Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 593

To the more stubborn tendons, they dug the blades into the thickness of the muscle and hacked at it until
the meat has become thoroughly severed.
“62 dollars for so little? This is too expensive!” Across, a lady pointed to the mackerel, still
breathing and twitching on the ice. Each spasm flicked droplets onto the ground, their eyes round and wide.
“I’m sorry, the fishermen have been selling them more expensively. There’s nothing I can do.”
The fishmonger said.
“Can’t you give old customers like me a discount?”
He shook his head and insisted upon his pricing, while the fish struggled next to foam board
naming its price. The fishmonger kept his eyes on the assortment of live seafood, sifting his hands through
the shallow-watered tank of the clams and oysters, and occasionally splashing water to hydrate the displayed
fish.
My legs took me forward, deciding for me where to go. I had no direction in mind, so I wandered
towards the nearest exit out of this market.
“Careful!” She said, regarding me with a ‘tsk’ in her voice. In my absent-mindedness, I collided
into an old lady.
“I’m sorry, I can’t speak Cantonese!” I tried to explain myself, but she was already walking away.
Her small stature hunched over her metal trolley with layers upon layers of cardboard fastened on. Her tiny,
anxious steps propelled it forward slowly. It was larger than her body, heavier than her weight; she shouldn’t
be doing this, not at this age.
I could not understand why this old lady was labouring away in her old age. Did she not have
children who could support her? Retirement savings? Government pensions?
I followed her onto a third street. Old buildings, no taller than twenty floors, lined either side of
me. Below, the ground floor rented itself to shops and restaurants. I saw more of these cardboard picking
grannies, squatting on the pavement and folding cardboard that once held fruits, daily appliances, and
products.
They scavenged for cardboard by rummaging through orange trash cans, examining it and
throwing it back what they deemed it unusable. Crouching over the fruits of their labour, these grannies
stacked more cardboard onto their stockpile, their contorted backs stiffened beyond ever straightening again.
The buildings behind them each had identical blue notices plastered over the metal gates.
Announcement: Illegal and unsafe infrastructure, residents of this building have three months to leave. The
area will be designated for reconstruction. It wrote, in both Chinese and English, with the government
insignia branded at the corner of the page.
Above, an old man stared down at me from his window on the third floor in said illegal
infrastructure, his skeleton-thin fingers wrapped around the mesh wires that lined the open window.
Behind the windows above, many more old men stared down, the lines of age that marred these faces
remained immobile.
Framed windows had clothing draped over the bars fixed under it. The units of air conditioners, all
leaving brown trails of leakage, were attached to the corner of the window panes. Almost all buildings
suffered from discolouration, and had streaks of rust coloured lines running across their peeling surface of the
exterior. The more senior of the aged buildings were boxed by bamboo pole scaffolding, but had no
workmen climbing on them. It was an unsightly, messy contrast to the tall glass-paned towers across the
harbour.
In three months, these people would be forcibly evicted from their homes; their houses would be
mowed down in favour for towers as tall and as sleek as the ones south of this district.
“Mei Mei! What are you doing?” My mother’s voice rang out from behind me. My hands were
grabbed, and I was jerked towards my disapproving parents.
“I couldn’t find you guys, so I decided to explore the market.” I tried to explain.
“What are you talking about Mei Mei?” My mother demanded, before yanking the paper out of
my hands and reprimanding me. “Didn’t I teach you not to pick up trash? Look at your hands now, you’ve
gotten red all over it.”
“The market, mum, right there.” I said.
But as I turn to point at the market, it simply disappeared. As if it suddenly ceased to exist, and
what just occurred was merely the creation of an overly imaginative mind. The machineries resumed its
demolition of the grey town, and the buildings laid in shambles on the ground.
“But-”
“You have such an active imagination Mei Mei. You’re making Ba Ba feel old.” My dad joked,
slapping my back.