Fiction: Group 3
What is Home?
Ying Wa College, Ho, Tze Lok - 13, Fiction: Group 3
am swimming across the Pearl River Delta with my cub as usual.
The sky is rather dim, with thick clouds blocking with the sun. It looks quite grey in the distance, so is
my mood.
Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m a Chinese white dolphin, actually a grown-up one, as my skin is
pale pink. Others consider me lucky, because not many of us can live for so long. But I do not think so.
The living condition has become so poor that I do not want live. But for my cub, I still need to live and
foster it. I can still remember what it was like when I was only a cub. The ocean was much cleaner, and it
glistened under the bright sunshine. I was always playing hide-and-seek with my companions thrillingly,
without any worries.
But it is a world of contrast now. There are often plastic bottles and transparent bags floating on the sea like
dead bodies. I quiver a little as they float near me.
I continue my journey. I see a tall chimney spitting out foggy smoke, polluting the air and the ocean. The
Pearl River Delta had been developing rapidly during this decade, but people never think of the drawbacks
of it. Is development more important than the basic rights of animals? What is a standard living
environment? People can never know our feelings since they cannot have a taste of being a dolphin, right?
I swim south with my cub. Suddenly, I hear a shrieking and unpleasant sound that sounds like an engine.
An orange figure is the only thing I can see at the moment, though I am pretty sure that it was a speedboat.
I was right. It comes to into shape after a few seconds and it startles the calm ocean, which results in waves
splattering on my skin. The waves become bigger. I have only a few seconds to escape with my cub as the
boat drives straight away. The driver did not even look back. If I had escaped a second later, he might have
killed me. I dive up and down in the ocean until I reach Hong Kong. Workers and machines are building a
long bridge. I am living there before I wander the sea every day. The construction of the bridge has
occupied my home. Mud has drifted from the construction site, making the sea as dirty as ever.
All of a sudden, I feel something blocking my throat. Then I realise that it is a plastic bag. I soon find
breathing difficult. Luckily, after a few times of hard work, I cough it out. However, I am sure that I cannot
live here from now on. It was too risky and dangerous for me and the cub. Is it still a home? A home that I
can live without worrying every day? The word “home” seems to be a stranger to me, which I do not dare
to hope for.
I glanced at the Pearl River Delta, saying goodbye to my last piece of childhood memory which roots
here.
I start swimming out of the Pearl River Delta with my cub, and into the vast ocean, seeking for a worriless
life.
I
