Rainchild & the River of Kings
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Strewn underneath the photos are eight pieces of torn crumpled paper of a light green color with black marker scribbles in a clear zip bag. "This is really weird", Suray says to herself. She needs to piece up the papers together in order to read the torn scribbles. Those crumpled pieces need to be unraveled and smoothed out by one. The patching up of the pieces is time consuming. She has to get up to her room to find cellophane tape. Eventually the patched up pieces bear these wordings: Meet me near the bridge. If we were really destined to meet. I'll be by the river. Well, well, well....what ...
Strewn underneath the photos are eight pieces of torn crumpled paper of a light green color with black marker scribbles in a clear zip bag. "This is really weird", Suray says to herself. She needs to piece up the papers together in order to read the torn scribbles. Those crumpled pieces need to be unraveled and smoothed out by one. The patching up of the pieces is time consuming. She has to get up to her room to find cellophane tape. Eventually the patched up pieces bear these wordings: Meet me near the bridge. If we were really destined to meet. I'll be by the river. Well, well, well....what is that supposed to mean? It feels frustratingly crappy. Where on earth could the bridge be? On top of all that, there are so many rivers in the world. Who wrote this in the first place? It didn't seem like a recognizable handwriting to Suray. Why did the mysterious writer tear the paper into pieces yet keep it in a trunk like a cherished possession. Everything just doesn't make sense. The writer tore the paper to some pieces as if to diminish a secret yet decide not to eliminate it? To whom actually the message on the torn paper is intended? If the writer is her father, it is too late to pursue any possible meet up because he's dead. Perished in the fire by the river of Siam was as told by his uncle Razief, who happens to be her father's twin brother. In silence, she couldn't help feeling and thinking that there is a tiny weeny ounce of possibility that her father is somehow still roaming the Earth.
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