Empower English

“Hi uncle can I have 2?” The cloying (sickeningly sweet) smell of ripe pineapples was too powerful to resist, like the songs of the sirens, the smell was beckoning me to eat them all. My saliva glands were in full production as I gulped a large dollop down my throat. I could just picture the dribbling golden nectar sliding down my parched throat, like honey in it’s sweetness, as refreshing as an ice-cold lemon tea on a blistering hot day.

I looked at the fruit haphazardly piled on top of one another. Rows of shiny, ruby-red apples sat under happy naval oranges in brown baskets. Just then, there emerged a girl behind the shop who was my age. “My dad’s in the restroom.” Lifting her eyes, our eyes met for the briefest of seconds, “that will be 5 dollars.” Her voice, clear as crystal and warm as the afternoon sun shook me out of my reverie (daydream). Her voice trailed off abruptly.

A pair of gebera pink earphones hung around her neck. They were pumping out a familiar melody. Her eyes sparkled honey-brown in the afternoon sun and there was a slight black birthmark on the edge of her mouth, which sat beside one of two dimples. Her lips which were pink and full, were pursed into a smile. Her hair was also honey-brown, curly and wild, coming down to her shoulders. “Wow” I mouthed, dumbstruck. She held a 2B pencil in her hand.

Coming to my sense after what felt like an eternity, I tousled my hair and laughed awkwardly, “Wow, that is a really great price. Hahaha…” I dug frantically for my wallet in my backpack and handed her a crumpled green note. “Wait, aren’t you in the student council at NAGE Primary School?” “Hi, yes I am. I’m Lisa.” She said placing a slender hand over her chest and extending another to shake mine. I gave her hand a nervous shake, afraid that my hand would give away the fact that my heart was pounding right out of its chest. “Oh, I’m Lance. I thought you looked familiar! Boy, you sure do look different with your hair down. Do you like Coldplay? They are my favourite band!” Lisa’s eyes widened. “You like them too? I usually listen to them when I’m doing Math.” “I love your headphones. My dad says JBLs are overrated but he did get me these.” I produced my worn and trusty set of Audio-Technicas from my bag. “Hey do you want to come over to my shop and we can listen to Coldplay together!” At her suggestion I must have turned beetroot red because my entire neck was burning under the collar of my T-shirt. “Oh cool! I live just 5 minutes from your shop.” I then got my 2 pineapples in a blue plastic bag and waved ‘bye’. “My dad will love these. Your shop has the sweetest fruit.” Lisa brushed her hair off her cheeks, straightened up and said, “At Excelsior Fruit Company, we do try our very best! Enjoy!”

Just like that, I would go to Lisa’s weekly. I told my dad all about the shop and all about Lisa. How she was so smart, how she helped out at her father’s shop, and how she said, “One day this shop will be mine and we will have a store every corner in Singapore.” Dad finally met Lisa. “Sally, Lance has this special friend whom I think you should see!” He said to mom in an over-enthusiastic voice which made me cringe. "Son, when I met Lisa, I just have never been impressed by any child your age as much as I was when I finally met her." Dad exclaimed with his arms outstretched and head lifted, it was as if he was giving the National Day speech on live television, in between mouthfuls of pineapple. "Uh thanks dad. I think?" I groaned inwardly. "Sorry son I didn't mean it that way." Telling dad was sometimes a bad idea but I totally got what he was saying. Lisa somehow made me feel like I wanted to be better.

We always finished our homework before hanging out at her shop, always under the watchful eye of Mr Wong, Lisa's dad. There, in the back of the shop, we discussed and shared our music tastes. We would talk about anything and everything. Videos we watched, tough maths questions, the funniest memes, and teachers we liked and disliked were the common topics. I never expected that a shopping trip to grab fruit would result in making a friend!

-Isaac Quek,

Sponsored by: Lofi girl

Write about an Unexpected Friendship Write about an unexpected friendship - Use any of these 3 pictures 1) sad boy 2) a basket of fruit 3) a park bench “Hi uncle can I have 2?” The cloying (sickeningly sweet) smell of ripe pineapples was too powerful to resist, like the songs of the sirens, the smell was beckoning me to eat them al...

Write about a time when you did something that affected your reputation for better or worse.

-This story is based on the real-life incident of the Bondi Beach stabbing incident in Sydney, on 13th April 2024. The main characer is based on Damien Guerot, whose heroic act earned him the nickname of 'Bollard Man' on the internet.

The bright lights shone into my eyes, burning like a hundred miniature suns. The cameramen and lighting crew were now shrouded in darkness. "On air in 3, 2, 1… Here is Damien, better known as 'Bollard man' as the internet has affectionately named him. Joe, what made you do what you did, on that fateful day?" My mind suddenly was engulfed in a sea of memories as the chaos and darkness of that day came flooding back into my consciousness.

Screaming. That day was filled with the sound of women screaming for their children to get to safety. One particular scream keeps playing in my mind over and over. In my mind I see her. Ashley Good. She is hysterical and keeps crying out to passers-by, "Take my baby, please take care of her." I hear her cries over and over even now, days and weeks after the incident. I later read that this was the final sound and cry she made right before she succumbed to her injuries. The sound is one of sheer terror, mixed with desperation. I can never forget it as long as I live.

I see men, children, teenagers and women of all ages running. Their faces are ashen. I survey my surroundings, in search of the source of danger. I perceive that they are all running from an area near the back entrance of the mall. I am the only person running against the flow of traffic because that is where the source of danger is. "I need a weapon, I need something to defend myself with" I scan my surroundings and I see rows of metal bollards. This will do nicely. I heave one onto my shoulder and continue running towards the danger zone. The bollard would make a good makeshift shield or hammer if needed.

I continue running until I see a muscular man dressed in all black and in short sleeves. He is bearded and wielding a kitchen knife. The blade of the knife looks like it is about 2 palms long. I rush to place myself in between the space of where he is and where I know some women and children are at the kid's section of the mall.

"Hey!" I shout to catch his attention, I hold the bollard as a bulwark above my shoulder, and I station myself at the entrance of the escalator. I look down and I see him making his way up the escalator which has been disabled. For the briefest of moments our eyes meet. His eyes look crazed. It is as if he is in a daze, his eyes are glazed over. It looks as if he has no longer a mind of his own. Yet he charges onwards. The look of insanity is a fixed, unwavering look of pure hatred. There is no softness, not an iota of mercy in his eyes. His head is lowered and his eyes fixed ahead. He looks like a lion, like a predator out for blood.

He doesn't break his stride. He takes a glance at me and makes his way slowly and steadily up the escalator. My blood runs cold. His stride is determined and focused. How many people have been hurt? I notice traces and trickles of blood covering his forearms and hands and on the blade of the knife. Human blood. What I later discovered was women's blood.

Something in my bones did not allow me to stand idly by. A surge of adrenaline suddenly takes hold of me. I take aim at his head and hurl the bollard with a heave. He dodges it by moving his body to the left. "Crash!" The bollard meets its end, twisted and broken on the floor, one story below. He steadily continues his path up the stalled escalator. I then run to find a police officer, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Back in the recording studio, the blinding lights continued to shine. "Yes ladies and gentlemen, I have in this studio, the hero of Bondi Beach, also known as Bollard Man, Damien Guerot!"

-Teacher Isaac