Fiction: Group 4
a big concrete building with clouds of dark smoke besieging it. It felt as if I was standing in a grotesquely
deformed place.
“This is what will happen if you choose ignorance.”
I jolted out of the nightmare and looked blankly at the solemn expression plastered on the spirits face.
“What can I possibly do then?” I asked woefully.
“Well there is nothing you could do here, but in the city, something could be altered. You can be born as
a significant person and alleviate the harm caused upon your land. Isn’t that what you hoped for? To save
your own people and homeland?” The spirits questioned in hope.
“Do you mean I have to give my soul away now?” I asked, shocked from head to toe. The spirits
nodded. I contemplated really hard, thinking what would happen to my family and village. In a while, no
sooner had I agreed to this whole ordeal, I was pushed into the water.
My eyes sprang open, staring into a bright light bulb dangling on the ceiling. I was revived and doctors
sprang to my aid. With new memories filling in, I could finally see how the world began to rot under the
hands of the developing economy.
I recollect how I kept a woebegone look during the first couple of days as the new me, constantly drifting
into thoughts of my old family, furthermore getting used to all the workload filling me with ennui working
in the government sector. Everyday enduring all the malodorous stench of pollution in the city. However, I
am back in Xunliao Bay, standing complacently on the shore with the tide gently stroking my feet, all of this
reminiscent of the place once called home. I stare at the horizon, imagining a mist unraveling the hidden
island that was lost for so long its mystic vanished from the trace of the Earth, the tale of it left untold.
Perhaps the spirits departed because they knew that nothing could be done when humans do not cherish the
land they own. I can feel the ominous presence of the nuclear power plant nearby in Daya Bay as I sit
quietly with my back hunched due to the heavy weight of old age and guilt.
I see my grandson playfully jogging back from the recycling bin, humming a tune so familiar.
“Grandpa! Can you tell me the story of the lost island again?”
