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As Peggy and I were trudging through the jungle with the rest of the girls one day, we caught sight of what seemed like smoke rising into the air. Upon closer inspection, we realised it was a chimney. In a split second, a formula clicked in my head- Chimney meant there were people in the house!


I tugged Peggy by the hand and we ran towards the source of smoke. We halted in our tracks when a house stood in our way. It was just like a scene in Hansel and Gretel, just that Peggy wasn't Hansel and that the house wasn't made out of candy. I wished it was though.

I stepped into the house gingerly, careful not to touch anything. A wizened old lady appeared from the shadows. Her greyish hair was drawn back into a neat, near-perfect bun with no stray hairs in the way of her.There were a few streaks of black every now and then in her hair. Her buxom physique definitely could not mask the hardships she had endured.

As I stared at the old lady, I noticed that she was of Chinese descent. An emerald-green jade bangle hung loosely on her wrist and there was some music playing in the background. It sounded Chinese opera.

China and Russia were definitely not the best of friends. I had an uncle back then, and he was from China. The Russians killed him, hung him til he bled to death. Since then, whenever I see a Chinese, I would try to stay away for if I made friends with them, I would be prosecuted too.

However, this old lady seemed different. There was warmth and kindness in her voice, and she seemed friendly. Since I didn't believe in the idiom 'one could be a wolf dressed in sheep skin', I conversed with the old lady.

She revealed that during World War Two, they had killed her husband. From then, she had resorted to living in the jungle where she wouldn't be caught by the Russian Government. All the while, I sat down on the carpeted floor together with Peggy and we listened to her tales.

Later on, the three of us made a mutual decision. We decided that the old lady would provide us with biscuits and tidbits everyday so that we wouldn't be malnourished.



RED ASSASSINS ▹ NATASHA ROMANOFF [EDITING]Where stories live. Discover now