Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 155

Mother has told me that I have a twin brother, who was huddled next to me when she saw us. Because she
needed some help in the family, she decided to adopt only one of us. I was chosen because I looked stronger.
Sometimes I wonder where Vanya is now.
“Don’t dawdle, boy!” I cringe and go back to work.
***
Yesterday I ventured to the so-called ‘dangerous world’ outside, so Mother increased the security and now
I have two butlers. I hate being chaperoned. I hate that every second of my life is planned for me. I hate being
cooped up in this ostentatious cocoon. I must escape to somewhere free, like the ghetto.
Impulsively, I walk out the door, leaving behind luxury and routine. I don’t look back.
***
Pulling rickshaws is tedious work. The muscles on my shoulders are sore, and blisters are forming on my
bare feet.
“Hurry up boy!” My uncle yells. I sigh, unwillingly rolling out of bed. Grabbing a bun, I rush out the door,
wincing as my unhealed blisters contact the floor.
After many hours of rattling wheels and raspy voices, I stroll around the ZuJie, chewing on a bun for
lunch, all the while looking for my next customer. Suddenly, I hear a female voice calling, “Vanya! Come here at
once! Didn’t I tell you to stay inside just three days ago? Come here immediately, you mischievous rascal!” Then I
realize – the woman is addressing me. I turn, and see a plump figure shaking a stubby finger.
But who’s Vanya?
Then it strikes me. My little brother. Vanya is still alive, and he lives… in the ZuJie? Blood rushes up into
my face. My brother is alive.
“Yes, I’m coming!” I say, not believing my luck.
***
I walk out calmly, towards the ghetto, towards freedom. Lost, I carelessly stroll into the maze of gray
wooden huts. Suddenly, to my right comes a shout, “Hey Stanislas, you need to go back to work soon!” To my
amazement, I see a stocky, bearded man shouting at me. I blink. But I’m Vanya, not Stanislas? Who is Stanislas? My
brother! He is still alive? My brother, Stanislas, part of my real family, is still, still… alive? My bubble of blissful
recollection is popped by the man’s gruff voice again, “Go to the rickshaw center! You’ll be late for work!” Stanislas
works already? I rush towards the center, grab a rickshaw, and suffer all day. My sore back aches from the weight of
the rickshaw, my arms are limp, while my feet are filthy from the dust on the roads.
***
I relax, enjoying the hot, sud-filled water caressing my back. This is truly luxurious.
“Vanya, it’s time for dinner dear!” I sigh, and step out of the shower. Why would Vanya even think of
leaving this heavenly bliss?
***
As the meager rays of early morning sun slant into the room, I go limp, ignoring the nagging commands of
my “uncle”. I am too tired to withstand another tortuous day of pulling rickshaws. Dragging me across the dusty
floor, my “uncle” admonishes me, “AYA! WHY ARE YOU SO WORTHLESS NOW?!” He sighs loudly.