Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020 | Page 70

Fiction – Group 4 no solace — the girl I loved no longer returned to fill the air with the music of her laughter, and my night-time walks were as silent and drifting as before. I lingered in the shadows; my tears blurred the vacuum of memory and nostalgia into a bowl of black night, punctured by pinpricks of light from the streetlamps. Why was it that my name floated upon the winds of fame, was shouted and called everywhere, and still I lingered, a lost, star-crossed wanderer, haunted by memories, in a tunnel of darkness? *** I saw her again a few nights later at waking hour, at the place where we first met. She looked very much like the same girl I met months ago, when the bartender cried her name. Her shadow fell across the counter. She drained her cup of liquor in one continuous swallow. “You betrayed me,” she said. “You betrayed me,” I echoed. She shot me a look of dislike. “You took my findings,” she said, “and you used them for yourself. You stole my future from me. I could have done much more for my village. Instead you took my work for fame.” Her eyes burned with anguish and anger; I had not wanted her beside me to feel her rage, I had wanted to listen to her laugh, feel her warmth against my body, feel the love that drifted here and there among the people of Greater Bay Area, but never lingered, never stayed — “You took my money,” I answered. “You never wanted my love. You pretended to be in love with me so you could make money off me.” Silence hung between us. The purple lights flashed on her face, illuminating it for an infinite moment, before plunging it into darkness again. “I suppose that’s what’s going on everywhere in Greater Bay.” I kept my eyes on her raven braid. “All you care about is yourself. Once you see something that will give you an opportunity, an advantage, you drop everything — even the ones you love — so that you can grasp on to it.” “And we linger as ghosts,” she said. We sat in silence again. My eyes fell on the gold watch on her wrist and rested there. She rose from the table. “Goodbye.” I called her name. It resounded endlessly, hopelessly, in the space of the pub. She did not call my name. Outside, a streetlight guttered out like a dying flame; I could smell the stale cold fragrance of morning. My cigarette flickers and goes out, its smoke drifting into the empty void. Irresolutely, tears filled my eyes. She was right. We in Greater Bay lingered here, ghosts of forgotten dreams and genuine feelings. We sold each other for wealth and fame. For that we paid the price of unconditional love. What was worse was that we did not regret it. If given the chance, we would betray each other all over again — and again — and again — *** She returns after many years to wander the moonlit streets. Greater Bay Area. She remembers the way the sun always struck the shore first, highlighting the glistering circle of cities that ringed a shining centre they called Beijing. 131