Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 524

She raced through the crowds, bumping their shoulders. Reporters chased after her. She heard the
train's motor pumping. When she finally pushed through the crowds, the train has already left, ending with a
barrage of reporters demanding her attention behind her back.
—————
When Samantha got back home, it was six in the morning.
She opened the door with her keys, greeted by Miki, holding her purse and staring at her. She
wore jeans topped with a black jacket along with a high bun of black hair.
It was always strange to see her in casual clothing ever since she left. They would bump into each
other every morning on Robinson Road and tried not looking at each other. If it was too much to bear,
they would ask about each other's plans for the weekend or updated news about taxes. Samantha heard she
landed a new job in Guangzhou, perhaps a translator.
But they would never talk about themselves. Or Azazel. Or how Miki used to work overnight
shifts to compensate for Samantha's lack of income. Or how they would rant about their dreams, with Miki
declaring she would create a new language in Greater Bay called Cantonesia, combining Cantonese and
Mandarin together. Or how they promise they wouldn't let the Hong Kong protests affect Azazel's
education and ensure him a good job before splitting.
Funny how life turns out.
Miki took a quick glance at her medal. "Look," Miki started, "I came here last night to visit Azazel,
not because I got hungover again. Besides, we're practically neighbours."
"It's a 2-hour drive, Miki. Downtown."
Miki sighed, waving her hands. "You're always missing the point."
Samantha scrunched up her eyes. If there's a point she's missing, she would prefer to be told
directly. But there's no getting through Miki and her mind games.
"How is he?" Samantha said.
Miki shrugged. "There are no facial expressions, no body movement I could read at all. Only incessant
beeping. It's like talking to a brick wall."
"You're a linguist! Aren't you good with languages?"
"Computers aren't supposed to talk!"
Samantha muttered an "Excuse me," before shoving past Miki. The lights were already turned on.
She threw her medal onto the kitchen counter. She scanned her apartment. An empty dinner table for four,
an untouched piano for her late dad and a new couch. Other than the constant humming of the air filter
near the balcony, it's the same eerie quietness as the incident.
Samantha took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm just...need some space. Thank you for coming." She gave
Miki a weak smile.
"Can I...still stay?" Miki's voice was a quiet squeak.
Samantha walked down the corridor and turned on the lights. "It's a Sat--No, Sunday. Do
whatever you want."
—————
She walked to her son's room and turned the knob. For a moment, she was expecting the same unmoving
body on the floor, holding a bottle of pills in his hand, frothing and smiling. That was always the worst part.
Like he wanted to go away.
Thankfully, there was no body. There are unkempt bedroom sheets on his bed and thrown anime
figures in the garbage can. There were ripped celebrity actor books and stains on CDs of past cantopop
singers on the bookshelves.
However, at the corner of the room, there's a glass case boxing a new computer.
Every time she looked at it, she reaches the same conclusion. But Azazel was a child prodigy, she
answers to no one. His name was on South China Morning Post, and government officers were willing to
name him the leading actor from Greater Bay when he was 12. He had a career set. And nobody ever forced
him to go so far.
So what was she missing from the big picture?
She went near the glass case and opened it. Samantha said "Azazel, can you speak again?"
Long and short distorted beeps occurred.