ms-vindicta

She was only 18.

He was 29, 30, 31?

He looked 30, but she wasn’t sure, and he never told.

They had met over the net and being young and impressionable, she was flattered by the copious amounts of attention he had showered on her: MSN conversations after conversations, coffee sessions, movie dates, lunches in her school.

She was mystiqued, intrigued, perplexed and very much interested in this guy who seemed to have an apparent interest in her, yet kept his distance from her at times.

Was he playing hard-to-get?

He had multiple online personalities, showed different sides of himself offline - sometimes a little mean, at times engaging and most of the times sarcastic in the way she liked it.

She didn’t want to confirm her suspicions at that point in time, but she was infatuated, most definitely.

The first time they had physical contact was back in school. He had always liked head massages, and because she fancied him (just a little she told herself), she never hestiated to give him one whenever he asked for one, or even when he didn’t.

The first time they had sexual contact was back in school as well. They went to a deserted toilet, she gave him a head massage as usual. After he cracked his joints and made his approval known about the massage, she gave him another head massage, this time at a different location.

They would have done the full monty, if not for the fact that she was still a student, and being a student, she was afraid there would be hidden cameras in the toilet (yes, though it was deserted). Such was the extent of her wild imagination.

Later, they did do the full monty, and several times at that. Only, after they did, she felt something, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was not right.

He wasn’t that mysterious, that intriguing, that perplexing or interesting anymore.

Funny how sex changes everything.

She told him they should stop. He agreed, although not without some hesitation.

Two years on, both of them are good friends: MSN conversations after conversations, coffee sessions, movie dates, lunches in her school.

She still gives him head massages, only this time round, at the right location.

He’s back to being that mysterious, intriguing, perplexing, interesting guy that she first thought he was.  

Funny how the lack of sex changes everything.

- - - - - - - - - -

Fiction.

Tell me what you think.

after coming upon fashion nation’s entry on unphotographable, i was so delighted with the concept of the site, i looked through every single entry, and picked out some of my favourites.

Bankrupt 

A Rolls Royce 

Nun 

Easter Bird 

 
Shopping and crying 

of course these are just a few out of the many i gasped over, but i’ll leave you to look through the rest.

today, i had my very own unphotographable moment.

i don’t own a digital camera so the moment i saw this, i was crafting my unphotographable paragraph in my head.

"This is a picture I did not take of a toddler wearing a yellow bib; in his pram and with a domestic helper beside him at a bustop, pointing up to the train carriage i was in, and while they caught my eye as far away as i was, waved enthusiastically to me, and i waved back, with no regard of how ridiculous i must have looked to my fellow commuters."

what’s your unphotographable moment?  

my fave postsecrets from this week’s:

this totally reminded me of a conversation i had with a friend the other day about him mistaking a girl pal for a ghost after he saw her without makeup.

hilarious.

*twiddles thumbs*

pictures taken from postsecret 

Leader of the pack, holding his ground
“You, defend from the back. You, sidelines!”
Troops eager to please follow like hounds
Scuttle here, scurry there, dropping mines.

Discussion of strategies galore
“We take ‘em from the back, ambush!”
Plan they must, for the losers are sore
Archers hold, warriors push

Few brothers are lost
“Don’t weep for the dead, fight for them
A moment of weakness, a life you’ll cost
Upon return to camp, we’ll light them a lamp”

Alas, the battle is over
Cheering and singing, for they are the winners
He reaches tenderly for his four-leave clover
Another pines for his family, them and their dinners.

The train gives a rumble
The boys given a rude jolt
“We must strategise more, we cannot fumble!”
Heads back in their PSP games, eating up volt.

One wonders if they fight life’s battles as hard as they fight their virtual ones.

- - - - - - - -

just something I wrote while I was on the train and there were 4 guys in front of me engaged in a multi-player game on their PSPs.

it was probably a battlefield they were on since they were shouting the above orders, only they were in Mandarin.

i don’t know about you, but i personally think playing PSPs/Nintendo DS Lites on trains/buses just make you look stupid. I bet writing in your notebook, or drawing on your sketchpad makes you look smarter.

I mean, i bet i looked smarter.  

She was a bundle of joy, with apple cheeks, large doe-like eyes and all. "God’s gift to me", Marilyn thought, stroking the soft crown of hair gently. And so, she named her Joy.

Joy turned out to be the daughter every mother could wish for. She was the epitome of elegance, a genuine classic beauty. Even at the tender age of nine, she attracted uncountable stares from strangers, males and females alike. They usually stood aside, in awe of her, occasionally speaking in hushed tones while looking admiringly at her.

Young as she was, Joy however, knew how to turn on the charm. A slight toss of that thick, luscious hair, a flutter of those deliciously long lashes, she was definitely not unfamiliar with these tricks of the trade. Nevertheless, being the foolish woman that she was, Marilyn never bothered to stop her daughter. Instead, she dolled her up in the flashiest clothes, often applying thick layers of makeup on her. Together, they lapped up the attention they received, Marilyn being totally unaware of the danger she was putting Joy into. When she finally did, it was all already too late.

Humming to her all-time favourite song, Marilyn slowly made her way towards Joy’s primary school. Picking her up after lessons had long became Marilyn’s daily routine. In fact, she enjoyed doing it, secretly relishing in the fact that both mother and daughter were able to bask in their much envied glory. Pushing open the school gate, Marilyn waited patiently, expecting Joy to emerge from her classroom in just a moment or so.

