainful employment.

Shawn’s mother nagged him daily to find a job, any job. It wasn’t that Shawn hadn’t tried. In the two years since graduating, he had applied at three different companies for jobs. But finding work was basically impossible.

It hadn’t always been like this. As a kid Shawn had shown great signs of intelligence. Sooner than other kids, he yawned, he ate, he daydreamed. He could turn on devices with his fingers.

And Shawn was braver than other kids. He launched a rocket under his bed. He fired a cannonball at his navel. He swallowed gum--at a time when other kids still believed their mothers who said gum must be spat out. He combed a stray dog’s fur with his own comb. He put a cockroach in his shirt in math class. And left it there.

The girls admired Shawn for this bravery, showing their admiration by saying “Gross!”

In all these ways Shawn showed great promise as a child. It looked as if he would have a brilliant future. But now what?

Shawn lay on the large sofa in the large flat and considered his prospects. His major had been chemical engineering, but what could one do with that?

Just the day before Shawn had seen a TV show about Taipei young people who had learned to turn their hobbies into small businesses. The lesson of the show was “Do what you love, and you will be successful!” The host suggested the first thing for a young person to do was make a list of things they loved doing, then consider which one might be turned to profit.

Shawn took a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table and started to write his list. After fifteen minutes he had a handful of items to consider. He went through the list one by one.

Item 1: “Getting up after 11.”

It would be great, Shawn thought, but I don’t see a way to make money from getting up after 11:00 a.m. Too bad.

He crossed out item 1 on his list.

Item 2: “Putting feet up on the coffee table.”

It was true Shawn loved doing this, and he could get away with it when his mother was out, but he couldn’t see any way to make money from it. Could he maybe charge old people to help them put their feet up on their coffee tables?

He didn’t cross out number 2, but kept it open for further thought.

Item 3: “Scratch back on door frame.”

After graduating from university, Shawn discovered a great way to scratch his back on the door frame between his bedroom and the hallway. Could he maybe teach other people to scratch their backs this way? He could go to houses and say: “Hey, I know a secret way to scratch your back that is awesome, and if you pay me 250NT I will teach you.”

At first Shawn liked the idea. But then: Not everybody has itchy backs, he thought. And what if their door frames aren’t good for scratching?

He scratched out item 3.

Item 4: “Computer games.”

He crossed out item 4. If you want to make money from games, you have to be a game designer, and he didn’t know how to use the software.

Without even thinking about items 5 and 6, Shawn tossed his list on the floor.

If I could only make money somehow without leaving the house, that would be the best, he thought. Or if I could make money by staying in the neighborhood. I have to think of something I can do right near here.

Shawn considered it a great rule of life not to leave the house if he could avoid it and not to use any kind of transportation to go to other parts of the city. It had already been three months since he’d left the city block where his mother’s flat was.

Hm. There was that one time Mom bent that fork and I used my teeth to bend it back. Maybe I could open a small silverware repair shop and do pretty well for myself. Shawn’s Silverware Rebend. Maybe I could start to put some money aside.

Or how about hide and seek? Everyone likes hide and seek. If people gave me their things before they went to work I could hide the stuff in the neighborhood during the day and when they came home they could try to find it. I could charge 50NT for every fifteen minutes of seeking, which would be fun for the people after a boring day at the office and would besides encourage them to move faster, getting some exercise, because they'd know the longer it took to find their stuff the more expensive the game would be. I bet I could turn a pretty penny with the city’s first Hide and Seek company.

Or I could help the police with crime investigation by working with hair evidence. Whenever there's a bunch of hair on the ground or the stairs I can always tell which hairs come from which persons. Just by holding them up in the light. The police could call me in to help solve crimes.

Shawn imagined a scene in a crime documentary where the police detective is carefully examining the surface of a sofa. “Get Shawn here,” the detective says gravely to his assistant.

Shawn was imagining more scenes from the same documentary when his mother entered the living room.

