Soaking in the stillness of the sagar, suspiring the saccharine summer scents, she sees six swans – silver shapes shimmery among the sage shrubs – serenely slip away, their soft splashes sprinkling the sibylline silence; she sees sangria steadily seep into saffron skies, shepherding the shrinking shafts of sunlight; she sees shadows shift then sluggishly subside into the soil; she sees the splendour of sunset shrivel and sparkling specks, scattering starlight, swathe smooth Stygian satin; she sighs, striving to shove back sepia snapshots of seasons stolen away, to surrender to smothering sensation, to succumb to stifling solitude… But alas, stubbornness submits to sorrow, spilling over in salty streams sharply swiped away. As soulful strains sound from the sagar, she stands shyly and shakily, then self-doubt settles and she straightens, saucily and strongly – seize such a sublime stage she should. Spiritedly she sings her solo, smiling as the shrubs shed their shadowy skins and slide into scarlet seats shielded with squabs, as the spruces stop their susurrating, as the swans stretch their slender sinuous scrags, as even the stars succour and shine down as one spotlight.

Savouring the stubs of her song she surveys stoically as the shrubs shuffle back into shadow, as the scarlet seats sag and splinter, as the spruces swish and sway, as the swans swim serenely, as the stars shift back to their serpentine sequence – such stark sincerity.

One last solo, she supplicated and secured; now she is satisfied.

Silver streaks, scarlet spatters, a single silhouette staggers.

On the morrow the sun still strides up sanguinely, sending splendid scintillas of hope; the svelte snowy-white swans still swim swiftly, sharp-eyed for signals of savagery; and the summer is sweet and still.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 35th week of Major Inventions Around the Galaxy! This week, we discover how to revive creatures of the past. And now, we bring you all the way to the lab of Dr Erutuf on Planet Earth, where our Earth correspondent will take over. Mishu, please."

"Thank you, Pollan. Here on Planet Earth, it is blisteringly hot and it is desert all around us for miles. Fortunately we are in Dr Erutuf's lab, which is cooled with liquid nitrogen. Before we begin, a little background about Dr Erutuf: Dr Erutuf completed his PhD in 2499, where he researched on genetic engineering and developed an interest in prehistoric life. He was conferred the prestigious Chancellor's Award this year for his work on reverse genetic engineering. Now, Dr Erutuf, I am sure we are all raring to hear about your discovery."

"Before I begin, thank you for inviting me to be on your talk show. It is a real pleasure indeed. Well, I have always been interested in fossils and DNA. And one day I watched this really outdated show -- something I found in the scrapyard over there -- and I thought, wow, if you could recreate dinosaurs out of DNA preserved in mosquitoes which sucked their blood, how great would that be? It's like discovering a new life form. We're bringing back the creatures which lived in times way before ours, beasts which have gone extinct, and we're seeing them for the first time in our history. So I paid abandoned laboratories around this world a visit, scouring for fossils and specimens which might just have a scrap of DNA that I could use to bring the organism back to life."

"That sounds tedious."

"Certainly it was! But the rewards have been great."

"Indeed they have. Dr Erutuf, could you show us your specimens?"

"Sure. They are grouped based on the Inter-Galaxy Classification of Organisms. Level One's the meek and docile animals, like gazeers and hamits. You might want to direct the camera there - ah, yes, there. That first cage over there contains a dodo, or Raphus cucullatus. It went extinct in 1693. We can't be exactly sure, of course, but this is most likely the case based on historical records."

"That's more than a thousand years ago. How did you manage to recreate it, Dr Erutuf?"

"Ah, a combination of 3D printing and genetic engineering brought the bird back to life. It isn't exactly the same as the original -- contains a little DNA from the pigoves -- but it's about the closest we can get."

"You recreated the dodos in large quantities, Dr Erutuf?"

"Yes, I made about fifty thousand of them, to be sold across all pet stores starting tomorrow. They're fairly easy to handle, and they're rather amiable and meek, if a little shatterbrained."

"As the common phrase goes, dumb as a dodo. Okay, now that we've seen the dodo, what other creatures do we have? What about that one there in the large cage, the one baring its teeth at me?"

