Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 21

A Burning City
British International School, Shanghai, Puxi (BISS Puxi), Yan, Natarsha - 13
B
lack. Red. Kai stared into the fireplace, watching the turrets of red-gold flames lick at the grey stone around it.
“Tell me a story, Grandpa! Tell me a story!” The excited lilt in the voice of the little boy in front of him startled
Kai out of his reverie. He smiled. As the glowing embers of the fireplace lit up the room around him, Kai
seemed almost to fade back as he spoke, in that slow raspy voice of his, “You want to hear a story, boy? This is
one you’ll remember. This is a story of pride and honor and vengeance, of blood versus water, of the descendants of
the fiery dragon rising against the bloodied sun. This is a story of a city torn apart at its seams but still thrumming
with a strong, steady beating heart.”
October, 1939
1939 was a year of many things. It was the year World War II officially begun, and over 2 years into the Japanese
Empire’s conquest of China. It was a year of widespread panic and wreaked havoc. It was also the year Kai watched
his entire family die before his very eyes, lost to a ring of shadows and flames.
He saw the smoke first- thick plumes rising over the squat tiles of his gated home. He heard the crackling of fire
against wood and a sturdy snap. “I have no son called Kai.” The deep, throaty voice of his father carried over the
thick stone walls. Kai paused in front of the heavy brass knocker.
“Liar.” A heavily accented voice snarled back. “I’ve had enough of your games, old man.” A frantic shout and then
the sharp crack of a gunshot blasted the air.
“Ma!” An anguished wail. Jing, Kai’s little sister. Kai shrank back against the walls, his eyes wide open. “Ma.” He
whispered.
“I was going to be lenient,” the snarling voice said, “but I’ve run out of patience. I don't need your son anymore.
He’ll be dead soon anyway.” Kai felt blood pounding in his ears.
“Burn them all!” the man thundered. Desperate cries filled the air. Kai bolted. Moments later, he felt himself
knocked off his feet, flung into the sky before slamming back onto the ground with a sickening thud. The sky above
him exploded into an expletive of color, of gold and crimson and crackling ivory. That night a forage of history and
blood burned and fell, and out of the shards of ash and dust rose one very vengeful boy.
Three months later, Kai Ming enlisted into the army. Gone were his days of late-night partying in the infamous
nightclubs strewn across the fashionable streets of Shanghai. Gone was the flippant, pampered demeanor of the
shaoye who was to inherit the massive fortune belonging to one of the most prestigious families in the city. In his
place was the soldier Kai: the young man who had a heart burning with hatred and thoughts of revenge, who
wanted nothing more than to shed away the cowardly boy he’d been and kill the men, the soldiers of the Japanese
army, that had slain his family and wiped out entire towns and cities of his homeland.