Fiction: Group 4
It was another wintery afternoon, and Ling sat at the yard reading newspaper. “Former Colonel died aged
90.”
The yard’s temperature suddenly dropped a few degrees. The trees looked barer and even more pathetic.
“So long,” the old lady murmured. She closed her eyes, dwelling herself in memories and history.
“Grandma? We are ready. Are you coming see the fireworks?” Gwen poked her head out from the balcony
and asked.
“Gui Er, I’m coming. Wait for me,” she folded her newspaper and strolled back as she slowly took off her
firethorn stud earring.
*
Ling looked at the fireworks, and moved her sight to the river. That was her generation – drifting, ever-
changing as they get carried away by the flow. The river was dark and deep. One moment it reflected the
vivid colors of the fireworks, next it turned into a pure black pit. The river had nurtured the city and
contained a story and a history for every generation. She sighed and let her memories drift away with the
water along the Pearl River, and to the Channel, and out into the sea.
The fireworks ended and people were leaving on both sides of the bridge. It was one of the strongest bridges
in China, so they said.
