Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 69

The Ming Treasures Voyages
Harrow International School Hong Kong, Hildebrand, Isabella - 12
A chorus of orders and screams seeped through the roof of the cellar. Once again, I kicked and punched
against the metal bars that prevented me from reaching the staircase. I was so absorbed in getting out of here,
that the chaos upstairs almost ceased to exist. When I stepped back for a breath, the wood planks creaked
under my weight. With an idea squeezing itself into my thoughts, I got on my knees and gripped onto a
loose piece of wood, pulling. As I held my desperate grip on the plank, my favourite badge that read ‘Rose
Fisher, at your service.’ fell onto the floor. I couldn’t pick it up. Not now, at least. The plank finally
separated from the concrete underneath, and I continued to rip off planks from the floor. What seemed like
a bucket load of frigid salt water made its way through the open window, soaking my clothes. The ship had
also been affected by the catapulting waves of ocean water and swayed to its own rhythm. I kicked the
concrete, and the thought-to-be-thick layer broke. It was incredibly thin. Without a second thought, I
drove my hands into the mud below me and dug. My entire consciousness was focused on digging and
gradually, after a lengthy period of time, a tunnel was formed. Upstairs, a man with a deep, hoarse voice
threatened to end another’s life. The other, who was doubtlessly trembling, screamed, “Rose Fisher! She’s
downstairs, in the 18th cellar-” I hissed a curse word and lowered myself into the short tunnel that
meandered underneath the bars and led to outside the cell. I heard the slamming of the door located at the
top of the staircase. I was crawling through the tunnel, then punched through the thin layer of dried
concrete. Crouching underneath the planks of wood, I counted to 3, and broke through the wood with as
much strength as I could muster. The slow steps that were taking their time just a moment ago sped into a
rushed manner.
There was a medium sized room that was used for cooking and lounging. In the situation that I was in, I
had to go to the closest room which would provide me a place I couldn’t be found. I bent down and
scrambled to undo my mud-engulfed shoes. Slipping out of them, I was sure to be light on my toes. If any
of the water emerged from my clothes while I made my way to the room, I’d give away my location. I got
onto my hands and knees, desperately searching for a place to hide. I found a basket big enough to squeeze
my skinny figure into. The footsteps were advancing. With a last glance at the entrance door, I popped the
lid over my head. “Rose…” The man taunted. “Come out of yer’ hidin’ spot.... ya’ already know ya’ won’t
make a successful escape. Ere’, we can make a deal. I get to kill yer’ flamin’ soul when ya come out of
hidin’, and ya get to cry fer’ help when nobody wanna come down ‘ere fer’ ya.” He cackled at his
supposedly funny comment and continued to roam the room. Peeking through the cracks of the basket, I
observed him as he took heavy steps on the opposite side of the room. He was checking everything; the
cupboards, baskets, under the tables, and anything else that had a possibility of hiding in. I could leave while
he had his back turned. I steadily lifted the lid, and put my hands flat on the ground. I let the rest of my
body slither out of the basket. I got onto my feet, placed the lid back on and hurried to the door. By habit, I
shut it. Realising the likelihood of the man acknowledging that I’d left the room, I sprinted for the staircase.
I heard the door heave open behind me. If I looked back, it would inevitably slow me down. I didn’t have
time to fritter away. I focused on getting to the staircase, and the sounds of wood complaining as I took
intemperate steps. When I turned a sharp left for the staircase, I caught a glimpse of the man. He didn’t look
harmless the slightest bit, now that I could view him clearly. His brown hair was held back with a cloth tied
around his forehead, his skin pale and infested with mosquito bites.
Under the redness of the bites, his freckles formed like droplets of water. As I thought everything over, I
wasn’t so sure they were freckles. Tattoos, maybe? As a marking of the association that he participated as a
member of? If anything, those marks on his skin weren’t freckles. He had a skinny and malnourished figure,
which made my chances of victory in battle with him higher. Running upstairs and hiding there would only
allow him to come up and notify the rest of the intruders of my escape. I’d made my decision. I was going
to knock him out cold. I didn’t bother with second thoughts. There was a flower pot on the side of the
staircase. I bent down and snatched the pot. It was heavy and rather hard to get a firm grip on, but I was
capable. When the bony man came charging from around the corner, I threw all my muscle strength into
catapulting the pot directly into his forehead. His body crumbled to the floor immediately. And with that, I
dusted my hands proudly. I continued to proceed up the staircase. I tried to make space for my eye in the
gap between the door and door frame. I couldn’t manage space without the likely event of the door grating.
I stepped back, took a heaved breath, and at a snail’s pace, pushed down the handle and opened the door.