Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 507

Officer Downie is seated on a chair staring at me through his tinted spectacles. Struggling, he lifts himself off the seat and adjusts
his badge. “Honestly John. We had people searching out there till midnight! After the arrests at the memorial, you just vanished. We
found you unconscious in a local alleyway! Your knuckles white and bloody. And you were drooling like a maniac. We cannot
accept such behaviour from an officer! Do you understand? Big old Buckley is furious!” I snort and I turn away from him. He sighs
in disgust and tells me to get ready.
Mei
The sun pierces the sky, flooding light into my room. Squinting, I shoot a glance at the clock on the wall. 5:56. Time to go. I smooth
down my hair and write a note. Then I slide out the window and run.
John
“Everybody outside and armed!” Buckley shouts.
I clutch the gun to my chest and join the single file line of officers. One by one we march past old Buckley. He gives me a dirty
look that follows me out the door and into the blinding sunlight. An ocean of Chinese protesters stands before us. Chanting,
screaming, waving their signs. I close my eyes and think about all the hate directed towards me, horrible burning hate. My hands
start to shake uncontrollably and my knees buckle.
“Stand ready to shoot!”
Oh god. Help me.
Mei
The police officers stand there, nostrils flaring. Their eyes, burning holes. Their guns, ready. One of the officers is so young. His eyes
deep with fear and uncertainty, his hands shaking. Strangely, he makes me feel safe. I close my eyes and block out the shouting, the
swearing, the chanting and relax. Then I hear gunshots.
This peaceful protest just turned into a killing field.
John
“On my count, 3, 2, 1. FIRE!”