Flashback.

Jane held her violin in her hands. For pete's sakes, her exam had just ended a week ago. Give me some free time already, she thought, pissed off.

"This had better be worth it." She thought as she launched into teacher-prescribed homework that was four full pages of complicated advanced scales.

She was starting to like being alone with music--even if it was scales that made her entire hand ache and her fingers peel. At least it didn't demand that you mop the floor. Or do homework.

Weird, she thought. But she had been since she was young...

The dimunitive 8-year-old pored through some Secret Seven book.
"Your dinner's ready, babayyy." The woman crooned. Frowning a little, she asked: "Why didn't you practice like I asked you to?"

"I wanna read." The reply came, the girl's eyes not even lifted off her text.





"Mm...hm...lahda." Playing with building blocks, humming a self-constructed tune. Heavily-lidded dark brown eyes spied the last block. Skinny fingers grabbed it with a robust conviction, placing it precariously at the top of the tower. She smiled as the creation toppled down.

"Humming again? What's it this time?" The woman came in.

"Nope." The clear answer came back, cutting.

"How was school today?"

"Fine." And, as if it were an afterthought, "Danielle Gomez vomitted today."

"What?"

"It was bright pink...you know? Highliter pink."

The woman stood up again, and left the room.

"Hm...lala dummmm..." The humming resumed.






"What's this?" The girl, at 7, had rummaged through her friend's pencilcase.

"Er...sharpener blade?"

"Will it cut?"

"I have no idea."

"Let's see. You know, like those people that go-"
Without further warning the girl had pressed the graphite-laden blade against her skin, and cut across deeply. Seeing no blood and feeling no pain, she repeated the procedure a few more times.

"Miss Tan's here." Her friend cautioned her.

"Now it hurts! well...a little." The girl squeezed her finger tightly. Still, no blood emerged. " Never mind. GOOD MORNING MISS TAN." The girl called out.



At Parkway, on the escalator with those bristles at the side that sometimes tickled your feet. The girl, at ten, with her mother, who was a few steps in front of her. The girl edged her foot closer to the side, hoping to achieve what she termed as "cleaning her shoe." Auddenly, with a force, the entire foot of the child, up to the heel, was ssSSSsucked in, shoe and all. Without missing a beat, the girl pulled her foot back. A ripping sound emerged, causing the woman to turn sharply.
"I-I, my foot, it got sucked in."

"How?!?!" The woman, having reached the landing, pulled her daughter to one side.

"Oh, I was playing with the bristles at the side. My foot's not hurt. See?" The girl removed her tattered shoe and wiggled her toes.

"Dear..."

"I'm fine! But I think I need a new shoe. And new socks too. And my foot just feels funny, that's all. Never mind. No need for worry."




Like time was going to change all those character traits, Jane thought to herself as she awoke from her ruminating.