Beautiful (Short Story)

She had always been beautiful.

With glowing, coal-black eyes, pale pink lips and a vivacious character to match, she enchanted many who saw her at first glance.

This girl was none other than the closest friend I ever had. I could always recall with fond nostalgia, the times when we used to laugh and talk about so many things under the sun.

She had gone overseas for further studies and was planning to be a lawyer in her future. Even though we had kept in daily contact while she was studying in London, somehow we drifted apart.

That awkwardness was evident as we faced each other for the first time in many months. Her plane had just touched down and I had specially rushed over to the airport just to meet her.

For the sake of our old friendship.

Yet, the minute I saw her, there was a strange distant look in her eyes that I could not comprehend. All the questions that I had been longing to ask her, simply bubbled and died down in my throat.

I stared at her mutely, trying desperately to think of something to say; something that could break the uncomfortable silence that was slowly overwhelming me within.

I swallowed nervously and bit my lip out of habit. She gave me a strained smile and said hello in the friendliest way possible.

Yet she refused to look at me directly, as if she was too embarrassed to face me. I did not want to admit that she had changed a lot. I did not want to realize that the close friendship we once shared was dying.

But the fact that we did not know what to say to each other in real life spoke volumes about the reality of our friendship. It was something that I had tried to ignore at the beginning.

I smiled sadly and said hello back, trying to keep back the tears that threatened to spill out any moment. That was somewhat the end of our conversation, really.

There was nothing more to say.

Words were left unspoken in the air, but we both understood what was better left unsaid. The close bond we had once shared was gone forever.

When we said our good-byes, a single tear trickled down my cheek as I turned away. Somehow, it was hard to let go of the past and all the memories it contained. Somehow, it was hard to let go of things when you have to.

Mirror, Mirror On the Wall (Short Story)

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a plain looking princess called Rosette. With mousy brown hair and freckles, she wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of beautiful when the current rage was all blonde haired beauties with big, blue eyes.

Her mother, a frail and sickly lady, had died while giving birth to her, though many vicious rumors circulating around the kingdom claimed that she’d taken one look at her new-born baby and died of a heart attack.

Nevertheless, the king loved his daughter deeply and doted on her. But he was afraid that one day, his daughter would grow up and realize that not everyone will look at her with such ready acceptance.

So, when Rosette was just five years old, he set down a royal decree to ban all mirrors in his kingdom and destroyed all the existing ones. Those who were found with a mirror in their possession were severely punished and thrown into jail.

While his men were carrying out his orders, he went, disguised as a common peasant, to a powerful witch who lived at the far end of the forests to request her service.

For he wanted her to create a magic mirror specially for Rosette.

"It'll be difficult," she muttered to herself, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "I'll need a drop of your daughter's blood and a lock of her hair to craft such a devious enchantment."

The king readily agreed to her requests and soon, equipped with the required elements and a sack of gold, the witch started to build the mirror.

This took at least six months to achieve for the magic woven was complex and the whole process was physically and mentally draining. But eventually, the mirror was completed and the king personally went down with a few trusted servants to collect it.

He ordered the mirror to be placed in Rosette’s bedroom and when everything was in place, he called his daughter to come and take a look at the new present he’d gotten her.

Excited, the princess bounced into the bedroom and sat on her father’s lap.

"So where’s my present, Daddy?" she asked impishly, smiling at him with all the innocence of a five-year old child.

Her father smiled and nodded at the mirror hanging on the wall. Rosette gasped in wonderment as she jumped out of her father’s lap and ran to inspect her new present.

With an intricate frame carved out of pure gold and a pane cut out of the clearest glass, the mirror was an exquisite sight to behold.

But what captured Rosette’s attention the most was the reflection in the glass.

"Is that ... is that really me, Daddy?" she whispered, entranced by her new reflection.

For the girl staring back at her had curly locks of gleaming, rich brown hair and eyes the colour of the deepest blue skies. No freckles dotted her smooth, porcelain white skin and her lips were the palest shade of pink.

The girl in the mirror was beautiful and Rosette ... wasn't.

"Yes, darling, that really is you," her father said, mustering a smile even though his heart was breaking at how he was deceiving his own daughter. His only daughter.

Rosette didn't reply, drunk with wonder, as she slowly reached out to touch the illusion on the other side.

For the next ten years, she grew up believing that she looked exactly like the girl in the mirror that hung in her bedroom.

