By Daren Shiau

Forest Fire

Don't joke lah, Jon said rhetorically to the rest, as he scanned their faces. It's made of glass, confirm break one, have you heard of anyone doing it. Moments earlier, it had seemed like a good idea. They were talking about whether it was possible to escape from Tekong by swimming. Jon held his pink NRIC, his elbows on the barrier overlooking the rain oculus. He flicked the card between hands, as if he were a god of gamblers, and in front of the MBS casino some more. They had had lunch in the basement food court before and now they were goofing around to kill their last hours of civilian life for two years. Oh fuck, Jon uttered suddenly; the guys watched as his ID dropped, skipped, and slid near the aperture. The glass roof breaking was all Jon could think of. But what if the water surge came and it got flushed into the hole. Jon froze. "Oi jump in bro, really, don't overthink it, just jump in."

 
We're Lying Together

I began cooking again after we met. Because the time that we could best meet was between five in the afternoon and we would be leaving by eight latest. I wasn't renting the unit at Telok Kurau. I had bought it when the market was low after the financial crisis. What if we are seen together she would say as we were house-hunting. I never answered that question because I knew she would be upset. Only one car could be registered with the apartment, so we used mine. Some days she would do street parking of hers, other days I would pick her from her office. But, you see, we were both working so there were never the issues that come with a depending on, or the shame of abandonment. We had made our decisions, we knew what to say when we got home, there were no texts after 10 in the night. We decided to leave some personal things there so that it would not be empty. Favourite books, empty bottles of wine consumed together at restaurants, photographs of us overseas since deleted from our mobile phones. The cutlery was from Ikea near Alexandra where we previously worked. I used fancier ingredients over time. She liked morel mushrooms. We both avoided carbs as we might have had to have dinner after. I did olive oil pasta best but only rarely. One day we were both lying naked staring at the ceiling, catching our breath. I knew I we needed to taper off and I had thought it was only in my head but she said I had uttered it: What are we doing? She thought what I had meant was what we were doing over the weekend which was usually off-limits. After a long pause during which we were not checking our phones, she replied hesitantly: Goodman Barracks?   

 
Tomorrow's Taken

I tell you that it was him she was really into. No, you don't understand – yes, there were others but she was only interested in him, more than he was into her. Does your arm tattoo mean anything, he asked her one day in the campus canteen. For me to know, for you to learn Latin, she said. The boy gazed into her eyes, smiling. She had a lecture in five, and there were other friends around. But that was the moment, I'm serious, she started being obsessed about ink. She was reading up, and looking up hobbyist pages online, and she found a pattern one night she was convinced he would like. She posted it on her IG and an hour later he DMed her, I'm not kidding. Is that yours, he asked. She teased a reply. She had it done in a small studio off Haji Lane on a public holiday; it came out in her IG stories. And then mou dun dun, without instigation blindside came; the shit hit the fan. Everyone was talking about her 'tramp stamp,' boys were sharing a mobile video of another girl's heaving back claiming it was her, girls were trying to make it out from under her crop tops. I swear to God, she hid in the library between classes, screaming into her bag. One Monday he walked up to her at the study tables, as if weeks had not passed, as if he had heard nothing of the gossip glacier slowly moving over the bedrock of cliques and the loose gravel and debris of tutorial murmurings. He had a canoeing thing over the Labour Day at Pulau Ubin that weekend and he had been assigned his own room. She didn't have to be part of the CCA, she just needed to be there if she had nothing on, but if she wouldn't go he would 'understand.' Yes, yes, that very weekend.  She immediately called her aesthetician to ask if the very last stage of removing the mark on her back could be brought forward urgently, to the day after for example. She was in luck; it would leave a small scar, but the only one slot the next day was available. At least something, she thought. I can only imagine: she gripping the sides of the sink; this will all go away and it would be all good. Her phone would ring again soon after. Low batt so she would move towards the kitchen, heavy with the smell of detergent and marinade, for network and away from the low murmur of the living-room TV.   

"Actually tomorrow's taken, I'm afraid, ma'am. How about this weekend? That's all we have. It'll be more relaxed, and less people around because of the public holiday. It's a long weekend."

  
Perfect Day

Maniam smiled at his own reflection as walked into the office lift. Life doesn't get better than this, he thought to himself. It was a Christmas eve Friday. He had left his work bag at home and all he had to carry on his train was a hand-wrapped present for Secret Santa. Monday was a public holiday and his boss would be out of town for the rest of the week. Maniam had saved all his pending e-mails in his drafts folder but was in no hurry to send them out. If someone would chase him for a piece of work, he could e-mail it out instantly. In fact, he had printed out the hard copies. In the office, everyone was in a light mood. Gifts were exchanged, snacks on paper plates. Maniam had two glasses of champagne and returned to his cubicle. Janet, a new colleague was at her desk, looking pale. Finish eating already ah, Maniam asked. The plastic aeroplane on her partition was bobbing. Janet thrust him a yellow Post-it and walked away in disgust, not bothering to reply. Maniam stood rooted at his cubicle. He had absolutely no idea what it was about. Maniam eventually slumped in his chair, straightened his legs, but couldn't bring himself to read the note.

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