Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 567

Angel
St. Stephen's Girls' College, Ho, Cheuk Yan Grace - 15
The blizzard-slash-sandstorm tore at my body, whipping strands of unkempt hair in my
face, stinging.
The months in the Wastes have not been good to me. Where the sandy ground melted
into glass under the rad, I could see my reflection. Pain, starvation and desperation was
etched onto my face, plain as day.
My face was sallow, even more so than before. Stringy hair clung to my frame. My cheeks
were sunken, skin pulled taut over bone. And around my eyes, I could see the lines at the
corners, testament to happier days when I could still truly smile, not paste the disgusting
monstrosity onto my features.
And my eyes themselves, once playful and doe-like, now haggard and empty.
In the Wastes some say that at night, lean, skeletal, soulless monsters would roam the place
carrying a scythe, black rags dragging in their wake as they search for tormented souls and
feed on their fear.
I guess that would be a pretty accurate description of my appearance.
I do believe these monsters exist. Not in the way the rumors say, but clothed in flesh and
blood and fine silks and jewelry, not condemned, but celebrated; But nevertheless, feared.
As Voltaire said, “It is forbidden to kill; therefore, all murderers are punished unless they
kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.”
Some things never change, I thought as I leaned back on the roof and gazed at the night
sky. Or what would have been the night sky behind all the smog and radiation.
The Wastes were once glorious, I heard, before the elements and whatnot set in. In fact, a
century ago, they called it the Greater Bay Area. As if there was anything great about it.
Now all that was left was a few islands scattered here and there, covered in trash and
derelict buildings, like moldy bread crumbs nobody cared to pick up.
It was getting light soon. I brushed dust off my knees and picked my way down towards
the ground. No time to squander if I were to go to sleep without an empty stomach.
I don’t get my hopes up unnecessarily.
I passed through unpaved alleys, skipping over ruts and puddles on the muddy streets,
fiddling with a length of stained metal tapered to a point.
I turned a corner and I found what I was looking for: a stretch of land riddled with
crumbling knee-high walls. I find a good spot and crouch, making sure that my makeshift
hunting knife was ready at a hole the size of a fist at the base of a wall.
I wait… and there was it. A furry brown snout poking out.
I raise my blade and stabbed.
A screech resonated from the ruins I came from. Clouds of ravens rose from their perches.
The metal shard missed and buried itself into the dirt.
I swore. No point waiting here anymore. The rodents in a 10-mile radius must be
spooked, and spooked prey were not coming out their hidey holes any time soon.
I might as well go back and see what the noise was about. That screech was peculiar.
Sounded like a mobile stopping. But who would stop their mobile in here? Maybe it
broke down. Anyone with enough cash to buy a mobile surely had enough cash for food.
More than enough for me given the right amount of nicking. I pushed myself up and
retrieved my blade, and started striding back, a smile gracing my face.
I might not have to go hungry after all.