.YAY SO HAPPY.
LET'S SHARE THE HAPPY-MOOD.
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Term 1 Essay 3 (CA1 Component 3)
Narrative/Personal Recount
Topic: The Escaped Convict
Narrative/Personal Recount
Topic: The Escaped Convict
THE ESCAPED CONVICT
Uncomfortably curled up in a garbage bin, Mas Selamat bin Ahmad peered out into the starry night sky. It was the wee hours of the night. There was not a soul in sight. As he furtively tiptoed his way out of the dark alley, Mas Selamat glanced back at the walls, the walls marking the boundary of the Singapore Prison. This man was no beggar or homeless man, he was a felon who had just escaped from prison. As the dense mist of the night began to shroud the prison from sight, Mas Selamat took, with a menacing grin on his face, a deep, long breath of freedom, something he had not been allowed to have when he was besieged by the four walls of the detention centre. It seemed that the prison faculty was still unaware of the absence of Mas Selamat, for no wailing of emergency sirens were ringing away, no ear piercing-barks of police-trained dogs were heard, and no sign of alert whatsoever was made to signal Mas Selamat’s leave. Stealthily, he spotted a clothesline abound with fresh sets of apparel, as he hid behind a shrub every five seconds, aware of the consequences should he be spotted as a fugitive this near to the highly-secured prison.
Before he knew it, Mas Selamat made an addition to his record of vices, as he changed into a fresh set of clothing, of which he found unattended to (Mas Selamat was initially clad in prison uniform when he made his escape). Now donned in a new set of clothes which blended him in with the environment as a ‘member of public’, Mas Selamat, with a limp on his right leg (of which he haplessly attained during the cumbersome break-out), waited for daybreak to arrive. Till then he would chart his escape plan, this time bringing him out of town, to a place where his name was alien to all its dwellers, where his infamous reputation was not known to anyone, a place of refuge, the utopia of all felons. As he part recited his plan, part yawned with drowsiness, Mas Selamat’s eyes blinked at increasing deceleration, till which they eventually closed, leaving the man asleep.
The day began by the road side, where behind the trees and shrubs lined along the road, was a makeshift tent where Mas Selamat had resided in. What a paradox it was, when the sounds of cars horning at each other as they drove had woken Mas Selamat, for he seemed to have been in a remote place, yet the most remote of remote places is busy, bustling Singapore was still full of life. As he squinted his eyes into the bright, glaring sky, a rumbling sound reverberated continuously from his stomach. No doubt, ever since the time he escaped till now, Mas Selamat had masticated on nothing but his own nails. He was famished, he needed sustenance, he needed food.
Upon entering a supermarket, Mas Selamat realized the news of his escape from prison was still incipient. At that moment, he was a free man, a member of the public, for everyone in the supermarket saw this man not as a fugitive at large, but as a man clad in an orange T-shirt and white shorts, a cap rested on his head and slippers under his feet, in the supermarket stocking up on groceries. With ‘glee’ smeared all over his face, Mas Selamat surged forthwith to the food section, and thus began his feast, voraciously binging on free samples. Well, ironic as it was, Mas Selamat was eventually caught red-handed by the manager, and was thrown out with an admonishment that he would be ‘handed to the authorities and sent to jail’ should he return for more “free-loading”. Launching into a diatribe on the amount of free samples one can have, Mas Selamat made for the Food centre a stone’s throw away, his infelicitous stomach yearning for food. Whenever a plate of leftovers was spotted on the table, like a beggar would Mas Selamat charge to and vacuum the plate clean of its contents. Indeed, desperate times do call for desperate measures. Even so, he too managed to make off with a cell phone he found fortuitously unattended to on a table he approached. On that spot, it occurred to him: Why not give a call to his long-time friend, Muthu? They my not have not met up for near a decade, but Mas Selamat remembered Muthu as a true friend who was always willing to help others when they were in need of help, with his best effort. Other than this thought and a contented tummy, there was no other better idea on Mas Selamat’s mind for an escape out of Singapore. Clenching his fist with confidence, his eyebrows pointed downwards, Mas Selamat made his decision.