Thirty minutes passed. Convinced that there was something weird going on, Marilyn entered Joy’s classroom, only to find it empty. She panicked. Alarm bells going off in her head, Marilyn rushed to the teachers’ office, whereby she shouted at the top of her voice, demanding to see Joy’s teacher immediately. When the teacher appeared, she hurriedly tried to explain things to the now hysterical Marilyn.

When she was finally calm enough to hear out the whole story, Marilyn freaked out. An unidentified man had arrived a mere five minutes before her, claiming that he was Joy’s father and had taken her away. But ever since Joy’s father died from an overdose of drugs only two years into their marriage, she never had let any man into her life again. Emotions now in a whirl, Marilyn struggled to think if she had offended anyone recently, but could hardly manage to collect her thoughts. Clutching her head in agony, she bent over, in a daze. The next thing she knew, she blacked out.

When she came to, Marilyn was lying on a hospital bed, with policemen all around her. Still disoriented, she shook her head vigorously. Then it all came back to her. Joy was missing. Just as she was about to open her mouth to enquire about Joy, one of the policemen broke the bad news to her. Two hours earlier, they had found Joy in a ditch along a deserted road, dead. She had been naked and most definitely, raped.

Grief overwhelmed Marilyn. She could hardly bear to face the thought of her lovely, lovely daughter lying cold, all alone and no longer pure. Why, out of the millions of girls available, did her daughter have to be the one? Perhaps, she had only herself to blame. If only she had spent less time fixing her makeup, and had reached the school five minutes earlier. If only she had not been that flamboyant of her perfect little daughter. If only… She broke down, sobbing inconsolably.

Whatever it was, Joy was no more.

see? i told you i liked matching beginnings and endings.  that was written in secondary 4.

p.s: erotica entry will be later! i have to redo a newswriting article so it has to be put off for now. i know, bleah.   blame my tutor please.

Temptation.

Lenny sure knew the meaning of this well under-stated word. He was enticed with it at an early phase of his life – at the young tender age of ten. The incident had left him scarred for life. Not only did it mark him down with a black record, it was also impossible for him to get a good job. His best friends had eyed him with suspicious looks and he often received dagger-sharp glares from people he barely knew in school. Although ten years have since passed, Lenny could still recall the incident clearly…

The classroom was completely silent, except for the lone scribbling sound of Lenny’s pen. He was writing furiously away, pausing only to ponder over the seemingly endless math sums that he was given to do. Being in detention class was definitely not on his list of favorite things. Lenny’s stomach growled hungrily. He looked up, wondering if he should sneak down to the canteen to grab a bite before he continued with the sums. He was sure his math teacher would not find out if he was quick enough, therefore, he got up on his feet, preparing to slip out.

Just then, he caught sight of May’s Billabong wallet sticking out from the corner of her unzipped bag. May was one who was notorious in school for flashing around her branded stuff and huge amounts of pocket money, bragging about them to people, especially those she looked down on. Lenny, in quite desperate need of cash recently, was sure that it would not hurt to just deprive May of a little of her pocket money. Afterall, May was one rich girl. Assuming that no one was around, Lenny swiftly took May’s wallet and stuffed it into his pocket. Little did he know, a classmate of his, Ernest, was actually watching him all this while…

 The bell rang with a shrill sound, signaling the end of the break. It was time for English. All the students were pulling their textbooks out of their bags when May let out a ear-deafening scream. Alarmed, everyone stopped what they were doing and their form teacher Mr Lee, rushed toward May, clearly worried. May who was now sobbing uncontrollably, informed Mr Lee about the theft. Mr Lee, set with a grim look, interrogated the class but no one owned up. Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Mr Lee questioned the class once more. This time, there was a small white hand which raised timidly from the back of the class.

“Mr Lee, I saw Lenny taking May’s wallet during the break earlier,” stammered Ernest, all the while stealing fearful glances at Lenny. 

 “I did not! He’s talking rubbish!” Lenny protested, only to be hushed by Mr Lee who had now begun searching his bag. Finding no sign of May’s wallet, Mr Lee started searching Lenny.

True enough, a Billabong wallet was held up by a triumphant Mr Lee minutes later. This time, Lenny was the on e sobbing uncontrollably instead of May. Trying to explain that the stealing was done only in a moment of folly, Lenny made futile attempts to save himself. He was brought to the principal’s office, and got reprimanded with five strokes of the cane and a black record. Returning to the classroom, clutching his painful flaming bottom, Lenny’s face burned with shame as the class broke out in peals of laughter.

Since that day, Lenny’s life in school was made miserable. He got shoved out of sidewalks for no apparent reason, spat at with vulgarities, and he lost all his friends. Despised and unwanted, Lenny lost all hope in life. How he had regretted taking that darned wallet but unfortunately, once cannot turn back time.

Lenny has since grown up to be a man of many talents but they still remain undiscovered. Whenever he tries to apply for a job, he would always be dismissed upon the opening of his records. Up to now, he still remains fearful of that one word. That one word had done him in forever. Temptation. 

i wrote that back in Secondary 3.

if you notice, i always like matching beginnings and endings, and they’ll always be the bane of my writing, causing me to spend at least 20 mins out of the 1 hr allocated thinking about a perfect start and end.

annoying, but very satisfying when you re-read the completed essay.

i’ll post a few of my old essays up a few entries later. by the time you finish reading them, you’ll probably be nodding in agreement, and telling me that i really am crazy about them beginnings and endings.

ok, i admit. i blogged this entry cause i was bored.

 
and if you skipped all the way here without reading my essay, i don’t blame you.

but still, show some interest can?!