For my first assignment in my Asian-American creative writing class, I chose to both recuperate and reconsolidate what I know and who I am. Drop is a rough work with little infrastructure, but it has moments that shine. I am proud of it as a starting point for where my stories will go.
Inhale. Breathing through my nose is something I only remember when I’m in motion, so an unexpectedly fond scent greets me. Citrus interweaving dirt, the soot of the city overlaid with the earth’s cheap perfume. My mother once told me that if I were born without a nose it would be all the same with how often I run my mouth. If I had been, I doubt I’d be able to resonate amongst this bristling land as I do now. It is a wonderful day to be out.
“ĐỤ– I’LL KILL YOU!”
My threats are cut short as he runs and pulls down a tower of produce crates, causing them to crash down the middle of the street and blanket the stone pavement with spotted produce. Keeping route with him, I narrowly avoid the splintered constructions that hold them, ducking underneath before they come down to execute me. I continue sprinting. Swears not unlike those I’ve imparted before lag behind me, being huffed by the stand owner I’ve visited on many occasions before. Keep the commotion down ông, we’re in the same boat. I’ll carry your curses with me.
The interloper risks a glance backward. Upon the sight of me, his efforts double– the distance between us halves. He frantically bounds across the road whilst navigating a cesspool of motorcyclists. I am a touch more brazen. My soles, scorched by the ground swept in sunlight, take me in a direct line. Those driving adjust to not avoid me. Not a single hint of irritation even briefly flashes across their face; for them, an occurrence like this is mandated the moment they get on their road.
Hounding him down takes us to a different world three blocks down. In only two minutes of travel, the city casts off its rusted wings. Beat-down buildings, lively vendors, and scrambled beggars shed themselves in favor of a foreign skin. As we push aside strolling civilian after strolling civilian, the two of us rapidly approach the city’s embassy. The newly constructed monument stands as a blemish in the community. If it weren’t for their arcane aid, we’d have shunned them out years ago.
Two guards are positioned at the entrance, still as marble statues. The purity of their uniforms contrasts heavily with the tones of the city. It is a long shot, but I call out to them anyway.
“Anh ơi, they did! They did!”
The grating noises of the words scrape against my tongue, informing me of a poor translation job. They don’t budge. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t expecting this. My legs hadn’t stopped moving starting from when I called out from across the street. Their eyes look toward the horizon, past the streets, past the people. My eyes can’t help but be drawn enviously toward their clandestine gloves. All of the might in the lands, kept away by a reluctance to commit a handshake. My nail itches.
“Chết mẹ…” Why did I bother using a formal term of address? It’s not as though they would’ve noted the difference. “Honorable one”, “Sir”, “Fucker”, my tongue would’ve sounded the same regardless. If names hold weight, titles are the ones to create substance. They are undeserving of that aspect.
As quickly as our chase brings us to the site of our strife, it takes us out. Further east, to the right of the government building, concrete grows like bamboo shoots, though this time vertical segments are divided by glass windows rather than vegetative nodes, with only bundles of leaves hanging off of side platforms and height being reminiscent of the plant. Slick, sticky heat, swarmed with insects, dies and empties its innards, regressing to still dampness as shade is cast. The man sharply turns into an alleyway. He wishes to have the both of us swallowed, to disappear into unknown crevices. I doubt he knows where he’s going. If he thinks that these pathways are an unfamiliar terrain for me, however, he’d be quickly proven incorrect. I turn the corner to pursue and, immediately, a solid impact flips me over to face a clear sky.
“Vân? What are–”
“Can’t talk,” I growl, stunned, pushing myself off my ass after running into my friend. “Hey, your hair looks nice today!”
“Oh– oop!”
He hits the wall when I brush past. Looking down into the shadows of the corridor, there’s not a trace of where the thief could be. One wrong turn here would doom me.
I glance down at my ring finger. A jade sea rests at the tip, swirling around as though my fingernail was a container for liquid instead of an acrylic art piece. Well, the sea is a powerful expression. It looks more like a riverbed after a sweltering day. I shake it, hoping to somehow change what I see. Two or three charges left, maybe? A great gamble awaits me if I were to try to obtain more in the future. Being unable to find him, however, guarantees that I lose everything now. I swallow my greed and press my thumb against my middle finger. As the other two point forward, the nail on my ring finger slides down my palm, incising it. The mixture seeps into the freshly opened wound. Just a drop will do it, as I quickly stretch my hand out again.
“(Con) Chó.” Drop the classifier. Destroy the boundary between us. Deliver onto me sensations unworldly. As inhuman lines rise from ordinarily indiscernible scents, one in particular stenches of deceit. My maw tightens.
