Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Página 377

“Knock him out!” I felt a flash of pain at the back of my head before falling into oblivion.
A feeling of euphoria seemed to have relieved the aching of my skull but still, I couldn’t remember who I was. I felt like I was
drifting outside my body and had detached from all feelings. I opened my eyes to a brown mist in a cold room surrounded by
granite. The mist was blown in through a vent barely seen in the ceiling corner. That was all I could perceive in my confused
mind.
An iron door I hadn’t seen squeaked open on its rusty hinges and a short and stout man stomped in. I recognized him as the
same one who had been arguing with the local officer at the port. There was a cruel glint in his eyes in his otherwise impassive
face when he stared down at me. For some reason, the sight of him caused a cackle to bubble up from my throat.
“Well, well. It looks like the drug’s taking effect quite swiftly. That’s expected, given your prolonged exposure to it. You’ve been
in here, breathing in this amazing essence for three days. The other people in Shanghai would have been enjoying it too, had it
not been for the stubborn Chinese authority.”
The room was swimming.
The man just giggled, kicked me with his boots and continued, “Very soon, they WILL! We’ll make you tell them how much
you adore opium and everyone’ll be flocking to buy some. I’ll get promoted for accomplishing what countless others have failed.
We British will be rich after the treaty’s signed - right here in Shanghai – the seat of Chinese authority!” He slapped me in the
face and sneered, “You look like an idiot, grinning like that. Cut it out or I’ll give you a smack on the jaw!”
The door slammed shut and his footsteps faded in the distance.
I lost count of how long I stayed in that dreadful place where I was tortured, to the delight of the British colonels. They
frequently withheld the opium that I so badly craved and mocked me until I latched onto them, begging for more. I felt bile
reaching my throat and puked all over the floor. There were puddles of vomit, both wet and dry, littering the floor. I didn’t have
any strength left to do much except crawling around like a disgusting worm. The need, the desperate need for the drug, was so
severe that I thought all life was meaningless without it.