Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 37

I stare down the barrel of a pistol.
Everything is frozen or at least occurs in slow motion. The man’s finger reaches up to the trigger. I fall onto my
knees as fast as I can. My father always tells me to turn to the gods in time of need. I pray to Ksitigarbha. Perhaps I
will be spared!
“I prostrate, go for Refuge, make offerings, please grant blessings i . The Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, who has unbearable
compassion for me and all sent..
The man pulls the trigger.
The bullet is ten centimeters away from my face. It feels like hours before it pierces my forehead. I sense a sharp
pain.
Darkness, absolute darkness. I am in a room where the floor is as cold as ice. As a beaming light appears and then
lanterns began to glow, I realize I am Dongyue Hall! I try to walk but my feet are stuck to the floor. A loud voice
booms overhead, recalling all I have done in my life. The last words hit me hard.
“Chen Manli February 16th,1941, 11:46pm. Dead. Cause of death: gunned down.”
Was that all there was to my life? Dead at 21?
“Hall of Souls,” the voice booms as a door opens into a dark gloomy hall. I slowly get up and walk to the hall,
shaking with each step. As I move my foot over the threshold, I think of fighting back but I realize my fate is sealed
by dying before my mother and father. For cing my family to suffer by my death is the worse thing I have done,
bad enough to go to the hall of souls.
The door slams shut.