(This is a character piece composed with the following constraints: Asian-american, non-native English speaker, 80 years old, and earns 100,000k)
Gu needed some kiwis. He awoke peacefully to rays of sun that warmed his bed as though it were engulfed in flames. It was the first time he’d slept in two days; the sound of an alarm had kept him awake. He looked at his TV set reflecting the calmness of down in its still, black screen. WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Red lights flashed across his face and he winced. His wrinkled skin looked like it was cracking as his brow furrowed and his eyes closed. WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! 5:15 flashed red in the TV set like Molotov cocktails exploding against four-door sedans and hatchbacks. Gu started to sweat, trapped under the weight of his comforter tucked into hospital corners. The flames tickled his feat and beads of sweat followed the cracks in his forehead. Spilled vodka and rum, dropped by looters, ran down the cracks and into the gutters and sewers. Sweat and tears ran together in an undistinguishable flow down Gu’s cheeks and the flashing of 5:16 turned the stream red, as if blood was pouring from a cinderblock wound. WHOOP! WHOOP! Gu got out of bed and washed the blood and tears from his face. The water was sharp and cold. The landlord had not fixed the water-pressure, yet, and the shower felt like a fire-hose against his skin. He grimaced as his slipper hit the charred pavement. As inconspicuously as possible, he navigated the shards of glass. He tip-toes passed a Ford Taurus, still warm like molten metal, to the grocer around the corner. The shopkeeper was taping cardboard boxes to the beam that once held his store-front window. 牛鬼蛇神的文字 was spray-painted yellow.
Gu stood in a living room carpeted in white Berber. “Do you remember the Reagan race,” one man asked. “He was a natural, nobody could stand up to him in a debate.”
“Carter sure as fuck couldn’t,” another man retorted, “but you know Kennedy could have.”
“The Gipper! You think he could have stood his ground against Ronald ‘The Gipper’ Reagan? Dream on.” Gu swirled his Meritage, a Bordeaux-style blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. He could smell cedar and chocolate as he lifted the crystal to his nose but could only taste plum. Cheap bastards, he thought.
“…what you can do for your country, right,” he elbowed Gu in the shoulder. Gu smiled and nodded.