“Hey, I told you to bring in the laundry!” she snapped. “Get off that sofa already! It’s almost 2:00 p.m.”

“I’m thinking about possible jobs,” Shawn said.

And he explained to his mother his idea for the Hide and Seek company, and after he was done explaining it the strangest thing happened: his mother removed the slipper from her left foot and came over to the sofa and started beating Shawn's head with it.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Shawn protested as the dusty slipper whacked repeatedly against his head and other parts of his body.

“If you don’t get off your ass and find a job this summer, I’m going to throw away your iPad!” his mother yelled. “I’ve already thought about doing it. I’ve had it in my hand and was this far from junking it. I swear I’ll do it next time too if you don’t get out and find a goddamn job!”

Shawn felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. Throw away his iPad? Things were getting serious.

After his mother had stormed back into the kitchen, Shawn reached down and picked his list up off the floor. He wrote down a number 7 for item 7. He set himself to thinking.

by Eric, Ryan, Claire (范姜詠欣) and Anthony (黃聖翔) at ZEI

In the Reflection is the Daughter of Time (by Claire Fan-Chiang 范姜詠欣)

One of the great thing about teaching kids in Taiwan is that so many of them turn out brilliant. Their keen ability to study and remember (gained during their years of hard work learning to read and write their native language Chinese) now and again results in great things--especially when a student decides to take up the pen for more than just the usual dull homework.

The following story by my student Claire Fan-Chiang (范姜詠欣) is a great example of a serious young creative mind in action. Claire is in junior high school in Taipei. She’s never lived or studied in an English-speaking country. Nonetheless, she’s got a great knack for narrative in English, and pulls of some really fine passages. Claire’s a pretty serious artist too. Her own illustration appears below.

Eric Mader
* * *

IN THE REFLECTION IS THE DAUGHTER OF TIME
A battered green car sped over the muddy road, the rain thumping on its windows. Ingrid glanced down at the fuel gauge and furrowed her brows. The pointer was closing in on the ‘E’, but from what the GPS system showed she was still far from the campsite.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

What a mistake it had been to pass the gas station without fueling the car two hours ago. As she slowed down the car made a deep honking sound similar to a horn blowing through the wind.

The driving seemed endless. Three hours had passed, but she’d seen no landmark through the length of the journey. By now she seriously suspected that the GPS system had broken down. Cursing silently in her mind, she stopped by the road and dug out the map and compass. The compass told her she was driving east when she should have been driving north.

“Ugh!”

Night was falling, and she had no idea if she could reach the site in time. She was actually more worried about the fuel. It didn’t seem that it could last much longer. Since she had no choice but to head back, she turned the car keys in the ignition to restart the engine.

But the car would not react.

“Damn the bloody hell!”

She kicked hard against the floorboard, frustrated. Still, the car made no sound.

I’m stuck in the middle of the wild.

I’m stuck in the middle of the wild with bears lurking in the forest.

The thought shot a spasm of fear through her mind. Bears are strong and fierce, and her second-hand Toyota didn’t look stable enough to defend her from a bear. But if she got out of the car she would have nothing else to defend herself than the Swiss army blade in her pocket.

However, she was overwhelmed by fatigue, and after sitting there awhile sleep crept up on her before she had made a decision.

* * * Rap rap rap. Rap rap rap.

Ingrid’s eyes shot open, her olive green irises wide and alert. Her mind raced and her heart pounded. Slowly, she glanced out from the car windows. Outside stood a man, his face slightly illuminated by the snowy moonlight. Wrinkles were etched deep into his face, and he looked around sixty.

“Miss?” His voice was rather muffled, but she could still hear a thick accent in it. “You lost?”

Ingrid got a better image of him now: the man was wearing a hunting cap covering half his forehead; a red stubby nose shaped like a tomato sat between his rosy cheeks. He was rather plump, and his hair was pepper-and-salt. He carried a hunting rifle on his back.

Ingrid’s heart pounded so badly now she could feel it beating in her veins.

Should I trust him?

