Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 387

A stroke. A shade of dark orange lined with dingy yellow splattered onto the white canvas. He convinced her it was love
between them. Ironically, he gained her trust through blatant lies and broken promises of love. He manipulated her, her
innocence and her broken soul- beguiling her to concede to his every will and request. They married on a rainy Sunday in
Cathay Hotel.
A stroke. A shade of black splattered onto the white canvas. He still coveted more from her already besmirched soul - and
unlike what she would do in the olden days, she voluntarily gave everything to him. William was born by the onset of winter.
Mama bought a new canvas for herself. She painted it with new memories, new personalities, new attitudes of life, new rules
to go by, new people- a new family. She so casually painted a family of three- a one that I wasn’t in it.
I was her past, and would forever be absent in her future.
***
Each step was a testimony to my dignity. A validation of my rebellion. In my clammy and damp palms gripped Father’s old
leather travel bag, which was filled to the brim with my possessions. I left home due to an impulsive autoschediastic decision: to
leave and find a place where I would be cherished and loved. To think of it, it was an irrational decision. Having lived in the
southern city for my whole life, I assumed I would know my way round here like the back of my hand but I was lost. In the city
of ‘New York of the West’ , torn between reality and memories; I didn’t know where I was heading to, nor did I know what I was
doing. I was physically present, I could be seen walking down the never-ending Edward VII Avenue- yet my soul flitted
between reality and the deepest memories of my childhood, that were left locked in the four-storey building that I once called
home.
“ Xiao jie !” A pair of strong arms gripped me by the shoulder, dragging me from honking automobiles that dominated the
road. Caught by surprise, I stumbled into, what I presume, my rescuer’s chest. The impact drove the breath out of me, and I was
left lying limp against his sturdiness, irregular pants attacking me vigorously.
“Are you lost?”
His voice was a calm silvery; it reminded me of a long lost voice - Father’s when he sang Dark was the Night, Cold was the
Ground in his study. Tilting my chin up slightly, I shot him a glance through my shutters.
His eyes.
In my soul th ey went, penetrating my deepest, most inner thoughts. I felt exposed and unarmed; he was reading me like an
open book, and there was nothing I could do to repudiate his intrusion.
***
“Why. Tell me why, Ellie. You have the money, why don’t you go?”
It has been 4 months since I’ve been living under Pierre’s roof in the French Concession. Since the day he saved and took
me under his wings, it was as clear as the bright blue sky that I was definitely attracted to him.
His voice was like music to my ears.
His touch ignited sparks that danced across my skin.
His scent calmed my wild, beating heart.
His gaze was an intense spear- penetrating my soul into my hidden pyre. I felt vulnerable and naked of my armour under his
godly stare. It was downright uncomfortable, yet it felt right. Oh, so right.
“Ellie. Tell me Ellie, please?”
Tears pricked my eyes. I would lose face and dignity if I told him about my feelings towards him, let alone my intentions of
staying under his roof. He was my first and only love. And I was not ready to give him up, yet.