Fiction by Krisna Liz Tantano | 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+!”
Fiction by Nilea Louise Morales | 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.
Fiction by Nilea Louise Morales | 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.
Fiction by Donn Ahl Catre | December 7, 2014
“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.
Fiction by Jude Ortega | October 12, 2014
continued from part 1
I love my mother very much. She is the only person who accept me as a gay. My brothers especially Ricky is shy to other people that I am a gay. My sisters and father is not angry to me but they do not care me. They do not make me part of their life. When my father is still living he do not talk to me. When only him and me is in one place, for example in the sala, he go to the kitchen or to outside the house to his fighting cocks. Only my mother kiss me and embrace me when she is still not a stroke victim. But sometimes I hate her, I blame her. This is her mistake. I become a gay because she dress me like a girl when I was small. She give birth to two girls and three boys straight before she give birth to me. When I go out, my two sisters are already big and my mother miss playing to a little baby girl so she always dress me with skirt and then she sing to me and said to me to do fashion show in our sala. So I want to be Miss Universe when I grow up.
Fiction by Jude Ortega | October 5, 2014
For all of my life I want to be a girl. But not this way. Not in my birth certificate. Because of this mistake my trip to New Zealand is delay. We cannot married. But don’t worry. I follow up my papers always. Please wait for a little. We will soon be together. We will live happy ever after.
I’m sorry you spend too much money for me already. I don’t know that going abroad is very expensive and very meticulous. I know you are much money. Your pension is large and one dollar there in your country is thirty-six pesos here in my country. But I’m still shy to you. You shoulder all the expenses. Last year you even go here in the Philippines to see me because it is required, because your embassy said I’m not your partner because we only chat in the internet and we never meet personal. But after you go here and you go back to New Zealand…your embassy said to you again it’s not OK, I still cannot get a partner visa, visitor visa only.
Fiction by Dominique Gerald Cimafranca | September 28, 2014
It was 3 AM when the Man-Who-He-Should-Have-Been entered the room. Maita was asleep on the couch, so Alfredo was alone to meet him.
“Hi,” Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been said.
“Hi, yourself. I guess it’s time.”
“Yes it is.”
Alfredo-Who-Was looked at Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been from head to toe. He was about 50, the same age as he. He had a slight paunch and his shoulders were a bit rounded. He had on a dark suit and his hair was combed neatly. Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been looked back at him. For a long time, they said nothing.
Fiction by Jose Ramos | September 21, 2014
This makeshift hospital bed is anything but comfortable. The foam is barely half an inch thick. I can feel the cold of the metal springs underneath it; they’re making my back go numb.
I scan the room for something pleasant to divert my attention to. Attached to the ceiling is a flashbulb that’s emitting this seizure-inducing orange light. All the walls have to offer are thin cracks that, if you look long enough without blinking as I’m doing now, seem to be interconnected. They look like the red veins that decorate a peeled balut.
That reminds me, I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. Fasting for a whole twenty four hours is supposed to be integral to a successful operation. I tried to compensate by drinking lots of water but my body’s just not used to this sort of deprivation. I’m craving for rice. Any ulam would do. I just really miss stuffing my mouth with spoonfuls of rice.
I let out a sigh.
So much for a pleasant diversion.