“Miss? Miss, you okay in there?” The rapping went on, harder and faster. Still, she made no answer.

“Miss? Miss?” The tone begun to change, worry filled it.

“Huh?” Ingrid faked a sleepy voice, as if she had just woken up. “What’d’ya say?”

“Thank God you’re all right! Are you lost?” The old man let out a chortle that sounded like the screech of a dying goat.

“Yeah, I mean, no, not really, you know—I just got tired and slipped off...heh heh. I’m not lost, really, just tired.” Ingrid laughed with some effort, trying to persuade the old man.

The old man laughed. “Plenty of people lose their way down here, missy. No need to be embarrassed. I guess you were trying to go to the campsite north, right?”

“Um…” Her cheeks burned red. “Well…”

“I’m retired. I usually lives by myself in my villa, hunting wild doves and smoking pipes; but my family visit me every vacation,” said the old man. “My villa is not far away from here, and if you don’t mind, why don’t you come and spend the night with me and my family?”

Ingrid blinked. Her instincts told her something was wrong: maybe it was the overt kindness of the man; maybe it was the invitation to spend the night at his villa. But exhaustion won over her instincts and her head nodded before she could stop herself.

The rest of what happened was a blur. All she remembered was that she packed up her things and walked after the old man for a long time. Just as she started to feel she could walk and sleep at the same time, they reached their destination.

As they approached, Ingrid could see the villa was filled with a warm yellow light and silhouettes of people moving inside. A thirst to get inside it as soon as possible burned inside Ingrid’s mind. The scent of porridge never smelt so amazing, and the warm air seem to be calling her into a paradise. The door swung open, and a boy with bright blue eyes and flaxen hair waved at her with enthusiasm, calling her name. Laughter like tinkling glass reached her ears, and her feet moved up the porch and in through the front door.

A woman named Chelsea with red flaming hair and a man named Edward greeted her. By the fire an old lady in a grey shawl smiled at her. A girl ran over, brown braids flying behind. They took her things upstairs, and Chelsea led her to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later she was sitting in the tub, foam covering her body, all the aches from her cold nap having seeped out into the water.

Then she was led to the dining room, the scent of vanilla candles intoxicating. The silverware was well polished, and the mahogany table glowed. Vases held flowers of crimson, yellow and white, while the plates served all sorts of food. Steak tartare, boeuf bourguignon, cotoletta, and ossobuco; mounds of bread and desserts extended to the bottom of the table. The fragrance was killing her.

Chairs were pulled out and the family sat, motioning for Ingrid to join them.

Dinner was fabulous; the food was amazing, the kids charming, and the adults humorous. For a second Ingrid felt that she was part of the family, and she was even longing to stay.

When it was time for bed, Ingrid crawled under the blankets, all her luggage packed neatly under the bed. The pillow was extremely soft and comfortable—the best that she had slept on in her whole life. Her eyelids drooped and sleep engulfed her, whisking her into the land of dreams.

* * * Ingrid’s eyes opened.

She had a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. The moonlight slanted through the windows and bathed the woods in peace. An owl was cooing somewhere deep in the tree branches, and a few stars sparkled, like tiny shards of glass.

Ingrid swung her legs out from the quilt-covered bed, the tips of her feet touching the cold ground. It was icy, like frost in autumn. She smiled at the thought of frost. She loved the silvery-grey splinters of frost.

She stood up, stretching and yawning, hearing her joints make a faint cracking sound. She went over to the lights and tried to turn them on.

Yet there was no reaction.

She pushed hard on the button, but it stayed stuck in place, too stubborn to budge. Her brows knit, her eyes narrowing into slits of green.

After a whole minute of the pressing-the-button game (in which Ingrid lost spectacularly against the small, black square of plastic) she went across the room and dug through her pack. The large yellow flashlight was hidden deep inside her bag, and when she switched it on, it gave a strong beam of light.

