Background:
My husband is Chinese and we’ve always joked about how China is taking over the world with all their products. It’s not as lighthearted as our jokes, but takes on a more dystopian vibe. This is a story I wrote back in 2011, during a time when I was writing more instinctively and less self-consciously than I sometimes do now. It remains one of my favorite things I’ve written, and re-reading it makes me want to return to that raw, story-first style. Let me know what you think—should I revisit this world someday as a possible novel?
Story:
Every window in the house rattled like a snake ready to strike. Seraphine Vincent grasped an etched glass vase with both hands to keep it from slipping off the shelf. While the whole house shook, she clutched the vase, eyes closed, waiting for the bombardment to cease. White dust and bits of plaster rained down from the cracked ceiling. Seraphine’s mouth moved rapidly in a silent prayer. It had been weeks of non-stop bombing at the range, but Seraphine reminded herself that it was only target practice…and for that she was grateful.
After it was over, every window that wasn’t cracked—which was only a handful—was opened, and the door stood ajar to let out the cloud of powdered plaster. Seraphine moved throughout the house methodically wiping down every surface, a futile attempt given she’d be doing it again the next day. That is, of course, if her house could withstand another bombing practice.
Outside, a truck pulled up in front of Seraphine’s little cottage. A man stepped out and shut the door. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He was built like a soldier. Only he wasn’t one, on account that the United States no longer had an army. Not since China had taken over. This man’s face was freckled, and his hair glowed copper in the sunlight. His name was Asher Roth.
Sera looked up at the sound of the truck. She leaned against the door and watched Asher walk up her flagged-stone walkway she’d laid herself. She folded her arms across her chest, dust rag still in hand. She smiled as he passed under the pergola, stooping slightly to avoid the jasmine vine reaching out to grab him. A smile crept slowly across his face as he approached. His arms opened up, and Sera gladly let him enclose her in an embrace.
“Asher,” she said. “Good to see you. You look good.”
“You look older than I remember,” he said. He took a lock of her usually sleek brown hair between his fingers. It was grey with dust.
“Oh,” she said, waving her dust rag back toward the inside of her house. “It never ends, these days. I’m sure my roof is going to cave in if they keep this up any longer.”
They both smiled grimly at the mention of them.
“What lands you on my doorstep, Asher?”
“I’m getting out.”
Sera stared up at him, scrutinizing his expression.
“Where will you go?”
“Montana. The Dakotas. Maybe even Canada if I can. They aren’t letting any of our kind over the border, but maybe there’s a way,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Anyway, no point staying here any longer. This isn’t America anymore. Hasn’t been for a long while. They pretty much just gave it to them.”
Sera looked out at[DC1] Asher’s truck. A pair of eyes, beneath curly, carrot-red hair, peered out over the passenger door. She smiled at the girl.
“Jemie is okay?” she said, looking back at Asher. “This must all be very scary for a five-year-old.”
“She’ll be okay once we get out of here. I can’t keep hiding her forever. I can’t wait around to find out what they’ll do,” he said. Then he blurted out, “Seraphine, come with us.”
The statement caught Sera off guard. Asher looked surprised as well. But he recovered quickly and watched Sera, waiting for an answer. Sera knew she was blushing but stared back at Asher anyway. Asher was serious. She could tell. He was ready to leave town that very moment and head to the only territory they had given the former citizens of the United States. The line in the sand. The 40th parallel. They would have 360 million people squeeze into less than half of the country they once lived. It was not desirable land for them, though they still controlled it.
“I want to beat the crowds. They haven’t started the evictions yet. If we hurry, we might get first dibs on a place to set up camp,” Asher said. “I think once we’re there, we can get organized—”
“Ash,” she said, cutting him off before he could carry on. She looked over Asher’s shoulder. The streets were empty. Cautiously, she continued, “You know I can’t leave. This is still my home. As long as it still stands, they can’t take it from me.”
It was his turn to interrupt.
“Don’t think you're safe because you look a little like them. They don’t care that you’re half the same as them.”
“I’m staying,” she said firmly.
Asher sighed.
“Suit yourself. Take care, then, little Seraphine.”
She smiled.
“Be safe, Asher Roth. Send word if you can. Let me know you’re okay.”
She gave Asher one last hug. He turned and walked back under the pergola and down the path. Sera waved at Jemie, who still peered at them from the car window. Her head popped up over the side as Sera waved and revealed a toothless grin. Sera laughed and gave a hearty wave. As Asher put his truck in gear and pulled away, Jemie slid down and out of sight. She was certain she would never see him or Jemie again.
Sera caressed her belly as she watched Asher drive away, a look of worry creasing her brow. The house wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t leave. With an affectionate pat on her belly, she turned and walked back into her house.
