The Bluestocking 2023-24

Fiona Shen Grade 12 The 8th Chair

A dining table for eight always missed the last chair; it took the full time job of staunching itself between the front door and its handle. With this guard at the front door, the handle didn't budge – No one could enter or exit. When it was off duty, chalk-textured streaks revealed themselves on the black door. Outside, the house is a gloomy gray. Neighbors complained about how the design made the neighborhood look somber, miserable even. Inside, the house was veiled in darkness, each window adorned with a bleak blind. Day or night. Sunshine or rain. The blinds were never open. When the occasional beam of light seeped through the cracks of the curtains, the cat would play with its fragmented shadow. Even the cranky cat wanted out. The house belongs to Wei who lives with her daughter Hang. There was no sinister plot brewing. Wei and Hang were not concocting a secret potion or spying on their neighbors (although occasionally curiosity got the best of them). Just a worried mother and a fearful daughter. What could possibly be sinister about that? Wei worried. Wei worried about Hang. Wei worried about Hang talking to strangers. Wei worried about Hang walking to school. Wei worried about whether Hang could make friends and feel included. Wei worried about the things Hang's teachers taught in class. Wei worried about the boys who turned to look at Hang. Wei Worried. Hang feared. Hang fears the people she sees on the streets when they walk past her. Hang fears talking to kids at school because they are strangers after all. Hang fears boys because Wei tells her that they will

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