This didn't stop the servants in the castle from looking at her pityingly, and she had to endure constant jeers and taunts at the Royal Academy for Princesses that she attended.

Yet she had only to look into the magic mirror once and somehow, no matter how bad things got, everything would seem bearable once more.

"Its okay," she told her reflection with a brave smile after yet another day of rejection, "it doesn't matter when they look at me with pity or scorn in their eyes. Because you show me who I look like and as long as I know that I'm not ugly, its okay."

Despite her constant self-reassurances, she knew, deep in her heart, that something was amiss.

By instinct, she kept reaching out to brush her fingers against the cold, hard glass, trying to see if her reflection would change upon touch.

But the magic held and Rosette continued to believe in the lie her father had crafted specially for her.

Then, one day, she decided to go exploring around the castle. While sneaking around the kitchens, she chanced upon a maidservant looking at herself through a secret compact mirror.

Curious, she asked the maidservant where she had gotten the mirror from, for she did not remember seeing any mirrors around the castle. But the servant had been so terrified at being discovered that she'd fled, dropping the mirror in the process.

It shattered into thousands of pieces, glinting against the frosty, white marble floor. Rosette gasped as she stared at the broken shards of glass in shock.

For the reflection staring back at her, was not the one she was used to seeing everyday in her magic mirror.

It was the image of a girl with mousy brown hair and freckles. A girl with pasty skin and chubby cheeks.

The reason she faced rejection every single day.

Multiplied by a thousand times in every single shard of glass.

No, she whispered to herself, no, it cannot be.

The princess collapsed to her knees and started frantically sorting through the glass shards. She desperately searched for a piece that would show a reflection that didn’t tell her she was ugly.

Stop it! she wanted to scream out, Stop showing me what I don't wish to see!

But she didn't ... couldn't stop. Driven by some inner perverse desire to face the truth. To force herself to look reality in the eye and realize that her own father had been deceiving her all these years.

Her hands started to bleed from the sharp edges of the broken glass. Tears poured down her cheeks and mixed with the blood on her badly cut hands, staining her dress a crimson red.

By the time her father came onto the scene, she was huddled in one corner. The servants tried to coax and cajole her, but she refused to get up.

She simply sat there, staring unseeingly into space. And the look in her eyes, the servants whispered to the others after that, was of one who had totally lost her mind.

The king was heart-broken when he saw the state his daughter had been reduced to. He could barely speak for the guilt he’d been carrying for the past ten years now overwhelmed him.

He wanted to run to his daughter and hug her tightly. To brush the tears away from her eyes and tell her everything was going to be okay. He longed to say, I love you. You'll always be my beautiful daughter and no reflection in the mirror is going to change the way I see you.

But guilt turned into cowardice and he found himself unable to go to her and give her the comfort that she needed.

And it was all because he loved her too much.

From that day onwards, Rosette locked herself in her room and refused to come out. When the king replaced the door with one without a lock, she started walking around the castle at night.

Frightened servants claimed that she came to them, a pale wraith dressed in white, when they were sleeping in their beds.

"Am I beautiful?" she would ask in an expressionless voice.

Over and over again.

If she did not get a response, she would suddenly start weeping and this could go on for hours until she crumpled to the floor due to sheer exhaustion.

Otherwise, she would simply sit in front of her bedroom mirror and comb her hair, singing to herself at random intervals.

'Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who's the fairest of them all?'

She sang this particular verse off-key, turning a well-known fairy tale's line into an eerie tuneless chant.

It chilled the king's heart every single time he walked past his daughter's room, and he grew so haunted by it that he lost all appetite and ability to sleep.

He knew that he had to do something about it before his beloved daughter lost her mind entirely.

On a chilly day in winter, he sent out a royal proclamation stating that whoever managed to bring his daughter out of her depression would get half of his kingdom and his/her weight in gold.

News spread far and wide beyond the kingdom and before long, there were long queues of people lining to the castle. Some bore presents and gifts while others simply brought themselves, convinced that their jokes or stories would bring the princess out of her depression.

However, as the winter wore on, the queues started to grow shorter as one by one, the hopeful visitors dwindled to a few. Nothing seemed to be able to capture Rosette’s attention and the king was growing desperate.

Then, finally, the crowds dwindled down to one last person. She was a very young girl, not more than five years old. With frizzy red hair and bright green eyes, she had a smile that could melt even the hardest heart.

