Sacrifice
Yan Tung Tse, Group 3: Fiction, Diocesan Girls' School
rip, drip, drip...
Water leaked from the crack in the ceiling of the musky cellar, it was nerve racking yet
surprisingly serene. A bird was sitting silently on a bit of wood, with a knowing look reflecting on its
beady black eyes.
I sat there, with my hands tied to my back, legs pinned down by a giant metal ball. I honestly
didn't see the point of it being there because the door was bolted and there were no windows in the walls. There
was absolutely no way out.
All hopes and dreams I once had have long since been whisked into a whirl of despair. I remember a letter
I once wrote back home, "We will be home soon, Niang, don't worry." Now, I don't even know if I can make it
home, soon or otherwise.
I still vividly remember the day I left my village: Niang and my sisters cried as the soldiers came and took
me and my brothers away. We struggled and tried escaping from their firm clutches, but it cost 30 whips on
Niang's part. We had three days' walk with soldiers by our sides, it was tiring and torturous, especially when the
roads were very steep. We were worn out by the long and arduous journey, and we could barely move our
stiffened and cramped legs, yet we had to start working right away, loading and unloading carts of bricks and
wood. That was basically what we did for the first few months.
"
We are totally fine here, Niang, please don't worry, just take care of the girls until we come back."
"
The silence in the house is deafening and it's just not the same without you boys."
"
Girls, just obey Niang."
"
When will you be back?"
I didn't know either, and even now I still don't. The three of us kept each other company. Sometimes it
became so hard that I started wondering if death may be a less painful experience. Every day for the past years,
I've seen people hurling themselves down the mountain because the stress and home-sickness got the better of
them. Maybe it was these scenes that make us three brothers become more determined than ever to keep going
and someday, reunite with our family.
"
The old men have been taken away as well, and half the village is starving. We are taxed twice as much
and we can't keep going on for much longer, please tell us what to do!"
I can't bear these letters that carried such news, they mercilessly tear my heart into pieces. I learnt that Mr
Cheung, the man who worked in the market selling tofu was taken away from his grandson. He stayed with the
rest of my family because there was no one else to look after him. The villagers were under huge financial
burden and hungry stomachs cannot be filled. It was heart-rending to know that while I was lugging bricks and
building walls under the scorching sun, my family was suffering in another way: struggling not to starve. I knew
some of the men sneaked food into their posts to send home, but once they were discovered they would be
immediately put to death. So should I take this risk and go against the authorities for the sake of my family?
"
Please, just listen to what the Emperor says, don't get on the wrong side of him. Your father left us with
nothing and we just can't let you leave us like that. We just want you back safe."
But the conditions just get tougher. We barely get enough to eat ourselves and it's really dangerous if we
get ill. My brother once saw a man lying in the tent, his eyes bloodshot and big on his pale face. He was
sweating and bundled in thin sheets. He desperately needed a doctor, but no one was taking any notice of him.
The weather was cruel: the summer sun sent our blood boiling and our skin would be so badly sunburnt
you would have thought we were bits of charcoal; the winter winds cut against our frail bodies and we shivered
helplessly in our thin shirts as we toiled day and night. Yet me and my brothers didn't dare go against the
Emperor's will, for we knew a bit too well what the consequences were. A young friend of ours was working
away and was exhausted. He sat down on the ground, meaning to take a break, when soldiers came by. They
accused him of laziness, in vain my brothers tried explaining what happened but ended up being punished too.
They were taken away and I was mortified to see what I saw back at the camp site. His eyes were swollen and
blood was trickling down his face, my brother's leg was sprained and the flesh on his arm was revealed
underneath the burning red skin. It was terrifying to see the wounds and bandages on them as they were soaked
with blood. And then there were the bodies that lay around us, they were left around here and there like
discarded rubbish. Who would understand the sufferings they had borne? Who would know that underneath
those bodies, there was once life?
Drip, drip, drip...
D