After eating, Mei-tzu returns to her books whilst her brother and parents relax in the livingroom. “Why does he get to watch TV all night?”, she grumbles to herself. The homework is hard. She plays with her hair and chews on her pen as she works through the questions. Her phone buzzes. The notification means that her best friend Pin-yen is busy online. Mei-tzu is distracted but she wills herself not to respond. She will get all the latest gossip and news at school tomorrow anyway. For now, the questions need answers. 

Chien-hung and Shu-hui watch the news. Occasionally they briefly discuss the seemingly never ending cycle of violence, shootings, explosions and conflict from around the world.  They sigh, and offer a quiet prayer of thanks that they are so far away from such troubles.  They question the wisdom of fighting fire with fire.

Outside, in the dark orange skies of the approaching dusk, a vehicle speeds along a country road, kicking up dust into the still air. A soft, faraway and insistent buzz fades in and out of earshot.

Kuo-chin is excited to see news of President Trump on TV.  The report is playing clips of a dinner where the President is making jokes.  Kuo-chin smiles. He thinks the President is cool. Chien-hung and Shu-hui do not smile. They do not speak but their eyes meet and there is a moment of shared recognition, a quiet anger too deep for humour to heal. Their son is too young to understand so many things about the world. It would be unfair to scold him for his naive pleasure. They are confident that he will learn to understand, in time, when he is ready.

The car speeds up. Now it is weaving across the road, seemingly trying to shake an invisible prey. It is desperate and vulnerable, alone out in the open and exposed.  It reaches the town suburbs. What is it fleeing? Will it crash?

Hearing the car racing down their street, Chien-hung is concerned. He is worried a child or resident from the neighbourhood could get knocked down.  He goes to the window to see what is happening.  Shu-hui has one question. “What is going on?”

The car has reached their house. There is a bright flash, a three story ball of flame and a sonic boom that is heard across the town.

The remains of the car lie half in the street and half in Chien-hung’s living room. The front of the house is charred, partially collapsed and in flames. Chien-hung, Shu-hui and Kuo-chin lie broken, shattered and bloodied in the ruins. The occupants of the car are little more than burnt remains, almost unrecognisable.  In the back of the house, Mei-tzu, still seated at her bedroom table, lies crushed under concrete.

The wail of a siren rises in the distance.

Thousands of miles away, a military man asks a question. A pilot, sitting in a chair on the ground, replies. “It is done”.  The commander informs the agency and on a database on a computer deep underground hundreds of miles away three names are ticked from a list.  Chien-hung, Shu-hui, Kuo-chin and Mei-tzu are not on the list.

In the coming days, there is no news of the drone strike. Eventually a reporter investigates. She travels to the town. She talks to neighbours, teachers, bosses. She asks questions. She gets names and faces to match to the names.  A family gone, only questions remain in the minds of those they knew, who loved them as family, neighbours and classmates. Why them? What did they do? Who is next? When will this end?

A room fills with reporters. A hand goes up and a question is asked. The Peoples’ Republic of China Ministry Of Foreign Affairs Press Secretary is not aware of any civilian casualties. She will look into it. Her tone is one of well rehearsed sympathy.  But there is also a sneering triumphalism in her voice. Three separatist insurgents have been eliminated. Mission accomplished. If there was collateral damage, it is regrettable.  Rules were followed. Sometimes some people are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It is regrettable, we all grieve for those lost. Next question.