Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 3 2018 | Page 399

indented from the pressure of his grip, slip from his sweaty hand. The stick landed with a pat in unison with
the undeniable roar of a tiger. The striped animal jumped from out the jungle and crouched, admiring his
prey. The monk’s eyes widened in a combination of utter fear and shock. He knew there was one thing left
to do. He spun past the tree and leapt over the fallen trunk in his path. The colorful cloths he was wearing
flew behind him. The beast was gone. He inhaled and smoothed out his robe.
...
Yun nan province 2113 CE
Cries pierced the night air, as a mother carried her child through the dark. Blood dripped from deep gashes,
painting the woman’s face scarlet. A victim of an unhappy marriage in a village miles from her childhood
home, she was accustomed to pain. She walked onward until they arrived at a worn building, the color of
bad cream. The woman looked up and drew a long breath.
“Ming? My child, listen to me.”
She stroked the soft outlines of the baby’s face, as his eyes lit up at the sound of his mother’s voice.
“I must leave you here, my darling. These are kind, good people. They will make you one of their own
and comfort you. I need to,” tears started to stream down her cheek, “I need to go. I love you baby boy.”
Gently, she placed her straw basket on the doorstep, in it was the child. Kneeling down, she pressed her lips
on Ming’s forehead, marking it with blood.
“I love you.”
She disappeared into the night.
…
Days away from Yu Lin monastery:
439
Ming’s sandals slapped the hardened ground, which was cracked from the unrelenting heat. The sun spun
blurry blemishes in Ming’s sight triggering a migraine, and a wobble in his steady steps. “ I’m done ” he
thought,
“I’m done…”his voice was a whimper, caught up in the spontaneous desert wind. He halted, looked up,
and lied down, his back burning against the hard skin of the earth. His eyes stayed open, refusing to blink,
wanting to capture every last breathing moment. Ming inhaled and exhaled, his hands clasping the Indian
dust.
“I am ready,” He whispered to the sky.
“I am here.”
…
Days away from Yu lin monastery:
441
The smell of smoke clouded Ming’s nostrils as he awoke. Resting a shaking hand on his chest, he watched it
move up and down with the rhythmic beat of his heart. A tear rolled down his sagging cheek.
“I am alive.”
He laughed. Loudly. He laughed the loudest he ever had in his life. It was agony, but he did anyway.
“I AM ALIVE!”