:: The Prostitute ::Her name was Alice. A name for a decent, smart girl; or so I thought. I had known her since secondary school - same class for two years. She was a rather close friend, and I got to know about her fragmented life. She had a broken family: a mother who could not care less, an abusive alcoholic brother, and a divorced convict father. She got caught for taking drugs and alcohol. And to be honest, if she were not in her depressed, drugged-induced state, I bet she would be the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen. I told her that she was special, but that was just to prevent her from killing herself.
Thirty-seven points. That was what she achieved in the 'O' levels. Where was she to go? Stalled at the crossroads of life, she took a nasty turn down the deep dark ally of Geylang. The Red-Light district, as people would call it. That was where she met her first boyfriend, who sold her off to the brothel and got her to sell her body. He said that it was a form of love. She believed him. And with that faith, she lost her virginity, her pride, and her friends. That included me.
Two years passed, and I had long forgotten about the girl who sold herself.
*~*
It was a warm, humid day as I hurried along the pavements of the Emperess Place.
Just in time!. I marched into the Arts House where the exhibition was held. The lady at the door showed me in and directed me up the stairs where I found myself staring at long corridors of artwork. Oil-on-canvas, paint-on-wood, charcoal-on-paper; it was an artist paradise. As I passed the several lounges, there were even sculptures! Clay, porcelain, bronze, marble and even gold! I could not help but smile to myself. A friend of mine had told me about this exhibition and it certainly met my expectations. All these artworks were on sale and I was so tempted to whip out a cheque book and purchase every single one of them. However, aware of my limited funds and the fact that I did not actually have a cheque book, I refrained from even thinking.
Then, something caught my eye. Long silky hair. Jet Black. Tall and slim figure, strangely familiar.
Was it her? I thought. There, stood a girl in a long white dress, pondering over a piece of artwork. I walked closer to her. She did not notice me.
"Alice?" I whispered to her.
"Er.. Oh. OH! Benn! What are you doing here? What a pleasant surprise!"
"I'm here to look at art. You too?"
"Yea... I really like it. It somehow... calms my soul."
There, we stood together, soaking up the artistic ambience that the gallery provided us with. For a moment, it was as though we were alone, a world with no worries nor cares. Alice was indeed right. And so was I. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. All of a sudden, my previous disgust of her as a prostitute had vanished. She melted my heart.
"I never knew you appreciated art," I whispered to her, not wanting to ruin the moment.
"I never knew I did too," she replied, her eyes still glued on to the canvas.
It was amazing what that single moment did. Strangely, she had become such an amazing girl. Nothing like the one I had remembered two years ago. Bleeding wrist, small bottles of detergent she would attempt to drink, and walks on the rooftop where I would find her and persuade her not to step past the line of no return. This Alice was decent. Beautiful. Perfect.
"Alice," I finally spoke again. "You know something?"
"Mmm?" She turned to face me.
"You're really special..." and I kissed her.
This time, I meant it.
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: English Mock Examinations, VS ::Write about an important decision that you had to make which affected your relationship with someone special.*~*
'Yes, Mum' I looked into my mother's eyes, unsure if I were to look sorry about my decision. I had noticed the sudden change in her mood whenever I mentioned it before. She would always turn away and sigh, her shoulders drooping down in disappointment and hurt. After all, I was only twenty, and I was still my mother's little boy. A twenty year old, but forever a child in my mother's loving eyes. I could not blame her for this, but neither could I stay on under the watchful eye of my mother anymore. I needed privacy.
Ash. I had that name carved on the inner side on the ring. She was the love of my life, and she still is. I had decided to move out with her into a small studio apartment. My mother was not very willing to let me go. I decided nevertheless. From the moment I dragged the last of the boxes out of the house, I was out of the care and guardianship of my mother. Things went down hill after that, but little did I know.
I left the cradle I grew up in, the room I slept in, and most importantly, I left the person who had given everything to me. A new chapter of my life began, leaving the settings of the previous. New 'main characters' replaced the old, and my world now revolved around a different person. The ring was now on Ash's fourth finger, where it was destined to be. Like every other newly-weds, we shared moments of intimacy. We kissed, we hugged, we made love. All in the new found privacy of our home. Sadly for my mother, she had always chosen the wrong time to call. In actual fact, there was no right time. In the morning, Ash and I were out working. In the evenings, we had dinner together in the hawker center near out place. At night, we unplugged the phone while we had out passionate moments. My mother was never granted audience.
Caught up in my job, in my family and in my life, it rarely occurred to me to visit my mother. Plans were often postponed due to 'unforeseen circumstances'. Three months passed and the only contact I made with my mother was through our shared bank account - once a month. Sometimes, I would find notes on the 'welcome' mat from my mother, saying that she missed me. I kept them, but I never replied. I did not miss her. I felt as if we were no longer mother and son. It was as though she had disappeared, when in actual fact, it was I that had done so. I wonder why my conscience did not prick me.
Another two months and only one visit and twelve minutes of phone calls. The relationship with my mother had dwindled to that of a distant friend. She gave up calling and I thought of her even lesser. We drifted apart. Ash seemed to notice it as well and had urged me to pay a visit. I agreed without a thought. This was unbecoming of the perfect son I used to be.
As I drove into the carpark, I felt as though I was going to meet a stranger. I shivered. Had we drifted that far apart? I walked mindlessly into the lift and went up to the seventeenth floor. I was still filled with uncertainty. I was still very unsure of my feelings.
'Honey? Are you okay?'
I wake from my thoughts, realising that I am still standing at the door of the place I used to live. Twenty years...
'Dear, you've been standing here motionless for two minutes... ...'
written by MitZukin Mrvica