Fiction: Group 4
Rot
Hong Kong Academy, Huang, Alan - 15, Fiction: Group 4
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roggily, his eyes flickered open, bringing light into the darkness clouding his vision, and he looked around
the room wearily, before his eyesight settled on one of his rather frail and wrinkled hands.
He, with great
effort, pushed on the side table and hoisted himself up from his bed onto his feet and walked clumsily out
through the door of his room.
He walked to the great living room and sat down by the dining table.
He had many memories of things that
went on by the table, of the times he and his family members would sit down and eat, and when they would
have conversations over their meals.
Just sitting down by the table rekindled such memories.
He thought
about his family members and other loved ones, and about how happy he had been with them.
The memories drew his mind to his daily routine, yet as there was no one living with him, there was
nothing to do but ruminate and consume what spare food that was stored. Today, he thought, maybe it was
best to eat some.
And so, he stood up from his chair and walked to his cupboard and pulled it open to eat
the food stored inside.
There were only a few cans left, and as there were few cans, he ate little.
Some
times, he could consume a whole can, but other times, he ate little chunks.
Or there were times where he
didn't eat at all.
Once he would share some with his dog, before his dog passed away, the only loved one
that had stayed with him while everyone else left, leaving him all alone.
Just thinking of his dog caused him
to look down at his spot beside his table, where his dog would wait for meals, and her trademark bark was
always heard when she came by him.
Her passing always seemed like yesterday, and sometimes, he would
forget that she was dead, and think she was downstairs waiting for him to feed her. Whenever she was
around, he would feel some great joy, and there was at least some noise to break the dead silence, but now
she was dead and so the silence reigned.
Since her passing, it was just him, all alone in the derelict empty city.
He pulled out the cupboard and saw the meagre number of cans. Looking at it made him feel hungry, and
when he reached for one, he had a thought.
There was very few of the cans and when he ate them, they
would dwindle and there was no way to find more food unless he found one whilst exploring outside, but
only out of luck.
And even if he did, it could poison him.
No, it was better to conserve what could never be replenished, he thought, and so, put the can back into the
cupboard and closed it. Then he looked at the window, and walked towards it, gazing out at it and
pondering, while looking at the common sight of the barely visible light through the hazy sky.
Perhaps it was time for a little walk. Yet there was always the danger of the air outside, even if he had the
mask with him. At times — like he didn't eat at times — there were times he didn't go out of his home at
all. But perhaps today would be worth the risk, and so, he reached for his mask and walked to the door of
his home. The familiar unbearable gas in the air greeted him as he walked out of the door. Pushing shut the
door once he was out, he walked down the long, lonesome road down to the pier from his home.
He was
about to set out but then, he had that familiar uncomfortable feeling in his throat and he coughed violently,
putting out his hand to cover it. Every day, with his great age and his laboured breathing, he could feel
death creeping closer to him.
As soon as he regained his breath, he walked from his home down the grey
dour road.
As he walked, he passed those already familiar sights he usually saw when he walked down the roads:
rusting, decrepit, crumbling cars beyond repair, some with wheels missing and some overturned, and looked
up at the foggy sky, and could vaguely make out the shape of the derelict skyscrapers, devoid of life and
empty, having been long since abandoned by their former residents, some of which he had met and known.
Some had been friendly to him, whether he knew them or not.
He then looked beside the road, where there was no ground, but a passage of water, filled with nothing but
garbage, the fish having long since died, and the rivers now were nothing but filth. There was a time when
they were not filthy, he remembered. The waters of the river once teemed with fish and were clear. Such
good times those were, yet so long ago they were as well. As a child, all the way as he grew up, he and his
family and friends would stride by the river and admire the beauty of the river with its fish.
He and his
family would occasionally fish by the river, and that time he had with his father so long ago by the shore was
one of the greatest moments he had, where while he and his father sat down on a hill watching the sun set
