Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Winners 2020 | Page 15

Hong Kong Young Writers Awards 2020
When we reached the end of the glass tunnel, the pair of bronze door slid open, revealing
the dusk landscape.
“This way please.” Holly said, and we stepped into the glass-paned elevator.
The descent was slow, and we noiselessly slid down fifty floors.
Then, they surged upwards, tumbling across roofs and attaching itself onto buildings for
a few moments, before being swept away again. The paper was thin and the ink was still wet.
Cheap paper and cheap ink. In the brief moment it decided to rest its surface, it left half a
letter of Chinese inscription stained on the glass.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Merely blown up trash,” Holly said.
“Today is a rather windy day,” my mother comments.
“Yes, but what did it say?”
“Please don’t trouble yourself with it. We are currently still working with the cleaning
companies to deal with the recent growth in excess trash; you will not see anything in three
months’ time.” Holly said.
“But-”
“Don’t be rude.” My mother said, so I didn’t respond. The elevator lapsed into the
previous quiet.
On floor two the door slid open. In front of us were three walkways to three gigantic
glass-roofed elevated trams.
“The tram isn’t open for the public use yet, but would you like to give it a ride?” Holly
offered.
“Of course,” my father said, “may I request to sit on this route?” He pointed to the tram
in the centre. Kowloon.
“That might not be the best option; Kowloon is still being reworked.” Holly said.
“Yes, but can we?”
“I suppose so.”
Holly led us into the tram. With a rumble, the train gurgled to life before propelling itself
across the tracks, and soon, across the open sea. We skimmed near the sea level, rose to arch over
a passing cargo ship, and slid back to the railways on land. We shot across Kowloon and I stared
as the tall sleek towers of Hong Kong Island recedes into the old concrete buildings of Kowloon.
The train slowed to a stop; any recoil was undetectable. You have arrived at the final
destination. Doors will open on the left. Please mind the gap and stand back from the doors.
“The reconstruction just began three months ago. This is to be a new business centre.”
Holly said and instructed us to follow her.
Below, excavators clawed down concrete infrastructure, bulldozers shovelled the
collapsed remnants, and dump trucks drove the excess materials away. Buildings upon
buildings were being torn down and methodically cleaned up. Grey, the landscape was grey.
It was lacking in the iridescence that accompanied the landscape in Southern districts of Hong
Kong. Industrialised smoke arose from underneath our platform, and each building looked
dull under the afternoon rays.
Red.
In the distance came a distinctly red piece of paper. It swerved around in loops and gilded
towards me. I reached out to grasp it, and my index barely brushed the tip of it before a strong
breeze swept it the left of me. Sliding my hands across the banister, I ran down the stairs and
snatched the evasive paper.
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