Pushing the door open, she entered the corridor. The faces in the oil paintings seemed stiff and grotesque, the echo of her footsteps hollow. The corridors twisted and turned, and she was soon lost. It felt like walking in a never-ending labyrinth; she would always come back to the same place she had left minutes ago. She had never expected bathrooms to be so hard to find.

Climbing up an icy marble staircase, the ebony banisters glowing, she came finally to a new landing. The painting next to the staircase portrayed a serene woman, her pale fingers curled around a scarlet apple. Ingrid stared at it, a feeling of familiarity nagging at the back of her mind.

A hiss startled her, like the steam breaking suddenly from the lid of a copper kettle. She turned to see a hallway extend behind her; patches of white moonlight shone while eerie shadows of indigo slanted off the snowy walls. She took a single slow step, the floor creaking below her feet. At the end of the hallway was a door.

The door was dark and well polished, sleek and shiny under the silver moonlight. A brass handle glowed, not a single spec of rust could be felt on it. She knocked softly, making a dull tapping sound. No one answered. Ingrid knocked some more, yet there was still no reply.

“Hello? Can I come in?” Ingrid frowned at her voice. Somehow, it was raspy and dry. She cleared her throat several times, waiting for anybody to answer. Half a minute passed and nothing happened.

“I’m coming in,” she called. Wrapping her fingers firmly round the handle, she swung the door open, only to see a large empty bed, windows gaping wide and the curtains blowing. The room was empty, a feeling of desolation curling out from it. Cobwebs draped lazily over the chest of drawers, and a thick layer of dust could be seen on the glass panes covering the bookshelves. The shelves themselves were locked firmly, and they rattled when she tugged them. It was like the sound of bones knocking against each other.

The closet, however, was open. She shone the light at it and saw several pieces of clothing inside. They’d been thrown or stuffed into it without care, a chaotic heap. Behind them and to the side was a mirror, also dust-covered and filthy. Ingrid stepped forwards, slowly and carefully, and wiped some of the dust off. Black smudges appeared on her rosy fingers and soft white palm, resembling soot on snow.

Reflected in the mirror, however, was a smiling figure, the color of olive and putty, a conglomeration of deep purple gashes held together with strands of crimson thread. The eyes were two empty pits black as coal, and a few white hairs stuck out awkwardly from its head.

Held in his hand was a long hunting rifle; his red nose twitched.

“Hi, missy.”

What is the Afterlife?

Saturday students: Frances, Shawn, Anthony, Yoyo.
My small Saturday class has impressed me again. I talked with them a bit about different cultures’ ideas of the afterlife--I mentioned Christian and Muslim ideas, Buddhist ideas, including reincarnation, and different ancient pagan ideas--then wrote their assignment on the board:

Do you believe you have a soul that will continue after death, or do you think you only have a physical body? Many people in the world, following different religions, believe there is some kind of afterlife; others believe that when we die we cease to exist. Whether you believe in an afterlife or not, for this assignment I want you to imagine that you have died and discovered that in fact there is an afterlife.

It is now three hours after your death. What has been your experience during these three hours? Where are you now? Are you alone? Do you know anything about where you will be in the future?

You have twenty minutes to write.

These are the four versions of the afterlife they gave me.

E.M.
Taipei

Detail from Anthony's afterlife.
The Afterlife

I’ve been dead for three hours, my soul left my body and now I’m trying to figure out what to do next.

The last three hours might be the most painful time of my life. I didn’t want to stay beside my body and watch people crying for my death, so I decided to leave the hospital and take a last tour of the city.

Being bodiless is kind of convenient. I didn’t have to walk at all, I don’t have to pay attention to traffic lights, and I could get everywhere I wanted to go by only thinking about it.

I went to places where I had created lots of beautiful memories with friends and family. I thought about things I’d done in my life: what I did right and what I did wrong.

Later I was sitting in a park and an angel appeared. He said I would only have 24 hours to stay in the world, and also I could get into the dreams of people who still wanted to see me again. I could talk to them again and say goodbye for the last time. And then I will be in the heaven, living an afterlife.

