Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 69

The New Tales of Old Shanghai
Heep Yunn School, Leung, Angie - 15
Bygones
O
ur first meeting was one that had happened by pure accident.
It took place in the 1900s exhibit in the Shanghai museum, where I had wandered into after our little group of teenagers
had split up into pairs and drifted off aimlessly, in search of a comfortable spot where we could use our free time to type on
our phones, excitedly complaining to our friends about how bored we were.
Talk about a waste of a learning trip.
It was also by coincidence that upon entering, I spotted two boys from our group hovering suspiciously around a small
antique vase. Their dialogue became more distinct as I approached them.
“I dare you to touch it,” the first one hissed.
“Are you out of your mind? You do it,” the other replied.
“I dared you first,” person one answered. The second person hesitated, then sighed in defeat. “Fine,” he muttered. “But
keep a lookout for me.” Then to my horror and complete exasperation, he stuck out a tentative finger to poke the vase.
“What are you doing?” I snapped, striding over to the two morons, who had frozen like deer caught in headlights. “Get
away from that vase! Do you want all of us to get into trouble?” In my haste to bat his finger away, my hand knocked
against the vase in the most ironic twist of events ever known by mankind. As we watched, stricken, the vase wobbled
precariously and fell over with a loud clunk .
I bit back a curse and looked around in a panic, then realized that I was all alone. There were no other visitors, and the
security guard outside hadn’t heard the sound. The boys from before had already vanished into thin air. How responsible.
Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the vase and carefully tilted it back upright, grimacing at the dust and ash that clung to my
palm. Glancing around once more to check that no one had seen me, I was about to heave a sigh of relief-
“Miss?”
“AH!” I screeched, whipping my head towards the person frantically. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake, I swear! Please don’t
send me to jail-”
“Miss, why are you holding my hand?” the little girl asked, staring up at me with large, inquisitive brown eyes.
Where did the kid come from? What hand? I looked down to see a tiny hand slipped into my own.