Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 369

“Enough to know you’ve drowned yourself in your history obsession in order to blind yourself from
your future. Your savings will run out, and I can’t afford time to help you anymore. What will you do
then? Starve on the streets?”
I was about to continue when he finally managed to wrench away from my grip; it was clear he was
in obvious distress. Time seemed to slow down the next few moments; he pulled free but the force
made him stumble backwards, which in turn caused him to trip over the model of the city, considering
it took up most of the floor. And he fell, right on top of his creation.
The aftermath wasn’t pretty. The clay buildings were knocked over, some cracked, some with
pieces or whole chunks broken off. The wall surrounding the city was struck just as bad; parts of the
wall were knocked over or obliterated completely, the gates have had parts broken off, with the roofs
where he spent so long sculpting each meticulous detail chipped off and ruined. Even the warrior he
had been carrying around had his head broken clean off. He laid there in a state of shock; he couldn’t
even register the damage done. He gawked at the city, and then turned to me, with hopelessness in his
eyes, but I was just as horrified about the situation as he was.
We stayed in the same spot for what felt like hours as we stared at each other, unable to process the
circumstances we’ve found ourselves in. He had lost his most personal treasures in his collection, he’d
either have to start anew, or abandon his project, where he wouldn’t have the heart to even look at his
collection. I didn’t expect to accomplish it like this, but the walls had been torn down; it was up to him
to decide if he takes the help he needs or rebuild his old fortress back.