Silence

By Yifei Wang*

Old houses in the suburbs are usually isolated and abandoned. They are like the elderly, who are privy to some of the wildest secrets of mankind yet chose to remain silent and observant because their wisdom which has accumulated through the years tells them so. 

But tonight, in an isolated and abandoned old house in the suburb, the spell of silence has been broken. 

“I thought it would be great to end a thing where it started.” Inside the greying brick walls and tainted windows, a man stands in what used to be a living room with a pistol in hand.

There was no response but only the sound of intermittently sobbing.

A woman with a tear-streaked face is crouched on the sofa with her hands tied in front of her. Her eyes never left the black hole of the pistol that is pointing directly at her heart.

“Doesn’t this house bring back so many memories?” The man slowly takes a step forward, holding the pistol steadily. Though his voice is quiet and cool, it is obvious that he is trying to restrain the feeling of triumph for the corner of his mouth twisted involuntarily into a cruel sneer. 

“P...please...” The woman whimpered again.

“Did my father beg when you cornered him like this?” The man asked. His voice cracks a bit at the last syllable. 

No response.

“He wouldn’t,” the man answers himself, “because what my father did was righteous. Unlike you and your little gang of mafias.”

The woman flinches at the last word. But the man isn’t down with his accusation.

“You guys have been planning this for a long time, haven’t you? I should have known when I first saw you. You were so enthusiastic. Too enthusiastic about knowing my family. I should have known, but I was blinded.”

“Nevertheless, I still get to relish the taste of revenge. You are the first one,” he says with a dangerously quiet voice, “and then one by one, I will hunt you guys down.”

“P...please...” the woman starts, “it wasn’t me who did this.”

“You asked to meet my father and I brought you. Three days later my father was found dead in his house, this house in fact. You were a part of the notorious gang of outlaws who view money over lives.”

“So tell me, what are the odds?”

“The odds are nonexistent because I didn’t do it.” The woman says quietly. 

“Why should I believe a person who kills for a living?”

“Because I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you!”

“Not even after my father executed your filthy companions?”

The woman flinches again but this time, instead of retreating further back into the sofa, she fell into a kneeling position on the ground, beside the broken coffee table.

“You know me,” she said, lifting her head up so that she faces the gunpoint, “and you know my rule. I kill for money, not for revenge.”

“I also know that you tell nothing but lies.” 

The woman lifts her tied hands up over her head in a vain attempt to surrender to the pistol that is closing in slowly. But the constrain of the rope merely made her hands fell at the back.

“We were happy together. Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Don’t even mention us!” The man roars, brandishing his pistol. His booming voice rips through the silence of the night.

“You once said that you will be on my side whatever happens,” the woman says quietly, “and I said that I will always and forever do the same.”

“So shoot me,” She looks up directly into his eyes, “shoot me and this will all be over. You will have the satisfaction of killing a person who you think killed your father and I will die thinking that throughout my torn and messy life, my death will bring moments of reassurance to my only love.”

“But I do not believe that you will be reassured,” the woman continues, “not if you have killed the wrong person.”

The man stood still as a gamut of emotions passed over his face. Is his hesitance due to some rekindled feelings or is it the slowly build-up of yet even more hatred, no one will ever know because at the next moment, with a swift movement, the woman shoots out her left leg from the kneeling position and sweeps the man, who is standing so close now, to the ground. The pistol fell hopelessly out of his hand. Before he has a chance to get up, the woman smashed her high heel into his groin and with one powerful swipe, cut the rope open with the jagged side of the coffee table. 

Despite the blood that is now gushing down his face, the man jumped up and took a swing at her. With gun in hand, she fired the bullet like she has done a thousand times before.

The man fell like a ragged doll.

He looks down at the bullet hole and then, with great effort, shifts his gaze on to the woman.

She is now standing almost directly over him, with the gun pointing at his heart.

“Di...did you tell the truth?” he gasps.

“No.” The woman says. “You know too much about the gang.”

The man can feel life seeping out of him with every second. Before he can respond, darkness engulfs him.

“But I do love you.” The woman says to the corpse of the man.

Then, with a smile on her lips, she lifts the gun to her own temple and fires. 

The house is silent again.  

*  Yifei Wang is a 16-year-old Chinese girl studying at Nan Hua High School, Singapore. She enjoys reading books, listening to beautiful melodies, and showing her mind in her own writings if she can spare time from her piles of homework. As a big fan of the Harry Potter series, she dreams of turning into J.K. Rowling in the future.