Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 356

“Exactly. They come from a world where there is more than enough.” His bald head glinted in the
white glare of the fluorescent perimeter lights. He squinted, pacing back and forth, like a sailor on
watch. His speech no longer seemed directed at us, but at himself.
“This time of year, now, we must remember Darwin’s theory of evolution. Only the fittest can survive,
while the rest are ground into the dirt. You must ignore those who try to weaken you.
This is why we need to enforce costs. This is how we must operate!”
As he looked around, and we could have sworn that when his gaze landed on Mei’s vacated space in
line, something flashed over his face. In a second, it was gone.
Within the next month, the Shizhang left. It was said that he had moved to a better factory, but it
seemed very mysterious to us.
Yong had dyed her hair a shade of purple, and she had exchanged the boy from a nearby clothing
factory for a boy who drove trucks. Apparently, she had been fond of the Shizhang. “The new shizhang
isn’t as good-looking,” she sighed with her lips pouted. Yong showed us trinkets - cheap keychains,
rings made of plastic - that the Shizhang had afforded her, having discreetly tucked them in her pockets
during inspections. Who would have known?
Suoli tacitly celebrated Shizhang’s departure. “I heard the Shizhang beating his secretary the other
morning,” she muttered, swallowing her soup with one gulp. Multiple accounts affirmed this - he had
been heard, through bathroom doors and during infrequent deliveries to the head offices, to have
kicked the Hushis and mocked them when they could not stand.
Tianmu remained panicked. She had taken up the habit of pulling at her hair, so that now large clumps
of it had fallen out. “It’s all a conspiracy,” she would continue to mutter, while banging her head
against the dormitory wall.
“Stop,” we exhorted her, trying, unsuccessfully, to pull her away.
We were not prepared for the feelings we couldn’t quite describe. Quietly, we let our conclusions settle,
like bubbles in warm soda. There was so much we didn’t know, we gave up and returned reluctantly to
our duties.
We were not prepared for Mei’s re-emergence. Every now and then, Mei would still send messages on
Wechat - photos of country scenery, unedited selfies. We tried to chat with her, often with vague
greetings that we tried to make more casual than we felt, like “how’s it going?” and “long time no see!”
She never replied though, having seen our messages. After a while, we stopped posting birthday wishes
on her profile.
We were not prepared for the fire. The alarms had not sounded when the smoke started to weave its
way underneath the dormitory door. Only the swirling red lights of the alarms, as everybody ran
towards the exits.
Some of us noticed the pileup of bodies in one of the exits.