Fiction: Group 4
where the land was flat across the horizon and the place where farmlands flourished upon fertile soil. But
over the last couple decades the skyline have been changed as jungles of concrete rose high up into the air,
established upon generations of hard work and creation, until the day they finally saw their ideas and dreams
come to fruition. This generation we presently see, their hopes and dreams still scrapes the sky like all those
towering buildings attempting to reach upwards. Some of them have traveled a thousand miles just to be
here, the place where they can recreate themselves and build something of their own. I’ve had dreams too,
but over the years those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over
and over again, sparkling but broken. Maybe it’s not too late to have a cleaned slate and start over, not too
late to pick up the pieces and rebuild them into something better.
The artist took out a candle and lit it up so he can continue to paint now that the night has fallen. I
watched, intrigue by the large sphere of light a single candle can bring. This reminded me of the first time
that I flew over Pearl River Delta on a plane at night when I saw all those little lights glittering. I was
behind one of those lights that night by the riverside, releasing brightness to the world. Perhaps if someone
happened to be looking from space, the whole of Pearl River Delta must have been tiny, but it must have
been sparkling like that candle. I took a seat where I can see the canvas he was painting on, and I felt as if
those warm colors were spreading across the canvas of my soul as well. I smiled to my self and felt a genuine
sense of happiness. There was something in the night air that felt different now that I drew myself a new
skyline in my heart. I didn’t know where I was, but somehow I felt safe. Just for that night, home was
wherever I laid my head. Out on that open road, I was lost but I’ve never been so alive.
