Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 118

Fung
Island School , Montajes , Anthony Joseph - 14

I grew to become who I am today because of the frigidly cold Chinese winter of 1983 , the day the empire of the rising sun set across the south consuming the lives of 60 million innocent men , women , and children . And I realize that after 50 years those words still come back to haunt me . At night I can still hear her screams echoing down the corridors of my mind , driving me to the brink of madness till I wake up in a cold sweat my hand grasping the scar down the length of my arm . And so I have dedicated the past 50 years of my life tirelessly reminiscing on a past that no longer exists . My name is Fung Xing and this is my story .

The early days of my childhood were alright , I lived in the slums of Shanghai on the outskirts of the city , away from the bustling crowds and politics of the European districts . Life was good enough , my father was able to provide however feeble his job as a fisherman was , he still came back every day with enough fish for dinner , and once we finished whatever was leftover was traded to the farmers for rice and vegetables the next morning , sometimes even chicken . But that was before the war when all the food wasn ’ t rationed off for the effort against the Japanese . I never knew my mother , some prostitute from the inner parts of the city . My father rarely spoke of her but when he did his voice was bitter , full of regret and sorrow . However despite all these hardships we were able to live in peace .
I was a regular yet odd looking boy , with the typical features of any young boy but with only one difference the deformed twist of my mouth , I remember how one time when I was 3 years old the neighbors would stare and the children jeer whenever Baba and I walked through the streets as if I were some freak show some grotesque spectacle like the monsters in the stories Baba had told me as a child . And one day I couldn ’ t take their abuse anymore and I hung my head down my eyes welling up with tears , but Baba just glared gripping my hand in a vice . “ Don ’ t mind them Xing Xing , you are far handsomer than any of them ” but he never knew that it wasn ’ t my looks that saddened me but rather my isolation , the fact that I would never be like the other children .
However despite how harsh the comments were I always had an ally a guardian angel to watch my back , and her name was Xiao Mei . We had been friends since birth both our fathers being fishers and all . I never thought much of her at first but as the years went on our bond strengthened . We spent most of our days playing in the water , building rafts so that we could sail for what seemed like an age before we finally arrived at our homes soaking wet . One spring day on the eve of my 14 th birthday we lay together in the sand talking about each of our own mediocre lives and about what we planned to do in the future and if someday we might marry and live together the rest of our lives , she bent over and gave me a kiss . she was so happy then . And I never knew that it would all change .
January 1938 . The winter came , a cold unforgiving wind blew through our village unbeknownst to the far greater storm that lay ahead . I woke on the morning of the 28 th of the first month to the sound of long high pitched squeal . I stood annoyed having been woken from my peaceful slumber and walked out into the street . And as I set foot out into the street a sudden burst of heat and sound went off as I was literally blown off my feet . I felt as if I had been kicked by a shaolin grandmaster my stomach and chest was aching , my head throbbing with pain .
As I came to my senses all I could hear were the screams of people as the screaming sound of a dozen black dots as they circled overhead . Little did I know that those dots in the sky were the infamous IJAAS Nakajima KI – 49 heavy bombers notorious for their destructive power . Another explosion went off this time about a 200 feet away , I watched as a building seemed to throw itself into the air lingering there for almost a second before crashing back down to earth in a fiery mess of rubble and timber . I ran . That was all that I cared about as my survival instinct took over . I ran despite the chaos , despite the suffering , despite the death I ran and ran and ran until I collapsed in a heap on a pile of rubble .
When I came to I found myself surrounded by men in uniforms , at first I was overjoyed the nationalists have come to save us . But my joy was short lived as I saw that the men bore a flag with a red sun on a white sky , I knew what it meant these men were Japanese soldiers .