Wednesday, September 24, 2008

8 Characters

The solid bench in the park

The solid bench in the park has been a witness to a great number of happenings in this world. He has seen the likes of couples quarrelling, plants growing, plants being plucked by mischievous teenagers, couples kissing and making love on top of him, people littering when the bins were a feet away, a couple of organised protests and even a car accident when it managed –somehow– to spin out of control into the park. Since he was conceived by construction workers a decade ago he had weathered considerably. His frame has been carved off by punks who had nothing better to do and no home to return to, his back has absorbed bucket loads of sweat and was becoming soft, dogs had desecrated his legs by doing their business on them, and so on. But he still stands strong and firm in his spot in the park, which is near a children’s corner which usually gets very crowded and noisy in the evenings. He stands strong and firm and where other compatriots have collapsed he continues his silent servitude to the public and hope the people would appreciate him one day.

The beached whale

A large grey mass lies on the beach against a backdrop of orange sunset. The mass is heaving up and down gently, and it is emitting a fishy, stale odour. Some people are turned off by the smell and stand at a distance pointing and watching; others are pouring buckets of seawater onto it. A few kids are scampering around, with their parents trying to bring them under control. One kid tries to climb up the mass, but it’s too slippery. Another is kicking sand at it. Two eyes are watching all these happenings with a detached interest. They are small compared to the rest of the body they belong to, like peas on a table. The eyes focus on one thing for a moment, then another. The whale knows they’re trying to help him, those pouring the buckets of seawater at least, but he knows it’s no use. He wants to thank them, to show his gratitude, but he doesn’t know how to and he can feel his energy leaving him slowly and gently as the sun sets behind him.

The smoker

When I asked the smoker how his life is now, he replied, with a lit cigarette in his hand, “Prices now so expensive! Electricity going up, so I don’t turn on heater before bathing, so I eat in the dark, just to save money. No choice lah, need to save.” So I asked him why doesn’t he quit smoking then, since cigarettes are so expensive.
He took a puff and said: “Some things can’t be helped one lah. I need cigarettes to enjoy, if not work whole day will die one.” He looked at his cigarette, took another puff, threw it on the ground and lit a new one. I bid him goodbye and as I left him I saw him squat against a wall, a tired look on his face as he tried to open a new cigarette pack.

The quarrelling couple

The quarrelling couple quarrel day in day out over almost everything: the unfairness of China dominating the Olympics, whether to eat in a food court or a kopitiam for dinner, whether Singapore is a decent place to live in, what kind of dog they should adopt. Whenever one of them makes a thesis, it is highly likely the other would disagree and come up with an antithesis. One of the evenings they were dining at a restaurant, they disagreed so badly on whether the government’s efforts to encourage people having more babies are effective, that another couple next to them thought to themselves: wow these people must be rather patriotic citizens to be discussing national policies with so much passion. Thus they weren’t too surprised when they saw the couple embracing and holding hands as they left the restaurant, despite such a heated quarrel.

The quiet kid

She likes to have her lunch at school alone, even when her classmates press on her to join them. Unfortunately for her, the school canteen is always crowded, so she usually packs a lunch box and finds a quiet spot to eat all by herself. Usually it would be by the small pond, but sometimes she would be at the backstage of the school hall when that got too noisy. On occasion males would try to find her, probably because they want to know more about this mysterious girl. They try stationing themselves outside her class right before the bell went, and tailing her discretely. Some groups would place lookouts at strategic places throughout the school; others would try camping at her commonly seen spots. Some groups would even join hands with other groups, forming a big network of alliances such that a visitor during the school’s lunch break would wonder if there is a particular game of manhunt going on. Even then those boys usually have a hard time because the girl, the quiet kid, disappears so easily into the world of things.

The mist

The mist always has people running away from it in apprehension. When it seeped into the living room of the Tongs, they hurried to close all windows. When that still didn’t help they panicked and went into their rooms and locked their doors. But still they found themselves surrounded by the mist and panicked even further. They huddled into a corner and muttered prayers of salvation but still the mist didn’t go away, most likely because she didn’t understand English. Little Tong asked tearfully if the mist was going to eat them up, but Mr Tong said that if it wanted to it would have done so already. They then realised that there really is nothing deadly about this mist, and went about their daily lives as usual. They couldn’t help but notice, though, that the mist clung onto all objects, from the pages between books to the toilet seats to the undergarments they were wearing, and left a faint, corporeal taint on them which no amount of washing could remove.

The army general

“Sir, what are we to do now?”
“Kill them!” roared General Tasymachus.
“But, sir, our forces are being pushed back on all fronts..”
“Are you saying we are losing...colonel?” roared General Tasymachus.
The colonel hesitated at this point. “Well get to the killing then colonel!” roared General Tasymachus. The colonel saluted and left the quarters.
The general, weighed down by his bright-coloured uniform, its many medals and his grizzly white beard, walked heavily to his guard at the door. He glared at the steadfast soldier and roared, “We are going to win this war! We will prevail!” The soldier stared unblinkingly ahead.
General Tasymachus walked to his desk and pored over his maps. Another colonel came in, saluted, but before he could say anything General Tasymachus looked at him and roared, “Doing your killings colonel?” The colonel gave a negative answer.
“What? No killings?”
“No sir our enemy are doing the killings,” the colonel stated. The General pounded his fist against his palm and said, “Confound it! How can this be? We are the ones who should be doing the killing!” He looked at the colonel and said, “Colonel, I want killings now!”

The construction worker

Having gone through the suffocating boat ride to the island, having gone through a few unanticipated troubles with his documents, the tough-skinned labourer looked forward to a steady, predictable life of menial work at a construction site. He worked hard, but never too hard, knowing that in this line of work health is as important as diligence. While other workers spent their dinners on hearty food and enjoyed themselves he would only eat the bare minimum required for the next day’s work, and where they went to places in the city during the weekend he would spend his time at the living quarters where no one else was around. He keeps his weekly income in a small cloth bag, underneath the only possessions he has left in this world, and ties it securely to him every night when he sleeps, knowing that the world is a harsh place especially when all he has is himself.