Category: Fiction

I am the Universe

Fiction by | February 15, 2015

The sun peeked through the grayness of the clouds, filling the room with enough light for us to see each other. I stare at the sky, dark and gloomy, and then back at her. She was a little sun herself, even if everyone expected her to be a cloud.

“Mama?” she says. I realized she was awake.

“Yes baby?” I said, leaning in closer to her bed. My arms met the metal rod kept up to avoid her from falling and immediately I wince from the cold.

“Haha. You’re scared of the cold?” she said, giggling. I just smiled. I wasn’t scared of the cold but I was scared of the idea of her being cold, lifeless body. I rubbed her hand with my thumb, just above the plaster over the needle.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked her. I really did not want to know. I figured that the hurt she was experiencing was unimaginable. I realized this too late, but I guess it was necessary to start a conversation.

“I’m okay.” She said as she smiled. Her smile was very genuine that I feel myself start to cry, but I force the water back up. I cannot cry in front of my daughter.

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Scrabble

Fiction by | February 8, 2015

“Playing Scrabble is really fun when I have a tough opponent like you.”

“It’s a pleasure to play with you, too.”

“I didn’t expect you were saving letters for ‘melancholy’!”

“My favorite word, actually.”

“The word sounds sad, don’t you think?”

“The word is poetic, I think. It resounds and feels like being alone, without umbrella or any shade whatsoever, under a heavy rain; feeling the rain—crawling upon and into your skin, reaching your very soul, drenching it with gray clouds, thunder, lightning, and raindrops—as if you were naked; wondering where the raindrops come from, what they are made of, but having knowledge about the water cycle still fails you; and asking, ‘Will this rain ever end?’”

“Wow. So, it is not just sad. It is beautifully sad.”

“Well, you can say that.”

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An Accident in Moscow

Fiction by | February 1, 2015

After she had some time to think about it, Alyona convinced herself that, in the end, there was really nothing she could have done about it. Sure, she had had a couple of shots of vodka, but not enough to get her tipsy. Larisa, on the other hand, was totally wasted, and that was why Alyona had to drive Larisa’s Samara, a car whose idiosyncracies she wasn’t familiar with. There was the rain, too, and that was why she had pulled Larisa away from the party. The rain made the cobbled roads slippery. The streetlamps flickered on and off and she couldn’t see very well. Not to mention that Larisa, on the passenger seat, must have been dreaming she was still with Dmitri and kept groping her leg. Yes, she had a drink, it was dark, she was distracted, but still…

That man appeared out of nowhere. She wasn’t driving that fast. He had stepped in front of the car. Was he even looking in the right direction? No, he had been looking the other way. He must have been inostranets — a foreigner. She had stepped on the breaks, but the slick road took out some traction from the Samara’s tires.

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No. 7

Fiction by | February 1, 2015

Eating kwek-kwek and blending in with the crowd to be as inconspicuous as possible, Marco had been waiting for almost an hour. His target, this time, was Isagani Sarmiento—a paralegal at a small law office in San Pedro. It was almost 5 o’clock but the sweltering heat did not give way to the usual pre-dusk chill. He gave small talks to the tindera but he always made sure not to make himself too memorable. He had on a faux leather jacket with a plain shirt underneath, a Yankees cap, and his usual ragged jeans.

He first met with his client at some low-key bar at Torres.

It was a perfect place for such meet-ups—it was full of unscrupulous businessmen and sleazy police officers, but there was never any crowd large enough to fill even one-third of the room. The music was kept to a perfect volume and only ranged from classic to jazz.

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Padugo

Fiction by | January 25, 2015

“Legends say that blood allures gold and for a gold mine to be full of gold, it needs blood. But a goat’s blood is not enough.” Said the 58 year-old Mang Berto as he shared his story to his fellow small-scale miners during siesta as they rest in the Nipa hut near the Matiao River. “It needs a blood that is something pure and innocent.” Mang Berto said coldly to everyone in the Nipa Hut.

Mang Berto and his family now lives in Matiao province where mining has been the primary business and a source of profit for most people. In his early 30’s, he worked in a large-scale mining company called King Midas Mining Corp in the Gumayan province. The boss of the company, which the employees called Supremo, believed in a legend that a sacrificial ritual that involves offering of blood every last day of the month inside a mine would allure the elusive gold nuggets. During his stay in Gumayan, Mang Berto worked as a hired kidnapper and the one who executes the ritual along with other hired kidnappers. His job was instant money as the job gave him enough money to buy a small house. However, until one incident changed the course of his life.

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Paper Airplane

Fiction by | January 4, 2015

The first crash was accidental.

A boy sitting atop a tree, hidden in a tangled mess of browns and greens.

A girl lounging in the enormous roots of a tree that has been there since forever.

Bored out of his wits, he folded that awful piece of paper marked F-, and thus a paper airplane.

‘Blow, Blow, swish…’

“Fly away you blasted piece of paper and don’t come back until you give me an A+!”

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Like I Did, Part 2

Fiction by | December 28, 2014

Continued from part 1

“Hello?”

“David! I’m giving you a client for work,” it was James, my childhood best friend. He was successful, all right, unlike me. He owns the shop where I work as a lay-out artist.

But I don’t understand why he’s calling me now and entrust me with a client. He called me off of work for leaving clients in the middle of progress that he had to pay them back their money. I remember him reminding me what a donkey I am, and how it brought me to where I am now.

Of course it was all true that it hit me right through my every bone. But I don’t have plans letting myself be dipped down by people, even by my own best friend. So I, with my forehead up high, thanked him and told him I’m never coming back.

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Like I Did, Part 1

Fiction by | December 21, 2014

It’s all I know.

“So… This is goodbye?”

No, this isn’t. No, this’ll never be. My mind started to encode the words, waiting to be spoken. But instead I moved my head to gesture a no.

I love Jasmine. I really do. She was smart and beautiful inside-out. Her eyes told me the existence of something real. Her smile promised rainbows after heavy rains. Her laughter sang melodies in the midst of my noisy life. Her touch never lets me feel alone in this lonely world. That she was there. She’d be just there.

Of all people, she understands me the most. She’s patient and uncomplaining. I receive no pressure from her. She doesn’t nag, or pester, or irk with issues big or small. But I can hear her cry in my mind, because she never cried and probably will never cry with me around.

And above all, she loves me more than any girl has made me feel, and probably no girl will ever do.

Continue reading Like I Did, Part 1