Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 553

“I...”
Miguel looked serious, counting up to five for each sentence he said, “You need a bath. You need good
rest. You need new clothes. You need a haircut. You need a shelter of some kind.”
“...”
“You never looked in a mirror, don’t you?” he exclaimed, but yet his eyebrows still seem to never move,
gesturing me to sit by him. His phone’s off screen doubled as a mirror, and in there I saw myself -- dirty
purple eyes, plus overgrown, messy hair long enough to be tied up. Instead, the face looked as if it belonged
to a suspicious guy who just got released from jail for sexual offenses.
I rubbed my eyes and turned away from the phone. “... Why are you helping me then?”
Miguel crossed his arms, sitting back, “Remember my father? He is annoying as hell, always saying helping
even strangers worth it. Guess I learned that from him. You just looked too hopeless by yourself in that little
alley. Don’t get me wrong, I may not help you a second time, but you...”
He totally inherited that from his father.
---
I looked at Macau from the elevated light rail station. The bright neon lights of the casinos, some opposite
of the Peninsula, could still somewhat be seen, but I have since developed a reluctance to go anywhere near
Cotai again. To my relief skyscrapers line the streets, rendering most of the casinos out of sight, yet I still
couldn’t get those bright neon signs off my mind. Miguel sounded genuinely generous, yet I doubt how far
would he walk the extra miles for me -- would he even exhaust his own resources just to help me, a total
stranger? No matter what his father told him no sane person would ever do it.
“What are you staring at?” Miguel looked at my direction, and the buildings my face was facing. The yellow
night lights of the city shone in his turquoise eyes, looking concerned.
“...Nothing.” I shifted my eyes from the distant lights. Miguel looked like the average edgy teenager, with
his patterned hoodie and dark jumpers, plus medium-length bangs that only end on his eyes. He didn’t look
that bad, so quite a few girls should be attracted to him already, a privilege I never dreamed of owning. He
led me down the station, and crossed a few narrow streets to reach a not-so-noticeable store buried
somewhere far away from the busiest intersections.
“A flowery...?” I questioned my sight.
Miguel did not appear to have heard my murmurs. Instead, he ran straight to the door, and, despite it
looking as if it had been locked, opened it within seconds, “Angel!”
Angel? I questioned both my eyes and ears as I moved forward to confirm the existence of any godly
messengers in the flowery. But I could only find a blonde girl with a fair complexion. Her small statue
looked like she opened the flowery right after graduation from high school. She looked cute, though not
exactly the girl I imagined Miguel would like.
Miguel and her seemed to talk a lot. The giggled, made elaborate gestures, and then, as if finally
remembering my existence, looked at me, standing like an idiot outside, and dragged me in.
“So he’s the kid I found in the backstreets of Cotai. He seems to be a runaway, and I guess you won’t mind
letting him sleep here for tonight?”
The girl inspected me using the peach-colored eyes of hers, “You look suspicious.”
Alright, Miguel’s plan failed after all.
“You can stay,” the girl then announced.
The news took me by much surprise, “But, but I look suspicious...”
“No, you can actually be quite handsome. But you’re not my type.” The girl stops, looks at Miguel, and
both people erupt into a hysterical laugh.
---
Everyone would agree a bath is relaxing, especially one that washes away the months of accumulated filth
and worries. I walked out from the bathroom of the flowery, a dripping towel draped around my neck.
“Miguel’s gone,” the peach-eyed girl -- Angel -- said, “There are some blankets here.”
“He... went where?” I asked, staring at the position he once stood.
“He went back to his dorm in the university.” Angel walked closer to me, expressions serious, and gestured
me to sit down. She lowered his voice, “But why don’t we talk about you more?”
“...”
She walked over to a heavy wooden table and took out a mug, filling it with hot water, and handed it over
to me. She served herself a mug of juice, and finally sat next to me.
“Look, boy, what is your name?” she asked.
“...” I didn’t drink my mug of water while she gulped down her mug of juice, “I forgot.”
“Alright, fine. How old are you then?”
“... I lost count.”