City of Shared Stories
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A nauseating smell greeted C as she walked in the front door. Her housemates must've bought some for dessert. No, they were already stuffing their faces in the kitchen. She refused their invitation, merely shaking her head as she held her breath.
After all these years, she still could not get used to the smell. Even though it's now available "shrink-wrapped", the smell would still assault her senses when the wrap is pierced.
It wasn't always like this. She used to love it as a child. What changed?
Sometimes she would be startled by an image in her head - a little child asleep on the floor, her knees bright red, while in front of her, an old woman sat by the bedroom door, enjoying the bright yellow fruits of a spiked fruit before her.
She knew where that image came from, but still puzzled over why she remembered it in the third person.
The little child was her, the old woman her beloved nanny. Nanny used to go to the fruit stall in front of the shop every afternoon when durian was in season and pick a small one to enjoy. As a child, C had been given some each time. Until that afternoon. It'd been a while since Nanny bought a durian. C had been so excited, she ran ahead of Nanny to get to the stall. She had not seen the pile of durians. By the time she did, it was too late. She tripped and kneeled on a pile near the ground. Her knees were treated with some antiseptic, her screams soothed by a dab of the fruit in her mouth. The little accident had not stopped Nanny from getting one for that afternoon and eating it all by herself.
Was that when C went off durians?
After all these years, she still could not get used to the smell. Even though it's now available "shrink-wrapped", the smell would still assault her senses when the wrap is pierced.
It wasn't always like this. She used to love it as a child. What changed?
Sometimes she would be startled by an image in her head - a little child asleep on the floor, her knees bright red, while in front of her, an old woman sat by the bedroom door, enjoying the bright yellow fruits of a spiked fruit before her.
She knew where that image came from, but still puzzled over why she remembered it in the third person.
The little child was her, the old woman her beloved nanny. Nanny used to go to the fruit stall in front of the shop every afternoon when durian was in season and pick a small one to enjoy. As a child, C had been given some each time. Until that afternoon. It'd been a while since Nanny bought a durian. C had been so excited, she ran ahead of Nanny to get to the stall. She had not seen the pile of durians. By the time she did, it was too late. She tripped and kneeled on a pile near the ground. Her knees were treated with some antiseptic, her screams soothed by a dab of the fruit in her mouth. The little accident had not stopped Nanny from getting one for that afternoon and eating it all by herself.
Was that when C went off durians?
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