SUMITRA - Ugly.

"Dude, who are you taking to prom?"

"Man, I was thinking of asking Roxanne..."

"No way, I wanted to ask Roxanne!"

"Shh, you nut! She's standing right there!"

"Shoot. Do you think she heard me?"

"Nah, man. I don't think so."

"Yeah, she looks kinda busy..."

Roxanne heard everything. She closed her locker and looked right at the pair. Her eyes moved down and then up, examining her victims, sizing them up. The boys detected her attention immediately and started waving their hands nervously. Roxanne snickered. She was amused.

"Dude. Dude, I think she's smiling at me..."

"What are ya talking about? She's smiling at me, not you."

"What the- no she isn't! She's obviously attracted to me!"

"Don't flatter yourself, John..."

"Ha! Look who's talking!"

"You!"

"Hey, where'd she go?"

Roxanne had turned her back against them and walked away a long time ago. "They're all the same," she thought. Just then, Gautam Gupta from Social Studies caught up with her.

"Uh...hey there, Rorrrorrroxanne..."

"Hey"

"Hey I was just uh wondering if you'd uh maybe wanna uh..."

"Go to prom with you?"

"Uh yeah..."

"Sorry, I'm not even sure if I'm going."

"Oh uh it's OK then..."

"Bye."

It's not that Roxanne was little Miss Fussypants or anything. She just knew the boys at school, or almost every boy she knew didn't like her for her. Heck, they never even knew her. They only knew her curves. Roxanne was waiting for someone to share conversations with, real conversations, someone she could text, late at night, in bed, someone who'd always be there to listen to her problems, understand her but most importantly, someone who admired her for her, someone different.

She felt everyone staring at her. They were all talking about her because they all saw how she had turned Gupta down. They were just pretending not to. See, when there's a whole bunch of people who admire you and who'd do anything to get in your pants, there's gonna be a group of people who hate your guts for no apparent reason. "She is like, so mean!" Roxanne heard one of them say. "Yeah, poor Gautam..." "Who does she think she is??" Frustrated, Roxanne entered the only room she could stabilise her emotions in -the girls' bathroom.

The toilet was empty, much to her relief. Roxanne opened the tap and washed the light makeup off her face. She looked into the mirror, glaring at her reflection. She saw the deep, brown eyes, the dark, wavy locks of hair, the long, curly eyelashes and the lush, pink lips.

"This is what everyone sees." she muttered. What everyone failed to see was her hard little mouth that spoilt her pretty face, the little frown lines that told of bad temper and the dark circles that were forming around her brown eyes because of the nights she spent crying in bed and the nights she just couldn't get any sleep.

Nobody noticed the bruises on her body, or the scars. Nobody knew about the bitter fights she has with her parents, every night. Nobody heard the words she has used. Nobody found out that Roxanne was actually an orphan, who lived with foster parents who were very fond of alcohol.

They never saw how ugly she truly was. No, they only saw a pretty face.

She closed the tap. Slowly, Roxanne took a deep breath. "I will not cry" she told herself ", not in front of these people." And then she exited. Home Economics was going to start.

SUMITRA

SUMITRA - I still remember - Part 1

Hey guys. It's been a while since I posted anything so here it is -a short story. Now it's not a series like Weini's 'I Love Him Not' or Joanna's 'This is L.O.V.E.' but it does have two parts, mainly because I didn't have time to complete the whole thing but at the same time, I didn't want to keep some of my friends waiting. So here's part 1. It's OK to read slowly. Stick around for part 2, OK? (:

I still remember Tyler and me, walking home from school in the rain. We had ditched the umbrella his mother had given us and jumped in puddles of muddy water all the way home. The next day, we both caught a cold and had to stay in our beds. We would laugh our little heads off, watching Saturday morning cartoons together, wearing nothing but matching Pokemon pyjamas. On Sunday afternoons, our parents would take us to our favourite ice kacang stall. I still remember coming home every Sunday, our shirts stained with sweet, red syrup and our fingers wet and sticky –not that we cared. I still remember everything. But Tyler doesn’t anymore.

Almost 20 years later, I’m 5 feet tall, successful but still single. I let out a sigh and pushed my trolley towards the breakfast cereals. A weak smile broke onto my pale face. “He hated these,” I thought, tilting my head a little. On the spur of the moment, I grabbed a large box of Corn Flakes and made my way to the cashier.

I knew Tyler ever since I was brought home from the hospital –according to mum. We lived next to each other. He was my first friend. And the first boy I…I like liked. But Tyler didn’t know that. And he would never know that.

I finished paying for my groceries and was determined to leave the shopping centre. GLEE was on that night. I grabbed my paper bag -careful not to break the eggs I had just purchased- and headed straight for the car park where my beautiful Passat awaited me. However, before I reached the parking lot, I saw something that made my jaw drop.

