1989

1989

'Freedom! Freedom'

The simmering anger of public never seemed to decline, instead, students there were bawling for one thing, for their revered notion, 'Democratic Government'.

The dawn of Peking somehow dispelled the resentment of the students, the so-called 'Rioters'. 

Birds started to sing, trees started to sway, zephyr, as usual breezed through streets to streets to herald a new day, but accidentally blew off some leaves from the weeping trees. 

Followed by was the gleaming sun, casting its drops onto the land, passing its warmth to all mankind, it is one of its duty every day. But today's rays of the sun was in ominous scarlet, which somehow presaged a disastrous storm, that in the past yet to come, but now ready to start.

Wong Kai, a 20-year-old boy, was sitting hungry for about two weeks. He merely subsisted on water and the voice of advocacy. He roused to the hopeless dawn, staggered few steps to the Tiananmen Square, where he was supposed to be every morning. But today, he was three minutes later than usual. He shored himself up with a lonely stick, which had somehow turned wrinkled by age, showing a kind of aging yellow. On his way, he passed his glimpse to the skies, which had not yet lit but in pale reddish pink. Another new day has come, without any sign of hope, even if there was, it must be futile.

He found his own place and sat down, with his colleagues who were sharing the same notion, 'Democracy'. He encouraged himself by clamping his hands with them, with camaraderie and faith.

Then, he halted. He looked around himself: In bruise, in tears, in blood,... Ops, his body bled again as his head moved a bit, which smeared the bandage. Albeit the unbearable pain, he sighed without any air coming out and automatically applied a new layer of it. It had been one of his habits, he has to be used to it, and he had been.

Desperate to hear a proper response from the Chinese Government, they cannot wait any longer. The time is proceeding with the same speed, so is their age. Without any food to eat, he had grown as feeble as an old man who was begging for food. At a glance, you would come up with a thought that this person was a derelict. Sure, he was, but not because of cash, but because of faith, belief.

He could not remember what date it was, since every day he was doing the same thing. He tried to  recall how long he had been like this, sitting on the square, waiting in futile hope, in vain. Upon hearing the time, his delusion broke completely into pieces: It had been 2 months, and Chinese Government still did not give a damn about their voices of democracy. He had a moment of epiphany that struck his mind to dead faint, why was he standing still, why was he sitting without doing anything? To exasperation, he was totally perplexed, doubting whether or not all these actions were totally worthless.

'Wong Kai! Here is yours'  Someone passed him a bottle of drink. Upon watching the transparency of liquid holding in his hands, he first realised that he actually had the need to supply himself with water, which human needs the most, especially when he was going on his hunger strike. He twisted the lid open and pushed the liquid into his sore throat. It was the first time he knew that what was a human being, having the feeling of thirst. But the more he drank, the more droughty he felt. He knew that this bottle of water was going to make him dehydrated, and his stomach was reacting with the liquid which had somehow become unknown to his body. The only thing he could do was to think, to contemplate, to stew over something of which others never thought. He threw the bottle away at once, and the drifting liquid somehow made him fainted, become unconscious.

He knew all these reactions implied he had been on the verge, he had been on the cliff, beyond which there was death. He could not help but still go on like this. Like a patient of cancer at the late stage, he looked up to the skies, which had turned bright enough to start a new day, begging for one piece of hope, albeit worthless. 

He watched the clock again, it was 7 am, in Peking. He slept over, thinking that it was the last rest he could be able to take in his life.

After a long period, even he could not figure out how long it had passed, he roused again, not to the heaven, but to the same place he was supposed to be, TianAnMan Square...

  

Author's Note

It is my first time to post a story on Internet. Please give me some feedbacks so that I can improve :)