I venture deeper into tunneling spirals, turning and turning down split pathways. The signals grow strong. It lures me toward a dead end. My brisk trot slows, returning back to a steady walk. The smooth, cold walls of the alley buildings meet my touch as I use them to guide me forward. One drop isn’t enough to emulate all of the traits, I remember as I trudge forward without sight.
Suddenly, sensory overload blinds me. An eye, pupilless, beams down and coats the walls with its white gaze. At the same time, my lungs are filled with fumes of black erupting out of thrashing lead. My hand reflexively moves to cover my face. I fight the instinct to cower and instead look forward. Wide-eyed, a realization dawns on me when I stare at the motorcycle ahead. He hadn’t planned to lose me in the confines of this space; he was setting up a retreat while leaving me helpless.
A roar sludging iron signals his advance. He expects me to move and yet I stand still, repeating the same hand gesture from earlier. The wound is fresh, allowing a much quicker transfusion, though I am still not sure if it’s enough. The alternative was dire. Catching up to him by foot will be near impossible if I allow him to leave here. Rubber spins and grinds against the loose cobblestone pavement, drowning out my incoming flurried words.
“(Con) Tê Tê!”
The chimeric vehicle pounces at me. His driver’s eyes trace me from underneath his visor as I am forced to move aside or be run over. No. It’s too early. I know it even as I strike the wheel with a scaly hand. The claws haven’t even made their way out yet. The metallic creature yelps, leg crumpling as it swerves for a brief moment, but we both know that the blow is non-crippling. Another batch of petrol sputters into my face as I watch it go off, its master surely laughing at me.
I curse. Loudly. Things just went from manageable to grave.
I glance at my now fully developed claws. The green remains even while shifted. It is diminished, though not gone. There’s likely only enough for one more usage. I had better make the most out of this current one, then.
I turn around to the wall and drive my arm into the stone. Cracks spread from the point of origin as I clench down. Forming my own makehold grips, I easily bound up the wall to the roof of the building in a few strides. Looking down, four stone holes with rippling webs dot the side. Hm. I’ll, uh, remember to come back and clean up.
A flat, gray square, suspended in air, rests below my feet. The city is frightening from up here. Not due to the height, but because of something much more immediate. I can see modernity synthetically interweaving in like a plague.
Focus. The roads are specks, littered with blurs. He couldn’t have gotten far. A motorbike speeding past all of the others catches my eye the moment the thought comes into my head. His driving is jittery. Panic has been sown in deeply, it appears. Seeing magic upfront does that to the average person. We only hear about the stick from our intruders, using it to beat us would only serve to harm the pole.
I scan ahead. Is there any way for me to possibly catch up… Peak hours say yes. Traffic comes to a standstill during dusk, as no one wishes to be home after dark. To open your household door to darkness was to invite misfortune in. Even with the changes occurring, no one wants to be the first to test their luck. This surely forces our friend to take the bridge out of the neighborhood, as travel in and out of town during this time is scarce.
The real problem comes after identifying the route. There isn’t even a chance of cutting him off if I were to go on foot. Traffic extends itself to congestion, which itself extends to a trickling pedestrian movement. With only one chance remaining, I need something that will grant me swift movement and lightning grasps.
“(Con) Cò.”
I leap off of the building. Spectral wings, unfurling from the fourth ridge on my spine, guide my descent. The first landing is the roughest, as I nearly keel over on all fours. This wasn’t exactly a familiar experience for me. To an outsider, the tight, feathered frame makes my hovering to the other building look impossible. A native, however, would be surprised that I am stopping to touch ground again at all, considering the beast I had called upon. One down, many more to go. Công Ty Tnhh is the final building I have before I would have to dive down. Buildings usually aren’t constructed in rivers, which is what the bridge crosses. Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that point.
From rooftop to rooftop, gusts brush past my arms. Each fall has me cycling my legs as though the next step would magically make contact with something despite the gravel being meters away. I slowly nestle into the rhythmic movement. Even a baby bird will learn to stretch its wings when being pushed from the nest. The question lies in if I’d be able to take flight, or if I’d instead snap my neck by the trunk of the tree.
For the first time, my presumptions don’t fail me. The thief does end up following the road for five blocks, does make the turn east toward the bridge. The gap between us is double what it was when we started on foot. Confidence is gaining.
Three buildings. Roughly thirty meters. Two buildings. Roughly twenty. Leaping to the last, even willing the wings to flutter and propel me forward, an ample five meters remained. This wasn’t to even mention the height that spans between us. There is no more time for deliberation. It is do or die.
I leap off of the building. Ancestral wings guide my descent. This time, they are being flattened for a faster fall, I am forced to sever safety for speed until the last possible moment when I am forced to unfurl, forced to have the wind push back so that I am not flattened by the fall. Timing this deadly grace period gets me within one meter, which allows a new issue to present itself: My arc is similar to the crashing of a waterfall. The lower I go, the less I travel. The closer I get, the slighter my chance becomes. I grit my teeth. It’s time to make a desperation play.
