Home > prose and poetry > robbed.


I felt creative. Wrote some fiction. First time I’ve done that in ages.


On my first day in the city I was robbed.

I come from a small village that no-one cares about, and the closest I ever got to a city was a half-kilometre stretch of run-down shophouses selling everything from foodstuffs to pirated VCDs.

Not that anyone I knew had a VCD player.

So, as you can imagine, the hustle and bustle of the city was a totally new experience for me. The cars, the noise, the buildings, the lights, the people… it was all so disorientating. I saw more faces while waiting for the bus than I used to see in a year back home.

My friend, he was going to set me up with a place to crash and all that. All I had to do was to get there. Somehow. Not easy. But I could read, and I managed to figure things out. Eventually.

Besides, my friend had given me a bit of a crash course in public transportation. So it wasn’t that much of a surprise. I had a rough (if slightly innacurate) idea in my head about how things worked.

But nothing prepared me for what happened on the way.

You know how bad things happen when you least need them? Sucks, let me tell you. But they do, oh yes they do.

It was around 7pm, the boundary between day and night, when people start turning on the lights and closing the doors and windows. When people prefer to stay inside. But not me. No. I had no choice, really.

When I was younger, my parents always scolded me if I wasn’t back home by 7. “Bad things happen at this time,” they used to say. I’m inclined to agree myself, these days.

I was walking, cursing my complete inability to pack properly, sweating under the burden of my backpack, when I turned a blind corner.

And there it was.

That face.

I don’t know why she stood out so much from the crowd. At that time I probably would’ve failed to pick out my own mother in a crowd that size. But her? Well, she was something else.

We brushed shoulders, and that was it. She probably didn’t even notice me. But she might as well have pointed a knife to me and, at knife-point, ordered me to “give me everything you’ve got!”

She stole my heart on that fateful Friday.

I haven’t seen her since. She’s still got it with her, you know.

Categories: prose and poetry
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