"Oh, don't mind Dugal. That's a Bengal tiger, or Panthera tigris tigris, for those who prefer to be more precise. He's a Level Two organism. Level Two organisms may attack us on provocation, but they're generally quite harmless if you leave them alone."

"He doesn't look very harmless to me. Look at his teeth!"

"He's a carnivore; of course his teeth are sharp and pointy. But he's a real beauty. Shame that his kind went extinct in 2030. I found his fossils in a desert."

"Whatever you say, Dr Erutuf. I don't suppose he can be a pet."

"No, but perhaps we will introduce them to parks and gardens."

"Well, remind me not to go too near it if ever I come across one. What's Level Three, Dr Erutuf?"

"Level Three organisms are those which have the ability to cause major disruptions if let loose. They can be quite dangerous to us, which is why they should be kept locked up at all times. I've recreated the smaller kinds of these creatures. The Velociraptor here, for example. It's the size of a chicken, but still rather lethal if it's allowed to roam around freely. Now, as for the Tyrannosaurus rex, I haven't quite figured out how to contain that yet so I haven't recreated it."

"If they're going to be caged up, what's the point of recreating them?"

"Well, that's classified, so I can't tell you. Shall we move on to Level Four?"

"Yes, please. I cannot imagine what Level Four creatures will be like if those reptilians are only Level Three. I'm sure the viewers agree."

"Level Four creatures are those which wreak havoc on every bit of land they converge upon. They can destroy planets and perhaps even galaxies."

"They sound positively lethal. Is it that, Dr Erutuf?"

"No, that's a Brachiosaurus -- a Level Three organism. And it's really quite harmless."

"Oh, sorry. It looked very large."

"Size doesn't always matter. I haven't recreated Level Four creatures because they are really too dangerous. And actually, there is only one type of Level Four creature, in that cylinder over there."

"It doesn't look very intimidating at all!"

"As I said, size doesn't always matter. I have conclusive evidence that these creatures destroyed not only their home planet and nearly every other living thing on it, but also territory outside their home turf."

"Good heavens! Spare us the suspense and tell us what this frightful creature is, Dr Erutuf!'

"Humans. Homo sapiens."

Shall I compare you to a winter's night?

You are more frigid and more pitiless. 

Blizzards slam into towns with all their spite,

And winter's an eternal barrenness.

At times will Jack Frost's magic flare up wild,

And oft will dregs of silver bleach the earth;

And every man and beast touched be defiled,

Claimed victims of the season new in birth. 

But your sour aura always will prevail,

Nor can your visage ever hope to smooth,

Nor for you shall e'en death desire to hail,

When I have made known to the world this truth.

            In only parting with life shall I cease,

            And only then will you and I find peace.

The knife pressed slightly against the body’s abdomen. Small beads of crimson dotted the incision, ruby rose petals against creamy skin. Fascinating. The knife cut in with more insistence. Under the increased pressure, the skin gave way and the cold steel slid in with the ease of a butter knife sliding through softened butter. Now the crimson bubbled up and spilled over, blossoming over the canvas in swirled patterns. The knife withdrew and hovered over the upper arm patiently, positioning itself for the best cut. Then it went in again, this time with the assurance of a seasoned surgeon…

Jarringly he checked his pocket watch. He knelt for a moment longer, his palms pressed together and his face turned upward as if in prayer, oblivious to the inky stain now climbing up his trousers at his knees. Finally he stretched his knees and stood, cleaning off the knife with a starched handkerchief, painting the bleached surface with red streaks. The handkerchief fluttered through his fingers and delicately covered the body’s face, the only part left untouched by the knife.

He stood for a moment longer, soaking in the scene. Then he stripped off his gloves, carefully placed them in the pocket of his waistcoat, picked up his briefcase, and teetered on the threshold.

At that very moment night had fallen. Stars hung on the black velvet that was the night-sky, and moonlight spilled across the window sill onto the floor of the room, bathing the body in soft gentle tones of yellow.

Perfect.

In the next minute he had melted into the darkness. It was as if he had never come.

I am 24601. It's funny how I have the same number as Jean Valjean. He didn't deserve to be in prison, not really. I do. 

Life isn't fair. You must have heard that at least a thousand times by now. But saying it is one thing. Believing it is another. 

