Page 74 - KCN 2020

gray skies to a portrait hung next to her window.
DANCE o f FIRE PEONIES
the
Michael Ng
Overlooking a vast sea of blossoming
fire peonies was a tiny cottage on a hill.
The workers were hard at work
plucking the flowers while being careful
not to be burnt by their spontaneous flames.
“Careful not to get burnt, Larry. You
saw what happened to Dave.”
“Right? Feels like these flames are
getting stronger each year.”
“At least the pay’s good. Too bad
this place is run by a crazy witch, though.”
“I know, right? It’s been hell ever since
the old owners’ daughter came back.”
“Oh, speak of the devil.”
A woman clad in a scarlet dress walked
towards the workers, stomping her feet through
the field; her fireproof high heels leaving
crushed lilies in their wake. She came up
to the workers with arms akimbo and a rough
look on her face.
“What do you think you’re doing, slack-
ing off! Get back to picking these stupid flowers!”
“Miss-”
“Oh, quit whining!” she interrupted.
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She glanced at one of the worker’s bas-
kets, then smacked it off his wrist. “Ugly, they’re
all hideous!” she screamed, then stormed off.
She made her way to a small hut at the foot
of the hill, where workers were pressing the peony
petals into medicine. Their pale, grafted skin was
caused by a mix of peony burns, and long hours of
working in the peony press. Tears were streaming
down one of the worker’s stoic faces when
she passed by. She saw, and was vexed.
“What are you crying for! Keep working,”
she yelled, then slapped the worker.
After she had walked out of sight, another
worker came to his aid.
“Are you okay, Dave? Oh dear, right where
the burn was.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“What’s her deal?”
“Whatever. I just hope she’d take it easy
on the peonies. I’ve got a bad feeling about
them.”
Just then, the two noticed sporadic flames
in the distant fields. Dave’s pupils dilated as the
bright crimson glow grew stronger and stronger.
Meanwhile, the woman was loung-
ing in her cottage on the hill, looking out the
window.
Her eyes slowly rolled away from the decrepit
Catching a glimpse, her eyes narrowed, eyebrows
furrowed as she thought back to 20 years ago.
How could she forget the sight of the peonies
going up in magnificent flames?
How could she forget the exasperated cries
of her parents trying to get them to safety?
How could she forget the thud when she
hit the earth, mere centimetres away from
her parents?
How could she forget the scorched smell
of the fields when the police arrived?
Annoyed, she turned towards her desk, with
yellowing contract papers spread out. She swiped
them all to the floor, cursing those development
companies for turning her away. ‘Construction
would’ve been perfect to flatten these peony
fields once and for all,’ she thought, ‘but those
cowards wouldn’t comply.’
“Whatever,” she sniggered to herself, “once
these medicines hit the black market, these peo-
nies won’t stand a chance! Horrid, horrid
flowers! The mere sight of them makes me sick!”-
She got up and continued, “all these
years, and they’ve come back; back to mock
me! No more, no more…” Glancing at her
parents’ portrait, she muttered, “I’ll make you proud.”
A powerful vermillion radiance coming
from the fields caught her attention. The workers,
screaming bloody murder, were running amok.
Her eyes looked daggers at the chaotic scene.
Something inside her snapped; something of rage
and madness. Her cultivation was collapsing. The
peonies were laughing at her once more.
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. Storming out of her cottage, she
ran into the fields, ripping any peony
she ran across out of the ground. The flames
burned her arms, but she kept destroying
as many as she could.
Peonies combusted to contribute
more flames, while petals also rose up into the
sky, joining the raging, tempestuous inferno,
as they flowed gracefully into a scarlet vortex.
Once she stripped the field bare, the tor-
nado entrapped her as she kneeled, panting.
Her eyes widening at the vortex,
she mustered up her energy to flail her arms
at the petals, trying to get rid of them, but it
was no use. Blood streamed from her thor-
oughly burnt fingers, dying the flames sanguine.
The more she flailed, the more blood
flowed, but she was relentless. Rage was the
sole fuel driving her insanity.
Soon, her energy died, and she kneeled
on the ground, shrieking with all her heart. In her
blurred vision, she saw her cottage; the cottage
she left her life in the city for, going up in flames.
She sobbed, blood rolling off her
cheeks, with vitriolic hate in her heart,
lamenting the pure existence of the peonies.
All is calm.
The field laid barren, with only a skel-
eton stretched out on the scorched earth.