Cowardice.

... because you cower behind the cover of anonymity.



A post/story by my cousin, Jasryn. I think she writes well. Click here for the link to her blog.

That Girl
by Jasryn Ng

Who is she?

I look at her. Some people think she's a pretty girl but honestly, I've never seen it. I stare hard, so hard that my eyes hurt and little black spots appear so I can't see properly. I blink them away and concentrate on the face in front of me trying to drag out some redeeming feature, one, single little thing to help me understand what people see in her. But I can find nothing. What do all you people see in her? There some people you simply cannot like. It's not that she's ugly. I wouldn't say she was pretty but she isn't ugly. I just find her unplesant to look at. I'm sure that has nothing to do with her actual physical face. It's just her that I don't like.

Who is she? She is my close friend.

I am contradictory. I don't like the way her hair is parted to the right but I know that if she parted it left, I wouldn't like it either. I do not like her tanned skin but if she were fair, that wouldn't have gone down well with me either. I do not like her straight hair but I'm sure if it were curly, I'd find that disagreeable as well. I think her brown hair makes her look trampy but if she were blonde, I'd call her slutty. There is no pleasing me. I am contrary. I don't like her and that's never going to change. You can't make me. Call me ridiculous if you will, call me vindictive if you must but don't ever call me dishonest. She is not a nice girl. Everyone thinks she is but nobody knows. She is not a nice girl. I would know.

Who is she? She is my worst enemy.

I look at her purple nail polish and think that it should be pink. I look at her clothes and they look all wrong. I look at her hair and its hideous. Looking at her brings up this feeling of displeasure. Her face just annoys me. So I look into her brown eyes that I think should be green and tell her to her disagreeable face, I don't like you. Nobody does. And I laugh at the way her face falls. I see right through her. Right through her act. She can't hide from me. I can see the things she tries to hide. I see it in the tilt of her chin, the stiffness of her back, the gaunt haunted frame, the pain in her eyes. I see the way she flinches and averts her gaze, biting her lip. I hate looking at her but I see her most clearly. She can't lie to me. I see her for everything that she is and everything that she's not. I hate her. I truly hate her. I imagine slapping her across the face. So hard that the mark of my hand will scar that face. That the force of my anger will scar that girl. Payback. And it still wouldn't be enough. Anger boils. Fists clench.

Who is she? I turn away from the mirror.

I ask nothing of you.