Wembley Academy’s June Newsletter
Creative Writing: The Broken Bulb
I used to live in a dingy apartment down in Queens, where I had this lovely neighbour, Mr Collaghan. He was an army veteran whose wife had passed shortly after bringing their only son to the world. He dedicated his life to his son who grew up to become a top lawyer in the Big Apple and also disgustingly, a son who never returned to visit his father, who by the time I came to know him, had three strokes and legs weak as newborn’s.
IMr Collaghan had a habit of cranking up the volume on his television in his living room and falling asleep to it with the light still turned on. Mind you, the walls here were paper thin so if you were up all night, you’d be accompanied by the humming of his lightbulb and the sappy dialogues of whatever was on TV.
I was walking up the stairs to my apartment late on night after an eternal day at work, and drooling at the thought of the sheperd’s pie on my table. Now about to walk past Mr Collaghean’s door, I noticed something off. Outside of his front door was the place where the hun of his light was loudest, and standing there in that moment, I couldn’t hear it and I couldn’t see the light from under his door either. I knocked gently on the door, calling his name. The volume on the television was cranked up as usual. I knocked again, this time a little louder. Maybe he’d just fallen asleep with the light off tonight, I wondered.
I was about to turn to my own door when I managed to make out a soft whisper from Mr Collaghan’s living room. Frantically, I knocked on his door once more, calling his name. When he didn’t reply I knew something was wrong. I threw myself at the door a couple of times before the rusty lock gave away and it swung open. Light from the corrider flooded into his dark room and illuminated Mr Collaghan’s limp body on ground. I dashed to his side, pulled out my phone, and called an ambulance.
Fast forward a couple of hours and I was sitting in the hospital, Mr Colllaghan asleep in a bed across my choir. He was well. I looked out of the window then and wondered what would have happened if it wasn’t for the broken light.
Written by, Ju Hin Y11
