Tuesday, December 13, 2005


The rain continues to pour, and in a way, she is grateful for it. At least no one will notice the tears, now running down her face in earnest.

Her feet moving on its own accord, she stares unseeingly ahead into the rain, oblivious to her clinging clothes and stringy wet hair pasted on her forehead. At one point, a man with an umbrella offers to walk her but she pretended not to hear him and walks off as if in a trance. She turns into a quiet sidestreet to get away from all the people.

His voice still ringing in her ears, their conversation plays over and over in her head. Once again, he’s stood her up. She’s lost count of how many times he’s done that to her. This time, he didn’t even try to make up a more valid excuse nor did he care that she’s stranded at some place in the middle of the night.

“Are you on your way back?” That’s all the message he cared to send, after she rejected his call. If anything happens to her, she hopes he’ll regret treating her like a piece of rag. She hopes something DOES happen to her. Images of her mangled body lying in the monsoon drain played before her eyes, or her unrecognizable face looking out from the bloody gauze cloth covering her whole head at the hospital. Would that be enough to call forth remorse and guilt from within him?

From behind her, the headlights of a car illuminate the stretch of road in front of her as it approaches. She hears it slowing down and moments later, it draws up beside her. A bunch of rowdy guys, all with a bottle of beer in their hands, lean out the window to offer her a ride. She hesitates, but for just a moment. Then she reaches for a beer bottle from one of the guys and climbs into the back seat.