The Girl

Okay my first prose post on this blog! Its one of my favorites, but its been deemed by some teachers as not PG, so uh, up to your own discretion luh, I personally think its not very shocking or anything.

The Girl

You might have seen me around. I’m at the void deck of block 9. If you live around here, you would definitely walked by me at least once, and most probably would have stopped to buy something from my owner too. You might have even patted me on my head as I am nestled against a box, my tail flicking and paws curled under me.

My owner, he is a nice guy; always greets you with a big smile and a friendly beer belly. The kids from the nearby primary school like him a lot, especially as he has stock of every kind of sweet imaginable. The children come everyday, some buy cup noodles for lunch, others just arm themselves with candy bars and chocolates before heading home. The few public tables nearby are always full of students come dismissal time, where herds of students would come to feed.

When the rush hour is over, a lone, upper primary girl would come. She is a resident and eats her lunch here. On her face, hangs an expression sad enough to wipe the smile off my owner’s face. She would sit sullenly at the empty table, nibbling a small bun which would only be half gone when she throws it into the dustbin.

She is a corpulent girl, and can barely fit into her uniform. She probably eats so little to lose weight. She doesn’t seem to like her own appearance and scrutinizes her reflection on the glass screen of the notice board as she waits for the lift.

A secondary school girl also visits me often. She is thin, very thin; Skin and bone. A strong gust is all that’s enough to carry her into the wind. She comes with another friend, a schoolmate also living near-by. Her friend is the sporty type, eats a lot; and eats quickly. The girl, buys the smallest pack of cup nobles available and eats very slowly, taking to chew each mouthful thoroughly, making sure her food is almost liquefied when it goes down her throat.

They are good friends, they chat over lunch. The girl smiles and laughs and jokes when her friend is around, but the moment they bid goodbye, her face loses all positive expression.

Once her friend is out of sight, the girl would skirt around to the back, where there is a big monsoon drain. She sticks her hand into her mouth and extends her fourth finger down her throat. Unknown to her friend, she is the goddess of retching. It is there, in the shadow of the flat, that her vomit flows, its sour smell masked by the equally bad smell of the garbage chutes.

Late at night, when there is nobody around, a beautiful young woman with a perfect body, dressed in a clingy, size zero dress, floats into the void deck on 6-inch stilettos with a tiger beer in hand. Her make-up is running and the smudged eye shadow did little to hide her swollen red eyes. The tissue she holds in her hand was as effective as a curtain in a hurricane. She heads to the back, to the side of a big monsoon drain and pours out the contents of her digestive system. She then heads for the lift lobby in a zigzag. Instinctively, she turns around to face the notice board, where she stares dazedly at the reflection of herself.