Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 227

With shaky fingers, Xuan slotted the jagged edge of the metal key into the slot. Click.
“Mom? Dad?” he called, out of habit, even though he knew they weren’t at home. They were
rarely ever home.
You’re worthless without her.
He rushed to his room and flung his bag to the side, bolting to the bathroom at record speed. His
hands made quick work of his clothes, tossing them to God-knows-where, just as he had done to his
backpack.
The fidgeting was back. There was an itch, an itch under his skin that he couldn’t reach. He was
chasing it with his blunt nails but it was never gone, the scritch-scratch sound traveling to his ears and into
his head. The prickling didn’t subside at all.
You’re purposeless without her.
Xuan scratched at his hipbones, he scratched at his arms, he scratched at that place just below his
jaw and his ear. He scratched until long red welts appeared and blood brimmed under the swelling.
None of it seemed to work.
Frustration built up inside him until he just couldn’t handle it anymore and screamed. It was a
guttural sound, raw and high-pitched.
The release of sound brought his mind to some peace, and the scream choked him into a series of
coughs.
Eventually, the emotions drained out of Xuan and he was left tottering in his bathroom, staring
down at his twitching hands and his naked body. He was numb.
His legs gave way and he fell to the floor, curling up into a delicate, fragile ball of paper-white skin
and brittle bones, of desolation and despondency. I’m hopeless without her , he finally admitted to himself.
The reply was immediate. Good boy , three voices integrated into one.
three
For the entire weekend, Xuan was bedridden. Physically he was exhausted, but mentally he was
trudging through purgatory. The voices in his head were getting stronger, louder, more of an impact on his
mental state, and their constant attacks left him a sniveling mess under the heavy duvet.
If she were here right now, she would hold me and tell me it’s all right.
Well, she’s dead! the Pig squealed happily, clapping its hooves together joyously.
And it’s your fault, the Little Girl reminded with a smirk on its face, don’t forget.
“ How could I?” Xuan screamed, hands fisting tufts of hair and pulling . “How could I forget when
it’s all you ever tell me? Huh? God! I wish you would just — just all shut up already!”
The deathly silence rang loud, louder. It chilled him to the marrow of his bones. Everything was
too quiet, and the only thing silence will do to a person is drive them up a wall, simply to come crashing
down again, edging away to reveal a madman in his place.
Watch it , the Mediator’s voice was like a roll of thunder, low and rumbling and an indication of
the lightning yet to come.
But Xuan was on his toes at the edge of insanity and quickly tipping in.
“No!” he screeched, “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up ! Go away , why can’t you just leave me
alone?” A sob racked his entire body. “Why me? Why does it have to be me? ” Tears of frustration brimmed
up behind Xuan’s closed lids and he refused to open them, only — wait, wait… the tears were dripping
anyway, against his wishes, down his cheeks — oh they were so wet… so warm. They squeezed their way
out of the creased ravines of his eyes pressed shut. He had never realized there were so many.
Don’t you know? Vultures feed on corpses.
“Am I a corpse?” Xuan could hear the fractures in his own voice.
Well, we’re feeding off of you, aren’t we?
Obsidian black eyes slipped shut as Xuan made a sound of non-committal agreement. “I suppose
you are.”