Release. Lay it out. Prepare and follow through. Feel the weight of a hollow backpack collapsing into you, pushing through your chest and coming out of your shoulder. Wrap the new appendage around him tightly. An inaccuracy is deadly, so don’t fuck this up.
I’ve never transfigured the arcane before, and yet, in a single moment, my wings disappear inward and extend, jutting and cracking, twice in length from one arm. I carry on one side the wingspan of a non-existent bird and reach further than I’ve ever had before. I will make it.
Other drivers, though acclimated to the oddities of their town, hadn’t expected a humanoid to come plummeting from the heavens, thus veering wildly so as to not crash entirely. The commotion causes him to floor it in fright, not even giving a glance backward this time. My inadvertence to cut off the snake’s head earlier dooms me as my wing drifts still, centimeters away from his shoulder, as I fall onto the ground. I go into a tumble, rolling like a stone. The feathery flat intuitively wraps around my body to cushion the fall, bringing me to a stop in the middle of the street. The stream of drivers continues onward uninterested, splitting in a circle around me as though I am parting water.
“…”
This close. The distance of a weed was all there was. A groan escapes me. Tufts of dark sunlight berate me. Even the wing disappears on me. Flat on my back, arms stretched out, I stare up at the dim sky. There isn’t a point in monitoring where the thief goes anymore.
“I would return the compliment, but you look like shit!”
Even through the blaring swarm, I recognize him. I look up a little more to see him peering down at me, a shining grin appearing from underneath his helmet. He extends a hand.
“Get on!”
His foolish tone wrings a laugh out of me. I accept his help up. What an absurd situation. To have gone through all of that only to find myself sitting on the backseat of his motorcycle.
“How’d you know?” We have to yell as loudly as we can to barely hear each other.
“You’re running across the entire town! I asked Cô Mai, and here we are!” He revs the engine and it purrs lovingly back. “Doesn’t take an intellectual to figure out you’re caught in some nonsense again!”
I shake my head. Ridiculous.
“Dumbass,” I reply, smiling from ear to ear.
He shrugs, neither confirming nor denying it. My grip around his waist tightens as the bike speeds up. Without a helmet, the wind, so gentle and controllable before, whips me like a strict yet kind instructor. I have to look down while he navigates. Cutting in front of people while going twice their speed, it was little wonder we ended up side-by-side with him before the bridge had even ended.
“Hey!”
The thief turned to look at us. Horror dawns on him upon seeing my face. I give him a curt smile. Then, I kick his back wheel. The bike screeches as he spins wildly before tumbling off of the main road. We follow suit and park by the dirt path the swiveling duo was cast at.
“Hey, friend!” My words are as sweet as sugarcane juice, though my meaning is more like its skin. My other friend was busy shuffling through his belongings, searching for my case. “What should we do with you? Turn you in?”
He moaned, clutching his head. “Stop messing around. We both know you aren’t going to take me to the station.”
It’s true. Even he recognizes it as a joke. With the new occupation of the city, bringing him to a governmental building will be a coin flip between nothing happening, with paperwork filing for eternity, or too much happening, with incarceration for life due to petty misdemeanor. Neither of these are pleasant choices for either of us.
“Plus, I’d report that contraband of yours.”
This is a problem too. My speedster enters the fray, tossing me the case. His brows furrow as he gets a good look at our thief. There’s recognition.
“Hey isn’t this Giang? He’s uh, the friend of Phúc’s brother-in-law isn’t he?”
We all look at each other. Then we all look at the other person.
“Đụ má! You’re right!”
“You know Phúc?”
“Of course we know Phúc, idiot. Why are you stealing from me?”
“Please excuse me, times are tough. If I had known it was you I’d have never done it. Here, I’ll atone, we can work something out.”
I stare incredulously at him. Rowdy laughter erupts from my friend, too busy laughing his ass off to contribute to the conversation. An unbridled fury boils over inside of me. I am thankful it is not rage. Do not mistake the two. Fury is necessary; rage is not. Fury is the heat and passion one needs to survive. Fury lets me know that a just punishment is still in order, despite his politeness and our closeness.
“Clean break of the leg? Three months recovery, tops.”
“Clean break– have you gone crazy?”
“For taking my heirloom? It’s a very fair punishment. There’s always the station if you’d prefer,” I add. Our newly discovered relationship aids me in this department. His connection allows me to know for certain that he wouldn’t rat me out.
Our mutual distaste for our interloping foreigners dismisses the alternative fairly quickly. He resigns himself.
“Alright, just do it. Clean, okay?”
My friend looks away, whistling. He’s never liked this part. I check the landscape amongst my fingers. A single, steadfast drop remains after everything that’s happened.
Perfect.
