“The scream from Uncle Mat’s house tore through the air like a serrated knife, chilling my blood. Oh god somebody’s in trouble! I dropped the book I was reading and dashed out of the house, still clad in my boxers. It was Saturday and I was planning for a good rest, perhaps another sleep-in.
Another scream, this time softer and less… painful, and accompanied by children giggling.
I rounded the corner only to find Filipe playing chapteh with Mat’s five grandchildren. The red and orange feathers leapt in the air as Filipe expertly kicked the toy with his foot. The five harimau cubs, ranging from the ages of five to ten, were giggling and clapping their hands at the spectacle. I never knew he was that good at shuttlecock. Then again I hardly knew anything about him.
The adrenaline fizzed out of me and I sank to my haunches, rubbing my face. Oi.”