The Hedgehog Issue I: Fiction Collection
“The Endless Chase” by Derrik Lu
The life of isolation is dark. The waves come and go as if a cat snatching a mouse. Friend becomes foe, nothing becomes our closest companion, life is a game of running, hiding, praying you don’t get caught. Fall and fail, those who stay up become the one who picks others up. The chase never ends, not until the end of time, or the end of everything. Each morning we wake up to nothing, a blank page, a sheet of snow lying on the ground, piling up higher to block our path from each other. The distance becomes further by the day, the snow becoming too much to bear. Nature’s game is hard, no choice is given, no forgiving, when we look back at what’s behind us we are only driven further forward, not daring to look death in the face.
But only if the death we look at was so much worse, not our friends, but something else, a devil of our world taking the place of the ones closest in our lives, the people by our sides. Silent waves flow, bringing us further out into the dark and deep sea we try to swim away from.
Emerging into the sky, the light shines as we glance into the world we were once in, the life we wanted, the dystopia we were once so familiar with. The glance becoming a stare, the dark becoming the light, we see what the world has become. The chase over, the length becoming distant, now the binder to this world thickens, as the glooming abyss that we look back fills. The ones that were so far apart from us are now with us once more, the warmth and protection that we craved while crawling out of the hole step by step, the one destination in mind we fight for with our lives. The reapers bound to their souls leave, the nature we wanted now back. But only for so long will this last, for so long we can stay here on this ground; we don’t savor what’s left, but same with everything else. The horizon becomes the sunset, the remembrance of the old days that were memories of the past given to us by the only people that care. Only this world we want only will last for so long, as time speeds the only thing we wait for is the death we were running from only going to come back at us faster. Slowing down, life isn’t about the present, it’s about the past, we can only do so much, yet forget about the memories that were once made for us, by the people that are with us. People live for the lives they wish for, yet that goal seems so distant, and the chase never ends; the only guide is the faith, the soul inside of us burning with the desire to move, to never end this chase. Yet finally when it’s time, death looks us in the eyes. Nature is the ocean, life pushes and pulls, and this balance is the reason why everything exists. Nature is the world, it tells us what to do, and one of those commands is to live.
© The Hedgehog Literary Journal for Youth, 2020
“Infinity” by Brian Li
Four years, he had been in this dreaded place, two million light years from home. On a small M437 ship, he carried with him solar panels, windmill parts, and space suits to the developing civilization on Gleise. Every day — no, not days — for eternity, he would sit in his blank grey cockpit, staring at the stars crawling past. The ship was automated, so he could sleep three hours at a time. There was no bed, no internet, no nothing. Only a simple water dispenser. He would be in this junk heap for eighteen more years. Although he hated the horrid conditions, he had to earn money to support his children, even if he was only paid a pittance of what he needed. He looked out the window, and saw the regular stars and jumbles of ice fly past. Far ahead, another small ship glided through the darkness. His rusty radio rang.
“Radio check. Come in.”
“Go ahead.”
“Cargo ship 930, you are going off track. Repeat, you are going off track.”
“I’m out.”
He turned the wheel sharply to the left, towards the other ships. The ship did not respond, but continued hurtling forward. He glanced at the radar, and saw that he was veering too far to the right, and the others were following the glowing green trail shown on the map. His ship flashed red emergency lights. He pressed down on the radio:
“Mayday, I repeat, Mayday!’
“Message received. We…”
The radio cut off abruptly.
He banged on the wheel, kicked the seat, but the ship gave no heed. He was veering away from Andromeda and the ship was now heading towards a wall of empty space, save some faraway galaxies. After travelling for another few hours, despite all of his best efforts, the ship glided to a halt and shut down. It was pitch black. There was no sun outside to provide him light. All of the ships had gone off his radar. There were no celestial bodies nearby. His radio picked up no signal. He sat still. It was deathly quiet. His chances of returning home were diminishing. He drifted on.
Very suddenly, he was hit with a pang of guilt. He couldn’t bear the thought that his children would starve if he didn’t continue his delivery. He took a minute to unbuckle his harness and stepped gingerly towards the cold iron door behind him, which led to the storage area. He lifted the heavy latch and went in. The storage area was a spacious room dimly lit by emergency lights, that led to other areas of the ship. His cargo was stored there. He followed the flashing lights to the suit section, and grabbed a heavy, dirty blue spacesuit still covered in its foam wrapping. He took off the wrapping, and began the process of putting it on.
After he had everything secured, he went to the side of the ship, opened the hatch,
and floated out to meet his fate.
