Cleaved Apart
- By Royee Chan
- •
- 30 Sep, 2019
Content Warning: death and graphic descriptions of violence.
A stranger stood about five meters away from me, a man in his late forties gripping a black trash bag. He walked into the same school building as I exited from, wearing a stained white t-shirt that was loose and soaked, in what I assumed was sweat. He had a slouch and was breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon. His black shorts reached his knees, but you could obviously tell it was a few sizes too big since it looked like it was only held up by a rope tied around his waist.
His movements were sluggish, while his eyes reflected a dull determination. Of what, I wasn’t sure. At least not back then. I had a feeling he wasn’t like the other parents who were here to pick up their kids. No. He was here for ill reasons. I thought about walking back to school and telling someone about it, but who would listen to me? A wimpish fifteen-year-old. They would have probably sent me to a mental health asylum if I started accusing a man out of nowhere. Yelling ‘there's a creepy man outside!’ around others, I would look like a crazy maniac, a dunce. I would become the class clown.
As those thoughts flood in, my legs started moving on their own. I thought I was moving towards the direction of my house, but I found myself walking back to school, attempting to put together a plan to warn others about this. How should I start? Alerting the principal? No, he would probably be too busy attending meetings or doing mattering things. Informing the teachers? No, they would probably brush it off. Telling students about it? No, too much talking. I quickly found myself staring at the same white building I left ten minutes ago. The man walked into the primary building. Others glanced at him, their eyes flickered with curiosity but decided it wasn’t worth their time. I followed the man to a classroom. As he turned the corner and walked into the room, I stood beside the door frame, using it as a shield of some sort. I slowly peeked into the classroom and saw the man pulling out a thick, reflective, silver blade with a worn-out wooden handle out of the black plastic bag. I tried to move my legs. I didn’t care if it was towards the man to stop him or away from him to run. But my legs were glued onto the floor.
He yelled, “FOR MY DAUGHTER!!!”
As if on cue, everyone moved in slow motion, like one of those action movies. The children were screaming. Adults were shouting. And then for a split second, a deafening silence fell upon everyone, like a thick heavy blanket muffling the cries. The man took his weapon and rushed up to a child and started hacking at him; he laughed like a maniac — first his face, then his torso, arms, legs. Blood splattered everywhere; some on other students, some on the tables, some on the chairs.
Nobody dared to move. Nobody dared to make a single sound, which made his laughter all the more chilling. Nobody dared to confront the man, whose white shirt was now stained with much more than sweat. What was once a white school uniform was now soaked in the crimson liquid. The thick blood leaked onto the floor, staining the pale carpet in a dark red. The expression on everyone's faces could be summed up in one word. Fear.
The man just sat on the floor. He looked up at the ceiling and smiled. I was petrified. How could someone outright murder a child with a meat cleaver and smile? What did the child do? Why did he kill someone for his daughter? Why isn’t he running away? Why didn’t I stop him? What would have happened if I said something? All these questions swarmed in my head, drowning me in guilt and regret.
I finally took out my phone and dialed 911.
“Hello, 911. What’s your emergency?” a hard voice replied. From the pitch of the voice, I assumed it was a woman on the other side of the line.
“He… k-killed someone,” I whispered, barely audible.
“Who sir?” the woman asked.
“A-a man… he...he killed a b-boy,” I muttered.
“Sir, I need you to stay calm and repeat that,” the woman stated. Stay calm?! I was stunned by her choice of words. I just watched a child get hacked off into pieces, and she was telling me to stay calm?!
“A man,” I took a deep breath and strained my voice to speak. “He came into Wu Gu academy and killed a boy with a meat cleaver.”
Tears threatened to fall from my eyes. I didn’t know what to do. If only I said something. If only I was braver.
“Hey,” I realized I was still on the phone with her. “Are you still there, sir?”
“Yes. Yes I am.” I replied, shaking.
“Okay, we are sending people down to your destination right now. Stay calm. And stay on this line, if anything else happens, report to us immediately, do you understand?” she commanded.
“Yes.”
A few minutes later, I heard the clattering of boots on the floor. They barged in yelling, “Put your weapon down and your hands where I can see them!”
A few hours later they cuffed the man responsible for the death of a young boy. The images of the metal glint of the cleaver, the high pitched laughter that filled the room, the thick blood dripping down the body still haunts me. To this day, the desperate demand of why still echoes in my ears.
Context:
The following story is based on a news article covering a 36-year-old man killing a young boy at Longshan Experimental Primary school in Wenzhou. His reason for killing the 10-year-old boy was that he was seeking revenge after his daughter accused him of hitting her in the eye. However, I wanted more dramatic tension, which is why I switched out the fruit knife for a meat cleaver, which is used quite frequently in both China and Hong Kong to murder children. Despite the replacement of the weapon, I also changed the location of where the act was committed, instead of a bathroom, he kills the child during class time, which was also based on a genuine incident in China.
