Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 12 | Page 260

the men briefly glanced back, I recognised the red star on his cap. It looked like the Communist Party sign that I
had seen on all those posters outside the Peace Hotel that time I had tea with Father.
“Wait...that man...he somehow looks familiar…”
I jumped to my feet and rushed to the door, my heart nearly hammering out of my chest with growing fear and
dread. I nearly flew down the stairs, sliding frantically in my stockinged feet. I scrambled to the study door and
flung it open, afraid to look up but knowing I must.
Father’s chair was spinning around slowly behind his desk - empty.
Like an executioner’s knife, a fear slashed through my heart. I surged towards the front door, the hall feeling like
an endless tunnel that I couldn’t get to the end of. I managed to get outside, stumbling on the uneven
well-worn pavement. I looked up, gasping for breath. That was when I saw my greatest fear becoming real. The
strange car started to pull away with my Father inside - its forced passenger.
Desperately, I chased after the car, shouting “Father, Father!”, but the car had already disappeared around the
corner, and my cries had been carried away by the wind.