He felt the weightlessness of space. The cold chilled him to the bone. He glanced back and saw his pitiful ship, swallowed by the monster of space. Laden with these heavy scenes, he continued on.
He only had a few minutes, and oxygen was precious; he had taken half a can of oxygen from the ship and it was the only can left, so he had no time to waste. Moving himself by grabbing the ship and pulling, he managed to get to the back of it and inspect the rockets. After a meticulous search, he discovered several small punctures in a tube running towards the engine, likely caused by micrometeorites. Curse the ship’s cheap metal. A dark grey liquid oozed from the tube. He quickly floated back to the hatch and headed to the repair room. He opened the door and was greeted by the cold grey walls staring back at him.
No parts, no repair pieces, nothing, save for a few rusty nails, a knife, and a measurer. The measurer was the only thing that came close to modern technology.
Thinking fast, he crawled to the storage room, still wearing his suit. Leaning to one side from the low ceiling, he grabbed several polycrystalline solar panels and kicked, breaking them into sizable chunks. He went back to the repair room, took all he needed, floated over to the storage room, and began cutting the solar panels into more precise shapes. Holding the measuring tape, he drifted out the hatch and began measuring the holes. He leaped back in and banged the hatch behind him, and made his way to the storage room as quickly as he could. Taking the measurer, he took out a few parts of the panels and fastened them into a stand so that the measurer could stand above the panels. He shone the areas of the holes onto the solar panels, and began to carve.
Two hours had elapsed when he finished cutting the holes. Opening the hatch for what he believed to be the final time, he floated contentedly towards the holes. He took out a smallish piece which he had cut from the panels and began searching for the corresponding hole. Finding it, he eagerly fitted it in, and then began to take out another piece. While pulling out the second filling, the earlier piece disintegrated. Worrying now, he began fitting his second piece into its hole, and it immediately fell apart. He had overestimated the strength of the fragile solar panels. Crestfallen, he dropped the other pieces. He gazed at the translucent lines running along his ship, the priceless elixir of life flowing through them. Then he drifted aimlessly in the preying darkness.
He looked up. He had drifted far from the ship now. That was strange, he shouldn’t be moving anywhere at all. He looked around him. Motes of dust made from disintegrated panels were drifting in the same direction as he. He looked at the direction he was drifting in and saw nothing, just a blank, dark wall of space. He closed his eyes. He felt nothing. He didn’t notice the bleeping red light on his oxygen tank.
He felt a sharp pull on the top of his head. He opened his eyes. He was flooded with his senses. He was feeling a strange, sickly warmth in his head, but his feet were cold and clammy. He heard the steady beeping of his oxygen tank. Looking at it, the tank showed nine more minutes of air. He tasted the bitter taste of plastic in his mouth. But the oddest of all was the pull on his helmet, as though he were near a planet. He looked around carefully, and jerked back.
In front of him were bubbles, almost transparent ones. They emitted no light, but seemed to glow. Each bubble varied in size. Some were as large as he was, and some were larger still. In the distance he spotted a large sphere almost the size of Earth. He tried to back away, but there was an overwhelming pull that defeated his feeble efforts. There isn’t any point to life anymore anyways, he thought, and he was not afraid.
As he was pulled towards it, he examined a bubble which was half his size. It was not reflective, and he could see nothing in it. He very gently put his hand into the sphere. He looked at his hand: it was chopped off. He could see the bone and the arteries and the inside of his suit. He quickly pulled his hand out, banging it against his chest. He again examined his hand. It was whole. He felt no pain. Cautiously, he reached in again. He felt nothing, yet he could still see the bones and the sinews of his arm, as though his hand had been chopped off. He was intrigued. He dove at the sphere and emerged from the other side, unscathed. Like a comet, he swirled back around and plunged in yet again. This time he did not emerge. He had three more seconds of oxygen.
He was in a white land. He felt nothing. He looked down. He could see every part of his body laid out before him. He could see his heart pumping blood all through his veins. He could see the structure of his bones. He could see everything. He noticed that his oxygen tank was strangely quiet. The beeping had stopped. His oxygen tank displayed his oxygen level as “error.” He looked up. Ahead was a structure.
It was an impossible shape, unable to be described, that seemed to fold in upon itself but stretched out indefinitely. Surprised that he was still alive, he lifted his leg. It moved. He tried his arms, and they worked as well. Although no scientist, he could tell that this was clearly an odd dimension. He tried to make his way towards the object, but he was not able to move. He tried again. This time he moved in another direction, an unknown, new direction. He was now suddenly in front of the object. He stood in the nothingness of absolute emptiness, and waited. He did not know what he was waiting for. He only knew that he must wait.