I am here because I killed a man. It is fair that I should be punished because I disrespected the sanctity of life. It is fair that I should be punished because I committed murder. But is it fair that he murdered my entire family? Is it fair that he was never convicted for it? 

I know that two wrongs don't make a right. I know that even if someone does me a wrong, it doesn't give me the right to do the same. I know that killing him can't change things, can't bring my family back. But somehow, seeing his eyes glaze over with fear, watching his blood splatter across the concrete in crimson pools, feeling the power rush through my veins - it makes me happy. Very happy. And somewhat... at peace. 

So you see why I deserve to be here? I exacted my revenge. Now I have to pay the price. I didn't feel any remorse, still don't, never will. 

***

The executioner looks at me strangely as I am led to the gallows. A bubble of laughter rises through me and bursts. 

There's nothing for me to look forward to, no one for me to worry about anymore. 

I am free. 

Notes: Written for The Great Planet Creation Competition. 

After days of troubleshooting, I've finally gotten this programme to work. Please DO NOT MODIFY anything, or you will regret ever touching my computer. 

Programming language: G--

Create Earth. Set shape spherical. 

In Earth:

Create Sky. Set colour random, exclude Green, Purple, White, range Red10 to Red50. 

Create Clouds. Set colour White01. Set shape random. Set movement random.

Create Land. Set colour Brown, Green, White. Set shape random. Set movement random.

Create Sea. Set colour random range Blue10 to Blue50. Set movement random.

Create Air. Set colour NIL. Set shape random. Set movement random. Percentage composition: 78.09% Nitrogen, 20.95% Oxygen, 0.93% Argon, 0.04% Carbon dioxide.

In Air: 

Create Nitrogen. Set state gas at temperature -195.8 °C. Set state liquid at temperature -195.8 °C. Define temperature. 

.

.

.

Notes: 

Of course that's not it. Did you really think I would share the whole programme with you? Especially how I created the living beings? 

Go create your own planet - you can name it Mars, Venus, whatever. I don't care. Just don't steal my idea.

I'm going to win this competition. 

----------------------

Image credits: Taken from http://www.twitrcovers.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Programming-Code-l.jpg

19 August 2035

My name is Rose Frank. I am twenty-seven, but what does age matter, after I invented the Immortality Pill? Yes, I was the one who invented the Immortality Pill, not that odious narcissistic rodent Watson Crick. So what if he had a perfect IQ score of 162 on the Mensa test? I still won in the end.

***

20 July 2030

"Frank! I told you to do the paperwork last week. When did you schedule my meeting with Dr. Gnikwah?" Crick shouts from his office down the hallway.

I sigh, pulling my gaze from the poster of the real James Watson and Francis Crick, the scientists who discovered DNA, hanging on my wall. I guess I got half of my wish, working for someone whose name is close enough to my idols. But you'd expect that I get proper work, what with an undergraduate education in Cambridge and two PhDs from Harvard and MIT. Too bad it isn't good for Dr. I'm-so-smart Crick. Crick only ever associates with people around his intelligence level. I'm out of his league. So I get the dirtiest, most boring work - the paperwork, ordering the chemicals - you name it, I do it. I don't have a labcoat with my name. Heck, I can't even access the lab unless Crick or one of his cronies allows me in to wash the test tubes and apparatus.

"FRANK! DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT SCHEDULE MY MEETING WITH DR. GNIKWAH?"

"Yes, sir, your meeting is at 3 in the afternoon today. Dr. Gnikwah is in the Marina Trench today. He wants everyone in your lab to take the Special Trench Elevator down to find him." I cross my fingers and pray silently that Crick doesn't ask any questions. If all goes well I'll be in the lab in no time.

Crick absorbs this information without question. Dr. Gnikwah has always been quite eccentric. He has labs all over the world, including the Marina Trench, but because I never scheduled a meeting with him I'm not sure if he would be there at 3 p.m..

"Frank!" I jump, scattering my plans for later all over my desk. Crick pops his head into the storage room, otherwise known as my office. He throws a bag of clothing at my feet and turns to walk away. I heave a silent sigh of relief, gathering up my papers and tucking them into an inconspicuous drawer.

"Make sure that's ironed by noon." This would be the last time.

By 11.30 a.m. Crick and co. are ready to leave. I hand them their freshly ironed blazers and walk into my office with a spring in my step.

