Monday, June 20, 2011

PSLE: A Faulty Vending Machine

My parched throat was longing for a refreshing drink.  I had just finished a soccer match and was on my way home when I spotted a vending machine.  It was as if it was trying to get my attention.  A cool refreshing can of Coke immediately came to my mind.

I ambled quickly over and dug into my pocket.  With eager anticipation, I slotted in my one-dollar coin.  The machine swallowed it in a jiffy.  However, nothing emerged from the collecting bin.  “All I want is a drink, you stupid machine!”  I fumed and grumbled under my breath.  I pressed all the buttons and turned the coin-return latch by the stubborn machine refused to return my one-dollar coin.

I was infuriated! “This is so unfair!” l moaned.   I had just lost a game and now, I lost my last coin!  Things never went my way.  I rammed my fist on the metal box and kicked it viciously.  A string of expletives was now escaping from my lips as I continued bashing it up without mercy.

All of a sudden, I heard a soft rumble and to my surprise, an avalanche of drinks cascaded downwards.  There were cans of soft drinks everywhere now.  My mouth grew wide agape in shock.   Speedily, I opened a can and sipped the refreshing Coke with relish.  Next, I opened my bag and filled it to the brim.  “This could last me for days!”  I thought to myself as elation bubbled within me. 

Then all of a sudden, a brainwave hit me like a bolt of lightning.  If the drinks could cascade out, so could the money!  Hmm!  I flashed a devilish smirk.  Once again, I attacked with greater viciousness.    Just as I had expected, coins tumbled down and jingled all on the floor.   “I am rich.  I am RICH!  I am FILTHY RICH!”  I was smiling like a Cheshire cat, squatting down to pick up the mountain of coins.

Just as I was about to scurry off, a shadow suddenly loomed over me.  I swiveled around and my breath hitched in my throat.  It was a police sergeant, his livid glare piercing into mine.  “What are you doing?” he roared, his accusing finger arrowing at me.  Puffs of smoke were emerging from his ears and nose. 

Petrified, my face blanched in trepidation and I felt rickety all over.  Nothing I say or do would make any difference now.   My mind raced at breakneck speed for a solution.  “Run, Ethan, run!”  The thought flashed in my head.  All of a sudden, my legs took on a life of their own and dashed off like a bullet.  If I were an Olympic runner, he was definitely the gold medalist.  He ran like a hunter after its prey and pounced on me in a heartbeat.

“Let me go!  Let me go!” I yelled.  All I could hear was the clink of the handcuffs.  I was done for!  The fleeting delight was now turned to gloom.  

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"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."

Henry David Thoreau