Escape to the Gobi
Canadian International School of Hong Kong, Joanne Liu, Fiction: Group 3
I
t had been a long time since we’d run away from that torture chamber, also known as the
orphanage. It was midnight then, and everyone was asleep, even Headmistress Minchin. But
I still remember it to this day - I have it written down in my diary:
“Creeping downstairs to the classroom, we steal clothes. At the nurse’s office, we take
antiseptic liquid and bandages. Stalking away to the kitchen, we snatch up some bread, some
water, and some dried meat. Lastly, we steal some money from Minchin’s office.
I had hated my life here. Both Nergüi and I had been here since we were infants. It’s a
fake home. We have no socks nor underwear, and only eat bland porridge. With Minchin, this
orphanage is a prisoners’ labour camp. We’re given no more than 6 hours of sleep, and sent to
fetch ice in -20ºC weather with no coat on.
So, Nergüi and I decided to end all this torture. We’re escaping to freedom.
I yell: “Guys make a run for it!” “Chulunn, shut up. You nearly woke up Headmistress,” Nergüi
mutters under her breath. She elbows me and I wince.
Opening the orphanage doors, we walk outside. The dry air irritates my skin. Tightening our
grip on our stolen goods, we tear through the wind, sprinting across the rocky ground.
Finally out of sight, we stop and pant, trying to catch our breaths. We smile victoriously at
each other. This is the escape to freedom. Grinning, I think of what Minchin would say when she
sees all those missing stolen items - especially the money.
We continue on until sunrise and spot a horse inn. Looking at each other, we buy a horse.
We take turns riding until finally giving in to our stomachs. Lunch is a snack of stale bread
and meager rations of water.
Suddenly, looking around, I spot something: houses are being more and more scarce. It’s as if
nobody is willing to live here. It seems like we’re disappearing off the edge of the Earth. Panicked,
I tap Nergüi on the shoulder. “Where are we?” I whisper. “You dummy, we’re in the Gobi,” she
snaps. The Gobi?
Exhausted, we set down tents for the night. Tying our horses’ leashes to a thirsty-looking
sapling nearby, we climb into the tent and collapse onto the tent floor.
I can’t sleep that night. I toss and turn, and finally give up. Peering over, I spot Nergüi fast
asleep next to me. She’s snoring and her nostrils are flaring.
In the distance, I hear a howl echoing through the desert. Before I know it, Nergüi leaps
through the tent, knife in hand, and the howling sound draws closer. Closer and closer.
I hear a blood-curdling scream, slashes and terrifying sounds. Trembling, I try to gather
courage. But I’m a chicken, afraid even to cut vegetables. With shaky hands, I grasp my
pocketknife and run outside. I have to save Nergüi. It’ll be my fault if anything happens to her;
I’m her companion.
What I see and hear shocks me. The wolf howls fiercely at Nergüi; she’s in the distance,
struggling to stand up straight and when she does, she wobbles and I sense something happened.
Her knees buckle and she collapses to the ground. She seems to have a long cut.
Running to her, I ask if she’s all right. “Go kill that goddamned wolf,” she snaps. Grinning, I
know she’ll be perfectly fine. If she can maintain her usual snappy temper, then she’s fine.
