Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020 | Page 103

Hong Kong Young Writers Awards 2020
but not really knowing how, and she’d disappear again.
Or when I’m in the reflective suit, clipboard in hand, overlooking the newest mound of
sand and stone to be shaped, or when I’m zooming past borders to city after city filled with
light and light and buildings that scraped the sky, fingers splayed against the windows, she’d
appear again, drifting in the corners of the cabin I’m in, remorse oozing from every inch of
her figure.
She came and went, and desperation slowly filled every inch of my being.
What happened to the girl? What happened to the mother? What happened to the joyous
and calming figure that was once at peace with the world and herself?
I rubbed calloused hands furiously against my eyes.
A straight-faced steel machine honked me out of my reverie as I stood in the middle of
the road, staring into nothing.
“Get out of the way! Daydreaming in the middle of the road” A nameless voice zoomed away
in clouds of black smoke and dust, and my throat seized up as I choked on the thick, thick
air. The black smoke clogged up the corridors in my lung, and for a moment, I thought I was
drowning, drowning, drowning and -
And it hit me.
I spun around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure that has grown so familiar in
the past couple days, but the search was in vain. I realised with a growing sense of fear and
trepidation that I was standing on “reclaimed land”.
I sprinted back to my office with a renewed sense of purpose. I suddenly knew with an
unwavering sense of certainty what I had to do, what I needed to do, not only for me or for
the young girl that I once knew, but for the countless little girls and boys who have been
robbed of the chance of swirling and dancing and skipping with their little girls and mothers
and splashing under the sun’s warm guidance.
I knew.
Standing now, in front of a room of suits and ties and glares and expensive watches, the
determination I felt suddenly ebbed away and gave way to uncertainty.
How do I tell them of my determination to bring back the young girl and mother? How
do I tell them of the warm times spent, of the fire that’s starting to burn inside me, stretching
and expanding and dying to recover the image of the figure I once knew? How do I open my
mouth, and get them to feel what I feel, and do what I want to do, not when what I want to
do would lose them several buildings of gold and some trenches of wealth?
“I’m -“
The bravery that the determination bestowed upon me suddenly deserted me. I shifted onto
another leg, fiddling with my shirt, suddenly not so certain of what I was going to say anymore.
A soft breeze alerted me to a sudden presence by my side.
I looked over, and a hand, filled with grim and soil and sediment and oil was outstretched
at my side. My eyes traced along the arm and reached a gentle, encouraging gaze that looked
warmer than ever despite the pieces of broken glass floating inside it.
I felt a lump in the back of my throat. Here she was, my young friend and the mother all
wrapped up in once, standing tall and strong, and offering me support while being scratched
and broken, and cast away and abused by many who relied on her and her grace.
Here she was, offering me her support, while I stood strong and healthy, with nothing
stopping me but myself.
I reached out and took her hand.
The instance I took her hand, something shifted in me and her, in our little room and
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