Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 402

“We’ve been preparing for this since we were thirteen. It’s going to be fine,” she reassures. My sister May steps out from
the shadows and gives me a hug. “Mum and Dad would’ve been proud.” I embrace her tightly, and I step into the storeroom. Lee,
the burly technological genius, passes me the microphone. “Take a deep breath, Lou. You can do this.” He gives a reassuring smile,
and turns to the conducting panel. “And we’re on in three, two, one!”
I take a deep breath and try hard not to let my voice tremble. “Good evening, citizens of Shanghai. My name is Louise
Wu, and I’m here to strive for freedom…”
We may be young, and we will go through ups and downs, but in the end, we’ll still be fighting for freedom, because
there’s nothing left to lose.
Memories
St Paul's Co-educational College, Lai, Tin Long Kenaz - 15
Old Ben Seet had lived for a long time. He was a professional photographer, journeying his homeland, China, for beautiful
sceneries. He loved taking photos and loved the sceneries nature could provide, but as he aged he could not travel that much
anymore. He had bought a small, modest flat in modern Shanghai. Nothing flashy, but it would do for living.
Today was his 92 nd birthday. The old man rose from his chair, his pearly white beard gleaming in the moonlight. He was old but
still fit and had eyes that almost glinted with knowledge and wisdom. Ben walked towards his bed slowly. He was afraid of death
that he knew was coming soon. After all, he was diagnosed with a deadly illness. He was afraid that he would never be able to see
what he loved and holds dear ever again.
He lay on his bed, thinking of what he would like to do most in his life. He loved sceneries but sometimes he just wanted to go
back in the past and see the world through his own eyes, not photos. As a photographer, one of his favourite things to do was to
envision how the future of the world would look as well.
A cold wind rushed up his spine. There were soft footsteps, then a dark figure appeared. “Death comes…” it whispered, gliding
towards the old man. The figure was cloaked from head to toe, but its eyes gleamed purple.
Ben was mortified.
“Ben?” And for a second, the voice sounded human—almost female. Ben recognized the voice, one that he had heard for 70
years.
“Hannah?” Ben managed out. Hannah Yu had been his best friend at school, then his wife in the later years of his life until she
died. “What are you doing here?”