First Day of School
She had her left cheek on the table, and she was playing with her hair, pretending they were marionette strings.
"Oh my head, my head, my head," she said. "Is a puppet on strings."
And Emily, who sat beside her, was secretly terrified.
They were sitting at the back of the classroom, in the leftmost corner; a position of power, where one could observe whilst remaining unobserved. If Emily could choose, she would have chosen a seat at the front, for she was short and short-sighted. But a certain chain of events had left her with little choice but to sit where she now sat - beside the beautiful mad girl, with skin of palest moon and hair of darkest night, and whose name she dared not ask.
And now the mad girl had a hand upon her thigh, pretending it was a spider.
"Oh my hand, my hand, my hand," she went. "Is a spider looking for a home."
Emily felt the 'spider' creep underneath her short, pleated skirt and the ghost of a tingle creep up the ridge of her spine.
"Stop it!" she hissed. But the mad girl, cheek upon the table, merely smiled.
(and here, we come to an abrupt and unsatisfying 'end', true to the tradition of bad Singaporean fiction)