Inside a Hong Kong Writers’ Club: My Experience and Collection of Short Stories

When I first landed in Hong Kong I had just finished my English degree. Thanks to my module choices which leaned heavily toward critical analysis, I steered clear of creative writing. Perhaps this was because critiquing others felt way easier (and less vulnerable) than putting my own work out there for all to see.

That’s why, when a co-worker suggested joining a writing club, I was all in. It didn’t matter if my writing looked like it was penned by a five-year-old or wrapped up in a cliché "happily ever after."  The fresh faces there created a judgement free zone.

We’d jot down prompts on slips of paper, draw them at random, and then dive into 30 to 45 minutes of writing. Sharing our pieces was encouraged, and it was fascinating to see if the interpretation matched the prompt creators original vision.

While this blog is mostly about real experiences, I believe that some of your best work can emerge from a little escapism and imagination. I’m excited to share some pieces I wrote during those quick 30- to 40-minute sessions. They may not be my best work, but I had a lot of fun writing them.

Prompt 1: A Friendly Fire

Your mother told you not to touch it.

She said it was bad, that it would hurt you. She screamed when you hovered near it and took a tumble. Her eyes flashed with fear of the naked flame, the one with the power to send the shadows of the wick dancing across the room.

The first meeting of an everlasting friendship. 

It bore witness to your curious, young eyes.

With a breath and a blow, you tried to soothe it in anticipation of the chocolate layers it planted its roots in. It saw a gleaming face stained with tired tears from all the exhaustion of hugs and hellos from family and friends. Its warm glow waved up at you and promised to grant you your wish. 

It gazed back at you as the mercurial white flakes spiralled outside your window.

Its warmth enveloped you, spreading through your body and warming the arm you had draped across the shoulders of the golden girl whose smile still lingers in your memory. She was stuck in your house and couldn’t get home. It cherished the moment it could grant to you and burned on. 

It now glows beside your picture.

It wraps your son, your daughter and that golden girl in warmth as your emptiness swallows them whole. It thinks of you beside them, giving hope to hearts crushed by a cold metal fist. It burns on as they close the lid of your coffin, dimming to a flicker behind their tears.

It helps them think of you.

In the church where they come to remember you. It keeps you in their lives.

A forever friend. My friendly fire.

Prompt 2: Meet the Crocs

A winding little road led to a quirky little street. And that quirky little street, cloaked in rough jade, spiralled into the heart of an odd little town.

Where spikes twist and scales shimmer, sunlight gives way to murky swamp. With a fierce absence of dry land, all that remains is sludge, swamp, and slimy sensibilities.

In this town, does green truly mean go?

There’s comfort in the safety of the drought, but venture toward the green light at the end of the marshy tunnel, and there’s no turning back.

Shadows, sinister and slithering, roam freely. Emerald roses lay withered and forgotten. But the worst? The whispers of the long-dead echo alongside the ravenous snaps of greed.

Please. There’s still time to run.

Kaleidoscopes of pine scurf the towering arches of their home. Wade through a macabre emporium of limbs and carcasses, the decomposition reflecting the very green of the creatures that shattered them.

Meet the Crocs. But beware: your thirst for knowledge may be eclipsed by a hunger for flesh.

Prompt 3: I Made it With Two Minutes to Spare

My dearest Miranda, 

Please forgive me. You found me entwined with Francis and later with Lucinda’s leg draped over me. I try not to make a habit of spending nights with married women, though I know you doubt me. To you, I am a barren path of destruction. Why would you choose me when you have the lush, artifice of home, where your dog sleeps and your future children might play?

I may never know the warmth of holding you again, or the feel of your soft skin beneath my artless fingers, as I soak in the tears that whisper the secrets of your heart to mine. But I must ask you this. If you can feel it. Feel this. The surging current that can only take so much heat before an eruption burns down these walls down one by one. Be honest with me.

I have to leave. Work has offered me a story I would be a fool to refuse. This could make me Miranda. This could make us. Just think about it: 7 PM, Flight No. 2307. I'm only asking you to consider it. That’s all. I will wait for you until the very last minute.

Yours and yours only, 

J

Choppy breaths and watery eyes lingered for what felt like an eternity. Miranda often found herself in this state at night, reading the letter and haunted by memories. She glanced solemnly at the ghostly emptiness of her bed—a reminder of what was lost. As she read his words, she longed for him to invade her marble heart one last time and ignite it with the passion they once shared.

Thank God, she thought. Thank God she made it to the airport before his flight left. She had been able to love him fully, to share those precious moments before the dark shadow of his absence fell over her life. Even if it was only with two minutes to spare, those moments had become everything.

Prompt 4: Would you Rather?

"Is it Saturday already? You bet it is. I’m your host, Max Fortune, and you’re watching AT RISK. Are you ready to see how far our contestants will go for some big bucks?"

A pair of dazzling white teeth flashed at the camera and spat overly enthusiastic words. They were matched with an artificial tan and a thinning hairline, awkwardly concealed beneath a bright, bleached toupee.

Looking around the studio, it seemed much bigger in person. Jake had only seen so much from the side of his laptop screen, the other side occupied by spinning fruit, the pulling of a lever and the jingle of money.

His friend had heard from another friend that this show was the real deal. The easiest way to grab a fortune, or at least that’s what was circulating on the chatrooms he visited. Could this be his ticket out of the grind? It felt like a risk worth taking.

The broadcast typically flickered with static, and the server would crash almost every minute. But now, standing on the edge of the stage, heat coursing through his veins, Jake felt the magnetic pull of desperation from the contestants around him, drawing every viewer back to the stream.

"And now, our first round is Would You Rather. Contestant number one. You have 30 seconds to choose out of the two options in front of you. When you hear the buzzer you must act."

Jake’s heart raced as the spotlight swung to him. The studio buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with a mix of sweat and cheap cologne. The audience’s murmur faded into silence as Max grinned at him, his teeth gleaming unnaturally under the harsh lights.

"Welcome, Jake! Are you ready for your first question?” Max’s voice was syrupy sweet.

“Yeah, let’s do this!” he replied, trying to sound confident, though his palms were slick against the cool metal of the podium.

“Alright, here we go. Would you rather…” Max paused for dramatic effect, “sacrifice a finger or take a knife to someone else's?”

The audience collectively gasped, their eyes wide with morbid curiosity. Jake’s stomach twisted. Sacrifice a finger? He glanced at his hands, imagining the blood, the pain, the irrevocable loss of a part of himself.

“Time’s ticking, Jake! Which will it be?” Max’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

The clock loomed ominously above him, each second echoing in his mind. He could feel the weight of the audience's gaze, hungry for his decision. Sacrifice his own finger - or inflict pain on someone else. The stakes felt surreal, a nightmarish choice wrapped in the guise of entertainment.

"My own—NO, SOMEONE ELSE!" Jake shouted, his voice trembling as it echoed in the studio. The lights brightened, revealing a figure in the shadows, shaking and sweating, mouth taped but eyes wide with terror.

Jake’s heart pounded as he stared at the tool, the cold metal glinting ominously. Whispers filled his mind, a chaotic chorus urging him to flee, to escape this twisted game. But there was no escape - he was trapped in a prison of his own greed. The weight of the choice pressed down on him like a heavy fog, suffocating and claustrophobic.

“Come on! Just do it!” someone screamed from the crowd.

He thought of the life he wanted, the warmth of the sun, the laughter of friends—was it worth this? The blade glinted in the harsh studio lights, beckoning him to cross a line he could never uncross.

At that moment, he hesitated, caught between his ambition and the horrific act he was about to commit.