Chapter 11: Guilt and Grief
The next day, the police confirmed the identity of the deceased through various means.
When I was five, my father was killed in an explosion at that fireworks warehouse.
The cause was quickly determined: an accident.
The pond warehouse stored a large amount of defective fireworks, waiting to be destroyed. Some had leaking propellant and explosives, so when moved, metal dust would fill the air.
Father was careless; his cigarette wasn’t fully out, which caused a dust explosion and started the fire.
The burning metal dust was already dazzling, but fate wanted something even more spectacular—the explosion blew off the roof, sending all the fireworks into the sky, drawing everyone to watch.
Father died tragically under the most beautiful fireworks. When the charred body was carried out, my mother, afraid I’d be frightened, pulled me aside and covered my eyes.
But I still caught a glimpse from afar—and was deeply traumatized.
Strange fireworks, my father’s death, a long night... I thought this must be the end of the world; otherwise, how could life go on?
I was numb, unable even to cry.