Here's the short story I wrote while people were installing air-con in my room. I thought of the title before the actual plot so it was supposed to be a funny/humorous type of story. But um halfway, it kinda went in a whole new direction so it didn't end up being funny -.-' Anyway I hope this doesn't offend anyone, it was just for fun.

Read it you want to, don't read it if you don't want to.

*****

The Secret Life of Hobos

You pass us every day. Your eyes dart away once you catch sight of us, nestled into the corner of some building or sprawled on a bench in Hyde Park. Don’t think we don’t notice the slight turn of your head or purse of your dainty lipstick covered lips. The slight whitening of your knuckles as you clutch your purse closer to your chest, as if you’re afraid that the very air around us might pollute it. You’re not the only one though.

There are those who don’t even notice us at all – or pretend not to notice. Their eyes glaze over, as if they’re inspecting an interesting object far off in the distance. Some, mostly teenagers, walk by normally. Then, when they’re far enough away they turn and whisper to their friends, “OMG, that guy was so gross!” Your children stare, with their young, curious eyes. Some even point their chubby little fingers at us until their mothers come along, hissing commands and dragging them away. We don’t care. We like it this way. Your ignorance, the aura of blindness that accompanies our very steps is what we live for. Do you know why?

We see you. We watch you from our dark, isolated corners. Every step you take, every breath you release, every tiny, miniscule clench of your muscles is monitored by us. We are the eyes of the city, the very framework of this urban society. If the city was alive, we’d be the nerve endings, branching out in a series of complicated networks that lead right back to the centre. We’re not as useless, as incapacitated as you think we are.

Have you ever been out during the darkest, quietest moments of the night? When even the city has shut down and doors have been locked? That’s when we come alive. Our cloaks, the matted, ugly disguises you see are slipped off. Our weary limbs, cramped from retaining our positions the whole day, are shaken and stretched until they are limber and strong again. We emerge from our designated spots, casting off the shadows of the alleys and like an army of the night, head towards the centre of the city. Do you ever feel an uncomfortable shiver down your spine in the dead of the night? That is us passing by your bedroom window. You lying safe in your warm bed in your warm house, oblivious to what is happening around you. While we come out at night serving a purpose too great that your meagre, superficial, human brain will never be able to comprehend. Continue living like this. Continue to ignore us so we may accomplish our mission.

The mornings come and the city eventually wakes from its slumber. Daylight casts a glow across the rooftops and billboards, and people start wandering through the streets again. We must return to our spots and shrug on our cloaks of insignificance again. But we will never stop watching you.

This is based loosely on the "Snow Queen" by Hans Christian Anderson. Did you know that there's also a Japanese version of this story?

*****

Every time I see her I want to vomit. That plain, featureless face; the dull, lacklustre hair, so unlike my own coppery curls. She thinks she’s doing the right thing? HAH! That empty little head of hers has no idea. NO IDEA of what she’s going up against. Who does she think she is?

I, on the other hand has everything a girl seeks to possess. I am the Autumn Princess, daughter of the infamous Queen of Robbers. My whole life has been an adventure. At five, I was taught how to use the forest to my advantage, blending in with all the green, gold and red hues. As lithe and agile as a fox, I could scamper up a tree with a knife between my teeth and hang on to the branch by the fingers of my right hand. At eight, I could make a grown man cry with just my fists. The veterans even brought me along to their highway robberies. My birthday present when I turned twelve was a lesson from Shadow-Hands Sally on how to empty all ten pockets of a highway patrol officer in less than fifteen seconds. When I turned sixteen, I discovered the true meaning of power. By batting my eyelashes and showing just enough skin, I could mislead men long enough for the rest of my gang to knock and tie up the other passengers. The tales of the elusive Robber Girl spread through the land and struck fear into everyone’s hearts. I was unstoppable and they knew it.

Now here I am, looking down through the bars of her cage. She isn’t pretty and she isn’t strong, but why do I feel so inferior to her? Is it the blazing purpose in her eyes? That strong voice that urges me to let her go because she has to rescue some boy called Kai? Her determination and love for this boy is sickening to watch and yet… why does she make me feel so small?
Next to her, I am conscious of the blood that stains my hands. The screams of the innocent people I have robbed and killed are called up from my memories like dead bodies rising up from a grave. And for what? For a pretty trinket that I liked? Gold and jewels that were earned by hardworking people? Her sense of righteousness makes her pretty. And next to her, I am ugly.

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Copyrighted by Cynthia Luong