A voice spoke. It was not an earthly voice, nor one that the ear can hear or the body can feel. It was one of the mind, a voice of the mind. The voice spoke in a language unknown, but was understood by all life. It was the language of the soul. The voice spoke of all the secrets of the world, the universe, and beyond. It spoke of the history of existence and non-existence. It spoke of life, of death, and all between, before, and after. It spoke of our universe, a nothing in an infinity of nothings. Lastly, it spoke the truth.
A thousand years of eternity had passed since he had first entered.
He emerged.
His thoughts were humming inside of him, but now rapidly cooling. His oxygen tank showed he had only two more seconds of oxygen. He breathed one more time, and then he was ready to leave; he took off his helmet. He didn’t belong in this world anymore. He thought of his children, and hoped they would be cared for. He closed his eyes. But it was, even if just for a moment of a thousand eternities, that he was infinite.
© The Hedgehog Literary Journal for Youth, 2020
“Chapter 1 of the Legend of Li” by Zack Wang
The rain kept falling as Li jogged home.
”Mom, Dad, all the food is sold. We finally have the money to buy clothes for the New Year!” Li shouted with a smile, which would soon be frozen on his face. He saw the faded eyes of his sister, the pale skin of his parents, and then the blood. The stench of crimson covered the walls. Li knelt slowly and clasped the ground. Two rows of tears slid down his cheeks as he slowly hid his face behind his hands. When he finally raised his head, his eyes were as red as the wall in front of him. He let out a roar full of anger and pain. Then e felt a bony but strong hand laid on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw a thick red-painted wooden leg of a short old man.
“Do you want the power to avenge your family?” the old man asked with mercy in his eyes.
“Yes I do.” Li exclaimed. The old man gently helped Li up from the ground, and said “Come with me.”
Then the old man turned and walked away slowly, Li tried to catch up, but Li surprisingly found that he has to sprint to be able to catch up to him. They came out of the city and kept on walking. When Li looked back he could barely see the city lights.
“Where are we going?” Li asked.
The old man replied without turning back, “A place where you will get your power.”
They walked for what felt like centuries to Li. When they finally reached their destination, Li was panting like a lizard on a hot rock. He looked around, and all he could see were foggy trees. A wave of dizziness took over. As Li tried to breathe, the mountain air felt thin.
The old man sat down, “My name is Yuanji. If you want to learn, you have to go down the mountain before sunrise.”
Li was surprised for a moment, but after realizing what was happening, he jumped up and shouted, “How is that possible? I’d have to walk down over 10 kilometers and there’s only two hours left until sunrise…”
Li couldn’t finish his words because Yuanji had already disappeared. Li stood there without knowing what to do. After a while, Li finally comprehended his mission and started running. Before he took another step over, the ground that he was standing on suddenly disappeared. Li’s instincts from many years of hunting reacted faster than his thoughts. He turned and there were ten swords silently pointing up to Li. A drop of sweat slid down his face.
Li thought of his family, the pale skin of his parents, and then the red wall that’s painted by his family’s blood, his hand squeezed into fists and he managed to ignore the pain of his body and started running on the path away from the soldiers. As he walked, there were steel-jaws, snare traps, and intercepting traps. Li kept falling down again and again but he managed to get up every time with his will to avenge his family. By the time he saw a little wooden house at the end of the wooden path, his right arm was twisted, both of his legs were broken—he had to use his left arm to pull on the ground and climb into the house.
A man’s shadow appeared in Li’s eyes. Yuanji was waiting for him. When Li saw Yuanji, he let out a sigh of relief and fainted from exhaustion.
When Li reopened his eyes, he saw the black paint of the ceiling. He jumped out of bed and surprisingly found out his legs were fine as a newborn’s. Even the scar he had when he was little had disappeared. His stomach rumbled as if it was complaining to him of the poor treatment. He walked outside and found that it was already noon and Yuanji was waiting for him.
“How do you feel?” Yuanji asked.
“A little hungry…” Li replied.