However, when she presented herself to the king in the throne room, he could not help but feel slightly dubious. After all, what could a young girl of five possibly do to help?

Nevertheless, he allowed the girl to enter Rosette’s room alone and waited outside anxiously.

She was his last hope now.

When the girl entered the room, Rosette was sitting at the same spot, softly singing the same verse to herself in front of the mirror.

Dust had settled on all the furniture and the room was dim and musty. Rosette’s hair was unkempt and she wore the same dress she’d been wearing since the day she discovered the broken mirror.

The girl did not seem to notice all of this as she stood there, her eyes fixed on the princess. Slowly, she closed the door behind her.

Rosette stopped singing and turned to stare at the little girl blankly. When the girl did not move, her eyes flickered back to the mirror, but she did not sing again.

The little girl started to walk silently towards Rosette. She still did not say anything, but when she reached the princess, she put her tiny arms around her.

There was a tense pause, as the princess stiffened automatically. Her skin reddened, and she looked as though she was about to scream.

But the girl continued to hold on to Rosette and didn't let go.

Then, something gave way, like the lifting of an evil spell, or the softening of a bitter heart.

The princess suddenly began to weep uncontrollably.

No one, not even her father, had dared to go near Rosette.

Earlier visitors who came to try their luck had instantly labeled her as someone insane and ugly upon first sight.

And she could see it in their eyes. The identical looks of disgust and outright rejection on their faces. Every single one of them.

Yet this little girl was different from all of them. She had dared to hug her with unreserved, genuine affection.

It didn't matter that she bore no gifts or extravagant presents. It didn't matter that she didn't try to pretend that she totally understood how Rosette felt.

Her company was more than enough.

When Rosette finally turned to look at the girl, she found herself staring into eyes full of a deep compassion that seemed frightfully old for someone so young.

In those eyes, she saw herself for who she truly was.

Her true reflection.

And she did not feel ashamed.

"You're beautiful, princess," the girl whispered softly, smiling as she placed one small hand against where Rosette’s heart beat. "Both inside and out."

The princess smiled through her tears.

It was then that she knew. The curse was finally broken.

The reflection in the mirror did not matter any longer.

Public Observations (Short Story)

On my way to school and back home, I usually take the train and bus alone. As the journey is long, I sometimes see certain strange happenings and funny events. I’ve decided to record down my observations and thoughts about these events.

-------------------
"I want my handbag back!" a shrill, childish voice shrieked in anger.

The voice belonged to a young girl in a plain lemon yellow dress chasing after a small boy in grey checkered shirt and shorts.

The boy was clutching a shiny pink handbag and he seemed very reluctant to give it up to the girl even though she was chasing him around the train, to the amusement of the other passengers.

It only became apparent that their parents were with them when the girl went up to one of the ladies seated on the train and started complaining to her in a tearful voice that 'Di di does not want to give me back my handbag'.

This particular lady had been so busy scribbling something into a leather-bound book that she did not seem to notice what was going on around her.

Still, when the girl demanded her attention, she sighed and finally put down her pen. But before she could respond, the man seated next to her suddenly scolded the girl sharply.

"Girl, I already told you not to bring that handbag filled with all those kind of nonsense you always carry around! See what happened!"

Dressed in a scruffy white collar shirt and worn out jeans, his outfit contrasted starkly against his wife’s silk blouse and well-cut black pants.

As I continued to observe the way the lady treated her husband, it seemed pretty obvious to me who held the reins of the household.

The girl, with tear-filled eyes, continued to whine and complain incessantly. Yet, one could see that she was not really crying. She just wanted to get her own way, and she seemed to think that tears could help to achieve her goal.

The lady pressed her lips tightly in a thin line of patience. She turned to look at her husband and getting the silent message, he leant forward.

"I'll give you a tight slap if you don't shut up," he hissed.

Though he tried to say this as softly as possible, I could still hear every word uttered and was shocked to detect the venom in the tone of his voice.

The girl fell silent almost immediately, but she continued to look at him with a hint of reproach in her eyes.

Then, unable to bear the injustice of it all, she started up again.

"But Daddy ... he took my handbag!"

Sighing in exasperation, he stood up and went over to the boy, who had been prancing around the train with his sister’s pink handbag.

"Boy, give me the handbag."

"I don’t wanna," the boy said stubbornly, clutching the bag close to him.

