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8th georgetown (south) sea scout group

Memoirs of a Sea Scout: Introduction

It's way past midnight and I'm still wide awake. What am I doing awake at this ungodly hour in the middle of nowhere? Where am I going? I do not know the answer to that but this I know - I must keep on running. I can hear my own panting, magnified through the eerie stillness of the night. Exhaustion is overwhelming my legs but I must keep on running. The events of the past two days have drained all the energy from my body but I must keep on running. I can already hear the footsteps of the chasing pack right behind me. I've come so far, I must not give up now. I must keep on running. I'm running from the Annual Training Camp.

I still remember very clearly how high my spirits were when I knew I was going camping. I was so eager to attend the camp that I packed my bags and stocked up on food a week before the camp. I even checked in to the Annual Training Camp an hour earlier than I was supposed to. I was that eager. The thought of receiving training at a camp organized each and every year attracted me. I would certainly be a better person from this experience. I'm sure it will be fun. Isn't that what camps are for? Fun? Little did I know how wrong I was. Little did I know Annual Training Camp is not exactly 'fun'.

I can feel my lungs burning with each laboured breath I take through my parched throat. The thought of turning back, facing my pursuers, crossed my mind several times. However, I didn't want to. I didn't dare to. The thought of going back to the camp is totally unthinkable. Not after what I've done. Not after I've come so far. There's no turning back now. I must keep on running.

As soon as we put our bags down, we started working on our campsite. We worked all day long under the punishing sun to build these things called gadgets made from bamboos. The work was non-stop. Once you sit down to rest, you get screamed at, "Get your lazy ass up here and split those bamboos!" We kept on chopping and splitting, sawing and digging. The work was endless. Day and night we worked - rain or shine. It was really a torturing feeling. This is not what I expected from the camp. It was suppose to be fun. This is not fun. Why do they call it the Annual Training Camp? It feels more like the Annual Torture Camp to me!!!

I've run quite a distance now. I never knew I had it in me to run this far. I was quite sure they would have caught up to me long ago but fortunately I was successful in shaking them off. I need a break to catch my breath. Lactic acid is already building up in my body. I need a rest. I need a place to hide and rest. This deep and dark drain looks good enough. Arghh! Damn it, this drain is filled with scum! Being clean is probably the last thing on my mind at the moment. Anyway, after the mud-crawl incident, this drain can be considered a five-star resort!

After going without sleep the previous night, working our asses off, we were all walking like zombies. From one activity to another, strength and endurance were required. The mud-crawl activity was probably the worst. We were lead to this big and dark monsoon drain and asked to crawl through it. The stench was horrible! Not only that, we were splattered with leftovers from dinner, breakfast and lunch! How we regretted not finishing up the food however bad our culinary skills were. The scum infested damp soil released nauseating fumes that choked my lungs. It was disgusting. I took four baths and still the smell wouldn't go. It was that bad.

I must continue my escape now before they catch up to me. What's that light? Have they found me? Is this the end? Vrooom... Phew, it's just some drunk bikers probably making their journey home from a night of fun and booze at ChillOut. How I long for a glass of water now. How I long for some food to fill my growling tummy. The half-cooked food we made for Backwoodsman Cooking would taste so heavenly right now.

Just a few hours back, I crept away to a quiet and secluded area to have some much needed sleep. I was abruptly awoken by a bucketful of cold water splashed my way. The leaders found me dozing off and didn't like it one bit. They handed over the bucket along with a toothbrush and some detergent. I was being punished. I was asked to clean up the whole toilet till it was sparkling clean with just these limited tools. How is this even humanly possible? This was the last straw. I knew I had enough of this 'training'. I had to run, I had to escape. I just had to get out of there!

I hear voices nearby. Oh no, they've caught up to me. I'm a sitting duck in here. I've no choice but to just climb out of here and run as fast as I can. I have no other option. It's better than just sitting in here waiting for them to find me. Legs, don't fail me now! My pursuers must have caught a glimpse of me climbing out and gave chase. I kept running, they kept chasing. They are as relentless to catch me as I am as relentless to get away from them. I kept running till a yawning chasm loomed into view. I have nowhere else to go from here. It is between facing my pursuers or facing certain death. Taking a deep breath, I jumped...

(to be continued)


At the mouth of the chasm, we found a journal belonging to the sea scout detailing his scouting experience and student life in the school until this incident. 08online will be reproducing the entries of this journal about the life and times of this sea scout, so come back often to discover how this sea scout viewed scouting and life as a student.

(Please be reminded that this series is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. No scout was harmed in the process of making this series.)

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