The Unforgiveable Aftermath
Sonya Finova,
round fifty years ago my current hometown was all but empty. The floor was dirt and mud, tourists’
feet flattening it over and over. Its bricks were crumbling, but standing. There were ferns, ivy, flowers,
fruits, birds and animals. It was lively just fifty years ago. However, I wouldn't know. I wasn't there.
I’m only twenty.
Group 3: Fiction, Zhuhai International School
A
I only found out that this place looked different awhile ago. I mean, I studied revolutions. Still, the way
everything turned out made me realize that nothing-nothing at all-is permanent.
I’ve lived my whole life in a city called Starsa. It was Starsa, is Starsa but I’m not sure it will stay at
that. I’ve never been out of town; I never needed too. Everything was always here. Food, education,
entertainment and all of the things I have ever wanted. Nothing persuaded me to leave.
I studied in the local high school and moved on into a university. It was once famous for its ancient
museum. We were never really taught history. Therefore no one really cared or had enough information to care.
I gave up that subject a long time ago.
One day, during a summer break, I scanned the university library for material for our current project.
Soon, my curiosity took over and I searched for things I actually wanted to read.
We use holographic images. A floating and glowing image radiating from a tiny projector, the size of a palm.
It’s useful to keep track of things. The point of this explanation is that holographic images quickly took over
books. They were so compact and just so new. The public liked it.
That day I found a book in the library. Grabbing hold of it, I was eager to read, thinking of that day our
teacher told us that books are almost 'extinct'. The cover was old leather with a strap binding all the pages
together. Quietly, so the librarian wouldn’t take notice, I flipped the tea-colored papers. I read alot that day and
didn’t bother to look up at the title.
The knowledge I stole from the library still haunts me. Something that was built two thousand years
ago – literally huge and unforgettable. Something that was supposed to be permanently glued into human
history. It vanished.
It was a wall. The Great Wall of China. I don’t know where that is. Apparently though, right here. And
this city wasn’t Starsa just fifty years ago. The people here were different; their cultures were different. This
place was a natural environment. My city was called ShanXi and the Great Wall's Yanmenguan Pass was right
here. Across my window, where the supermarket stands.
Right now, I sit on a metallic stool, watching over the city. The book's scan laying on my knee, I flick
past a few images. One seems so familiar. I bring it up to my windowsill. The holograph reflects a gate and a
tower. Its architecture can’t be found anywhere.