There, on display, was the most exquisite pair of stilettos I had ever seen. They were red, open-toed, about 6 inches high and I swear they were calling me. “Don’t we look cute, Hailey?” the left shoe asked. And then the right one said “Yeah Hailey. Come. Come try us on…”

I obeyed.

I reached out and grabbed the right shoe. I began to caress it. An older couple nearby stared at me, half expecting me to start making out with the shoe, but I ignore them. Slowly, I turned the shoe to its side to see how much it cost, but before I even got a glimpse of the price tag, a salesgirl grabbed the stiletto from my hands. She shoved it into a box along with the other pair and handed it over to a woman talking on the phone dressed in a tight, denim dress.

I just stood there, my hands clutching air. I was flabbergasted, bowled over, stunned. The woman ended the call and continued to stand there as if she was waiting for something. (For another pair of shoes to be snatched away from an innocent lady and handed over to her again, perhaps.) Then the unthinkable, the unimaginable happens.

Not a moment too soon, a young man, buffed, about 6 feet tall grabbed her waist from behind, catching her off guard. She giggled uncontrollably and wrapped her long arms around his neck, making my view of her lover clearer. Then it dawned on me.

The man was Tyler Lee Smith, the guy I’ve loved all my life.

And then they kissed.

I’m astonished, incredulous, taken aback. My groceries fell to the floor, as I lost my grip on the paper bag. The couple released each others' embrace to see where the sound had come from. The woman immediately expressed her disgust. "Ew...!" she said. “Who would do something like this?” Tyler asked. There, on the floor, they saw a paper bag, almost torn. They saw egg yolk everywhere. But they didn’t see me.

A security guard yelled from behind me, but I kept running. I sped past rows and rows of shops and there were tears on my face. No doubt, other shoppers were looking and pointing fingers at me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home.

It was 7 p.m. I was sitting on a stool -in my shower. I stopped crying a while ago and found myself staring at my shampoo bottle as if it was some kind of magic mirror that would tell me what I saw an hour ago wasn’t real.

“She’s prettier than me,” I said softly, “She’s taller. She’s thinner. And she must be funny. Tyler likes funny girls, he told me once. I bet she has more money than I do…” I stopped for a moment. “Or she has no money at all and is using Tyler!” My eyes go back to their original size and I let out a sigh. “She sure has good taste though.”

The tears started to roll down my cheeks again, and breathing was getting harder and harder to do. I stepped out of the shower and cleaned the huge, foggy mirror with my hands. I stared at myself. The guy that has been in my life ever since day 1…the guy who I’ve shared my laughter and tears with…the guy that I thought, at the age of 4, was the guy I was going to marry someday…he was taken from me. And he didn’t even tell me. I thought I was special to him. But was I? Or was I just the girl he came to for advice? The girl he could make fun of without getting into any trouble because the second he looked into her eyes she’d melt like butter and they’d both start laughing?

All I knew was there wasn’t going to be any GLEE for me that night.

TO BE CONTINUED...

SUMITRA

SUMITRA - Playful eyes

Hey everyone! This here's my first poem, so go easy on me... (:

Some boys make me laugh,
With their tries and with their bluffs,
Yet no matter what I say,
They never seem to go away.

They please and they flatter,
They say I'm the reason they're such mad hatters,
But I know better,
Besides,
It doesn't really matter to me.

I'm a busy, busy girl,
Who is bound to rule the world,
And so I think it's lame,
How boys play their silly games.

Some boys try,
Some boys lie,
And some even cry,
But I see through those playful eyes.

SUMITRA

SUMITRA - An Unforgettable Person

Ahem. This was actually an essay for school, but since it got satisfying feedback and because I haven't been writing for a while, it's here, on this blog (:

An unforgettable person -everybody has one. He or she has either played a vital role in our lives or has touched our souls by their actions or the things they have done that affect and influence us and our lives tremendously. For instance, the person I find so hard to forget is my mother, Victoria Montgrave. It all really began when I was nothing more than a wee lass.

"Mother?". Victoria Montgrave deliberately ignores 5 year old Surrey, parks her trolley and begins filling it with packets of instant oatmeal. "Mother?" says Surrey again, almost whispering. She gives out an exasperated sigh, looks down at her daughter and says, "Wot is it?!". Surrey springs into life. "Could I please, please, please have this doll?" she asks, pointing to the latest Barbie. Victoria rolls her eyes and looks away from Surrey. "No," she says flatly. Surrey frowns. "But look, mother," Surrey goes on pleadingly, "she even has her own car and it's pink! When I grow up, I want-" "No, Surrey," Victoria cuts in, "Now put it back where it belongs!" "But mum-" "NO, SURREY! Alright? No!" Victoria shouts, glaring at the poor child and attracting the attention of other shoppers as well.

