The Gobi Desert- Stoned
King George V School, Angela Tsui, Fiction: Group 3
I
have lived here in the desert forever. I have no clue on how I was born, or how I even
came to exist. I cannot move, nor can I speak. I am simply there, observing the desert for
eternity. I do not despise this way of living, yet nor do I love it. I feel no pain, which is
painful in a way by itself. My greatest wish is for someone to look at me. From thousands of
years of observance, I have discovered that not all people are friendly. They hurt each other with
broadswords and penetrate others’ with arrows. However, I haven’t felt pain for such a long time
that I almost yearn for it. Kill me, wound me, and bury me, but… just look at me. Whether it may
be a quick glance or a long, scrutinizing stare, all I want is for someone to acknowledge me and
my existence, because if no one does, then I’ll start doubting my own existence. However, if it
was true that I didn’t exist, then just what in the name of Buddha was I?
It was a rainy day when I witnessed another battle since eons ago. There was an alarming
rumble coming from the ground, and I automatically knew that there was a battle going on.
You see, being a rock has it’s’ advantages. I am granted a heightened sixth sense that gives me
amazing peripheral vision. Fortunately, the battle was not occurring where I currently was, so I
was relieved of the fear of being trampled on and kicked about. For a good long while, I simply
sat there, relishing in the sound of men being chopped down whilst screaming cries of anguish.
Honestly, this was a once-in-a-decade entertainment for me. I tried to visualize the battle in my
head, the way men would wildly swing about their broadswords, attempting to chop down the
enemy beside them. I was in the middle of creating an epic scenario of a soldier gouging out his
enemy’s eyes when a sharp, worried voice interrupted me of my thoughts.
“Where the blithers are we?”
I shifted my vision to the left to see a small band of soldiers with an obviously worried leader
at the front. He was a burly man wearing overly padded armor with a sword at his side, coupled
with a black beard and hawk-like eyes. Apparently, he was lost in the desert, and was missing the
battle that he was supposed to be participating in.
“We are completely lost.”
This time, his voice had a panicking edge to it. His eyes began to dart forth and back, as if
he would automatically see the battle appear in front of him. If I could snort, I seriously could
have. What kind of general was he if he couldn’t even pinpoint the correct location of a battle? I
continued to laugh inwardly at him while he ran even further to the opposite direction, his eyes
full of confusion and fear.
I should have known that a general who missed an entire battle would not be given a pleasant
ending. It was two nights after the battle, where the screams and cries were still echoing in my
mind, when I saw that general again. He was trudging around without a sense of hope, his sword
swinging by his side. However, now that he wasn’t wearing his armor, I could see him clearly for
what he was. He was quite a slim man, and appeared to be far younger than the way he appeared
in the battle. I’d say about early thirties, with great ambitions and dreams in front of him
(although not a very good sense of direction). I was watching him with amusement right up until
the moment he pulled out his sword, and pointed it to himself.
“I am not fit to be general!” he cried “With this stab of my own heart, I hope you can redeem
