MALACHI EDWIN VETHAMANI

After Daniel’s father took on a new job which kept him at work, on one oil rig or another, somewhere off the coast of Sarawak, his Amma was very much a single mother to her three children. This brought their uncle, Rabin Mama, more often to their home.

WAN PHING LIM

In an abandoned car park outside the Shah Alam stadium, racers met on a Saturday night to spin the doughnut and practise their drifting. The stifling heat of the city—built around a valley criss-crossed with soiled rivers—pushed the school leavers out of their homes and into the open air.

LEE KOK LIANG

The pei-pa cracked out harshly, like a racking cough, while the man moved slowly around the tables. He wore a blue-sack dress, much frayed along the edges. His fingers, long slim talons, twitched nervously across the strings, feeling out melodies of the ancient world.

LEE KOK LIANG

The monkey rattled its chain when she passed by.

She must be near Che Hasnah's hut. It would not be far from the river then. The ground seemed hard and the pebbles bit into her bare feet, and she could feel the sweat running down her cheeks.

LEE KOK LIANG

He grasped his catapult and strode out into the sun.

Somewhere in the cave behind him, his mother shouted at him.

"Silly Q, be careful won't you, dear!"