The father stood there, silent for a moment, but the frustration in his eyes was unmistakable. The girl, on the other hand, was watching the scene that was unfolding in front of her with a faint, satisfied smirk on her lips.

"Stop playing already. Give Jie jie back her handbag," he said softly.

"No!" the boy slowly backed away, his lower lip jutted out and trembling. Now he too, started to have tears in his eyes. He did not want to give up the handbag.

Losing his patience, the father strode over to his son and forcefully took the handbag away. The boy promptly burst into tears and ran to his mother.

Half expecting the lady to give him the cold treatment, I was thus, surprised when she gathered him into her arms and settled him on his lap.

"Yes darling, tell me what's wrong?" she said soothingly, displaying all the motherly affection that I had not seen previously.

"I ... I want ... the handbag," he said, hiccupping through his tears. "Daddy ... Daddy won't let me have the handbag."

"Now, now, don't cry," the lady continued to coo into her son's ear. "Mommy will get you a new handbag, I promise."

The boy looked up at her and smiled happily. The tears automatically stopped.

But I was baffled. I had assumed that the boy had only taken the pink handbag away from his sister to antagonize her and make her angry, as all little brothers normally did.

Instead, he had taken the handbag away because he’d really wanted it for himself.

However, his own mother did not seem to find this strange at all. In fact, she seemed to be encouraging this girlish tendency in him.

Was it blind maternal love or true ignorance?

I'll leave it to you, the reader, to decide.

Once (Poem)

Once,
I was part of the color,
The voices, the life, the emotion.

Once,
I was part of the rhythm,
The flow, the beat, the tempo.

Emotions,
I could feel them.
Jealousy, anger, sadness,
My heart twisted in bitter agony.

Voices,
I could hear them.
Whispered malice and lies,
My ears were ready and listening.

Rhythm,
I followed it.
Going along with everything,
I led other people's lives.

Yet now, I've turned to the shadows,
Fading into the grey background.
Observing, listening,
But no longer caring.

Once.

My Perfect Life (Short Story)

"So will Richard get to kiss the only girl he has ever truly loved? Stay tuned for the next episode of 'Teen Rebel'!"

As the credits rolled and the show's ending theme song started to play, a young boy sat in front of the television screen, stuffing potato chips into his mouth. Though he was lying comfortably on the couch, his eyes did not show any trace of sleepiness after having watched the hour long episode.

The Teen Rebel was his all-time favourite TV show. Somehow, the idea of a male character who led such a perfect life with problems that were solved within a single episode’s time frame, had appealed to him greatly.

And he had watched every episode up till now.

"Robin, lower the volume of that stupid television show!" his mother yelled in exasperation over the catchy tune of the show's theme song.

Ever since Robin’s father passed away two years ago, she seemed to have less patience with anything that Robin did. Yet he could not understand why his mother still seemed so depressed. After all, to see his father around the house was more of a monthly occasion and Robin rarely even got the chance to talk to him.

Rolling his eyes, he switched off the television set and padded into the kitchen where his mother was preparing dinner. Sliding into a kitchen chair, he rested his face against the cool surface of the dining table and watched his mother pour a ladle of cooking oil into the iron wok.

A question had been burning inside him after having watched today’s episode and now seemed like a good time to ask his mother about it.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Why do characters on TV lead such perfect lives? I mean, they have good looks, perfect skin, good grades ... why doesn’t it happen to me?"

His mother laughed. She sounded amused by his strange question.

"Darling, you're only seven this year! Why are you so worried about these kind of problems?"

Robin’s mouth began to set into a sulk. He hated it when his mother did not take him seriously. And she always never did.

"Because I don’t want to be ignored ..." he said softly.

When I’m already being ignored by you.

"Well, these characters are simply following a script," his mother said in a preoccupied tone as she began frying the onions.

"Really?"

Robin suddenly perked up when he heard his mother’s answer.

A brilliant idea had just struck him. He could not imagine why he had never thought of this before.

"So ..." he said slowly, "if I write my own script and follow it, my life will turn out the way I want it to be?"

There was a long pause. Robin patiently waited for his mother’s response. But she already seemed to be lost in her own world, standing motionless in front of the stove.

The smell of burning onions filled the air.

"Mom!"

She gave a start, accidentally knocking her hand against the frying wok. Uttering a sharp cry of pain, she pressed her scalded hand against her lips and grabbed a wet towel to soothe the burns.