The funny looks and raised eyebrows, however, fails to bother Surrey as she crosses her arms, on the verge of throwing a tantrum. Surrey feels her face grow hot, the heat then quickly spreading to other parts of her small frame, like wildfire. Tears well up in her blue eyes as she clenches her fists, tightening her grip on the Barbie, as if never wanting to let it go. "Why not?!" she shrieks. Victoria ignores the question but and yells out instead, "Put that thing back where it came from now!" "WHY?!" "BECAUSE WE DON'T HAVE THE MONEY!"

The wailing stops and so do the tears. They have everyone's attention now. Surrey wipes her wet, freckled cheeks with the back of her hand, making her face seem sticky and unclean. Slowly, she walks to the shelf, taking tiny steps as dozens of pairs of eyes stare after her. Standing on her tip toes, Surrey places the doll back in its place without a word. Giving it one last look, Surrey turns and walks back to her mother as silent as a mouse.

A few years pass and Surrey has just completed primary school. She is much taller now, her short, curly, strawberry blond hair now luscious locks of golden brown. She is grooving to her favourite rock band on the radio when her elbow accidentally knocks over her mother's favourite coffee cup. There's a loud gasp. Victoria's beloved mug is shattered into pieces and there is coffee everywhere. "Not good," Surrey thinks. She hurries into the toilet and back again with a mop, hoping to clean the mess before she got into any trouble. But before she even tries, Victoria Montgrave pokes her head out from her bedroom and says, "Wot was that noise?"

Her mother only stares at the remains of her only coffee cup. How useful that thing was to her before going to work as a clerk in the mornings. If there was one thing that kept adults sane, it was coffee. And as you might already know, without it and that mug, Victoria was on the fringe of crazy.

"What happened here, Surrey Montgrave?!" Victoria shouts, her face the colour of a tomato. "I...I acciden-" Surrey manages to mumble. She takes a few steps backwards, trips on the mop and falls on her bum, the word 'trepidation' clearly portrayed in those blue eyes. "You wot?! You wot, Surrey?!" Victoria shoots. "It...t'was an accident, I'm really sorry, mum, I really-". Victoria lets out a scream, grabs her unsuspecting child by the head and starts tearing her hair off.

"Mothe-" Surrey chokes, in tears, her body pressed against the cold floor, her hair pulled by an enormous force -Victoria. "Mother, I'm sorry!" she yells, barely breathing. But Victoria doesn't listen. "Mother, please! It hurts!" Surrey pleads, "Mother, I'm sorry!". Victoria stops and Surrey feels relief, happiness and utter relief flooding her system. But then her mother comes back, holding the wet mop and then tries pushing it down her throat.

It is the year 2010. Surrey gets a scholarship to study psychology in Oxford university. "After all those years of watching other girls show off their new toys, of never achieving my dreams, of being afraid, I'm here now. I've earned it." she thinks to herself one day in the library. Suddenly, her cell phone rings. The librarian shoots her a dirty look. She then exits into the hallway to take the call.

"Hello? she says. "Good afternoon, is this Surrey Montgrave, daughter of Victoria Montgrave?" a voice replies. "Why, yes, yes I am" Surrey answers, slightly nervous and literally feels her palms getting sweaty. She tightens her grip on the Nokia. "I'm calling from Blackburn hospital. I'm sorry to tell you that Victoria Montgrave has suffered a major head injury after a freak car accident this morning and has passed on" the voice says. She loses her grip and the Nokia drops on the floor.

***

My mother wanted to become a lawyer. She was about to enter college when she got pregnant -with me. My so-called father ran off with another woman and when her parents found out, they kicked her out. That was when she lost the only thing she ever had -her family. I often wondered how different things could've been for the pair of us if grandfather and grandmother had only supported us, but it's pointless. She had a very hard life, mum. My mother had never taught me things like valuable life lessons or said anything like what your parents would say to you -I just learned from her mistakes.

And unforgettable person -I have one. She played a vital role in my life and touched my soul by her actions and the things she has done that affected and influenced myself and my life tremendously. The person I find so hard to forget and never will forget is Victoria Montgrave, my mother.

SUMITRA

SUMITRA - White Roses

Liam feels the shiny keys of the grand piano with his long fingers. Slowly, he takes a deep breath. And he begins. Soft music fills the room, filling its empty spaces with sound. Liam closes his eyes and lets his soul flow through his fingers. With every high note, Rosalie’s heart skips a beat. Liam’s hands moved so gracefully, so swiftly -like they were dancing. Sitting there, next to him, witnessing such beauty, Rosalie didn’t want to be anywhere else. As the music slowed, so does her heartbeat. The music stops and she catches her breath.

“What d’you think, Rosie?” Liam asks, practically gasping for air. Her smirk returns, however. “Eh, not bad” she shrugs.

