Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Non-Fiction 2017 | Page 39

The man was standing there, with a gun pointed to a woman’s head. She was weeping, screaming.
“Don’t kill me, please! I have children!”
The man looked at her like he looked at me, his eyes piercing and clawing its way through her soul. He
squeezed the trigger. I turned away, my eyes squeezing shut. All I heard was the woman’s scream
ending abruptly.
When I turned back, I screamed in horror, running up to the woman lying on the ground. The
woman’s lifeless eyes stared at mine. Her limp body was twisted like a gnarly old tree. Her face was
mutilated; the beauty was destroyed with one bullet-hole through her skull.
For a second, I saw the woman’s face again, but I did not feel remorse. Instead I felt happy, content.
The man looked down at me, there was no sense of surprise in his face, all I saw was a hard cold stare
back. I was frozen to the spot. My legs did not obey my thoughts. The man’s voice became quieter
and more dangerous.
“I know what type of person you are, you desire power. I see it in your soul, you remind me of my
younger self. If you work for me, I will grant you that one day. If you decide not to help me, I’m afraid
you won’t like the consequences.”
That sentence rang forever in my head like a repeating nightmare. I was a changed boy after what I
witnessed.
3
I was running again. Like I have done 364 times before. I cradled my precious cargo as I slithered
through the dark alleys. There seemed to be eyes everywhere, Gleaming, shining, staring. I kept on
going, only boosted by pure adrenaline and genuine fear. Run. Run. Run.
4
It was just the another normal day, sitting on the edge of the harbor watching the waves roll by one by
one. A box of Opium would be ready for me to deliver. I ran and ran until a familiar site loomed over
the horizon. Monkey Man’s compound. He inspected all the seeds as he normally would. Everything
seemed normal until I picked up what was supposed to be my meal. The bag felt heavier then usual. I
reached in, I felt something cold, something hard. As my fingers traced the outline, a picture began to
form in my head. A barrel, a handle, a creeping realization began to dawn on me. My spine tingled as I
pulled out the object. It was a gun, a revolver to be more precise. The shiny metal glinted in the
sunlight.
As I inspected the gun, it had a beautiful red wood handle and the metal was smooth and impeccable. It
was almost as if I could feel its aura. It was strong, powerful. The fate of twelve men lay in my hands.
But I noticed something unusual. There was something stuck in one of the ch ambers. I pulled it out,
leaving a satisfying pop in its wake.
It read:
Zhi Shang, to commemorate your outstanding consistency at your job, I present to you this revolver as
a acknowledgement of your work.
It was unusual gift. But at this point, I would take any gift that was thrown at me. I tucked it into my
belt not intending to take it out again.
I decided to walk through the busier streets today. I missed seeing the street vendors and the bustling
activity. But it didn’t feel the same, I felt like there was always someone was staring at me. My sixth