So, Mas Selamat left a message to Muthu and after three days of him scurrying (Luckily for him, his limp was not made known as a look-out factor for the so called vigilant police force on their public promulgation of his escape) around as a fugitive of no abode, the flames of hope which represented his confidence in Muthu’s reply was no longer flickering with vigor, but trickling at the brink of extinguishment. His mind now devoid of any plans whatsoever, all hope seemed lost when all of a sudden, the cell phone which once lay dead in Mas Selamat’s pocket vibrated for the first time, and there, a message said:
‘ABANG GEMUK (Muthu’s nickname for Mas Selamat), IT’S BEEN TOO, TOO LONG… LET’S MEET FOR SOME CATCHING-UP, SHALL WE?’ and there Abang Gemuk arranged the clandestine meeting with Muthu, at a sports bar on that very night.
Darkness enveloped the sky as Mas Selamat slouched on the bench, as reticent as he could be, he awaited the arrival of Muthu. What he did not anticipate, was that he was now most vulnerable to any ambush the police may launch. Still, he shook all negative thoughts off his mind, as his eyes peered out of his cap every few seconds to look for Muthu’s presence. Before long, a man seemed to have his attention caught on Mas Selamat, and accost Mas Selamat he did. But this was no ordinary man, nor was he Muthu. He was, of the most unanticipated circumstance, a policeman. Step by step, the police man advanced towards him as the walkie-talkie situated at his waist signaled incoherently: Malay… At large... Limp on right leg…
‘Excuse me sir, is there a problem? You seem rather vexed,’ the policeman questioned Mas Selamat with a neutral tone of voice.
As adroit in fabricating tales as any other felon, Mas Selamat replied without respite, ‘Oh, no there isn’t. I’m a dishwasher here, I’m just taking a breather from work,’ as he answered, Mas Selamat timorously tightened his cap on his forehead, casting a shadow on his face.
‘Is something wrong with your leg? You are injured, aren’t you,’ the observant law enforcer raised a questionable eyebrow. ‘Well, it’s ok, must have been a small accident involving broken dishes, I reckon? I’m Lt. Seow, you are?’
Fake names. The only pretext Mas Selamat was never good at handling. ‘They call me Abang Gemuk, oh and it’s been awhile, I have to return to work,’
‘Indeed, indeed. Well, go on then, it’s been nice chatting with you, Abang Gemuk,’ and the policeman took off without turning back.
A heavy sigh of relief exhaled from Abang Gemuk. ‘What an idiot!’ He muttered under his breath. Following this, another man in a cloak appeared in front of Mas Selamat, and no doubt, Abang Gemuk reckoned, it was Muthu. Abang Gemuk gave Muthu a hug and told him of the state he was in, as he gesticulated how he survived the past few days without getting caught by Singapore’s highly vigilant and efficient police force. As he rattled on while walking towards the bar entrance, the sonorous sounds of locked handcuffs clicked off his wrists. Only then did the inadvertent Abang Gemuk realise, whom he just revealed his identity to was not Muthu, but a plainclothes policeman.
‘How did you… How in the world? Abang Gemuk was dumbfounded. He ensured he kept his profile downwind all this while and now, he was under arrest. As he stepped crestfallen into the police vehicle, his mind filled with curiosity, the cell phone in his pocket vibrated once again.
Eyes swelling as tears began to roll down the surface of his cheek, Mas Selamat looked at his message inbox, ‘Abang Gemuk, it was nice meeting you again tonight. I couldn’t bear to arrest you myself. As a friend, I hope what I’ve done was best for you. Till we meet again, my friend,’ and there he saw outside the bar as the sirens began to wail, a man clad in police uniform looking him. Now that was no ordinary policeman, but Muthu, the policeman and friend. Ephinany struck Mas Selamat in the face at that very moment. What seemed to be freedom a few days ago was now gone, and the price for that temporary freedom was paid for with a longer jail sentence to come.