Yuanji rambled for a while, “Good, that’s exactly what we need, today we are going to learn the basic history of demon slayers. The demon slayer’s history can be traced back to the Qin dynasty. It was a product of the gods that Shi Huangdi sent Xufu to find. In history, Xufu never came back but the truth is that he actually found the gods and the gods gave him the first breathing skill: the sun breath. The idea of sun breath is to breathe in the energy of the sun and store it in your body so that it will expand your veins and let more oxygen in to strengthen up your body. Then, even a human will be able to have face to face combat with a demon for a short period of time. The water breath, fire breath, iron breath, wood breath, and terra breath are the five basic breaths and also the five basic elements of Taoism….”
“BOOM.”
Before Yuanji could finish up his words three loud booms bomb beside their ears. When Li heard it his shouted in frustration “Run!” but a group of riders with a weird blanket around their faces crushed in and charged at Yuanji. Again, Yuanji suddenly disappeared. The soldiers closed up again Li, back to back, as Li looked around with fear. A hand appeared behind one of them and pulled him off the man of his horse. It was Yuanji. The other soldiers turned back and took a strike at Yuanji but a wave of fire burst out and the soldiers screamed in pain. Li felt Yuanji’s hand on his collar which pulled on him to escape.
“Why are they attacking us?” Li shouted nervously.
“They are abbasids and they are coming for me because I’m the Emperor Li Shiming’s brother, Li Yuanji.” Yuanji shouted back.
Li’s eyes opened wide, “What! You are?”
“Yes, I failed in the Game of Thrones and escaped before Shiming could kill me. Then I joined the demon slayers.”
“But the emperor never told us about you?”
“That’s a lie he made up to make everyone think he is the one and only emperor.” Yuanji replied. Li murmured in confusion “Alright.” They reached a cave and they both dived into its crevices.
To be continued…
© The Hedgehog Literary Journal for Youth, 2020
“The Longing Soldier” by Hao Lun Li
The war needed soldiers, and the Private was one of them. He was not the average soldier. He didn’t like the war. Unlike the other soldiers, he did not want to fight for glory or for his country. He wanted to go back to his quiet town. It was calm and peaceful there. No horrors of the battlefield. No gory battlefield where you fear for your life every 5 minutes or doing tedious tasks like digging trenches. No one spontaneously drops dead. Unfortunately for him, the war was hungry, it needed more fuel at the front. Without soldiers, the war can’t go on. The war is like a car, the soldiers are the fuel. The private had the idea that the car can still run with a few milliliters missing. The enemy was a brick wall that needed to be destroyed. Fuel powers machines, machines destroyed things. Soldiers power wars, wars destroy enemies. His company was sent by the General himself to investigate the lack of enemy activity in the area. They decided to camp out here for the night. Only a few weeks ago, this place was a battlefield. Filled with mines, enemy snipers, and the sound of bullets whizzing by your head. Now, it was as quiet as the dark emptiness of space except for the occasional crack of a nearby branch.
The private stared up at the dark and gloomy night sky. Tonight, he could see stars and planets, moving as if they knew where to go. He wished he was like them. There in the stars, he remembered the way to go. He had to escape the camp now, before anyone notices him. A steady and heavy downpour had started to fall. He had made it a few hundred meters until he heard footsteps run past him. He quickly jumped into a bush and waited until those footsteps that sounded more like squelches from the damp ground went away into the night. They had come for him. He made it another few hundred meters until he heard it, the last sound that he will ever hear. The sound of gunshots.
© The Hedgehog Literary Journal for Youth, 2020
“The Plan” by Richard Mou
With hours to spare, Jerry and his mice friends slowly made their way around the race track. Jerry contemplated all the death that he dealt with. Why did his parents die so fast? And who were these giants looking at them throughout their lives? He decided to host a meeting explaining his thoughts and his understanding of all this nonsense. He was determined to put an end to all these mysterious occurrences. After a day of hard working running laps around a pro-longed track, he could barely stay awake as he ate his dinner meal. But the only thing that was on his mind was an emergency meeting the next day. He knew that an insurrection ought to occur sooner or later.
This was the most prominent meeting of the mega-annum. Everyone sat attentive waiting for the message. Many were geared up with all the toothpicks and toy pans at the ready. They knew lives would be sacrificed. But in the end, everything would be worth it. These pesky giant’s will pay for all the damage they have done. All the families they ripped apart. All the friends that suffered for days. This was going to be the battle of their lives. But without the words from their leader, no-one dared to move an inch. Jerry gave them hope. But when faced with danger, nobody was willing to die. Except today.
“Though we suffer much, we are all one. No matter the costs, we need our own rights. Even if just one of us can make it through and defeat these egregious giants, they shall make our colonization where freedom exists and life is egalitarian for all. Through the 5 years I’ve lived, I have come up with a phenomenal plan. To help benefit each one of your strengths and mashed them together. ‘We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.’ Let me explain this plan, then let’s set off to eviscerate all these insidious behemoths.”
