Fiction: Group 3
Found
St. Mary's Canossian College, Chu, Felicia - 14, Fiction: Group 3
picked up the intercom when it rang for the third time.
My secretary cleared her dry throat and begun urgently, ‘Mr. Ng, I’m here to give you the updates on
the workers’ strike. The workers won’t go back to their positions. They are still striking at the main gate
of Building 2. We’ve tried everything, but they said they must have their holidays during the Chinese New
Year.’
A memory.
I was sobbing noiselessly into my dirty sleeves. My elder brother knelt down and hugged me. He
muttered softly to my ears, ’Shush, now. Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m always here for you.’ I buried my face in
his strong shoulders; feeling assured that they will shield me from anything harmful in the world.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I turned on the CCTV on my computer. It showed a crowd
gathering in the open next to a building. The people were moving restlessly. Several guards were stopping a
man from putting up banners with scrawled words, clearly written by an illiterate. Another man, his voice
barely audible over the mess, was swearing into a speaker. They looked so tiny, like ants on the muddy road
I used to poke branches at when I was a child living in a rural countryside. In fact, they
were
ants in my
eyes. I could fire all of them any moment and they would have no income. Who would be banging on my
doors begging for a job then?
I snickered as I shut the intercom off. I stood up and walked to the plate-glass window on the left. My
office, situated on the top floors of IFC, had a full view of the Victoria Harbour. Ferries sailed on the
glittering water in the dawning sun.
I couldn’t help breaking into a sneer. Who do they think they are?
I dialled a number on my phone.
‘Yes, your loyal senior manager speaking,’ a breathless voice answered.
I scowled at my friend’s poor sense of humour. ‘Tell them that getting all their work done should
come before their vacations. Plus, I have already paid them for extra working hours according to the law. If
they still refuse to give in, we shall cut their incentive bonus.’
‘Alright, I’ll tell them right away,’ the loyal manager Charlie replied obediently.
I had always pride myself on setting up a company large enough to be in the Fortune Global 500 list
with my partner, Charlie. I was born in a small village in China. Before I turned ten, my family was so poor
that they sold me. Eventually I got adopted by a couple from Hong Kong. I had to share bedroom with a
stepsister who ceaselessly teased me about my background. Once, when I was studying at the only table in
our room, she threw me out. ’Stop pretending to be diligent, you little village git!’ She yelled after me
before taking my seat and start flipping through a tabloid magazine. I had never fit in with my adopted
family.
Perhaps that was why I did not understand why my workers wanted to go back to their families so
badly.
Within an hour from my Hong Kong office, I was standing in the centre of my factory site. Countless
concrete buildings stood neatly in the surrounding area, Shenzhen, a well-developed industrial zone. I
looked on expressionlessly as police officers pushed the workers on strike into police cars. They were still
shouting their lungs off with slogans. Their face flushed with fury and desperation, labour-beaten hands
clenched into fists. One of the leaders in the strike recognised me from afar. His hands were tied to his back,
but I could feel his agitation as his dark eyes bore into mine. His facial expression was so familiar. It merged
and combined with my elder brother’s face in my muddled mind……
The large boys cornered me. I had never felt so helpless in my life. I braced myself for a blow but none
came. Instead, one of the large boys landed on the ground with a loud thump. I lifted my gaze confusedly.
Rage was bubbling beneath my elder brother’s coloured cheeks. His tall figure towered over the bullies, fist
raised, ready to strike again.
I shivered and turned my back on the chaos behind.
A month later
I
