One glance out the window and Fred could see that it was going to be another rainy, drizzly day. He sighed as he watched a plump droplet of water slide down a lush green leaf and plop onto the hard ground below, splattering into tiny beads of wet rain. On a normal day, this would be a bad sign. It was not yet 9:00 and he was intently watching raindrops fall to the ground from his bedroom window. But today was an exception. Today he was not staring out of his window because he was bored; he was staring out of his window because he was waiting.
Lisa. The name tasted sweet on his tongue like the tender mooncakes he enjoyed during the Zhongqiu Festival. He closed his eyes and imagined her face. He could picture her skin, as smooth and pale as a precious pearl buried deep beneath the sand. He could practically feel the silky strands of her glossy black hair, and he imagined his hand in her soft grasp. Opening his eyes, Fred observed the blossoming pink cherry tree directly outside of his window. Its bright leaves throbbed with color and fluttered in the wet spring air. But his concentration soon faded as his eyes fell upon the small footprints embedded in the soggy brown soil. He frantically ran down the bamboo stairs of his home and leaped across the front lawn, his dry bare feet soon wet from the dew of the morning grass. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the cherry tree, where they sat hidden beneath its curtain of pink blossoms. His fingertips lightly grazed over her hair, and she looked up and smiled at him. This is what we live for, he thought as he buried his nose in her wet fringe. This is happiness. He wanted to remember everything from this perfect moment, so he decided then to memorize each rapturous detail. He locked away everything in his brain, treasuring the smell of Lisa’s hair and the prickly feeling of the wet grass sliding up his back. He looked down at her again and decided that out of all the moments in his life, this was the best. As the sun rose up from the horizon, Fried tried as hard as he could not to blink. He didn’t want to miss one moment of this bliss.
BAM BAM BAM! The shots rang clearly through the stale air. Fred shivered in his thin blanket, and he wrapped it tightly around his body in an attempt for warmth. His teeth clattered with the combination of fear and cold. His stomach, which had been empty for days, churned and twisted from the loud gunshots. He had been hearing the sound for weeks, but the educated Mr. Zhou had yet to grow accustomed to it . Fred stared at the spot of blood adorning the gray wall in front of him. The spot danced before his sunken eyes, morphing from a bowl of rice to a pot of steaming chicken dumplings, and then finally into a juicy slice of beef. It wasn’t until he rolled over later that he noticed a cool puddle of drool where his mouth had been.
Lisa. The name tasted sweet on his tongue like the tender mooncakes he enjoyed during the Zhongqiu Festival. He closed his eyes and imagined her face. He could picture her skin, as smooth and pale as a precious pearl buried deep beneath the sand. He could practically feel the silky strands of her glossy black hair, and he imagined his hand in her soft grasp. Opening his eyes, Fred observed the blossoming pink cherry tree directly outside of his window. Its bright leaves throbbed with color and fluttered in the wet spring air. But his concentration soon faded as his eyes fell upon the small footprints embedded in the soggy brown soil. He frantically ran down the bamboo stairs of his home and leaped across the front lawn, his dry bare feet soon wet from the dew of the morning grass. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the cherry tree, where they sat hidden beneath its curtain of pink blossoms. His fingertips lightly grazed over her hair, and she looked up and smiled at him. This is what we live for, he thought as he buried his nose in her wet fringe. This is happiness. He wanted to remember everything from this perfect moment, so he decided then to memorize each rapturous detail. He locked away everything in his brain, treasuring the smell of Lisa’s hair and the prickly feeling of the wet grass sliding up his back. He looked down at her again and decided that out of all the moments in his life, this was the best. As the sun rose up from the horizon, Fried tried as hard as he could not to blink. He didn’t want to miss one moment of this bliss.
BAM BAM BAM! The shots rang clearly through the stale air. Fred shivered in his thin blanket, and he wrapped it tightly around his body in an attempt for warmth. His teeth clattered with the combination of fear and cold. His stomach, which had been empty for days, churned and twisted from the loud gunshots. He had been hearing the sound for weeks, but the educated Mr. Zhou had yet to grow accustomed to it . Fred stared at the spot of blood adorning the gray wall in front of him. The spot danced before his sunken eyes, morphing from a bowl of rice to a pot of steaming chicken dumplings, and then finally into a juicy slice of beef. It wasn’t until he rolled over later that he noticed a cool puddle of drool where his mouth had been.
Letters are here boys, come get your letters! A skinny soldier stooped before Fred’s cot and handed him a small, thin envelope. A letter? It had been weeks since he had received his last letter from Lisa, and the hunger immediately disappeared as he snatched it from the boy’s grasp. But the excitement quickly turned to anxiety as he felt the unusually slender letter in his hands. Anxiety turned to fear when he recognized the small, slanted letter of Lisa’s mother, Mrs. Duan. Mrs. Duan hated him. She would never write to him unless it was an emergency. With his fingers trembling from a reason other than the cold, he tore open the envelope. His eyes skimmed over the stains and formal greetings to land on the words that he had hoped he would never have to see. Lisa has passed away. The reasons as to why and when this event occurred never got a chance to pass through his mind. A sound echoed through the room, a deep roar of misery and grief followed by choked breaths of desolation. Nothing mattered anymore. The sounds of gunshots and the harsh snores of his bunkmate disappeared, and his hunger and cold were forgotten. All that was left was a strong sense of nothingness, so bleak and full of despair that his finger itched for the trigger on his nightstand. He pressed him hands deep into his forehead, his knuckles digging into his eyes. The hurt was too tremendous to bear, and he howled with fury as buried his head into the sheets of his cot. Lisa. Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. His mind raced, searching for a happy thread of memory to distract him from his sorrow. A cherry tree. A cool spring morning where the dew of the grass tickled the soles of his feet. He remembered the smoothness of her hair as he stroked it underneath their blanket of pink. He remembered their soft hands touching as he breathed in a mixture of sweet flower blossoms and fresh morning grass. He remembered the words that escaped from his mouth as he stared into her brown almond eyes. He remembered lightly grazing the creamy blush on her cheek as he uttered those three words. I love you. And at that moment, with his face pressed against the grimy gray sheets and his hands clenched into tight white balls, he remembered happiness. He remembered, and he was satisfied.
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