On the first day James was released from prison for a crime he did not commit, he knelt in front of the wake under the HDB flat. His daughter Sophia has died in a car accident. Her body,mangled beyond recognition,had been crushed when the billionaire’s son plowed his Ferrari through a red light at 130km/h. The same privileged fucker whose lies had stolen five years of James’s life. As James dropped the pieces of incense paper into the burning bin, rage burned through his veins like acid. What unholy vengeance awaits when a man with nothing to lose finally faces the monster who took everything?
The first thing James felt stepping out of the gate wasn’t freedom, it was the heat.
The fucking Singapore humidity that seemed to feel worse than it did when you were serving time.
The kind of heat that clung to your skin, sticky and wet, like a punishment. He squinted at the morning light cutting through the prison gates. For five years, his world had been concrete and shadow. Now it was too bright. Too loud. Too glaring
The guard handed him a transparent plastic bag. Inside , a cracked Samsung phone S7 edge, a wallet with eighty nine dollars, a casio watch with no more battery, and a folded photo of his daughter, Sophia.
Guard: You’re free to go, James, hope i don’t see you again.
James nodded once at the only guard that treated him with an ounce of respect during his term. He examined his belongings, settling on the picture of his daughter.
He turned the photo over. Sophia’s handwriting on the back, faint and faded.
‘Happy Birthday, Papa. Don’t give up, okay? I love you’
His throat tightened. He folded the photo, slipped it back into the wallet, and walked out of Changi Prison without looking back.
The taxi driver glanced at him through the rear-view mirror.
Driver: Wah, brother. You just come out, ah? Stay positive ok…there is always hope, can always start afresh. Where you going to?
He only spoke once.
James: Toa Payoh Lorong Eight. Block 23.
Driver: alright…family never come and pick you up?
James didn’t answer. The city outside the window moved too fast, new buildings, more BTO flats, new buses, everyone with their faces buried in phones.
It was like watching someone else’s life through glass.
The driver, sensing the vibe, stopped talking and concentrated on his driving.
By the time he reached the void deck, the sky was overcast. Singapore’s tropical weather can be unpredictable at times, it could be all bright and sunny in Bedok, while a thunderstorm can wreak havoc in Bukit Timah.
The void deck of block 23 was brightly lit with white fluorescent lights. They flickered above the white drapes. The smell of joss paper and chrysanthemum flowers filled the air. Old uncles were sitting at round tables, sipping 3-in-1 coffee, talking in low voices.
Someone spotted him and whispered.
Auntie: Eh, Sophia’s father, right? The one who went to jail?
Uncle: Yah, heard he just come out today. Aiyoh, poor thing…
The whispers pricked at him like tiny needles, but James kept walking, head down, expression blank, until he stood before the coffin.
Sophia’s picture sat on the altar. Her smile, bright and soft, like sunlight through clouds. Her body, they said, had been unrecognizable. They never let him see.
His knees buckled before the table. He lit a stick of incense, pressed his palms together, and bowed three times.
He whispered softly, so soft that he could ont even hear himself.
James : Sophia… Papa’s home.
A tear rolled down, dark and silent down his cheeks.
Clara, the woman who had once been his wife, collapsed beside him with a painful gasp that tore through the murmurs around them. Her body convulsed with each silent sob as she clawed at his shirt, twisting the fabric until her knuckles blanched bone-white. When she finally pressed her face against his chest, he could feel her tears burning through to his skin like acid.
Clara : she’s gone James…she’s gone…
Later that night, as relatives drifted home, James sat alone by the metal bin, feeding folded paper into the fire. Gold paper houses, paper iPhones, paper ipads, all the things the living thought the dead would need.
The flames licked higher, hot against his face.
David, James old neighbour just turned 70. He was like a grandfather to Sophia, helping take care of her when James was locked up.
David : James…I’m sorry…
James turned. David, his eyes bloodshot, his thin veiny hands trembling, held onto James’ shoulder for support as he lowered his body onto the floor.
James looked at the multiple bruises on David’s body.
David : i was waiting for Sophia across the road…I saw it happen. I called the police…the lawyers came the next day…they offered me money…
James: Who?
David: James ah…Sophia won’t…
James looked up sharply. His voice dropped an octave.
James: Who was it…?
David hesitated. Then he leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper.
David: Some rich man’s son. Ethan Tan. You remember Tan Kee Leong, from the property group? His boy. Crashed a Ferrari into the junction. Two red lights, drunk. He hit Sophia, and another motorcyclist. The man on the bike survived, but he had his left arm amputated. Ethan was out on bail the next day.
The words struck like a hammer. The flames roared higher.
David: They say got connections. Lawyers, know the right people, don’t know what else. The papers never say her name. Just ‘a female pedestrian’. That fucker is still overseas now, enjoying life.
James : what happened to you?
David : I refused the money…someone…pushed me down the stairs from behind…lucky i landed on the grass patch…hairline cracks on my wrist though…
David held up his bandaged hand.
David : Let it go…this is Singapore…Billionaires…Millionaires…the rules don’t apply to them.
James stared into the fire, watching the paper handbag crumble to ash.
James: He killed my daughter.
David: James, listen. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? The law will…
James: The law put me in prison for his lies. Tan framed me for taking the client’s money…he cleaned up after his son and i’m the collateral damage. The law protects the rich…
David fell silent. The night hummed with cicadas, the faint sound of mahjong tiles clicking upstairs. Somewhere, an old man sang softly to a funeral song on loop.
James dropped another handful of paper into the flames.
David : They are rich…they have money…the law can’t touch them…
James: If the law can’t touch them,then I will.
David flinched.
David : don’t do this James…please…you cannot win.
James : No…i don’t intend to…
James wiped away the tears from the corner of his eyes and smiled at his daughter’s photograph.
James : We will all lose together.
Coming soon