With each member given their role, everyone set out to their posts. As for their resolute leader, he would be the last one escaping putting his life at risk. The plan was set in action!!! With Basil gliding through the air and Johnny firing his acerbic toothpicks, all the mice were on fire!!! Julius bit a giant but that was just the beginning! Suddenly, a racetrack fell from the sky injuring dozens of enemies. The plan was a huge success! Half of the mice were already out of this huge building. But the rest were still fighting their way out. Glasses smashing, liquids flying, everything was a mess. Finally, they were able to knock out the final giant with a syringe. After many years of aversion, they were rewarded. And their reward was exorbitant.
© The Hedgehog Literary Journal for Youth, 2020
“Red, Raw War” by Brian Li
[4,846,093 AC. There is a war. How it started, none know. It began when the sun was still lemon, when water flowed freely, when songs burst from the forest. When safety was common. There is none now. Now, we wait for the perfect moment to die].
White marble slab, a parting gift
Abounding steel letters, remnant of the past
Raw wounds underneath
Withering in the shadow of evil
Arctic region of deathly silence,
Reaper lies, waiting.
He staggered towards the rubble, iron shoes splattered with the crimson underneath him, reflecting the cold red light of the sun. His wounds cried red tears that leaked down onto the crude dirt road, and a trail of blood followed in his wake. He was in an enemy village, but at this point in the war, neither side cared about the outcome and assisted each other as much as slaughtered each other. The man staggered and limped, almost drunkenly, towards the ancient oak door guarding what seemed to be the remains of a house, and rested his battered head below it. He lay there for quite a time, breathing.
In and out.
In and out.
Then, he tapped on the door. Its white paint flaked and disintegrated under his fingers, and a red mark was left. He tapped again.
The old man didn’t hear it at first. The tapping. He was making tea. He’d set down the kettle, stepped gently over to a small cabinet, and was about to open it when he heard the tapping. Like a heartbeat, gently fading away, until it was so soft that it was barely audible, even in the silence of the razed village. He stepped gently out of the kitchen and brought his tired feet, one foot before the other, to the small door, each step bringing raw pain. A few splatters of blood kept close behind him. His right foot was going to get infected, he knew that, but there was nothing he could do about it. He reached the door, half fallen from its cracked hinges, and carefully eased it open by just a crack. He saw the shack opposite his, and the rough gravel cutting into what would’ve been an idyllic scenery. Nothing else, although some stones seemed to be tinted rust-red. Through his blurred eyes and muffled ears, he could see and hear nothing out of the ordinary. There was another tap. He gently nudged the door open just a little bit wider, and saw the bloodies shoe of a soldier. In a faint voice, the soldier spoke.
“Ego deditionem” was all he had to say.
I surrender.
The old man dragged the soldier into the small basement, or rather, what was left of it. The longest wall, facing south, had been completely razed to the ground, and all that was left of it was a few small piles of ash scattered on the oaken floorboard. The rest of the house was cracked in multiple places, and there were holes smashed out of the eastern wall at random intervals. The house had once been majestic, standing tall and towering over the rest in the village. Now, war had wreaked devastation on it, and only the very core of the mansion had been left partly intact. Everyone had died in the bombing except the old man and a few peasants. The only place left untouched was the basement, where a sofa, a table, and two chairs sat. Resting on the sofa was the soldier. The old man stood over him, attempting to bandage the man’s wounds with a piece of polyester torn from a burnt shirt. The man lay, eyes closed, facing sideways. Every few minutes, he would cough blood onto his shirt. The old man looked around. There were no shirts left. He looked at the soldier. Though still in his blood-stained, tattered uniform, he seemed to be asleep. A bubbling came from the kitchen. The old man stood up, joints creaking as his legs struggled to move. He limped upstairs into the kitchen and took the kettle. He opened the cabinet and took out a single cracked china teacup, its blue print fading ever so slightly. He gently grasped the handle and poured the tea, still warm, into his cup.
The house was quiet. The soldier had stopped coughing blood.
The old man looked into his teacup. The leaves drifted down slowly to the bottom, like black snow falling in a red sky. He set down his cup, put his hands on his lap, and sat in the silence. Then, he gazed out of the window, into the crimson sky, where black snow fell on the land, weeping streams of red, and he knew that far away, there was someone like him, but dead.
© The Hedgehog Literary Journal for Youth, 2020