Scrunching her eyes shut, she looked as though she was trying to force back the tears that refused to stay put. Robin wasn’t sure if her scalded hand was the only reason his mother was crying.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured distractedly, turning to take a plate of carrots and empty them into the wok. "I'm sorry ... I wasn’t listening."

But she did not ask him to repeat his question. And Robin did not feel like talking to her anymore.

Without a word, he ran back to his room. He couldn’t wait to get started on his script.

Grabbing a pencil and a stack of paper, he sat at his desk and started to scribble down his idea about how his life should turn out to be.

My Perfect Life
By Robin Tan
"It is a brite & suny morning when Robin wakes up the next day. He yawns and smiles as the birds outside cheaps merily ..."

After adding the finishing touches to his work, he stuffed the four page long script into his school bag and skipped out of the room to have his dinner.

He couldn’t wait for the next day to arrive ...

**************

He awoke to the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance.

Scratching his head, Robin yawned and sat up in bed gloomily. He’d expected it to be a sunny morning and yet here was the weather, looking decidedly glum. There were no birds outside his window to serenade him either.

Was there something wrong with the way he’d described the start of morning in his script?

The very thought was rather demoralizing.

Never mind, he comforted himself, this is only the start of the day.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, he got out of bed and plodded to the bathroom to get ready for school.

After having brushed his teeth and washed his face, Robin continued to stare at the mirror, frowning at his own reflection. With a cherubic smooth face and bright black eyes, he looked just like any ordinary young boy out on the streets. But he wasn’t satisfied with that.

Today was a different day. Today, he wanted to look different.

Opening the bathroom cabinet, he searched through the bewildering array of hair and skin products that his mother used. Selecting the various bottles and containers that appealed to his eye, he arranged them neatly at the sink and surveyed them critically.

Robin didn’t really understand what each and every single one was supposed to do so he decided to opt for the easiest one first. Hair gel.

He had often seen his mother using it to apply to her hair when it was all out of sorts so he’d a fairly good idea on how to use it.

Dipping his fingers into the gooey substance, he raked them through his hair and started spiking it up. He tried to base it on one of the punk hairstyles he’d remembered seeing in a teenage magazine a few days ago, but somehow he could never get his hair to stand the way he wanted it to.

He gave up after a while and moved on to the other products, spraying himself with perfume and dabbing his face with anything that looked like white cream. Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom, feeling like a whole new person.

Breakfast was simple, white bread spread with margarine and hot Milo. His mother had already left for work so he sat alone at the table munching on his bread.

Though he’d hoped for a more interesting breakfast, Robin was only thankful his mother didn’t get it in her head to cook one of her bizarre dishes in the morning.

Grabbing his school bag, he swallowed the rest of his bread and left the house. As his school was a ten minute walk away, Robin decided to walk and save on the bus fare. Furthermore, the Robin he’d written in the script was someone who was suave and charismatic, and he wanted to have enough time to get into character.

Strolling down the pavement in the early morning, he adopted a casual swagger in his walk. His face was a perfect villain’s caricature of a person smirking exaggeratedly. He had practiced this expression in front of the mirror earlier on and decided, after a few tries, that this was the best version of looking cool.

Passers-by who walked past him couldn’t help but stare in surprise. After all, in such early, rainy conditions, no one would have expected a young boy to come strolling down the streets, looking as though he was going to dominate the world.

Robin kept up with his newly formed character even when he walked through the gates of Greenvale Primary School. Even when students who walked past him kept whispering and giggling as they looked at him.

Until he saw her.

His newly found confidence seemed to falter as she walked past him, a hidden smile on her lips.

Melody. Even though she was a new student transferred over from another school, she was already considered one of the more popular girls amongst the students. With her clear features and easy going personality, it was easy to see why she was so likeable among her peers.

And Robin had a huge crush on her.

Half of his script was dedicated to her, fantasizing about how he was going to successfully win her heart.

"Robin strols up to Melody, kewl as a cucomber.

ROBIN
[charmingly]
'Has anione told you wat beutifool eyes you have?'

MELODY
[eyes fluterring]
'Oh Robin! That’s the swetesst thing anione has ever told me!'

Seene ends with Melody conffesing that she lykes Robin."

But reality felt different. And scary.