At noon they board his private jet to the Pacific Ocean. I pick up a silicon mold of Crick's thumbprint and stride towards his lab. It's time.

----

The boiler at the side of the lab hums merrily as I distil the yellow liquid into a round-bottomed flask. Detaching the flask from the distillation column, I take a deep breath. The heavenly aroma of the Essence of Immortality wafts into my nose. I grin. It's working.

The next step is to crystallise the Essence of Immortality. This takes another hour. I glance at the clock. It's 2 p.m. now, so I take a short lunch and restroom break.

At 3 p.m. I hurry into the lab and look at the golden yellow crystals which I left to dry on the bench. Now Crick would have realised my deceit; now he would be rushing back. I fumble for the melting point determination instrument and test the purity of the crystals. Perfect. I smile as I grind some of the crystals into fine powder and pack them into a capsule. I'm sure I won't have to work in that musty storage room anymore.

When 4 p.m. rolls around I'm clearing up the work space, capping the bottles of Longevity Potion and Telomerase Activator and placing them into the cupboard. In a Ziploc bag by the side are large golden Immortality Pills. My invention.

5 p.m.. I pace anxiously around the lab. Suddenly the lab door bangs open and Crick's standing in the doorway. "Frank!" He booms, his face contorted in fury and disbelief.

I walk towards him, both hands up in an attempt to calm him down. "Crick, I can explain," I say placatingly, "I got you out of the lab so that I could prove my worth. I have a wonderful idea. Here's the Immortality Pills I made in your absence. We still need to conduct some clinical trials --"

"Immortality pills?" I nod.

"My colleagues and I will take it from here. Now, out!" I'm shoved roughly towards the door.

"But, sir --"

"What do you know? You haven't won any Nobel Prize -- you're not like us," someone else in the corner sneers.

I return angrily, "Yes, because I've never been given the chance to actually do something," but I'm speaking to the door.

***

20 January 2035

Everyone's celebrating today. Watson Crick and his colleagues have just won the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for the Immortality Pill that I created. I still try to smile anyway, because my idea was at least recognised by the international scientific community, even if it wasn't labelled as mine. But, you know what, this is all for humanity, right? Who came out with the idea doesn't really matter; how the idea is made use of does. At least I try to tell myself that.

Crick asks me to take a picture of the victorious scientists, who are high-fiving each other for their ingenuity and intelligence.

"Hey, Frank, why are you still here?" Someone shouts.

"Yeah, that's right, why are you still here? Five years with us, and not one achievement under your belt! We only accept the very best here!" Another scientist yells at me from across the room.

Suddenly the air is filled with shouts and flying peanuts. I exit the room silently, my hands bunched into fists by my side. I'm still smiling but the monster in me has its head reared, its fangs poised to kill.

***

30 March 2035

I gaze admiringly at the Species Gun I've created, turning the sleek pistol over in my hand. I've been staying up till the wee hours of the morning day after day for the past two months just for this. Obviously, I couldn't go into the lab while Crick and co. were still there. So I had to sneak in when I was sure that everyone else had gone to sleep to work on my newest invention. Which is now ready to test on its first victim.

I aim the gun at a black lab mouse in a cage by the corner and flip the switch to "Hamster".

"Frank!" Someone shouts from behind me. I spin around so that the barrel of the pistol is facing him.

It's Crick, staring at me with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here?"

I ignore his question. "I didn't want to do this so fast, Crick, but I guess you'll just have to be my first victim."

"What are you--"

I pull the trigger and a yellow ray shoots Crick in the chest. The light wraps around him so that he's practically glowing. Crick's terrified now, his mouth open in a silent plea for help. I smile. "Goodbye, Crick. I hope you enjoy your new life as a less intelligent form."

And then the light vanishes and the lab is dark again. A squeak emerges from the floor. It's worked. "Hello," I say, scooping up Crick and placing him in a new cage.

***

19 August 2035

Over the past few months I've hunted down every single brilliant mind out there whose IQ is higher than mine. I still do. I've invented other tracking machines along the way so that every time a new smart baby is born, I'm always there to add a new animal to my collection. Sometimes it's cats, other times dogs. Or tortoises. Or mice. But I mostly prefer hamsters. 