The dust had settled somewhat, making it easier to clean up. Sera picked up the vase she’d been clutching earlier to ensure its safety. Gently, she pressed the rag into all the crevices, pushing out the dust. She rotated it in her hand to get at the other side of the vase when she caught sight of the etching on the bottom of the glass. Flipping it end over end, she ran a delicate fingertip over it, feeling the tiny ridges on her fingers catching the grooves of the minuscule letters. She held it closer to her face, the letters becoming clearer, though she already knew what it said: Made in USA.
Her cheeks flushed as she read the words, the knowledge coursing through her that this vase, a gift to her mother and father on their wedding day, was considered contraband and anyone caught with something such as that could be jailed, or worse, exiled to the land north of the 40th parallel. The land that was now barren and probably already crowded with other banished or fugitive American refugees. She quickly replaced the vase and instead picked up a picture frame that was face down on the shelf next to it. It had fallen over during the bombing drills. She dusted it off and examined the picture. The woman wore a cheongsam and the man a handsome military uniform. Sera ran a finger across the faces of the smiling couple in the picture. It was her parents’ wedding day. Her mother looked beautiful in her red silk dress with hundreds of tiny, embroidered flowers. Her shiny black hair was pulled back into a bun, which brought out her wide face with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Her father looked down at his new bride, his blond hair cropped short in accordance with military standards.
[DC2] Surely her mother’s blood would be enough to spare her, she thought. Sera moved across the room to the mirror and examined her own reflection. Her hair wasn’t as black and her eyes weren’t as crescent-shaped, but to her, it was enough. She was clearly of Chinese descent.
There was a knock at her door. For a second, she believed it was Asher come back to beg her to go with him and Jemie, but Seraphine glanced at the clock mounted on her cheery yellow—currently dust-free—walls and knew who stood on the other side of that door.
“Just a minute,” she yelled. Quickly, she grabbed the vase and the picture of her parents from their shelf and ran them to the hall closet. She kicked a loose board along the wall, and it shifted aside. Carefully, she set the vase and frame inside and replaced the board. Outside the closet, she composed herself, patting off any extra dust, and strode across the room to the front door. On her doorstep stood a man in a dark green uniform. He was tall, like Asher, but not as broad. His hair was dark, eyes the same familiar crescent shape, flat, high cheekbones, and a devilish smile on his face.
“Ming,” Seraphine said a little breathlessly.
He swept into the room, taking Seraphine in his arms and draping her in a blanket of kisses. It was all she could do to break free of him in order to close the door.
“Please,” she said, almost frightened by his fervor. “Someone will see you.”
“I don’t care,” he said in imperfect English. “Let them see. They’ll only be jealous.”
Seraphine blushed as she let him wrap her up in his arms again. She had first met Ming, when the Chinese Acquisition Army first took over the town. They did door-to-door inspections, clearing out any illegal contraband. Ming had come to her house. The next week, he returned and continued to return week after week. It was always Ming. Seraphine wondered if his commanding officer or other comrades would get suspicious, but he merely waved off her concerns and assured her that everything was fine. They’d spend the entire hour that was allotted for inspection entwined in each other’s arms, breathless and dewy in her bed. It was after one of these inspections that Ming confessed that he was in love with Seraphine, and she too, admitted that she loved him.
Before he could carry her off to her bedroom for their weekly inspection, she wrestled her way out of his arms, laughing and trying to divert his passions if only for a moment. She took his hands in hers and pulled him back in, holding his hands against her chest.
“Do you love me?” she said.
Ming smiled. “Of course.”
She moved his hands downward and placed them on her stomach. She slowly looked up into his handsome face. His expression was confused, but as she felt a smile form on her own lips, comprehension dawned and his lips curled into a brief smile. A few seconds more thought, and his face twisted in disbelief and terror.
“No,” he said, wrenching his hands free from her stomach. “No. It is forbidden.”
He cursed in Chinese and turned away from Seraphine, whose hands now covered her mouth to stifle her sobs. Before any more could be said, there was another knock at the door. Seraphine yelped in surprise. Ming spun around to face her again, fear seeming to permanently etch itself on his face. “Who is it?” he mouthed. Seraphine shook her head.
