Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 505

May 29th, 1925- Shanghai West Island School, Green, Leia - 12 John T he doors burst open and we rush in. The face of the dead man hangs from the ceiling and candles light up the room like fireflies. The citizens scream in terror. “Everybody leave immediately!” Yells sergeant Buckley, spit spewing from his mouth as he speaks. Floods of Chinese spill out the door. But the brave ones stay. “Arrest anyone who disobeys my orders!” Buckley bellows again. An innocent kneels before the hanging painting. I hesitate before grabbing the student and binding his wrists together with metal handcuffs, depriving him of his freedom. He is sobbing, his hands, a protective cage over his face. As I lead him to the car, I whisper in his ear. “Sorry.” His hands melt away, revealing eyes of sorrow. We stare at each other, eye to eye, before he is pushed into the police car. He buries his head in his hands and I watch him drive away and disappear round the corner. Then I run. I sprint away from my living hell and into a narrow alleyway. I vomit, over and over again. Tears stream down my cheeks and my throat burns. Gasping, I slump down onto my knees and I cry. Emotions flood me. Anger, despair, guilt. I punch the wall. Blood sprouts from my knuckles. It feels good. Mei “This morning, we had a memorial service for a man we lost, and the British barge in and tell us to leave. And when our bravest stayed to show them that we deserve respect- they were arrested! They think that they have the right to arrest 6 innocents from OUR future generation!” Ling Han screams to the students that fill the secret back room. An uproar erupts from the crowd. The noise hits me with such intensity, I feel faint. I stare at Ling Han. I see his contorted face and the bulging vein on his forehead. His eyes scream determination, but deep down there is an overwhelming desperation. “We have a voice and we must USE it! A peaceful protest shall take place tomorrow, 7am, at the police station. The British cannot keep treating us like dung!” The British. Our enemy. The monster. Greedy for power, like a lion is for his meat. If we protest in front of the police station, we enter their den.