Robin decided to wait till recess to tell her what he wanted to say. Time seemed to crawl past as the teachers droned on and on about things which he barely listened to.

Yet when the recess bell rang, he dreaded the moment more than ever. I’ll tell her after lunch, he promised himself.

After a big bowl of fishball noodles, two curry puffs and three cups of drinks, he knew he could delay no longer.

Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair and sauntered over to Melody. She was sitting in the canteen, laughing and talking with her friends.

His legs seemed to have taken a life of his own, taking him nearer and nearer to her. It was as though someone had pressed the mute button on the surrounding noise; so loud was the pounding of his heart.

He could not back down now.

"H-hi ... Mel ... Melody ..." he stammered.

Everyone had stopped talking now and turned to stare at him. The same question could be seen clearly on every girl’s face.

What was a guy like him doing here?

"Hi Robin," Melody said cheerily. She did not seem to think it odd that he was only greeting her and not the others.

But then again, she was the sort who took things as they came.

"Has ... has anyone ever ..." he began, and paused.

What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be acting as cool as a cucumber.

He could not afford to lose face now and the girls knew it instinctively, their eyes challenging him to say what he did not dare to.

Please let the script work.

"Has anyone ever told you what beautiful eyes you have?" he blurted out.

The girls started to titter amongst themselves excitedly. All attention was now focused on Melody. Yet, she merely looked rather surprised if nothing else.

"Well, no ... but thank you, Robin," she finally said, smiling faintly.

The bell for the next period rang and she got up to leave.

"Wait," Robin wanted to speak.

You were supposed to say you like me.

But when he opened his mouth, he threw up instead.

He should not have eaten so much for recess. His fear had pushed all the excessive food back up.

Wailing in disgust, Melody tried to move back but it was too late. The puke had gotten all over her skirt. She started to cry while the others gathered around to comfort her, shooting dagger glances at Robin, the culprit responsible for all this. Someone went to call the teacher.

Ashamed and red-faced, Robin could only stand there silently as the teacher who arrived on the scene started to reprimand him for bullying Melody.

What had gone wrong?

She was supposed to confess that she liked him. Not getting disgusted with him throwing up all over her.

He was supposed to be cool. Not acting like some stammering idiot in front of her.

Nothing was going according to plan, and Robin was growing very demoralized. He’d thought the script would be the key to everything but he was starting to see what a foolish fantasy it had all been.

So ... if I write my own script and follow it, my life will turn out the way I want it to be?

I'm sorry ... I'm sorry I wasn’t listening.

He sat alone in the canteen now, not wanting to go back to class and face the humiliation there.

"Hey kid."

Robin almost jumped at the sound of the voice. He turned to see who it was and saw a young twelve year old boy smirking at him.

With his school shirt tucked out and multiple piercings on his ear, he looked to be the very epitome of cool. He was someone whom Robin had aspired to be but had never quite visualized it properly. Until now.

"H-hi ..." he stammered. "Do I know you?"

The boy grinned.

"I'm Jet,” he answered, "I saw what you did to that girl back there ... and I gotta say I'm impressed. That took guts."

"Er ... the puking all over her or the telling her that her eyes are beautiful?" Robin ventured.

He wasn’t sure whether this boy was joking around with him or being serious.

Jet's lazy drawl made everything sound far too casual.

"Both ... since you put it like that,” he said, laughing. "But you're cool."

That last statement was dropped somewhat carelessly but it made Robin tingle with pride. Someone actually thought he was cool. Perhaps the script was working after all.

ROBIN
[in a bored voyce]
"School's bore-ing. I'm going outside to take a walk."

RANDOM PERSON
[admyeringly]
"You're so kewl, Robin."

"Thanks," he said coolly.

Sliding off the bench, he walked off. But he did not head back to the classrooms.

"Where're you going?"

"Outside. To take a walk. School's boring," Robin replied over his shoulder.

He was hoping that Jet would come along or utter more words of praise, but the twelve year old boy simply sat where he was, laughing and shaking his head in amazement.

So Robin walked out of the school gates alone.

The sky was now a clear shade of porcelain blue after the morning showers and the sun was out. The day had turned warm and sunny and there was a breeze working its way up.

This cheered Robin up considerably.

His shirt was all tucked out and the smell of vomit still clung to him but he didn’t care. Somehow, that did not seem important any longer.

He was a cool kid now, and cool kids did not concern themselves over such trivial matters.