Uncomfortably curled up in a garbage bin, Mas Selamat bin Ahmad peered out into the starry night sky. It was the wee hours of the night. There was not a soul in sight. As he furtively tiptoed his way out of the dark alley, Mas Selamat glanced back at the walls, the walls marking the boundary of the Singapore Prison. This man was no beggar or homeless man, he was a felon who had just escaped from prison. As the dense mist of the night began to shroud the prison from sight, Mas Selamat took, with a menacing grin on his face, a deep, long breath of freedom, something he had not been allowed to have when he was besieged by the four walls of the detention centre. It seemed that the prison faculty was still unaware of the absence of Mas Selamat, for no wailing of emergency sirens were ringing away, no ear piercing-barks of police-trained dogs were heard, and no sign of alert whatsoever was made to signal Mas Selamat’s leave. Stealthily, he spotted a clothesline abound with fresh sets of apparel, as he hid behind a shrub every five seconds, aware of the consequences should he be spotted as a fugitive this near to the highly-secured prison.
Before he knew it, Mas Selamat made an addition to his record of vices, as he changed into a fresh set of clothing, of which he found unattended to (Mas Selamat was initially clad in prison uniform when he made his escape). Now donned in a new set of clothes which blended him in with the environment as a ‘member of public’, Mas Selamat, with a limp on his right leg (of which he haplessly attained during the cumbersome break-out), waited for daybreak to arrive. Till then he would chart his escape plan, this time bringing him out of town, to a place where his name was alien to all its dwellers, where his infamous reputation was not known to anyone, a place of refuge, the utopia of all felons. As he part recited his plan, part yawned with drowsiness, Mas Selamat’s eyes blinked at increasing deceleration, till which they eventually closed, leaving the man asleep.
The day began by the road side, where behind the trees and shrubs lined along the road, was a makeshift tent where Mas Selamat had resided in. What a paradox it was, when the sounds of cars horning at each other as they drove had woken Mas Selamat, for he seemed to have been in a remote place, yet the most remote of remote places is busy, bustling Singapore was still full of life. As he squinted his eyes into the bright, glaring sky, a rumbling sound reverberated continuously from his stomach. No doubt, ever since the time he escaped till now, Mas Selamat had masticated on nothing but his own nails. He was famished, he needed sustenance, he needed food.
Upon entering a supermarket, Mas Selamat realized the news of his escape from prison was still incipient. At that moment, he was a free man, a member of the public, for everyone in the supermarket saw this man not as a fugitive at large, but as a man clad in an orange T-shirt and white shorts, a cap rested on his head and slippers under his feet, in the supermarket stocking up on groceries. With ‘glee’ smeared all over his face, Mas Selamat surged forthwith to the food section, and thus began his feast, voraciously binging on free samples. Well, ironic as it was, Mas Selamat was eventually caught red-handed by the manager, and was thrown out with an admonishment that he would be ‘handed to the authorities and sent to jail’ should he return for more “free-loading”. Launching into a diatribe on the amount of free samples one can have, Mas Selamat made for the Food centre a stone’s throw away, his infelicitous stomach yearning for food. Whenever a plate of leftovers was spotted on the table, like a beggar would Mas Selamat charge to and vacuum the plate clean of its contents. Indeed, desperate times do call for desperate measures. Even so, he too managed to make off with a cell phone he found fortuitously unattended to on a table he approached. On that spot, it occurred to him: Why not give a call to his long-time friend, Muthu? They my not have not met up for near a decade, but Mas Selamat remembered Muthu as a true friend who was always willing to help others when they were in need of help, with his best effort. Other than this thought and a contented tummy, there was no other better idea on Mas Selamat’s mind for an escape out of Singapore. Clenching his fist with confidence, his eyebrows pointed downwards, Mas Selamat made his decision.
