Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 135

Out of the blue, a light shone into my eyes, blinding me temporarily. “You! Down on your knees, hands in the air,
now!” A soldier came, eyes hard and cold, gun in his hand, a torch in another. A hand gripped my leg, and I looked
down. His cerulean orbs glinted dangerously in the dark as he cocked his head slightly into the deeper part of the
forest, signalling me to leave.
I would regret, I knew. However, I turned around and ran. My legs were on fire as I rushed into the woods, stray
branches cutting my knees and ankles as I ignored the frustrated cries of the soldier. I tuned out the obstreperous
gunshots that rang in the air, which were followed by a familiar howl of anguish. Tears streaked down my face as I
dashed on into the unknown darkness, not daring to stop, not wanting to be killed.
Run. Don’t look back. Run. Don’t come back. Run. Run. Run…
His voice resounded in my head as I heeded his words, and soon I reached the edge of a cliff. That was when I turned
back, that was when I allowed myself to cry it all out.
Emotions poured out like flood, drowning me in the midst of the tempest. Grief, for his death; rage, for my cowardice;
relief, for my escape. The chain that held all my emotions in my heart was broken, and for the first time, I was free.
I looked down, noting the sea of fire surging my village. My home. The once familiar city of Old Shanghai was gone,
devoured by the Japanese. There were once banners flapping in the sky, and rickshaws pulling across the streets. I
would look out of the window and into the endless sea, at the ships parking at the port. There was also this statue of
an angel, standing gloriously above all buildings. But now, they were all burned down. I seethed at the thought of the
Japanese destroying everything in their sight, killing all men and taking women and children back to their camps for
experiments.
I lied down on the ground, tilting my head to look up at the sky and I engulfed in my thoughts. Where had it all gone
wrong? The plan had been simple: to escape. We were supposed to leave, quietly, to seek for a new life beyond those
camps, to live together until we die of old age in each other. Where had it all gone wrong?
I could still remember it, the first time we met. It was he who changed my life, he who led me to look for the beyond,
he who taught me to dream, dream a life of wealth, a life where we can be truly together; away from war.
His eyes were what caught my attention. They held not pride for what his fellow people had done, nor happiness at
the sight of the bloodbath, nor amusement at the sight of us tortured. Instead, they hid the hatred, horror and bitterness
locked deep within. He watched, face stony as his fellow people whipped us and sunk us into water tanks, but his eyes
were a different story.
That was how I knew he was different.