Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 73

heading this way. And what can our government do? What have they done? Nothing,” he ranted, pouring yet another
cup, “They’ll be here in the blink of an eye, and everyone knows it-” at this point, I was starting to worry for his sobriety,
“I’m considering-no, I’m going to flee to the south before they hit this place. Ai-liu, have your parents said anything
about it?” he asked, and Ai-liu shook her head.
“They said that business is too good to leave,” Ai-liu said, clutching her cup tightly.
“There’s no point in conducting business if you’re dead!” her uncle spat, slamming the bottle onto the table. In his fury,
the bottle shattered into a dozen shards that flew in different directions, one narrowly missing my head.
“Oh my god! Emily, you’re bleeding!” Ai-liu gasped as her uncle quickly came back to his senses and paled.
“Good lord, I’m so sorry, Emily,” her uncle flew to my side, wiping my forehead carefully, “I’m sorry-my actions were
inexcusable-Emily?” I couldn’t reply.
The 1941 incident. Ai-liu would be there.
After thirty minutes more of constant fussing, picking up the glass and her uncle apologizing to me later, we finally left the
shop.
“Ai-liu,” I turned to her. “I think I know what’s going to happen.”
Ai-liu stared at me with wide, frightened eyes. “What is it?”
“I can’t tell you,” I mumbled, having watched enough time travel movies to know the first rule of no futuristic spiel
allowed while visiting the past. “But you must convince your parents to leave, Ai liu. Trust me on this one,” I repeated,
“You have to go.”
“But even so, where will we go?” Ai-liu squeaked. “Everywhere has been colonized by other countries.”
“I don’t know,” I groaned, “Perhaps Hong Kong? I don’t know, but you have to leave!”
Ai-liu opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. “I’ll try,” she replied firmly, and I could see her fighting back her fear.
“Hong Kong sounds like a good option. Business there is good too.”
“Good luck,” I said softly.
“I guess you’re going now?” she asked miserably, and I nodded sadly.
“I’ll see you in a few years,” I promised her, and she smiled. “Goodbye for now.”
We let go of each other’s hands, and I didn’t bother to look around before leaving the exhibit, only touching my new
wound once and wondering how I should explain it.
Our fourth meeting was an unavoidable tragedy.
Could I have done anything to prevent it?
I doubt it.
Sometimes, things are just not meant to be.