Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 508

We blindly fire into the crowd. People start to fall, felled by our bullets. I see innocents cry into the chests of the dead and students
take their last breath. I see them cursing and screeching and fleeing. Downie- who is standing next to me- is still shooting, and
I watch as one of his bullets sails into the shoulder of a young girl. She screams and collapses. I watch in horror as blood spurts from
her wound. As her eyes start to close, I throw my gun onto the floor and rush to her. I kneel next to her and gently lift her off the
floor. Her limbs are limp, her face, pale. But she takes struggled breaths.
There is still hope.
Mei
I scream in pain and sink to the ground. Blood oozes from my wound, trickling down my arm. I stare at the dead lying around me.
The pavement is splotched red and people are on their knees screeching. I vomit. The bile sits on my lap. My throat burns. I curse
and bite my hand. Tears stream down my cheeks and dots appear in front of my eyes.
My life rewinds in my mind. I feel warm arms tighten around me.
My angel has come.
May 31th, 1925 - Shanghai
John
I sit on a wooden chair and gaze at the girl. I take in her bandaged shoulder, her jet black hair and her peacefully closed eyes. I
exhale and rub my hands together. Flakes of dry blood fall from my palms. I glance up at the girl’s father, who is clasping her hand
against his forehead. Silent tears run down his cheeks. He looks up at me. I swallow and a lump forms in my throat as he takes a seat
next to me.
“Her name,” He says, motioning towards the girl with his hand. “Her name is Mei.”
His English is shaky but he manages a sentence.
“It means beautiful.”
He takes my hand and gives it a tight squeeze.
Mei