Invisible Warriors
Sarika Mahbubani, Group 3: Fiction, Renaissance College
panting heron scoured the dry earth for signs of water. As she felt the thirst begin to envelope her in
its sharp clutches, she began to regret this pointless journey. Somewhere along her tiresome path she
had lost her way, the distance she had overcome so far suddenly seemed astonishingly small.
...
A
The sun revealed itself to the sky with endless spectrum of light; and with the arrival of morning came the
understanding of the day of hardship that awaited my brittle body. Stretching my sore limbs and feeling the
weight of a thousand bricks on my back, I shuffled out of my tiny cot to dress myself. This was a routine I had
down to perfection, having repeated it for the last twenty years of my life. Starting a construction job at the age
of fifteen, I had known no other goals in life but the completion of the Great Wall of China. I scampered out of
my little thatched hut and allowed my eyes to adjust to the new found brightness. I started walking towards the
Wall, dragging my feet one foot after the other. I had completed this walk countless times, through the wind,
heat and snow, without missing a single day of work. Emperor Jiajing was not forgiving, and although he lived
miles away from Shanxi, my knees still trembled, my mouth still quivered at the thought of him.
As I approached my section of work, I began to load my back with the necessary materials for the day.
A nearby commotion, a group of men huddled around in a circle, caught my eye. I did not let this distract me;
having learnt that diverted attention resulted in lesser pay, and continued my work until my name was yelled
from a distance.
‘
Xui Li! Come here!’
I hesitated. Wandering away from my given section would be a huge risk, and if I was caught, I would
risk a public flogging, or worse; a deduced pay for the month. This outcome was too brutal to consider, for I
feared that the completion of the wall was very close, and soon I would be out of work. But curiosity was
bubbling over the edges of my mind, sending impulsive pangs all over my tired body. The group dispersed to
make way for me. I saw sorrow and pity in their eyes, and my heart began to hammer. I hesitantly moved my
eyes from their sympathetic faces to the ground, and gasped as though the wind had been knocked out of my
body. Above me, a stilted heron swooped over the sky and filled the air with an echoing cry of pain.
Lying on the ground was a figure of labor, of pain, of death. Lying on the ground was my friend, my
companion, stiller than the halted wind, quieter than the now silent bird. Lying on the ground was my brother. I
kneeled on the floor, and led my hand to the centre of his chest, to his heart. I knew death was a common
occurrence here, here at the Great Wall of my country, but I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped me when I
found it still beneath my palms. My dear friend, only twenty one years old, was dead. Gone, never to return. I
felt warm, consoling hands rub my back and words of strength fly past my ears. But all my attention was
focused on the lifeless form before me.