New Journeys to the West
Heep Yunn School , Leung , Angie Lok Sze - 15
“ W
here ’ s daddy ?” Ting piped up , a reedy little voice that seemed to echo further than it should , bouncing off the walls of the tottering houses , snaking up the charred structures to seep through the bullet holes that peppered the walls , like an old rag that had been bitten one too many times by fleas . “ Where ’ s daddy ?” she bleated , and Zilan repressed the urge to claw wildly at the air , so that she might snatch the deceitful word before it drifted too wide , too far , to too many people in uniforms who would stare at them with hard , apathetic eyes … “ Daddy had to go somewhere else ,” she told her little girl , who stared up at her innocently , with eyes that held not a stint of malice , only an uncomfortable bewilderment . Ting curled her hand into a tiny fist , the skin smooth like silk within her own gnarly , wrinkled claws that had seen a decade of stinging lye water and the splash of hissing oil . The years of bitter resilience now reflected in Zilan ’ s hardened mouth as she said sharply , “ He told us we would meet up in Hong Kong , so walk faster if you want to see him sooner .” She quickened her pace , forcefully dragging Ting along so that her feet stumbled over the debris , kicking up puffs of ash and rubble . Ting blinked , but kept her mouth shut . Young as she was , even she could sense it in the air--an oppression so sharp that she could feel it nicking her skin , drawing tiny pinpricks of blood . “ Hurry ,” Zilan urged , desperation tainting her voice . They turned at a corner and started down a narrow forest road , the once vibrant greenery now covered by an achromic ash that settled down on the smothered leaves as lightly as fallen snow . But it was a bridge , and at the end of that crumbling , treacherous passage stood their last hope . It was better than the utter nullity that they had just left behind . They had gotten no further away than six miles before the village erupted into a blaze of fire , the sweltering heat scorching their skin even from a distance . Zilan forged on--there were no other survivors in the remnants of their village anyways . Ting dared a glance back , and flames danced in two pools of dark brown , before they dwindled , sputtered , and petered out . A single strand of smoke spiralled languidly into the air .
They spent a week stumbling down the forest path , forging through the shrubs that hooked onto their cheongsams and sliced thin red lines across their arms and legs . The woody biome slowed them down . Each snap , each sneeze and each cough might send a soldier running , for one never knew where they would be listening , when they would be listening . To Ting , it had felt like a century before they finally burst out of the woodland , the narrow path opening up into a wider road .
“ We ’ ll stay for one night , and no more ,” Zilan warned as they approached Shenzhen and a city loomed into view . Perhaps it was Zilan ’ s tired eyes playing tricks on her , but under the afternoon sun , the city seemed nothing less than an idyllic bubble compared to the devastated ruins they had left behind . Golden rays cascaded down , bathing the streets in a warm , hypnotic glow while the calls of merchants rang across the street , selling their wares . Intertwining with the voices of those who responded , it promptly spiralled upwards into the air , a lively foxtrot that hopped and waltzed over the hustle-and-bustle of those on the cobbled road . Zilan and Ting passed a donkey with a cart attached to its harness , clippity-clopping down the road as its tail moved in rhythm to swat the cloud of flies surrounding it . Two girls fell in stride with them for a heartbeat , before the younger one suddenly dashed forwards only to return to the older one who shouted after her crossly , her pigtails and the ends of her crumpled cheongsam flying out as she merrily skipped back to her sister . They passed fruit vendors and shoe-shiners and a barbers , where Ting saw the hairdresser raise a pair of rusted scissors and snip off the thick , oiled braid of a young man sitting on the stool . No one went up to them or made a comment , yet Zilan could feel the eyes on them , gliding over their tattered dresses , taking in their soot-stained faces , noting the bruises and welts that had cropped up on their feet . No one spoke , none proffered their pity or unveiled their repulsion , for the stench of fear radiated off each and every observer . Ting sneezed . “ Their looks are itchy ,” she mumbled , rubbing her nose on her sleeve , only to succeed in further smudging her face with soot . Zilan bent down and scooped her up . “ No matter ,” she said , straightening up . Ting ’ s tiny feet dangled in the air , black and blue patches with angry welts on both toes . An exhausted head lay limply on Zilan ’ s chest , and out of the corner of her eye , Zilan saw a young mother grab the hand of her child and vanish into a hidden alleyway .