Spittoon U Corner gives students the opportunity to showcase their creative writing.
A Hand
The last No. 12 bus gave a long sigh before stopping in front of me. I dragged myself onto the giant and with another groan, it started again.
There were only a few people inside. I collapsed into the front seat, took off my coat and covered my body. It was my favorite seat, because from here I could get a good view of the outside. I loved watching the familiar scenes passing by and allowing my exhausted brain to be vacant for a while. The flickering shop signs seemed to quaver under a film of sliding warm water. People sat around in threes and fours, talking and laughing, their faces glowing in the white steam that would soon blur the glass wall. I was just a passer-by, an outsider, and an ordinary employee in this big city who struggled to make a living.
Suddenly the bus halted. As the front door sprang open, a current of cold air rushed in, followed by a man of fifty or so. He looked unshaven and shabby in his stained clothes. What’s worse, he glanced around and sat next to me. Humph, there are so many empty seats, and you choose to sit near me. I had read lots of news about people being kidnapped on the bus, usually when they were sleepy. I had an instinct that I should be careful tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he gave a quick but meaningful look towards the pocket of my coat where my phone and credit cards were. Ha! You thought your tiny action was not seen! He dusted off his clothes, and rubbed his hands, meanwhile casting one or two casual looks on me. Such people always look calm and innocent, whereas they are in fact waiting for the right time to take action. I was also waiting for his hand.
As the bus drove towards the suburb, lamps along the road became fewer. One minute, two minutes… Nothing happened yet. Perhaps I had worried too much? My eyelids became heavier and heavier. A sense of drowsiness started to pervade my whole body.
Suddenly, like a snake sneaking in the dim light, a wrinkled hand was drawing near me. It looked not as flexible as I had thought, for some of the joints had been deformed. My heart was hammering frantically. What should I do? Catch the hand? Shout out for help? But the hand did not allow more time for me to decide. It was nearer and nearer. I held my breath.
My coat was dragged slightly, and I was tucked up more tightly. The sense of coldness on my bare neck disappeared. I heard him giving a slight sigh and saying softly: “Life is not easy for young people.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I Stood Alone in the City
I stood alone in the city and saw
Streams of cars, streams of crowd;
I could not distinguish the south from the north,
For in the chaotic noise I was lost.
A clanking tractor trod by,
Shooting black smoke from its belly;
A bike squeaked and creaked as if
The weight on its back was almost unbearable;
A peal of cold metallic ring sounded in the distance,
Urging the fast-paced city to be faster.
So I picked up my pace, faster and faster, till
a small Hutong embraced me around the corner.
Two schoolboys bounced and hopped like two merry deer;
An old man walked with a stick, slowly but steadily;
The hit of the high-heels on the ground pulsed against the walls,
While the broom in a cleaner’s hand whispered softly to the leaves.
I stood alone in the city,
But my heart was filled with grateful joy
As I stood quietly
Listening to the vibrant symphony of the city.
Liu Xinru is an English major and a slave of cats at Beijing Normal University. Reading, music and sports take up most of her spare time if there aren’t many ddls to finish. Born in the southern area of China, she is impressed by the strong winds in Beijing. Her life philosophy is “eat well and sleep well.”