Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 145

The New Tales of Old Shanghai
Discovery Bay International School, Fernley, Sam - 12
I
stride strongly through the crowded, narrow streets. There are many old, beautiful, colourful buildings
either side. I can see bright reds, deep browns, shining yellows and cool blues. I walk against the flowing
river of people, like a salmon swimming up-river. They are heading towards the luxurious centre of
town; I am heading for the city. I march on, seeing less and less Western dressed tourists and more and
more traditionally dressed locals. I hear the distant rumble of construction spoiling the idyllic setting. There are no
street lamps now. I know now that I am in the rough part of the new city. I feel uncomfortable. There are sorrowful
drunks beating each other up, shadows everywhere. Then there are the whisperings about the sharp, glinting knives.
Creeping onwards, careful not to attract attention. “Arghh!” screaming, I smell fresh blood. I hurry to get
away from the screaming. A wiry man looks at me strangely as I gingerly tiptoe past. Finally I am where I want to be:
the place i know to sometimes be a treasure trove. Sifting through the pile of rubbish at the back, hoping to find
something to sell (who knows where it has come from, but I am not asking!). I pick up a small piece of quartz. I need
something more precious. I dig deeper. Then I find it lying there. A stone Chinese warrior, the length of my forearm.
The beautiful carved hair is long and tied back, it is holding a staff. When I pick it up, it is smooth as if it is polished.
It’s ruby eyes glint with anger. “Hey!” shouts a deep vicious voice, “What are you doing?” I turn round. I am faced
with a muscular eight foot giant. He is an immovable mountain towering above me.
“I … erm I, I, I a, a, am … erm here erm for erm I am here to get some stuff out of the trash,” I stutter
fearfully. I try to escape. Thud! Knocked onto the ground by a firm fist.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled. It sounded like a heavy object being pushed along gravel. I haul
myself back up, not wanting to be caught. There is a gap to run through, can I beat him? am I small and fast enough?
Whoosh! Through the gap and running. The buildings rise above me creating a concrete canyon. Racing to the
night market in the modern city, hoping to disappear into the crowds of stalls. In amongst the hustle and bustle.
Running strongly through crowds of hanging fabrics, people and carts.
Sprinting until I tire, I start to jog, crashing over carved oak wood carts, they are getting in the way. I smell
the fresh fruit, incense, dried fish and much more, people shouting at me as I race past. I knock into child wearing
beautiful dress. She cries out, people turn, they are disgusted but I cannot stop. A short distance and I turn a corner.
I'm exhausted but I’ve lost him. Safe. Standing there panting for breath, sweat pouring from my face, my heart
pounding in my chest. I can taste the salt dripping down my face.
The street lights light the alleyway and I am alone. I ask an old stall owner for the nearest antique expert. She tells me
it it’s on the other street, the street where all the neon lights are. I amble over, not sure whether I should go in or not.
It is decided, I am going in. Stepping inside and it's like I've gone back in time, it's like old town all over again. It
smells damp, musty and old, but also homely. I shuffle up to the counter. There is an old man, he has deep set eyes,
wrinkles. “Good evening sir, could you kindly tell me how much this fine statue is worth?”