Run
Maryknoll Convent School (Secondary Section), Gabriel Wan, Fiction: Group 4
W
e had no choice. We had to run.
The garish mid-afternoon desert sun was radiant, but the temperature was far
from balmy. It had only snowed a few hours ago, and the normally arenaceous
desert was tucked away from sight under a blanket of silvery frost, incandescent
to the cerulean sky. I rushed after Papa across the vast Gobi Desert as fast as I could possibly go,
the icy wind cutting at my cheeks still felt like a million tiny razor blades. The freezing weather
numbed my limbs, albeit already wrapped in a coat of fur. Don’t stop now. Run faster.
Standing upon the spine of the Gobi Desert’s tallest sand dune, I took in the ravishing view
before my eyes. The immense sea of shimmering golden sand stretched for miles and miles, with
volatile ripples and undulations crafted by the skillful hands of the winds. Scattered here and
there were small sparse bushes of vegetation, oddly resembling the heads of little green-haired
people. Towards the east, the horizon split the clear azure skies from the khaki earth cleanly into
two equal parts, and in the far distance, an extensive mountain range was visible, the peaks
standing tall and straight like guardians of the Desert.
There was not a single soul – almost no sign of life at all. But that was the beauty of it.
‘Khünbish! Make yourself useful and help your mother with the meal,’ Papa’s booming voice
came from below, dragging me back to reality.
Reluctantly, I joined Ma near the segregated bush and assisted her in collecting some wild
berries, discretely sneaking one or two from the tiny heap whenever she wasn’t looking and
silently congratulating myself on my artifice. But the syrupy crimson juices that stained my
cheeks were blatant tell-tale signs that betrayed me.
‘You crafty little thing! Stop that at once before I give you a nice spanking you rightfully
deserve,’ Ma half-heartedly hit me lightly on the head. I wouldn’t even call that ‘hitting’ – it was
more like a gentle pat.
‘Yes, Mother,’ I gave her a cheeky grin before playfully smacking my lips. Ma had such a soft
soul that I had long since learnt to take advantage of.
The only thing I could was my own laboured breathing, and the only thing I could feel was
my throat on fire. I called out to Papa, my voice cracking. This is too much. I can’t take it any
more. But he paid no attention to my cries of pain. All he did was urge me on, and we carried on
racing through the colossal desert. Run! Run for your lives.
The callous scintillating sun glared down at us from the heavens mercilessly while the little
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