Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 403
The Velvet Petal
Harrow International School Hong Kong, Jamison, Philippa - 13
The setting sun was hazy in the red sky, casting the last beams of light over the river. In the distance stood tall,
glistening skyscrapers, a contrast to the crumbling buildings that lurked in the shadowy depths of inner Mong
Kok, a place abandoned for the shining lights of West Kowloon and bustling business hubs like Central. The
narrow streets were laden with scraps of litter that had been trodden deep into the cracks of the pavement. Tacky
neon signs glared in the dark, piled on top of each other, desperate to be seen. Posters and signs were plastered
onto every surface, torn and peeling with age. The wind whistled softly, gently blowing the leaves up the
deserted street. The only noise ever heard in this lonely place was the quiet murmur coming from a small
building in the distance. As you approached this seemingly popular attraction, the noise grew louder. All at once,
excited shrieks, groans and general chatter filled the air. Occasionally, you’d hear the loud -ding- of the slot
machines, the -clack- of dice falling hard onto the wood, as well as the -bang- of fists hitting the table in
defeat. But only fools entered that building, people unaware of the unscrupulous behaviors that went on behind
the scenes.
The back room of the casino was a mess, with papers and forms in disorganised stacks and piles lying around the
room. Wads of money, credit cards, and other valuable items, likely obtained by dubious means, were left on the
wobbly wooden desk. In the ripped faux leather armchair slept Heng He, the owner of the Velvet Petal casino.
He lay sprawled across the chair, his arms hanging off the sides, a cigarette still hanging out of his mouth. “Boss!”
Yelled one of his associates, as they bashed open the door to the back room. “Asleep when I have such good
news!” Heng He’s eyes flickered a bit, and opened slightly. “The patrons tonight are rich, they are fools, but very
rich.” Said Gang Feng, his associate, with a devious smile. “Hmm, rich but idiots. Macanese for sure. We get
many customers from there nowadays, since The Greater Bay Area initiative started, the Cantonese too.” Heng
He mumbled tiredly.
His blazer slid off the chair onto the wooden floor.
“Who knew trying to unite major cities would be so useful to us criminals?” Gang Feng laughed, as he walked
back out the door into the main casino. The door shut with a thud.
It was nearly dawn when everyone had finally left. Heng He spent the morning counting the night’s earnings.
Gang Feng left as soon as he could. “C’mon boys, let’s get out of here.” He commanded, his voice low and
rough sounding. He strode over the door, and the rest followed his lead. Heng He fell asleep in his office, his
head throbbed from the activities of last night, which he couldn’t quite remember. He was so tired that he nearly
didn’t notice the envelope left on his wobbly wooden table. Someone must have come into the back room and
left it there, or given it to someone else to send. No one had told him about it. Suspicious. He flipped the
envelope over. It was addressed to Heng He, written in red ink. It didn’t say who had sent it.
Confused, he opened the letter. The only words were “Be ready.” Scrawled in again, red ink. He didn’t think
much of it, perhaps it was a weak attempt at a threat, and he pushed it into a messy stack of papers, trying to
forget about it. He had a ‘business’ lunch today, at the bar, with some possible ‘investors’ and intended on
arriving early. He pushed open the heavy front door, which creaked with age and lack of care. The padlock shut
with a heavy ‘clunk,’ securing the building. There were valuable items in there, that most certainly could not be
left unprotected. As he walked down the decrepit street he felt something break inside of him. He remembered
the days where he would sit on the sun-warmed steps, sipping bitter beer and laughing with old friends.
Memories of the days where these streets brimmed with life and vibrancy hung in his head like a thick mist,
clouding his every thought. Since The Greater Bay Area, the life and soul of his home had been sucked out by
the greed of politicians. He could feel the joy dripping out of the streets one day at a time, painting his world in
the most dismal shades of grey.
The heat of the midday sun glared down at the hard concrete, Gang Feng patiently studied some small scraps of
shrivelled plants, desperately squeezing into the cracks in the bricks on the pavement. He moved his attention to
some discarded pieces of newspaper, ripped into shreds left decompose on the lonely road. Gang Feng looked up.
A regular customer had arrived for their weekly purchase. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot, with eyelids