Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 176

The Sound in the Morgue
Harrow Beijing, Zhu, King – 14
I
n a small town there is a man, he gets up very early every day and goes to bed very late. On his way home, there is
a small wood, which he has to cross every day. He bought an old car last year from a stranger, only because of the
cheap offer. He spent only a month salary to get that looking-well car. Everything is fine with it except the
braking system.
In the small town, there are not many people. The poor life over there has driven some of the locals out to the
bigger cities to seek their dreaming fortune. The rest of the residents almost know each other, although they don’t
talk too much, they know everyone very well. So the news of Mr. Blake buying a car flew into everyone’s ears
including Christopher, the dustman of the town.
One early morning, when Blake drove his car to work, he noticed Christopher was cleaning the old and nearly
rotten benches beside the pavement at which some elders often sit. As Blake was eager to show off, which he was
dreaming to do, he deliberately slowed down, pulled down the window, and shouted to Christopher,
“Hey, Christ, still dusting?”
“Yep, man” with an slighting scorn on his face, Christopher nodded his head to Blake.
“What about a ride? Freezing cold out there.” Said Blake.
“No, no, thank you, old pal, I have to work” refused Christopher.
“Okay, see you around ” Blake pushed the pedal hard to make his car with a noisy start-off. He determined to
mock at Christopher this way. Unfortunately, the poor brake system made the car nearly slipped into the gutter.
Christopher laughed out madly “Go to the Hell, stupid Blake.”
That day, Blake worked very hard, he carried several corpses into the stove of crematory. He worked for 5 years on
this job, according to his words, he had to take care of the dead. But the truth is nobody likes this scary job.
After he tidied everything around, it was quite late in the evening. He took his key out, dragged a pair of exhausted
legs, he started his car. He really needed a sound sleep.
Approaching the wood, he instinctively slowed down. He noticed there was a shadow in front, he blew the horn,
but the shadow was still there. He pushed hard on the braking pedal. Nothing happened. The car still rushed
forward. And then, a miserable scream arose. A man, yes, a man was knocked off with the great force. The proud, or
had been proud of car, finally stopped.
Blake opened the door, stormed to the man. “Oh, Lord, no, Christopher” but the man lying there without any
reaction, only the sorrowful moaning echoed in the wood. “Come on, Christopher, are you okay?” Blake held
Christopher’s face which was covered with blood coming out from Christopher’s mouth and eyes. There was still
no response from Christopher.
“What shall I do? What shall I do?” Blake murmured once and once again as he knelt down beside the badly
injured man.
“I can’t let people know I had killed Christopher, I will go to prison, I will lose everything, I will lose my job. Oh, I
can take Christopher to my workplace, yes, I have to take him there.”
He pulled Christopher with a hard force into his car.