Fiction: Group 2
Any trace of the clear stream of water that the people of China called the Eternal River was long gone.
What had once been a smoothly cruising current, with waters as clear as fine crystal, was now barren rock,
cracked and dry, empty.
1943, West River
"Pant, pant..." wheezed the exhausted platoon. They had been staggering over the plains for months, trying
to get to the East River before winter, when they would surely freeze outside the safety of the camp. It was
autumn already.
1943, East River
They had carried her corpse over mountains, over rivers, from Beijing to Guangdong. The grueling march
went across the Chinese country, north to south, for more than 3000 miles. They found a ditch, and
without a memorial, without a coffin, they threw her in.
Nothing marked the poorly dug grave, not even a
twig.
21st century, Guangdong
A thud sounded in the centre of two houses. Both houses belonging to the family Wang. Both of them
witnessing by a fuming, raging, foaming boy stomping out. Joe Wang had become a murderer.
