Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 378

There wasn’t any trace of sunrise and sunset. When I was counting down on my days, I was shaken from my restless sleep by the
man whom I learned was the commander of this whole operation. With my deteriorating eyesight, I could just barely make out
his livid face, with eyes so intense and yellowish shark-like teeth glinting in the dim light. He grabbed me by the collar and
dragged me out.
“Can’t believe those annoying officers would refuse to exchange your life for a trading port! They’re as stubborn as a mule,” the
angry man kept muttering under his breath, “We need to use our trump card now. A public execution will definitely do the job.
Shanghai WILL be mine.”
I could scarcely believe my ears. The words ‘public execution’ was spinning around my head. For the first time, I felt something
other than euphoria – RELIEF. A sense of relief, finally after all this torment, for being “free” from this hellhole. In my giddiness,
I kept pondering why my dear “comrades” had turned their back on me.
I was taken to the hustle and bustle of Shanghai where you could see the defensive wall faintly outlined against the backdrop of
the sky. The huge ball of flame pierced my eyes. I was the odd one out among a troop of smartly-dressed British soldiers
marching in perfect rhythm. As we passed, gasps floated up around us but no one dared to interfere. We arrived at one of the
most popular squares in Shanghai where a guillotine was erected. The sunlight hit the edge of the sharp blade, making it sparkle.
Despite the blazing heat, I felt a shiver down my spine.
We stayed in that position for what seemed like eternity. Suddenly, the crowd parted like the Red Sea and the officers fanned out
at the front, flanked by guards. I was delighted to see my comrades; surely they would bring an end to my suffering.
The commander gripped my hair and bellowed,” Officers of Shanghai, we’ve got one of your officers. To ensure his return, all
we ask for is making Shanghai a trading port. Refuse us, and this man loses his head. You have to give your answer now.” The
crowd tittered and stared expectantly at the leaders of the city. Hearing the words, I looked eagerly at them, silently beseeching
them to agree to whatever terms the commander had set. There stood my comrades, with whom I had shared many a drink of
wine together. They wouldn’t bear to witness the execution of their dear friend, would they?