“Answer it,” he commanded. The authority in his voice did not match the gentleness of his touch as he walked over and wiped away her tears. He straightened out her shirt to better conceal her slight bump and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
But afraid, she was. She walked slowly to the door for the third time that day and opened it. Her heart seized as another soldier stood on her doorstep. This one, though, was heavily decorated with sashes, cords, and medals. She heard Ming move behind her and turned to see him standing at attention, saluting the man in front of her. The man, who was older and more severe-looking than Ming, merely nodded, and Ming’s body relaxed. They exchanged words in Chinese, and the man stepped inside, removing his cap and placing it under his arm. He was shorter than Ming and bulging in the midsection, but this did not make him any less intimidating. He looked carefully around the small house and then turned to look at Seraphine. She stared back up at him, waiting for someone to explain to her what was going on.
The man, obviously a high-ranking officer, if not General Wu himself, broke free of her gaze and barked at Ming, whose face suddenly became impassive. He gave another shout, and Chinese soldiers began filing into her living room, lining the walls and trapping her in between. She took a few small steps toward Ming, looking for answers.
“Ming,” she said. “What’s happening?”
The general barked more orders, and Ming fell into line with the other soldiers, never so much as glancing in Seraphine’s direction. Now it was only the two of them standing in the middle of the room. The general finally turned and addressed her directly.
“As you may already be aware,” he said in perfect English. “I am General Wu. We will be acquiring your house for the purposes of the New Republic of China, and you are hereby evicted, effective immediately.”
“This is my home,” she said, somewhat stunned. “What about my things?”
“It all belongs to the NRC,” he said as he walked over to the shelf and picked up a miniature statue. He flipped it over and showed the bottom to Seraphine. “See? Made in China. This will stay.”
“Does my mother’s blood count for nothing?” she said, finding her voice.
“Your mother was Chinese, yes. But half of something means nothing to us.”
Seraphine stared at General Wu in disbelief. She then looked toward Ming for help, but he refused to look at her, his jaw firmly set.
“Where will I go?” she finally said.
“Where the rest of your kind who are of no use to us go. North of the 40th Parallel,” he said. “You have half an hour to gather some clothes, and then you must go.”
He barked out more orders in rapid, unintelligible Chinese. Two soldiers broke out from the line and flanked Ming. His features mirrored the sudden alarm Seraphine felt. Each soldier took Ming by the wrists and just under his shoulders, twisting his arms behind his back. As they marched him toward the door, Seraphine watched Ming’s now stony expression, anxiously waiting for him to give her any sign that everything would be okay. Only, Ming never even glanced in her direction. He kept his stone-cold stare fixed on something many miles beyond her front door. Then he was gone. With one last ominous look, General Wu followed. Only two of General Wu’s men were left. They stood at attention until the last footfalls of the General vanished.
It was all gone. In one moment, she lost everything. She stood in the center of the
room with the two stone-faced soldiers at her side. Her arms folded across her chest, though
they provided no comfort. After a few moments, the soldier on her left gave her a shove.
“Move,” he said.
She stumbled and let out a cry of surprise. The soldiers moved to the front of the
house and stood at attention by the door. She looked around her room. What would she
take? Where was she going? Tears filled her eyes as questions bombarded her mind. She
grabbed a bag and began stuffing it with clothes without care. It didn’t matter what clothing
was in the bag. When it was half full, she moved over to the wall and knelt next to the
baseboard. Quietly, she pried it loose and removed the vase and picture frame. She placed
them gently in her bag and stuffed more clothing around them.
A shout from the other room alerted her that time was up. She presented herself to
the soldiers, unsure of what was to happen next. Her heart raced at the thought of this being
the last time she’d see her little house. She thought about fighting back, refusing to leave.
“Present your bag for inspection,” one of the soldiers said.
“What?” said Sera, clearly panicked by the request.
The other soldier snatched it from her hand without another request. Sera reached
out for the bag. The first soldier’s arm connected with her chest, sending her to the
ground. Dropping the bag on the ground, the second soldier held up the contraband.
“What is this?”
“Please,” she said. “It’s all I have. My parents…”
The soldiers fixed her with cold, uncaring stares. The second soldier then threw the
vase to the ground, smashing it into pieces. He followed it quickly and ruthlessly with the
picture frame. Sera sobbed as she tried to reach for the mangled photograph of her parents.
The soldiers laughed, kicking Sera’s hand away and stomping on the picture.
“Please,” she cried.
The first soldier grabbed Sera by the back of her head and pulled her to her feet.
He marched her out to the street and shoved her to the ground.
“You are nothing but a dirty half-blood,” he spat. “You are lucky we let you live.
Now leave, or your luck might change.”
Sera struggled to her feet, her knees scraped and bleeding, her hands flecked with
gravel. She turned away from her house—her home—and took a deep breath. She thought
about her last words to Asher before he left. Her reason for staying. Her home. She thought
about the things she didn’t tell him: Ming, the baby. It was all gone. All of it. And now it
was too late. Asher was already gone. Sera was on her own.