Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 587

The Death of her Loved Ones
YMCA Christian College, Kaur, Shruti - 14
The breeze brushed against the surface of her butterfly rash cheeks as it swayed the stands of her greasy
auburn wavy hair around her visage, hurling the mop of hair across her face, like snow in a blizzard. Her
skin was harshly bronzed, tortured by the sun due to the monotonous exposure. Drenching in pearls of
transparent droplets oozing from her forehead made the miasma of her sweat more evident. Her begrime,
tousled hair and feculent skin smeared with mire and muck was a sure sign of a rough living (not to mention
the worn-out clothes stained with gunge --- most likely handed down from the previous generation) Her
eyes were firm to the untrained eye, yet loneliness could be visible as they became unfocused. These were
eyes of experience; they had seen a lot in life, not all of it was pleasant. Her hardened look and stone-cold
gaze were a witness.
Her bloodshot eyes full of rheum could hardly be seen as they were substantially concealed underneath
the monolids assiduously forming a stye. Her dynamic arched brows emphasized her maturity; most likely a
child who simply skipped her entire childhood and perhaps was forced to look after her multiple generation
family, and no doubt a slave to the poverty-stricken world.
Each day she waited in hope.
Each day she prayed to God for one thing.
Each day she dreamed of it only.
Home. A place where she could call home.
She worked tirelessly all day to find some form of nourishment and comestibles for her family’s
weeping bones as their skin clung tightly on them. When the sun got down and waved a cruel goodbye to
her, the work came to a halt, coldness overwhelmed her. The weariness originating from the stress of life
could be seen clearly during this period of time. Still a miniature adult, her look of innocence made your
stomach congeal in sadness as the heavy hard burden appeared, written all over her fragile body.
But she was among millions in this life.
Her face --- thinner than thin --- clearly carved out her sharp features, leaving the attention
neither on her full, cracked lips nor on her hollowed-in cheeks but on her yellowish swollen eyes that were
filled with tiredness. As it turned dark, callous cold licked her face, kissed her parched lips, slowly crept in
under her clothes and mysteriously spread across her skin as dry as desiccated coconut, like the lacy tide on a
frigid winter beach. With plum lips tingled with blue and the gentle chattering of her teeth, she wrapped her
thin cerulean muddy towel filled with holes, around herself tightly.
The biting chilly cool wind froze her fingertips into clumsy numbness, the cold seeped into her
cracked toes and painfully spread throughout her feet as if it were her bare feet on the pristine icy whiteness
rather than on her archaic sneakers filled with pebbles of tiny stones and dead insects. Her lips turned more
bluish hue and her teeth chattered as quick as a pneumatic drill. The grip on the towel grew tighter and
tighter as the homicide cold penetrated her garments. Yet, there was no avail to it. The frigid wind poked
her like icy fingers and wrapped around her like a shawl woven from the snow itself.
It grew worse when a long luxurious lavish car drove through the chocolate-brown puddle and
splashed Adam’s ale on her, soaking her from head to toe. Doused from the filthy splash, drops of water
tipped from her unwashed hair. The bitter wind mocked her as it penetrated her heart and turned her blood
into icy sludge. Her muscle ached and grounded like cogs in a cold machine.
She knew it would be Christmas tomorrow but had no idea what it would bring for her --- perhaps
grief and sorrow. Yet, it definitely won’t be happiness.