Fiction: Group 3
Priceless
Canadian International School of Hong Kong, Tang, Tungsten - 12, Fiction: Group 3
, as a rich yet unsuccessful factory owner, am telling you the story of myself.
Tuen Mun Hospital, Hong Kong
Under the white blanket was a pale face. The frown had dug deep into the skin that the dark
shadow created an immense sense of sorrow. In the fading glimmer, the eyes were telling the history—a
tragedy. Puffing weakly, the nose was broadcasting the end of the story. A pastor was smiling bitterly,
reading from the Holy Bible.
“…I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch
them out of my hand…”
His bold, but smooth voice echoed around the room.
On the pale face, a pleasant smile turned up in response.
A familiar voice drifted into my ears like a thin layer of mist.
“Son,
“You know, I am going to die soon. Death is not dreadful itself, it is just painful if you die with
guilt and regret. Now I hand you this photo, find where it is, and there you’ll retrieve what I lost—” then
he took a big breath, “—Please, pl...l...ease do what s...s...aid, r...r...emember, p...p...l...l...ease,
p...p...l...l...ease, p...p...l...l...eas...s...e.
A photo slipped out of the blanket. It was very simple: A family of fisherman working on a small
wooden boat, smiling.
The doctor stepped steadily in front of everybody. “Now, I announce heart-breaking news.
Regrettably,” said him solemnly, “Maurice Tsoi had passed away due to lung cancer. May the pastor give a
few final words to the family.”
I glanced at my watch.
12:30
Fifteen minutes until the lunch meeting. If I miss it, my company will miss the whole America’s
investment, and I will be a loser, forever.
“…a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot…”
My heart was beating like drumroll. Without another thought, I sprinted out of the ward—
everyone stared at me, including the person on the bed, my father. Yes indeed, my father was. In the
deepest in his eyes, an indescribable queerness emerged. It was half of rage and half of remorse. A lightning
struck my mind—I tried to close my eyes, smack my head against the wall, slap my hand harshly onto my
face—the eyes are still zooming inside my mind. I busted into a long wail, and dashed out of the room.
I reached my car, turned the key and stepped onto the left pedal as if crushing an Aluminium can.
12:35
The engine roars and—nothing else, I just didn’t even manage to stop in front of the lights, what I
was thinking was ‘one direction’, the front.
Now, I was halfway through.
12:40
“Hey, dude, why the heck are you here? I thought you should be holding the meeting!” said a
rather jokey voice in a bold New York accent.
The meeting. The meeting? The meeting! In no time, I checked my watch.
12:55
Hold on, I told myself, who would he be if he knows I am holding the meeting? Then I listened to
his accent. American. Oh, my word, he
was
our investor, from the US!
I’ve entirely lost control of myself. “Crap! What a loser I am, I’d rather die than making such a
rubbish mistake, kill me, kill me…”
“Mr. Erik Tsoi? Do calm down, I know you don’t want to miss our meeting and our investment,
but there are something more important than that, like, your family.”
All of a sudden, my father’s eyes were buzzing in my brain. The fire in his eyes, the anger, the
regret… I started to tremble and scream.
I raised my head and knew where I was, the meeting hall, in front of me were a row of my
company’s employees, and another row of American investors.
Oops, I said to myself. That was embarrassing.
I
