Every month, NAHS and Pudong Press come together to present a theme to members, who contribute artwork and writing based on each month’s topic. December’s theme was “Wonder”. Enjoy the works presented below.

Creative Prose Where Does My Sidewalk End? by Tiger Wang ’24:

Where does my sidewalk end

I am 17, soon to turn into an adult, into someone who will run the world, into someone

who will manage businesses, into someone who will teach the next generation, and I am someone who still sleeps with a nightlight.

I hate going into my parents’ bedroom. Their doors are always closed. And every time I walk in there I see a picture of a woman dressed in all white with a white shroud pinned to her hair, who looks similar to my mom next to a man, in a creaseless grey suit, who looks similar to my dad. There was also that Cooper elephant on their nightstand that they got in Thailand–I’ve never been to Thailand–but my mom wanted me to get something from her room. It is her room why couldn’t she do it?

Stepping into my parents’ room, only illuminated by the lights in the hallways, casting a protective bubble from the dark but past the shield of that warm glow, not even God knows what was in that dark dark area. All I needed was the item my mom told me to get. Looks like a 3-meter dash from here to the bed. No way the monsters, who live in the dark, will get me before I get the item. 3, 2, 1. And off I go. My eyes focused on the parcel above my parents’ bed, one leg passing the other. But a pair of shining white fangs, slobbered with drool, pointed right at me. Wait, fang? In my parents’ room? I continue to transverse towards the item. What I need is worth taking this risk. As I approached the parcel, two shadowy hounds were locked and loaded, ready to pounce, beneath the wooden planks of my parents’ bed. Snatching the item and running. My two legs, spinning, knocking into each other, making me lose balance causing gravity to pull me towards the ground. But I am so close to that ring of protection, that ring of light. I am so close. The hounds pounced on me, jaws wide open, ready for its first meal in many, many, years. Closing my eyes, hoping for the worst. Then everything turned red. Thinking about all the future I’ll miss.

A Nightlight, a small lamp, typically attached directly to an electrical outlet, providing a dim light during the night, is very simple and it should be simple, not any of those mushrooms, animals, or fancy battery-powered ones; all it needs to be is just a bulb plugged into a wall with three metal prongs. I am almost an adult after all; I don’t need cute things to keep me company, all I need is to think about how to get into an Ivy, how to make money, and how to drink wine. I’ve always wondered why we stopped using nightlights as we got older. It is because we got over our fear of the dark. That’s so silly. Tell me with a straight face that you can stand in the dark for five minutes and not feel the itty bitty crawlers slowly putting their itty bitty crawlies on your back, your shoulder, your face. I mean of course that doesn’t happen to me because I am almost an adult and like adults I will be next in line to throw away my useless piece of illuminating plastic and walk in line, with my three-piece suit and a briefcase filled with pieces of paper, with a two decimal place number and an essay, that represents me. Fixing my tie, I hold my paper in front of me and read:

I remember that day when I got over my fear of the dark. It was truly an event that sparked a period of personal growth. It was the fifth grade, right after I had gotten the parcel from my parents’ bed. Thinking about the imaginary monsters that were right above my head.
Opening my eyes again, they were gone. The two beastly hounds that were chasing after me, are gone in a flash. “Did you get the pen I asked you to get?” My mom, one hand on the light switch, and the other on her hip, looking at me as if she is trying to hide a smile. With my mouth open and my eyes like two buttons on a doll, I tilted my head back to look my mom in the eyes. And like a Lego person, hands clamped on the metallic stick, my mom, bent down, with two fingers snatched the pen out of my hand, and left me; leaving me, who was still a Lego person, all confused. But I could’ve sworn I was in my parents’ bedroom getting something else. Something much more important – like a treasure chest filled with gold, or an ancient grimoire to let me watch TV all day.

With a treasure of that calibre, there must be beasts guarding it – beasts that only grown-ups can fight.

“I’m going out to get groceries”. “OK. I’m at home to make sure nothing burns down.” “You better, you’re a year away from living by yourself.” I looked down at the grey streaks in my mom’s hair and watched her put on her shoes and slowly making her way to the car as I closed the doors behind her, leaving me all alone in my house. I don’t remember much from that day but I was cold, very unusually cold, I was not cold before with my mom and the lights on. But I was cold when I was alone, in the dark. Being home alone felt like there was always someone watching me, from the shadows. I wasn’t sure what emotion was running through me at the time but it was not fear because I was not scared of the dark and being home alone. After all, I walk my dog at night and alone and frankly, why would a 17-year-old be scared of the dark? A 17-year-old, like me, is only scared of economic depression and taxes, nothing else.

I checked under my parents’ bed. Nothing there. I checked in and out and under and over the closet. Nothing there. Were there no dogs trying to eat me? Looking back at the event, I can’t even remember what the hounds looked like. Were they greyhounds, bulldogs, shepherds? I can’t remember a single fact but I know for sure the dogs were there. I felt them…right? Maybe one day when I get older I’ll know what chasing after me.

The dark is very comforting for me. I can only sleep when it is dark outside, probably without a nightlight, because that is when it is the most comfortable for me. I stay up all night doing very grown-up work like very challenging AP courses or watching very grown-up shows like Breaking Bad therefore the night is when I thrive and the place I thrive at is not going to be scary for me. And even if I watch The Shinning, I won’t be scared of the dark because The Shinning is a movie made with visual effects and visual effects monsters are not lurking in the dark. There are no twins, no Jack Torrance, and no hounds in the dark because they are not real and only my imagination. But I do have a nightlight just in case.

Staring at a dark, empty, blank ceiling, curled up in my red and blue, Lightning McQueen blanket, I can’t fall asleep. My hands are clenched so hard at the ends of my blanket that if I were to let go of the blanket the imprints of my hands would still linger. What if those hounds were still underneath me –Mom was wrong there has to be something there. Not daring to move a muscle, thinking that even the slightest movement would alert those dogs, taking deep, deep breaths I am thinking that once I am an adult I would no longer fear the dark.