2048

If at all possible, please listen to Astor Piazzolla as you read this short story. I suggest "Concierto Para Quinteto." Please start reading at the song's three-minute mark.

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"That day, six years ago, a rainbow appeared in my heart. It's still there, like a flame burning inside me."

I watch the clock tick away, slowly. If it wasn't for the motion of that second hand, I would likely believe that time is standing completely still. With each tick I feel my body aging. This is something to get used to. In 2046, nobody ages and nothing changes. Everything is always the same.

I stand up and look around. Yes, I am clearly in the Central Mid-levels Escalator, but for some reason, it's not in operation. Not a single person is out and about, probably be due to the weather conditions. The sky is overcast with a thick, purple smog.

I begin to run down the frozen escalator, with every footstep I take echoing at an deafening volume. As I exit the escalator, my eardrums feel as if they are about to shatter. I stand disoriented at the bottom, clutching my head as a rush of blood fills up my brain. My vision and hearing slowly become clouded, as I stumble around, doing whatever possible to stay up and moving.

At least I'm not thinking about...

Well, that ruins it. There is no amount of physical pain that can distract me from thoughts of her for more than a few minutes at a time. The unrequited love of my life. My greatest passion. My greatest obsession. That she would just suddenly and willingly disappear, never to be seen again. My hearing returns, with my vision clearing up quickly, too.

I have no choice but to keep walking through the empty city. Somewhere around here... Somewhere on Hong Kong Island... or was it Tsim Sha Tsui? Yes, it was Tsim Sha Tsui library. It pains me to think of what happened my last visit. For the most part, the pain has caused me to forget everything but the bare essentials. The most anticlimactic moment of my life.

What I know was that in order to get there, I will have to cross the bridge to Kowloon. Why did I get off at Mid Levels? There is not a single bus in operation. I don't mind though, as this gives me the chance to jog. Jogging releases all the excess water from the body, so that there's none left for tears. Perhaps this iss an old wives tale, as I did hear it from my aunt, the same aunt who li...

... keep running...

... faster...

... don't stop to catch breath...

... water in harbor is... still... calm...

... completely still...

...

I wake up face down almost at the other side of the bridge, completely still on the ground, with scrapes all over my hands and presumably my cheeks. I am not sure how long I was out for. Is it the smog that made me pass out? I'm not sure. Perhaps the other Hong Kongers are the smart ones, staying indoors on a day like this.

I slowly pick myself to keep going, coughing and limping every step of the way. I try to clear my thoughts - the library is a few right turns away, but between each right turn is a long road. Austin, to Canton, to Kowloon Park Road. I remember it clearly now.

But my mental map of Kowloon cannot distract me from my hollow soul. I remember her more clearly than ever... her eyes, her lips, her sardonic attitude. Did we travel these roads together? I'm pretty sure not. I don't think we ever traveled together. We met and stayed in the same places.

I feel a certain burning sensation in my lungs, not from the smog, but from these memories. From what I can tell, I've had this burning sensation whenever I think about depressing matters since I was a teenager. Am I still a teenager? I can't remember. I look about 24 right now, I think, but I'm a bit scruffy and unshaven.

As I limp to the corner of Austin and Canton, I think to myself - throughout all of this suffering over just a woman - "this is me at my purest. This is who I am. This angst is the reality of my being. There is no reason to fight the feeling - it is inevitable of my nature to feel this way."

I see the library ahead. How long has it been since I have entered? Looking at a calendar would suggest that it was only about 16 months ago. It feels much longer.

The library is empty as the streets. Nothing has changed about the building. I was certain this building was set to be remodeled before the special administrative status was to end. But, once a new government steps in, the direction of the nation must change to become subordinate.

I walk into the room where it happened. It is empty and dim. There is nobody; only empty tables of books where the usual studying would be taking place. We thought our work was so important back then; but given the choice between studying for the government or studying for private enterprise, there was a mistrust amongst us. Her field was psychiatry, mine Astro-physics. It only makes sense now: the Communist Party sees more use in my field. Our conservative culture, the unwillingness to admit our mental health issues is why it all happened.

I walk to where I sat that night and I close my eyes.

----------------------------------------------------

The library is jam packed tonight. She should be here, I think to myself. I look through my heavy textbook. Friday is December 21. 21/12/2046. My final exam for the year. Three nights away. The words in the text mean very little to me right now; I'm surprised I know them as well as I do.

Has it really been a year since we've spoken? I mean, excluding last week Wednesday. Not a day has passed that I have not wished for her to be present, and now, she should be here tonight. I hope.

My hand shakes with anticipation as I see her approach me. She's smiling... is it sincere or is does she not want to appear as if she doesn't want to see me? I stand up and walk toward her. Past the computers, by the recycling bin, we meet.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How have you been?"

"Good."

"I haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah... I know..."

She begins walking again.

"Hey, wait a second."

She pauses, and smiles nervously.

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

"I don't know... I might be."

"Do you think you could drop on by the old apartment for a while?"

"I'll try. I'd really like to."

I reached for my phone.

"Can I have your phone number."

She grabs the phone and begins typing it in. She begins to speak:

"Actually... I'm emigrating."

Before I can register the emotion, I decide to respond reflexively to mask what I'm sure I'll be feeling within the next ten minutes, once the face registers in my brain.

"Where are you going?"

"The United States. I have family there and I've been approved to stay as a resident."

She hands the phone back to me.

"I'm not sure if it saved my number or not."

She had entered both her number and her first name. I add her last and hit the enter button. I look in her eyes, and suddenly feel as though will be the last time I see them. They are even more beautiful than I remember.

All the noise is drowned out. We stare at each other for only a moment, but I can read her thoughts: You have a lot to say to me, don't you? I respond: Take care. Maybe one day you'll escape your past. If you do, look for me.

She didn't turn back. It's as if she boarded a very long train headed for a drowsy future through the unfathomable night.