Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 117

I went into the village today, across the river from our house. The smell of hot buns and dumplings making its way
across the docks. The cobblestone streets widening to engulf the many people of the town making their way across
to work, to farm, to live .
I remember when she left. I remember it all.
The howling of the storm visited each house with strong gusts of wind. Blowing huts into the ocean and paddy
fields into nothingness. I was in my room that night, patiently waiting for my parents to come home after a long
day of work. I made my way to the front of the house, looking outside the door frame. The wind brushing against
face, while the clouds darkened. I remember the feeling of being scared for the first time. Father’s radio at the table
started to make noise. The weather man was on and he started talking about a storm. A storm really big, swarming
around the city of shanghai and all of its provinces.