Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020 | Page 50
Fiction – Group 3
used cash, those heavy and… such physical outdated methods. And cell phones! Too old,
children nowadays don’t want to hear about those.” Well, now it was all a matter of touches
and the use of the standard digital currency. The Bay was all about connectivity and progress
now. It would be a burden to rely on such physical and primitive exchanges.
“It’s important to remember the roots of history. At least some culture from the original
city was preserved. I heard the Guanian Ancient Town remained mostly untouched.”
This century was thriving, there was no doubt of that. Imports, exports. The rise of new
technologies, attracting foreign talent… you name it.
He wanders to the ports, watching ancient container ships lie like tombstones by the
harbour, memories by the water, waiting silently. For what, no one seems to know. Next to
them the aqua-spaceships, shining in the simmering sun.
Nobody gives him a second glance. He is nothing but one in a crowd, lost in the wave of
societal forces. He can hear their thoughts, from the back of his mind, see their comments on
social media, flick through their entire online album and review their profiles…
The grinding never stops. Manufacturing machines are set to work, eco-friendly farms
booming, increased use of clean energy. The bridges linger, a symbol of the past physical
connections, a little more. The economic connections remained intact, the flow of capital and
investment. It’s busy, it’s bustling, it’s exploding, commotion. The Bay culture, that’s what
they were calling it, like a trendy and modern fashion other economic hubs were trying hard
to replicate.
He’s lost, but not really; no one’s ever lost nowadays. If you don’t know where you are,
the whole world seems so much larger, he remembers. A wise quote, but no longer applicable,
since location tracking became widespread. He’d probably take the high-speed rail down the
bay. There’s the higher-end option too, the car tube. Ever since the new transportation plan
was implemented, well…
He blinks.
And witnesses today’s architecture along the skyline change, a new skyscraper morphing
into the shape of a spiral lantern. The new material was capable of such elegant and swift
shifts, transforming the city horizon each and every day. In the breaking sunset, the silhouette
protrudes from the masses rushing below, a mere glimpse of the potential technology to come.
And in the corner of his iris he spots a humble food gathering center, its old-fashioned
luminescent billboard shining in the gathering dark of the night. The crowd is gathering
too, eager tourists and oldies alike seeking the taste of authentic food - after all, everyone
ate vitamin supplements and the newbies preferred the taste stimulator. Siu mai from Hong
Kong, a bowl of steaming wonton noodles, crispy buttery egg rolls and creamy chilled egg
tarts, the tantalising scent of delicacies tempting with an unknown sense of comfort.
The smell triggers his senses, a shared memory recalled from the back of his mind.
He isn’t hungry – he never is. But it smells of warmth. Of raw hunger. Inside the center,
he watches the civilized wolf down their treats, unsatisfied appetites and unfinished
conversations unfolding all in a moment.
A light spring rain drizzles over the city. Chitter, chatter; Pitter, patter.
From beyond the window, he hears the hub bustling at night, firecrackers bursting.
Inhaling, he smells warmth. No one sleeps. The Bay comes alive, like a dragon from the
depths of its slumber, the proud celebration song pronounced in Cantonesia, and the growing
cacophony of rapid exchanges of dialect as the people unite over food.
It’s raining, pouring outside now.
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