So now I’m thinking, with 21 hours left, what is the thing that I should do? (And god damn it, why the hell did the angel only show up 3 hours after my death? He should show up immediately!)

by Shawn (莊崴翔)


The Afterlife

It is now three hours after my death. I can’t see anything that isn’t in darkness. I don’t know where I am. I think I am floating in the sky, higher and higher.

Abruptly, I feel a strong light. I am on the ground. I don’t know where it is. Then I see a house, not so far, so I go into it. When I walk in, I see many pictures of animals and insects, and there are some points under them. A man is using a computer near me.

“Where are we?” I say.

“Here you can choose what you want to be in your next life, but not everything. You did many good things in your life, so you have 1000 points, but you can’t choose the animals which are more than 1000 points like pandas.”

I chose human and thought: “I have to do more good things this time and I can be an animal which is better in my next life.”

by Yoyo (王佑淳)


The Afterlife

It is now three hours after my death. My soul is getting away from my body, and I can see that there’s a long tunnel leading toward me, with a shining light. I can’t see the end of the tunnel, and there’s no reason why I’m going straight down.

After a while, I take a train with no color, keep going in the tunnel. The train has many windows, but they seem like DVD players, playing my life, telling all the good or bad things to me. My tears keep bubbling up.

After my life has finished playing, the tunnel has ended too. I can’t control my body, and I can’t move, it feels like a large hand pressing me tightly onto the seat.

Suddenly a “god” appears in front of me. He speaks with a deep, deep voice, and shoots me with his dark, cold eyes, but I don’t have any fear. He tells me that because of my behavior during life I deserve to go to heaven, and he raises up his hands, just like magic, makes a big wave and leads me to heaven. I’m not happy, also not sad. I have no feelings now.

When I get to heaven, a lot of people who have died are welcoming me with their hands. Maybe this is my new home now. We can’t speak to each other, can’t smile, but our feelings strangely go right to each other. We enjoy the sunlight every day, and enjoy our afterlife.

by Frances (蔡詠淇)


The Afterlife

Now I’m in the “empty space”. There is nothing about “afterlife” exactly. After we die, we will come to the empty space and pass through it. Once we pass through, we appear in the “Eyeth”. Also, we forget everything from the “Earth”.

The Eyeth is a planet just like the Earth. People on both planets think there is a universe, but actually there isn’t. Nothing is outside the planets. The Eyeth is a world of magic as the Earth is a world of science. Every other thing is the same on both planets. However, depending on whether the planet is based on magic or science, some things will be opposite. For instance, novels and movies on both planets will be people’s imagination of the other planet.

Every time we come to the Eyeth or the Earth, we will be the same person as last time we came, but the environment will change. Sometimes it will be better, sometimes not. Maybe next time when I go to the Earth, the world will be at 2000 B.C. or 5000 A.D. Nobody knows.

While in the “empty spaces”, we see nothing, just emptiness, there is no other world to describe it. Getting through the empty space, you’ll remember something about yourself on the next world. After that, you’ll be on that planet.

Nobody, wrong, no soul knows why this is happening. Maybe some other more powerful race is controlling it, but no soul can understand.

by Anthony (黃聖翔)

Unfortunately, the very talented smart-ass Ryan (蔡睿敏) was absent this time, which was really too bad, because he often writes fascinating things. Next time, Ryan!

Ryan--getting ready to say something smart-assed.

Ideal Libraries (ZEI's Tuesday Mythology Class)

For some months our Tuesday night class has been reading chapters from Ursula K. LeGuin's Changing Planes. At the beginning of her chapter "Woeful Tales from Mahigul," the narrator describes Mahigul's Imperial Library, which I take to be a portrait of the writer's own ideal library. After reading this opening part of the chapter, I told my brilliant group of Tuesday students to write descriptions of their own ideal libraries for homework. Here are some of them:

Michelle writes:

