Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 228

four
It was only when Xuan woke up did he realize that he had fallen asleep, and the tear tracks on his
face dried crusted and rough against his skin.
Then his legs led him out the back door and trekked the long trail that brought him to the
graveyard.
Gray and green and black, black, black — colors blurred in Xuan’s vision as his eyes once again
filled up with tears, this time not of frustration or anger but of relief.
Xuan sat on the damp earth in front of his sister’s grave. “I came to visit,” he cleared his throat,
blinking rapidly to banish the tears that were threatening to spill. The epigraph etched on the stone burned
his retinas, branded into his memory.
In loving memory…
The bridge of his nose ached, then a single teardrop glided down his cheek.
His eyelids fluttered shut, and the wind sifted through his hair like a gentle caress, and just for a
moment Xuan could imagine it was his sister there, comforting him. He exhaled, watching through half-
lidded eyes at the wisps of white smokiness that billowed from his lips.
He had never felt so at peace since she passed away.
Then the voices were back —