“You thought it was fantastic, didn’t you?”

“Did not!”

“Did to! Look, your cheeks ‘ave gone red just listening to it!”

“Oh,” Rosalie gasped, covering both sides of her face with her hands, “Stop it, Liam!” And he does. For a moment, Liam glanced up to the ceiling and then, into Rosalie’s deep blue eyes. “You inspired me, you know” he says, almost whispering. “What?” she exclaims, now trying to hide her burning face more than ever. “The song, it’s called White Roses.” Liam answers, shifting in his seat. “Why call a song ‘White Roses’?” Rosalie asked, wondering how she could be related to a flower. Liam hesitates for a while and begins rubbing his sweaty palms together but finally says, “Well, you know, last summer, we were helping mum plant white roses in the back, and you told her how much you loved them and how they were your favourite so I…I thought it would be OK to make something special out of that bit of information, like a song -for you.” Rosalie could hardly believe her ears. All sorts of emotions were rushing through her, emotions she couldn’t fathom. “You thought it would be OK?”she croaked.

The room went silent. Liam could literally feel a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. And then, he felt soft lips pressed gently against the right side of his cheek.

***


It was summer and both children were in Miami with their families on a long holiday. “Did you take my goggles, Liam?” yelled Rosalie in her bathing suit, from across the hotel room.

“‘Course not, silly Rosie! Look, if you can’t find ‘em, go get new ones”

“But where?”

“Bet there’s plenty of ‘em in all those stalls down by the beach”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

“I suppose I will then”

“D’you want me to tag along?”

Rosalie scoffs, “What for?”

“You know,” he scratches the side of his head, “to make sure you’re safe…”

Rosalie laughs. “There’s no need, really. I’ll be 15 minutes.”

“Alright, meet me near the showers by the pool and we’ll do some laps. I’ll have you know, my backstroke’s improved!”

“We’ll see” she says as she reaches her hand out to turn the door knob. “Oh, Rosie, don’t you want to inform mum and-” But it’s too late. The door slams. Liam only shrugs, grabs his trunks and heads into the bathroom to change.
***


Rosalie crosses the street and makes her way to the colourful stalls. “Great galloping grandmothers, Liam was right! But I don’t see any goggles, perhaps I should keep looking?” she thinks as she explores deeper into the busy market. She searched everywhere, walking from stall to stall but nobody sold goggles there. “Stupid, Liam!” she exclaimed. Just as she was about to stomp back to the hotel, a tall, dark-eyed man blocked her way. “Hey, what’s a sexy girl like you doing here all alone?” he said. “Uh, excuse me, I really need to get back” she replied hurriedly, trying to move past him. But it was no use -he had friends. “Whoa, whoa, slow down there, missy, we can get you there in no time!” Rosalie hesitates, but then she thinks of poor Liam who’s waiting for her. “You wouldn’t mind?” she asks. Both ends of the man’s lips slowly curve upwards into an ugly smirk. “No,” he says, “Not at all.”

***


Liam waited and waited. He never even stepped into the pool. He just sat there by the water. Whenever someone passed by, or whenever he felt someone’s presence, he would turn his head to look, but every time he did, it wasn’t Rosalie. When it got dark, -and when the only person at the pool was Liam- his parents, including Rosalie’s went looking for him. When they finally found him, they questioned Rosalie’s whereabouts.

The police showed up a few minutes after that. Liam was questioned and they set out to search for Rosalie. When the search party reached the noisy marketplace, Rosie wasn’t there. But they kept looking, just hoping to find her. With every step he took, Liam hated himself more and more. Eventually, he stopped at a stall that had buckets and buckets of flowers and plants. He stopped at the sight of a white rose that had somehow, fallen onto the ground. He watched as a passerby stepped on it, leaving its beautiful white petals blemished with dirt and crushed by impact.

“ROSIE!” he yelled suddenly, in the middle of the crowd. “ROSALIE GIBBS! It’s Liam! We were friends ever since preschool, remember?! I make fun of you a lot! We built sandcastles, sang nursery rhymes real horribly and played hide and seek together. We used to wake up really early on Saturdays just to watch our favourite cartoons. You’re my best friend! And I’ve never told you this before but I think I might have feelings for you! I’ve been feeling this way for as long as I can remember! We’ve been looking all over for you and I’m really hungry so you better show yourself!” His voice softens, “I wrote a song for you, Rosie. Took me months to perfect it for you. Where are you, Rosalie?”

Liam fell on his knees, his face buried in his hands, weeping his heart out. Rosalie was gone. Suddenly, he felt something tap his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder and saw Mrs. Gibbs, standing behind him, tears streaming down her face. She put her arms around him and held him tight. But Liam broke free. He started running, and kept running as fast as his legs could take him. “Rosie” he thought.