Wearing a self-satisfied smirk, he walked past a trio of girls sitting at the sidewalk. They were smoking cigarettes and talking among themselves.

"Aw, lookie at dat boy walkin' past us ... he'sh sho-oo key-ute!" one of them said half-mockingly.

Robin turned, and froze when he caught sight of the girl who had spoken. He wondered how he had actually walked past her without noticing her at all when everything about her screamed for attention.

Her hair was streaked with dark blue and violet stripes and various piercings decorated her eyebrows, lips, nose and ears. She was decked out in a bizarre mixture of multi-colored clothing; a neon pink and yellow tank top with a green cardigan, orange hot pants and black and red platforms.

She was like a walking rainbow.

"Oh, so now ya be checkin' me out huh?" the girl threw her head back and laughed as though she'd just said the funniest joke in the world.

She then proceeded to take a swig from a half-empty liquor bottle that appeared to be shared amongst three of them.

"N-no ... I wasn’t ..." Robin stammered, as his eyes continued to take in the rainbow bangles encircling the girl’s wrists.

But he was lying. He could not take his eyes off her.

She smiled knowingly, looking almost attractive when she did so. But Robin could see the subtle signs of deterioration. Her eyes were drooping to half-mast; her breath reeked heavily of cheap alcohol.

"Comes shhere," she slurred, beckoning him with one finger. "I donch bite."

Tentatively, he moved closer.

"Aw girl, don't tell me you're hitting on young boys now too?" her other friends said in disbelief.

They had dyed hair and piercings too, but Robin ignored them. Compared to her, they were like the concrete ground.

Bland, grey and washed out.

"No-oh, of courshe nawt," the girl said scornfully, sounding momentarily sober in her drunken state. "I jesh wanna gift 'dis li'l devil here a taste of real life."

She pulled out a purse from her pocket and took out a pink pill.

"Heresh shome canday fer you, boy," she mumbled, smirking as she took Robin’s hand and pressed the pill into his palm.

"Candy?"

"Yesh, but thish candy is da best-est sort of canday in da world," the girl whispered confidentially. "See, it makes ya feel so high ya think ya can fly. It gives ya hope. It gives ya dat kinda speeshial feelin'. Ya know, like when ya shee da rainbow after da flood 'cos ya know dat God painted it speshially for ya ta shee."

"Oh."

Robin looked down at the pill. Then he looked up at the sky.

"Well ... then, have you ever seen a rainbow?"

It was an innocent enough question, but the girl fell silent as her eyes traveled up to the sky. They seemed to be searching for the answers that she was unable to give.

She looked lost all of a sudden.

"No," she said softly. "No, I haven’t."

For a girl who donned the colours of the rainbow, it struck Robin as strange that she had never seen one before.

"Oh,” he said. “Well, thanks for the candy."

She smiled again. But Robin could see the sadness traced across those pale lips of hers.

And suddenly, he felt like he’d had enough of being someone else.

Running back to school, he attended the last lesson. The teacher did not seem to notice that he’d been missing and no one questioned his non-existence for the past one hour.

He couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

When he went back home, his mother was already sitting at the sofa watching television. Though her eyes were fixed on the screen, she did not seem to be paying attention to what she was watching.

Robin did not bother greeting her and trudged off to his room. He threw his bag down on the floor, changed into a clean shirt and collapsed onto his bed, exhausted.

Today had been a rather eventful day. Robin was sure it was because of the script he’d written. Even if it had not worked to the letter, it had made him do things he’d never have done otherwise.

Then he remembered the sweet that the girl had given to him. Taking it out from his pocket, he surveyed it curiously.

Small, pink, and hard.

What was so good about this candy that it could actually give one hope?

There was only one way to find out.

Popping it into his mouth, Robin started to suck on it. It had a strange taste. He almost wanted to spit it out but ended up swallowing it instead.

Almost immediately, the world seemed to spin rather alarmingly and he closed his eyes tightly to try and stop the dizziness.

His heart felt like it was slowly being squeezed. Beads of sweat were breaking out across his skin. He could not breathe.

Gasping and convulsing, he fell to the floor senseless. His mouth was open but the words would not come.

Help me, Mom ...

She never heard him, lost in her own prison of thoughts a world away.

It was too late.

Looking down at his physical body lying on the floor, he smiled. The girl was right, he really could fly now.

No worries, no burdens, no fear.

My perfect life.