So, Mas Selamat left a message to Muthu and after three days of him scurrying (Luckily for him, his limp was not made known as a look-out factor for the so called vigilant police force on their public promulgation of his escape) around as a fugitive of no abode, the flames of hope which represented his confidence in Muthu’s reply was no longer flickering with vigor, but trickling at the brink of extinguishment. His mind now devoid of any plans whatsoever, all hope seemed lost when all of a sudden, the cell phone which once lay dead in Mas Selamat’s pocket vibrated for the first time, and there, a message said:
‘ABANG GEMUK (Muthu’s nickname for Mas Selamat), IT’S BEEN TOO, TOO LONG… LET’S MEET FOR SOME CATCHING-UP, SHALL WE?’ and there Abang Gemuk arranged the clandestine meeting with Muthu, at a sports bar on that very night.
Darkness enveloped the sky as Mas Selamat slouched on the bench, as reticent as he could be, he awaited the arrival of Muthu. What he did not anticipate, was that he was now most vulnerable to any ambush the police may launch. Still, he shook all negative thoughts off his mind, as his eyes peered out of his cap every few seconds to look for Muthu’s presence. Before long, a man seemed to have his attention caught on Mas Selamat, and accost Mas Selamat he did. But this was no ordinary man, nor was he Muthu. He was, of the most unanticipated circumstance, a policeman. Step by step, the police man advanced towards him as the walkie-talkie situated at his waist signaled incoherently: Malay… At large... Limp on right leg…
‘Excuse me sir, is there a problem? You seem rather vexed,’ the policeman questioned Mas Selamat with a neutral tone of voice.
As adroit in fabricating tales as any other felon, Mas Selamat replied without respite, ‘Oh, no there isn’t. I’m a dishwasher here, I’m just taking a breather from work,’ as he answered, Mas Selamat timorously tightened his cap on his forehead, casting a shadow on his face.
‘Is something wrong with your leg? You are injured, aren’t you,’ the observant law enforcer raised a questionable eyebrow. ‘Well, it’s ok, must have been a small accident involving broken dishes, I reckon? I’m Lt. Seow, you are?’
Fake names. The only pretext Mas Selamat was never good at handling. ‘They call me Abang Gemuk, oh and it’s been awhile, I have to return to work,’
‘Indeed, indeed. Well, go on then, it’s been nice chatting with you, Abang Gemuk,’ and the policeman took off without turning back.
A heavy sigh of relief exhaled from Abang Gemuk. ‘What an idiot!’ He muttered under his breath. Following this, another man in a cloak appeared in front of Mas Selamat, and no doubt, Abang Gemuk reckoned, it was Muthu. Abang Gemuk gave Muthu a hug and told him of the state he was in, as he gesticulated how he survived the past few days without getting caught by Singapore’s highly vigilant and efficient police force. As he rattled on while walking towards the bar entrance, the sonorous sounds of locked handcuffs clicked off his wrists. Only then did the inadvertent Abang Gemuk realise, whom he just revealed his identity to was not Muthu, but a plainclothes policeman.
‘How did you… How in the world? Abang Gemuk was dumbfounded. He ensured he kept his profile downwind all this while and now, he was under arrest. As he stepped crestfallen into the police vehicle, his mind filled with curiosity, the cell phone in his pocket vibrated once again.
Eyes swelling as tears began to roll down the surface of his cheek, Mas Selamat looked at his message inbox, ‘Abang Gemuk, it was nice meeting you again tonight. I couldn’t bear to arrest you myself. As a friend, I hope what I’ve done was best for you. Till we meet again, my friend,’ and there he saw outside the bar as the sirens began to wail, a man clad in police uniform looking him. Now that was no ordinary policeman, but Muthu, the policeman and friend. Ephinany struck Mas Selamat in the face at that very moment. What seemed to be freedom a few days ago was now gone, and the price for that temporary freedom was paid for with a longer jail sentence to come.
SCORE:21/30
GRADE: A2
WHY I'M HAPPY: IT'S MR.SOON, LIKE DUH?
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