Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 136

He would take us into tents instead of cages to lock us in; he would sneak extra food for us, sometimes potatoes or
beans; he would tend to us when we were hurt, secretly at night. His face was always indifferent, his mouth a thin line
as he showed no emotions. Yet his eyes would betray his real thoughts and feelings, his actions showed how he much
he regretted for being helpless.
That was how I knew he was special.
He was a few years older than us, since he was not sent into the field. We were only children, he a teenager. Unlike us,
he was trained since childhood, patriotism drilled into his head. It was a miracle that he was not brainwashed, that he
could empathise enemies, that he could still treat us with respect. Sometimes at night as he stood guard, right outside
of the tent, I could make out whimpers