Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 119

I tried to stand dazed staggering around like a drunkard in the streets dirt and grit mixed with the blood in my
mouth, the Japanese men laughed hysterically. One of them approached me raising the butt of his rifle, I raised my
hands to shield myself from the incoming blow but it was in vain as he struck me back to the ground.
I didn’t know what to do, lying head down face buried in the ground. As the man planted his foot my back and
gripped my short cut hair. A cold chill went down my spine as the muzzle of his rifle rested itself on the back of my
neck. I knew the gun well, the M1 Garand 9.5 pounds worth of steel, wood, and death likely taken from one of
our own dead soldiers. I had seen the guns often enough with the nationalist militants parading themselves around
the streets of Shanghai proclaiming their victories against the Japanese invaders in the south, but all of us know the
truth, the truth of thousands dead, the truth of the slaughtered men, women, and children that lay in the northern
prefectures. I heard the chatter I closed my eyes tears bleeding through my bruised eyelids as I hoped for someone,
something, some miracle to save me.
And as quickly as I hoped for a savior, my heart was full of dread as I heard the voice of the wonderful Xiao Mei
screaming my name.
“NO! XIAO MEI RUN” I yelled my at the top of my lungs, but nothing came out but an exasperated mumble
my voice having been muffled by the dirt. As the guards were distracted I stood and decked the soldier across the
face, as he fell to the floor I grabbed his gun and turned it onto his friends killing both of them. I stood gasping
relishing my victory but it was short lived as the soldier I had punched earlier tackled me to the ground, wrestling
the gun out of my hands he swiped the butt of his rifle across my face once again drawing blood from my nose. I
lay gasping for breath cradling my bloody nose in my hands as I watched in horror as he called out to 2 other men
who in turn grabbed Xiao Mei and dragged her away.
I didn’t know when I passed out, but when I came to I was chained to a wall in what appeared to be a classroom.
The walls were painted a dull grey, with wooden desks piled high in one side of the room. I wasn’t alone,
accompanying me were 4 other men all chained to the wall by thick strands of rope. We sat there for what seemed
like a year until finally a Japanese officer walked in 2 of his bodyguards following suit dragging what seemed to be
another man behind them.
He told us through the aid of a translator that we were to be executed within a week. At first I didn’t realize why
I had been chosen until I remembered that I had attacked and killed a high ranking officer in the Japanese army.
The days leading up to our execution were filled with pain, as the Japanese tortured us. But it was not the physical
torture that hurt me, despite my bloody exterior, burned hands, and crushed fingers I was still able to shrug off the
pain, after all my death was at hand. But no it wasn’t these types of torture that hurt me, rather the memory that
my beloved had been stolen away and likely abused by the soldiers. My nights were full of sorrow, and my days full
of suffering.
And on the finally day, the morning of my execution. I woke to the sound of gunfire in the courtyard. And all of
a sudden 3 men burst into the room guns in hand. Their faces were pale almost shining. These men had long,
round brimmed helmets. They were the Australian marines of the European quarter coming to rescue us.
They broke through the ropes that bound us to the wall, and took out into the courtyard where the firefight was
taking place. We weaved through the courtyard running past bullets. However I was unable to react as a bullet
grazed the length of my arm, but I kept on running until we were finally liberated.
They told us that we were heading south, to Hong Kong where the Japanese hadn’t yet occupied the city. And that
is where they took us life was happy for a few months until the Japanese occupied the city, however despite that
it was nothing compared to the horrors I experienced in Shanghai. And so I lived my days out past the Japanese
occupation to this very day.
I never knew what became of Mei or my Baba, all I know is that they must be happy that I survived the war and
that I lived out to a ripe old age. I draw my strength from loss, my resilience comes from them and I want to thank
them for all the good there was in my hell of a life. They are the reason I am alive and I am thankful.
I love my family that is all I need to say, that is all I have to say.