My ideal study room should be without my brother, since he's noisy. With him taken care of, we can talk about the decoration and devices in the room. There should be enough light (not light bulbs in the morning, but sunlight) because warm sunlight through the window always makes me feel calm and soothes any headache that might be caused by math problems. Also good music would play an important part, as music gives me a good mood to study boring subjects like math or physics. And then, to mention something that is important but that could hardly happen in a city such as Taipei: a good view when I look out the window. I know it would cost an arm and a leg to realize this dream, since Taipei is a crowded city and urban land prices are always high. A good view, including a big space with trees and flowers or a blue sea or bright sky, can give my eyes a rest after a tiring war against Chinese, math . . . all the school subjects and assignments our teachers had given. Hmm. In any case, this is my "ideal room," so never mind about money. Without this factor of money, I think I could get my ideal study room some day. Maybe in the distant future?

Jenny Huang writes:

The library is called "Magic Library." Everyone in the library carries a book with them, a book to which you can pose any question about the library. The lights in the library are like stars, shining and beautiful. The book can fly anywhere, and tell you its stories. Like the universe, the library is dark, but you can read the book clearly. There is also a ball in which you can seat yourself. You can use the ball to fly anywhere you want. Inside it you can also eat anything you want. The book everyone carries is somewhat like the Internet--it can also find any information you need, all you have to do is think about it. It is really an interesting library, to which all are welcome. But think before you enter. Because many people enter, but never leave, like the "Hotel California."

Schani Lin writes:

My ideal study room will be in a quiet forest. It's a two-storied building, and my study room will be on the second floor. Sunlight enters through the glass ceiling which can put me in a good mood to study boring subjects. A balcony is outside the room. When I get tired, I'll go there to breathe some fresh air. If there's a hard problem in math or science, I'll go to the garden to take a walk and think of the solution. Quiet also plays an important role in my study room. When it's quiet, I can think of more things, be more creative and come up with better ideas. I hope one day I'll have my ideal study room for real.

Sherry Chen writes:

Press ENTER on the remote control and in a few seconds a book flies to you. You don't have to walk around to choose a book to match your taste: in this library, books fly to you without your touching them. YOUR MIND IS TELLING THE LIBRARY DIRECTLY WHICH BOOK IS THE BEST FOR YOU!

It's the biggest library in the world because you can call for a book any time or anywhere, you don't have to go to a building to borrow books or give them back--they'll fly.

All the books are housed in an island called "Holy Library." It's a fantastic place for readers. You can read in the mountains, at the beach, or even on a dolphin or in a big clam shell in the sea. All the books are stored in a cave with many entry and exit holes that allow them to fly in and out.

But the most special and praiseworthy part of the library is that you can dream the book you want. Push ADVENTURE on the remote control and it will give you two wires. Put the wires to your temples and what you get is not just a story in words, but an adventure. You can be any character in this story, and in this dream mode, you experience directly what is in the character's mind. You might be a hero, a vampire, a piece of ear wax, an amber or a mosquito.

For readers in the "Holy Library," books are power, words are magic. They travel through them, learn from them. Will you choose ENTER or ADVENTURE? Will you accept what your mind needs? Are you a strong enough reader for this library?

Lillian Huang writes:

In the future, nobody will have to go to the library, because people will already have their own library at their fingertips.

Once you pick up iPad10, it will be hard to put down. That's the idea behind all new design--thinner, lighter, the best for students.

1) Thinner and lighter

It's 50% thinner and lighter, so it feels even more comfortable in your hands. It makes surfing the web, playing games, listening to music, checking the mail, reading, writing . . . all so natural that you might forget there's incredible technology under your fingers.

2) High resolution

Download books from your iPad10 and you will be even more well-read. Full-page illustrated science books, art books, novels--everything is gripping on the beautiful, high-resolution iPad display.

3) LED backlighting

LED backlighting makes everything you see remarkable crisp, vivid, and bright.

4) Print everything wirelessly

With just a few taps, you can go from viewing something on the iPad screen to holding a printed copy.

