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1
Seraphina
Aloud snap echoesthrough the air in the tiny bedroom, and my ears are ringing. I feel dizzy and disoriented. I stare in horror at the dark figure standing over my mother’s bed. In my fear, his form looks distorted and monstrous. He is standing dangerously still, staring right at me. He is so tall and so broad; I feel as though he could swallow me whole. Like a demon having crawled from the depths of hell.
All I see is red.
Only a moment ago, my mother sat up, ready to fight back, but she didn’t even have time to scream, and now she slumps across the pillows, with dark, sticky matter splattering across the wall behind her. Thick, red liquid oozes down the headboard andacross her blanket, dripping in syrupy trails onto the bedroom floor.
Even though It's dark, I can see the redness of it from where I'm standing in the doorway.
The walls are red, her pillow is red, his eyes are red.
Screams echo inside my skull as the demon moves and walks toward me, the pitch of it hurting my ears. I reach my hands up to clasp them over the sides of my head to block out the sounds, but then realize they are coming from me. My lungs are burning with pain, desperate for air. My mother is dead. She can never scream again. So, I'llscream for both of us.
I feel hands lift me off the ground and I think he has me. I think I'm about to die. I kick and fight and scream even louder. Snaps of gunfire fill the room again, and flashes of red lightning sting my eyes. My ears are ringing, and I don’t even know if I'm screaming anymore. The demon turns to run; he leaps through the window, shattering glass in glittering splinters that land in the thick, red puddles of my mother’s blood.
I bolt up in bed, choking on the scream that is sitting in the back of my throat. My heart is thundering behind my rib cage, threatening to shatter through the bones. I blink and blink again, fighting for vision in the darkness of midnight. It was a nightmare, Seraphina. It was another nightmare. Just breathe. Please, just breathe.
I gasp and fight against the horror of the visions still drifting in my mind.
Just breathe.
Slowly, I find my breath, and my heartbeat soothes down to a tempo that doesn’t feel as though It's going to bruise my insides.
I take a deep, slow breath, and the familiarity of my bedroom in the beautiful city of Hong Kong takes shape. I reach out and flick my bedside light on.
I know I won’t be able to fall back asleep tonight, and if I could, I would be sent back to that same room and that same horrific memory, which will keep replaying.
I was only four years old.
And even though it was over twenty years ago, the same nightmare continues to haunt me almost every night.
I throw the blankets off me; they are twisted and knotted around my legs because of how I have been kicking and fighting against them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rub my hands against my temples, trying to push away the remnants of those terrible memories.
Finally, I pull my long, curly, dark hair into a bun. Securing it with the ornate silver hairpin on my bedside table. I stand up on shaking legs and walk toward the kitchen.
I'lldrink tea, sitting out on the balcony, watching the city lights and how the sky full of stars fades away as it changes from black to dark blue to orange, and eventually, the morning sun will pierce through my eyes and burn away the nightmares.
An gung still holds my mother very close to his heart. In his home, he has left her bedroom exactly as it was the day she left. I have spent many hours in there, learning about who she was. He even had her belongings sent back to Hong Kong after her murder.
My most treasured possession is her journal. From it, I could learn so much about my parents.
I was born in New York. My father met my mother on a trip to Hong Kong. She fell in love with him at first sight. His broad smile and dark skin were exotic to her. He always told her he was the yin to her yang. Her milky smooth, pale skin was such a contrast to his rich coffee-colored skin. She loved him deeply; I know that, and she was his entire world.
Even though they both grew up in the strict and overbearing world of the mafia - it was two very different worlds. He was from New York, and she was from Hong Kong. Their families held a rivalry, and their love faced forbidden boundaries. They moved around in secret at first, hiding from the world, lost in their own relationship. She fell pregnant, and they were so excited - but scared. He took her to New York, where he thought he could keep her safe, and he wanted to show her his world, his home, his life.
But not all stories are roses; some have more thorns than petals, and this story ends with my mother’s death and my father being taken from me.
I was born in New York, and they were the happiest they had ever been in their lives. But there were problems. Even in New York, their love caused a stir. The war between the Hong Kong and New York families was at its worst.
I was young when ah gung finally gave in and answered the questions I had been begging him to tell me about.
I remember it like it was yesterday. He sat me down outside in the garden. It was a chilly day, and I wore a warm coat adorned with purple flowers and red mittens as he sat me down outside in the garden.
I had asked again, “ah gung, why did my parents die?”
He stood for a long time staring at me, with eyes full of quiet thoughts. Finally, he sat down next to me and started talking, although he did not once make eye contact.
