Rage
Aashman Vyas, Group 3: Fiction, Discovery College
silhouette scurried across the barren landscape, it’s shadow never leaving it’s side. Heavily fatigued,
Ming had been travelling for a long time. As if from the intense heat, his skin had turned from a soft
tan to a light black. The impact on his body and mind from the extreme conditions were obvious. He
no longer had a mental compass and was blankly walking in a straight direction. His hair had
shriveled up and so had his entire face. Ming had lost his family in the war between China and
Mongolia – he was the last one left alive. Thinking of this caused him excruciating amounts of pain. His only
hope was to escape. He was hoping to find a remote village of some sort, in which he could start a new life in.
“
Humans!” he whimpered to himself. In the distance, a few figures were visible. They had structures around
them, presumably houses. Suddenly unencumbered from the blazing heat, he furiously ran forward hoping to
have finally reached civilization. He was utterly wrong. As the distance between him and alleged village cleared
he could see that what he had seen was not a village. It was a vast expanse of Mongolian military tents and
structures. Instead of running away from the war, he had greeted it with open arms. Ming was paralyzed with
fear. He simply stood there and stared. A soldier saw him and yelled a monosyllable word, presumably
‘
intruder!’ A rather buff looking man walked towards Ming. His legs became numb. There was nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide. Even if he ran he would find an arrow in his back before he could move. He did nothing but
stare as the mysterious man walked towards him. “Who are you?” the man said in a loud, coarse voice. Ming
wanted to attack the man because he was a part of the empire that had killed his family. Ming did not answer
him. Instead he gathered all of the saliva he had in his mouth and spat on the man. There was a moment of
silence, where both parties did not know how to react. Ming fell unconscious.
Ming woke to the smell of newly wet soil. His cheek was grazed. He tried to feel it, but could not
move: his hands were tied with rope and he was hanging upside down. “He has woken” reported a man close to
him. Slowly, the man that Ming had spat at came close to him. From where he was, Ming could see his features
better. His shoulders were broad and he had jet black eyes. Looking at them was like embracing the fire of the
shadows – fierce yet empty. He spoke “Tell me Chinese spy, why have you come here?”
“
I am not a spy”, replied Ming, anxious as to what would happen to him if the man did not believe him.
“
Tell me now or I will rend you limb from limb!” he yelled. Ming tried to explain further, but all attempts failed.
He was going to die. Putting on a wide grin, the man said “ We will execute you on the Great wall of China as
an act of war. Your death will be slow and painful.” Ming then received a swift blow to the head, after which he
fell unconscious again.
When Ming woke, his head was throbbing severely. Colorful patches of light were regularly dancing
through his vision and they obscured a partial part of his field of view. Out of his limited vision, he could make
out a long, thin shape on the horizon – The Great Wall of China. From his perspective, it looked incredibly
sturdy and rock hard. Several Archers were positioned on all the towers. All the gaps between the wall towers
contained cannons, one of China’s best war inventions. The Great Wall of China had clearly been built with
supreme accuracy and materials. Siege catapults were working away at it, but nothing seemed to be happening.
Suddenly, fear shot through his sense as he remembered that he was going to be executed. Perhaps there was
hope. He could see the China’s forces lined up a few hundred meters in front of him. Maybe I will be rescued,
thought Ming. But as he looked again at the Chinese Army, that possibility became dim. None of them knew the
Mongolians had taken him. All they saw was an enemy. Even if I managed to escape, I would be caught in the
war. His end was bound. His hands were tied, and he was being commanded to walk. Knowing what would
happen if he did not follow instructions, he got up and started walking. Before he could take three steps, both
sides yelled a war cried and attacked each other. Ming stumbled and hit the ground once again in the midst of
bloodshed. His own voice was no longer audible: the sound of blades clashing and people screaming pervaded
his surroundings. Soon, a scent of fresh blood followed. He lay there on the ground fighting to get up as
thousands of feet trampled over him. Every time he would stand, he would be knocked back down. Finally there
was a moment where he could get up, and he did. He tried his best to flow with the raging soldiers, not to get in
harms way. A small distance in front of him, he could see Chinese soldiers about to fire a gunpowder cannon.
He was directly in front of it’s trajectory. Somehow receiving a sudden burst of energy he dived to the side just
before the cannon fired. There were gunpowder remains on his nose. Great, thought Ming. I’m in the situation I
was in before: stranded on the ground. The soldier that had fired the cannon noticed Ming. He took out his
sword and blatantly charged towards the helpless boy on the ground. “Stop!” yowled Ming. “I’m Chinese!” The
soldier came to a halt. Ming then explained what had happened to him in a futile attempt to save his own life.
A