Fiction: Group 4
New Tales of the Pearl River Delta
Island School, Simon, Jonathan - 14, Fiction: Group 4
t happened again. The slanted, tired eyes of a child who knows nothing better, bedridden once again.
The stale stench of sickness is always thick in the air. If only my children had healthy food to eat, or fish
that doesn’t constantly make their insides groan. It’s a dark time. Sickness and death being an everyday
norm. The cries and wails of a baby are heard all the time. Even the babies know the truth. They can tell
that all the food is poison. Eat and become sick. Don’t eat and die. There is no choice. A life of misery, or
no life at all.
I live in a humble community of families who have been supporting each other for decades. We’ve been
fisherman for generations. The river is our food and our life. Even as I sit here, my rod clutched steadily
between my calloused palms as I perch on the edge of the bank. I wonder how life could have changed so
much. I wonder if the happiness died with our food.
It’s unnaturally quiet. Other than the sounds of the running river water, nothing can be heard. No birds
tweeting, no chirping crickets, just this deafening silence. There were times when a whole orchestra of
sounds could be heard from this spot. Sounds from the creatures living here, the animals and the insects.
They’re gone now. Everything’s sick. Or dead.
A brief glance at the sun shows me it’s late; I need to get back home. I start to reel my rod in, disappointed
at the lack of a catch. As I slowly get up, a wave of nausea rushes over me. The world shakes, and pain sears
through my body. Fishing rod thrown to the dusty ground, I fall on my hands and knees. Heavily coughing
as I clutch my stomach. I grimace as I vomit out rancid dark red blood, mixed with last night’s dinner. “Not
this again” I think as my insides are emptied out. It’s an ugly sight, a patch of glistening red among the fallen
leaves. My hand shakes as I reach for my fishing rod and bucket, leaning on a nearby tree as I get up once
again. I set off for home, turning my back to the silent and desolate river.
It’s as quiet as a graveyard as I arrive outside my home; I leave my bucket and fishing rod next to the door as
I dip my head under the low doorframe and head in. A wave of acrid smells hit my face as I enter the small
room. The bright noon sunlight streams through a small window in the corner of the room, colliding with
the small specks of dust.
My family is in another corner of the packed room, near a table. I see my wife gently patting our daughter’s
back as she raises her head while in a coughing fit. My wife sighs as she looks into my empty hands.
“Nothing again?” she asks. I silently shake my head as I take my place at the table. Our meager lunch is
neatly placed on the table. I frown at the sight and smell of the food. Strange streaks of purple and pink are
evident on the side of the fish. What little food the community can catch smells of chemicals and tastes like
shampoo.
I hear a loud knocking on the door as I’m about to start eating. My wife gestures for me to get the door. I
exhale in exasperation as I go to open the door. It’s my neighbor Chen. “Come quickly! There are people
who know about the bad fish!” he pants. His eyes seem to bulge out of his face as he bends over panting.
Without a word to Chen, I run back in the house and tell my wife where I’m going. Picking up my boots
from their place near the wall, I hurry after Chen who has already started walking.
They’re an eerie sight. Arms crossed, silently standing on the bare ground. Just in front of a row of dead
leafless trees. Wearing goggles, rubber gloves and protection suits. Chen says these are Greenpeace scientists.
They’re investigating the water quality of the Pearl River. As the scientists start to speak, my mood rapidly
becomes darker as the truth is revealed.
Arsenic. Mercury. Lead. Endless lists of metals and poisons. Death and starvation. The truth scares me. The
overcast sky seems gloomier; a cold wind batters my frail body. Goosebumps form all over my arms and
I
