Fiction: Group 3
New Tales of the Pearl River Delta
South Island School, The, Rue-Ching - 13, Fiction: Group 3
h, finally this day has come”, he thought with bitterness, seemingly wanting to escape the
scene in front of him, unlike days when the sun radiated its coursing heat deep into our core.
Trucks and workers gathered up the earthy soil as dust swooned across him, almost engulfing
his body, as construction workers lifted heavy loads with shiny metal claws that tore the earth with little
mercy.
Waves of sweat pulsed through the workers on such sunny days as work continued. Imagine working there,
beneath the blazing sun: streams of sweat pour down their charcoaled skin and soak deep into their
uniforms, as work goes on, no second wasted, to wipe sweat from brow. Manual labor, grim expressions,
knotted eyebrows till the day is done, although it never is.
He stood there in daze, his chocolate orbs distracted by the sight before him, yet unfocused, staring into air,
unaware. His harvest slowly slid from off its shovel, all his farming come to naught. His rough hands,
leathered from their farming of the earth, reached deep into the patch of greenery, the new-picked
vegetables snapped up and then stacked up beside him.
The plants crick-cracked, the crispy leaves made echo as the vegetation snapped beneath his feet and
between his hands. His eyes dimmed as he bent down to pick the product of his labor up, the scenery of old
days where he spent his childhood flashed there before him.
It was back when the place was lively, loud and lyrical; where soft winds rustled through the emerald leaves
in the shining sun. Squirrels hopped upon the grass, enjoyed the sapphire sky, the feather-duster clouds and
chirping birds, the hover of the butterfly and humming of the bees in search of iridescent flowers. The
aquamarine river flowed with flawless ease, a pair of doves cooed deep in love.
Yet all this innocence and beauty, all this natural language, was slowly being tainted by the greed, ambition
and the selfishness of people in the Pearl River Delta. Quite soon would all this precious, frail life fall foul of
man and perish in the dust. There, the irony of water: so pure and clean, the base for life, but smeared here
and there with colored chemicals that kill the plants that give us life.
Looking back, Li’s farming life, where he was trapped within the outskirts of the delta, seemed now a friend.
Change had scared him, fearing the wrecking ball of progress on his life. The family, village life, the paddy
and tradition had moved over for a life of factories pumping chemicals into the open sea.
These chemicals had viciously attacked the creatures of the sea, which was their home, but now their tomb.
Viruses, diseases and disasters then ensued. Once green leaves turned ebony. Creatures cowered, hunted to
extinction, while the air filled up with particles that choked the throats and lungs of those who breathed it.
Little did Li know the next day would bring change to him, his village, city, country, people and the world
at large.
It was on a normal day, or so it seemed, with Li at work with tools within his field. As he continued, people
watched him from afar in distant fields, just a blob of blue at work within a landscape painted green, an
iridescent bloom of juicy fruit that nature had provided over time to feed the world of people.
The sky was nice, affording just the right amount of light and rain, although the sight next door of progress
– men at work on roads and buildings – was less pretty. Suddenly, a Benz drew up, the people ceased their
work, not conscious of their filthy state and stood and watched the car with admiration as it passed.
“A