No one knows about my inventions -- to others out there I'm just a crazy animal lover. Oh, I don't need recognition. It just feels good to wake up every morning knowing that you're the Most Intelligent Person on Earth, doesn't it?

Chapter 1

Ear-splitting shrieks and the clashing of metal awoke her. The metallic tang of sweat and blood rushed into her nostrils as she took a deep breath. Swiping her hand across her eyes, she looked around her. There was no one else in the hut. In the distance, thatch roofs were on fire, the smoke curling up and fading into the dark night sky. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sleepiness that threatened to overwhelm her. What was going on? Where was Aunt Su? Clambering out of the pile of fur pallets, she rushed out of the hut.  

Cold and hard metal touched her neck. "Into the centre!" A male voice commanded. Around her, wives were being torn from their husbands and herded into the centre of the village, where they were bound and gagged. The sick and elderly were skewered without hesitation. They were being attacked. Of course, she should have known that Chengdong would not be spared once Li De took his place on the throne. He would do anything to quash the provinces that delayed his rise to power. And Chengdong, one of the main forces in preventing Li De from entering the capital, was certainly one of them. 

"Ying!" She turned her head towards the sound of her name. Crimson splattered the ground as Aunt Su was slashed in the chest by a soldier. "Aunt Su!" Her voice was ripped from her throat as she struggled towards her only living relative and benefactor, who had taken her in when her own parents had died from the plague. Aunt Su had always treated her as a daughter, ensuring that she received the best education even though she was but a girl, cooking the most nutritious food for her so that she could grow up to "be strong and clever and pretty". Before she could rush towards Aunt Su, her scalp was yanked back painfully by the soldier guarding her, his hand fisted in her braided hair. "Get back!" He snapped. Tears sparkled in her eyes as she watched Aunt Su crumple to the ground. She shook her head. No. She wouldn't let her tears fall. Not one drop. She would remember this. Li De and his cronies would pay for it. 

She couldn't die now. So she went to the village centre without a fight, fingering Aunt Su's jade pendant, tucked safely around her neck, and craning her neck to look for a familiar face. She saw Min's face, white with fear. She touched Min as she was pushed into the middle of the throng, but her best friend, eyes staring ahead blankly, gave her no sign of recognition. She continued looking. For a sign of anything. "Stop!" The voice beside her sounded again. She stopped walking. She was now being bound and gagged, the word "Slave" pinned mercilessly to her chest. 

"You, move into that." A force in the small of her back steered her harshly towards one of the packed metal cages waiting by the side. Never mind, she would find her family later. She moved into the cage obediently and didn't even wrinkle her nose, even though the stench of sweat and blood filled the air. "Where are we going?" She ventured sweetly, even giving the soldier a warm smile. 

The soldier melted a little. "Chengdong." The capital. She drummed her fingers on the side of the metal cage and frowned in thought. Then she smiled, an eerie contrast to the scared, whimpering faces around her. A slave she would be. Oh, revenge was going to be sweet. 

There's something about the girl in front of me that looks familiar, yet distant. Everything about her, outwardly, is Chinese. Her braided hair is ebony, her eyes wide and almond-shaped, her frame petite and lithe. Most people would probably consider her fairly pretty. I don’t. I can’t pinpoint what about her that I don’t like – it’s just the feeling that something is never good enough.

Despite this I want to know her better. I want to say hi but she wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway. So I wave. She waves back tentatively. I step forward, reaching out my hand to her but I’m stopped by a cold barrier of glass I didn’t notice before. I press my hands against the glass and gaze at her. She’s much nearer now; I only notice now how fair her skin is. She’s Chinese, through and through.

We must be completely different. I am nothing like her. I can’t speak Mandarin. I don’t really understand the Chinese culture either. It’s not my business to know; I was born in America, not China. But there’s a sense of longing to learn the vernacular of the Chinese, to blend in with their culture, to be part of their world – to be part of a world.

I’ll never get to know the girl. I haven’t spoken a single word to her, nor will I get to. When we part she will most probably take a plane, return to her group of Asian friends and huddle together, comfortable in a world where everyone is of the same skin and hair colour.

***

The girl sighs and steps back from the mirror, tucking her black hair behind her ear. Then she turns around with her back facing you, so that all you see is a lone silhouette, fragile in a dark cavernous room.