Besides all this, with most books in the iPad library, you can change the text size or jump to any chapter right from the table of contents, and you can use bookmarks to make notes.

It's perfect for students.

(This is not an Apple ad--just my imagination.)

Odysseus vs. Irus

ZEI students rewrite the Odyssey, cont'd. When the beggar Irus got word that there was a newcomer begging in the palace, he was furious. He came to kick out the intruder. But the intruder refused to leave! Soon it was clear there was going to be a battle of beggars. The suitors were delighted with this entertainment. When Odysseus removed his clothes, however, Irus saw his rival's muscular body. He shook with fear. But it was too late to back down.

May's Version

. . . . The suitors around them were also astonished.

"How can an old beggar have such a muscular body?" they wondered.

Those who at first wanted to see a bloody movie, Beggars' Fight, started to tremble and thought about fleeing. Of course the unluckiest of all was Irus: he wanted to run, but his feet were rooted to the spot. All he could do was cry for mercy.

"Have mercy!" he begged. "You must be an 'Odysseus' of beggars."

"You will regret your bad attitude," Odysseus replied. "You insulted me, and today you will learn your lesson--that one must show hospitality to strangers."

As soon as Odysseus finished speaking, his muscles began to get bigger; his pectorals were swelling and his arms were growing. He began almost to look like a balloon in the shape of a man. But he still continued to grow, swelling larger and larger, because he had eaten too much spinach earlier in the morning in preparation for his fight with the suitors. Swelling and swelling, suddenly BOOOM! the balloon exploded. The great hero Odysseus was dead! He had died in his beggar's disguise.

No one in the palace understood what had happened. They were all too amazed at the mystery.

Jenny Lin's Version

Indeed the fight was a cruel nightmare for Irus. At first Odysseus hit him in the face, and he nearly fell to the ground, jabbing Antinous in the arm by accident as he swung backward. When he again stood still, Odysseus prodded him in the chest and kicked him in the stomach.

"Hurray!" Amphinomus yelled and whistled for Odysseus.

"You mad fool!" Melanthius said, and kicked him. "What is Irus doing? C'mon, Irus, kick your rival!"

Irus wanted to surrender and beg for clemency. The fury surged in his heart as he was beaten by Odysseus, who finally gave him a full punch to the chest as he stood hesitating.

Irus was on the ground, Odysseus standing on him as victor.

Ariel's Version

Odysseus saw the beggar's face: it was white as chalk, and the beggar was trembling. But the suitors didn't care, they were still yelling for the fight.

Odysseus spoke to Irus: "Dear brother, let's not fight," he said. "Let's be friends. We can help each other and share what's here."

"What are you talking about, man?" Irus said. "Kill me! Kill me! You don't have to let me go."

Odysseus shook his head. "No, brother," he said, "really I want to be your friend, because I'm lonely, and you're lonely. Please, let's be friends."

Then Irus smiled. "Okay, old man," he said.

But the suitors were angry; they wanted to see the fight. They started to throw things at the two beggars. Just then Penelope appeared and told them to stop and ordered the maids to lead the beggars inside and take care of them.

Jenny's Version

"Let's fight!" Odysseus revealed his sharp teeth.

The two beggars began a fierce fight. Irus gave him a boxing, but Odysseus quickly dodged and gave Irus a sharp kick as fast as lightning. Irus fell like a hurt cat, weak and with no ability.

"You'll regret your foolish treatment of me," Odysseus said. "You'll pay for your cruelty!"

"Old beggar, old beggar!" Irus begged, grabbing Odysseus' knees. "No, no! Noble elder, please don't kill me. I have to take care of my parents and young children. Forgive my foolishness!"

"Don't worry," Odysseus said. "I will take care of them. Now you will get what you deserve."

Suddenly time stopped. Poseidon appeared with a can of spinach and said to Irus: "Irus, try this. It'll make you stronger."

Irus ate it. Almost instantly he towered up into the sky, his right foot becoming as big as the palace itself. He began to stomp on the suitors and all the people of Ithaca.