The Ruthless

They said crying is supposed to be done only by the crybabies. But even though the strong-hearted are awarded of gold trophy everytime they shed a tear, she still thinks that crying is a very taboo thing to do. Such a cold-blooded little woman, very blasé about almost anything, that there are only two things that could drive her crazy: kittens and iPad.

And thus, when she first heard about the ill-fated news of one of her acquaintances, who was abruptly hospitalized for an illness unbeknownst by anybody, all she said was, “oh.” Her face was a bit frowning and her eyes seemed misty. “Oh God, what’s with you? Where is that inhuman serial killer smirk I used to see?” her roommate shouted at her with a fake quizzical look.

Quickly she switched the expression and answered, “in your arse.” They laughed. They still laughed when the TV shows stupid fabricated story about declaring love and so. She laughed when petting her kitten.

The group messages about her sick friend kept on chiming on her phone, revealing his progress and some strange concern that comes with it. Everybody seemed to have a word to speak up. She scrolled the messages, observing the photos, restrained. She did not type anything to the huddled group.

Staring blankly to the room’s ceiling, her mind was suddenly kept up. And then she cried. Tears that never falls for several years. Tears she had always managed to suppress. Not now. Not when her mind was occupied with the thoughts of the friend. No, they never that close to each other. They never cared so much. Only some encounters and private messages in the long lost past. She couldn’t understand, but what she could figure out was that something essential has rising from somewhere, quietly breaking her tremendous, massive walls, like a sunrise each morning that she admires, like an inevitably emerging ray of light from a dark slope.

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