Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 479

Saturday School
The Independent Schools Foundation Academy, Shen, Hannah - 12
I
t is a bright and sunny Saturday, January 16, 1937. I am sitting outside on my little wooden stool with a bowl of hot congee
perched on my knee. Across from our home doorway is a woman feeding a child with sticky rice and down the street I can see
Old Huang selling some fish. Despite the cold stones under my feet, I love sitting outside to read and eat as the streets are always
lively and bustling with noise.
I’m Ling Hua and I am 10 years old. I am lucky to have an older sister named Ling Mei, who looks out for me. My father Zhong
is away in the army and my mother Wen stays at home washing clothes and cooks food for us, whatever she can find. Since we
don’t have much money, we only eat rice and congee for all our meals, and can barely afford school fees and clothes. The door
behind me creaks, and I turn around. It’s my sister, Mei, clutching her jacket tight around her thin and frail body.
“It’s time to go now to Saturday school” she says to me, handing over my torn and stained school bag.
I head back into the house and place my bowl into the sink.
“Bye mama!” I call to my mother.
I follow Mei to the tram stop just around the corner from the street that we live on.
“What will we do for the New Year?” I ask Mei, realizing that I haven’t seen him for a few days.
“Don’t ask me,” Mei replies with a sigh.
The tram comes down the railway and stops right in front of us. I hop on, and as Mei drops a couple of coins down the machine,
I run to get a spot next to the window. The tram slowly lurches forward. A bunch of people are huddled around a corner of the
tram, whispering worriedly to each other.
“What are we going to do?”
“Will we die?”
The tram driver rings a bell, and we jump down to the street, but my chirpy mood is gone, as the tense atmosphere and adults’
whispering has made me feel anxious. This doesn’t change as I see Chen Laoshi standing at the school gate holding a piece of
paper. She looks over to me bleakly.
“Ling Hua, school is dismissed! Go home.” Chen Laoshi announces, then she mutters, “Stay safe!”
When I return home with Mei, we sit together cuddled in a soft blanket trying to stay warm, and trying not to worry. The
door opens again, letting in freezing wind, as my mom steps in the house, clasping a bag of rice. Suddenly, there is a huge bang
outside, and then long, hysterical screams. I peer out and to my shock, there is fire everywhere, ash in the air, and crumpled homes.
Are we being bombed? Mei grabs my hand and Mother grips my other. They pull me out of the house, where we dodge
building rubble and dead bodies lying on the ground. Deafening rumbles and bangs are in the background as we run for the
underground shop where my aunt Ai works in. We are taken into a basement where we all hide, fearful and cramped. Suddenly, the