Category: Fiction

The Art in the Setting Sun

Fiction by | August 31, 2014

“Do you know I have had eighty-six books, apo?” he asked.

His muscles were weak enough to rock the rocking chair, or to extend and touch my hands to confirm I am there beside him. The sunset made his face shadowy, and his thin, grey hair orange. Too sad he couldn’t see the sun swallowed by the horizon when it was just in front of his house. I want to describe it for him, but I didn’t know how to.

“Do you know I have had eighty-six books, apo?” he asked again. I nodded, as though he could hear it. “Forty-nine days ago, it was eighty-six. Now, there’s just thirty seven left.” He paused to inhale. His breathing was so slow it alarmed me every time he did it. “When it reached eighty-six, I know I am dying. I’m so weak and, perhaps, pale. I decided to give them to everyone that passes by the house.”

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Truth Serum

Fiction by | August 24, 2014

Warning: the following story contains strong language and profanity.

Carlos Agape, bagman for the Batangas Cartel, sat on the high-backed wooden chair, his hands held down with leather straps on its arm rests. A slime of drool and vomit trailed down from the corner of his open mouth to his neck. His head was tilted back and his breathing was shallow.

“God, that took a while, but it was worth it,” Jose said with a yawn and pushed himself away from the desk. The desk was littered with notebooks and spreadsheets. On one side was the tape recorder, still running; on the other was the medical bag with vials of sodium pentathol and syringes.

“Pretty risky move back there,” Bert said, “That triple dose almost killed him.”

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Massacre

Fiction by | August 10, 2014

Twenty Innocent’s Days had passed since the first time I lit a candle in the Basilica of San Pedro Calungsod. They say that time heals all wounds but I can’t seem to get the meaning of that because every year is a suffering, every year is a curse. I tried to run but I failed for I cannot run from my own feet. This guilt and shame, I feel inside me like a knife, every time I remember their faces the last night I saw them alive. Yes, I killed my family! I killed the people who loved me. I killed them all!

I first attacked my frail and sensitive Lola Corazon. I disjointed her shaky knee bones after making her realize that her life is already meaningless because she’s old. I twisted her thin arms after I played nasty jokes and cursed her when I was annoyed. And I purposely broke her spinal cord when I made her realize that she was just causing us pain and problems and that her only consolation was to die. She did not have the chance to scream or cry for help, because I did it as secretly as possible that my mother would never know. She was my first victim!

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The Girl Who Lived with the Night

Fiction by | July 13, 2014

“You are too young for camping, Kat. You know you can’t sleep alone. You even always call for Mama,” started Katrina’s father.

Katrina, since the start of the school year, had been very excited to go to this region-wide camping of the Girl Scouts of the Philippines. She even saved money in her small elephant-bank so that she could afford to pay for transport if her parents would not permit her. They always thought that she was still not ready to be permitted outdoors, and she wanted to be different this time.

“No. I want to join. Everyone else in our class will be there. Just please, please, please let me be in this camp.”

“You’re still afraid of many things, darling. We will not be there to look after you,” her mother replied.

“But, Mama, I promise I will be good and I will learn something in the camp,” Kat insisted. She stood before her parents, trying not to blink. When they finally agreed, she jumped and kissed them on the cheek.

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The Day Mother Turned Into a Goldfish

Fiction by | June 29, 2014

Mother turned into a goldfish. It happened on Tuesday morning as she was preparing breakfast. One moment, she was cracking an egg over the frying pan, and the next, she was reaching for her throat and gasping for breath.

“What’s wrong, Mother?” I cried. I reached her just in time to keep her from collapsing against the stove. Mother stared at me with bulging eyes, unable to speak. She pointed at her neck just behind her ears. There I saw reddish slits appear, the hint of gills.

After that, the rest of the transformation went very quickly. Her skin turned to golden orange scales, her stomach distended, and her hands and feet morphed into fins. Mother shrank until she fit into the palm of my hand. She flopped for breath and almost slipped out of my grasp. Luckily, I thought of dunking her into the pitcher of water I had placed on the kitchen table.

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Cinematheque

Fiction by | June 22, 2014

Sa kanto ng Quirino at Davao Doc, dito laging nakakasalamuha ni Edoy ang mga lalaking nakadamit babae, na nag-aalok ng panandaliang aliw. Gabi-gabi ay ganito, gabi-gabi rin siyang tumatanggi. Dito kung saan gabi-gabi din siyang pinaglalaruan ng kanyang damdamin at kunsensya dahil ang pagtanggi ang isa sa mga pinakamahirap na bagay para kay Edoy.

Gaya ng unang pagkakataon siyang pahithitin ng marijuana noong nasa hayskul pa. Isang kamag-aral na ‘di hamak na mas matanda kumpara sa nakararaming estudyante, kamag-aral na ‘di hamak na mas matanda para sa isang nasa unang taon pa rin sa hayskul. Hindi natanggihan ni Edoy ang alok nitong pahithitin siya. Ganoon lang sa simula, ngunit kalauna’y hindi na rin matanggihan ni Edoy ang sarili – ang panandaliang pagtakas sa nakababatong guro sa MAPEH, sa pangulo ng klaseng nagpapanggap na matalino, sa mga sipsip na kaklaseng naglilista ng maingay at hindi nakikinig, sa nakahihiyang kulay kalawanging-puti ng polong suot niya kumpara sa suot ng mga kaklase, at sa nakaaawa niyang butas na medyas na bahagyang nagkukubli sa butas niya ring sapatos – na pinalad lang siyang hindi nagpapantay ang mga butas. Ngunit sakit na ni Edoy ang hindi tumanggi, lalo’t para sa kakaunting mga bagay lamang na masasabi niyang kaniya.

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"Hapit Nata, Nay?"

Fiction by | June 15, 2014

Puno na kaayo ang jeep. Dili na makayag higot sa kundoktor ang bukag sa marang kay ang atop sa jeep gitabunan nag mga bukag sa mga prutas ug sako sa bug-at nga bugas ug mga panaliton. Itom ang aso nga gisuka sa tambutso pagkahuman ug paandar sa drayber. Sa sulod, ang mga namaypay nga mga pasahero nahimutang ra gayud kay makalarga na sila, makabalik na sila ug bukid.

Guot pud kaayo ang sulod. Ang dapat baynte nga manakay nahimung traynta. Ang uban nagsabak, ang uban nagkabit sa gawas, ang uban nanindog, labaw na ang mga batang walay mahimo kung dili musuksok aron makauli. Usa na si Ondong—ang sinko anyos nga batang itom pa sa kagabhion. Ang usa ka kamot ni Ondong nagkapyot sa tayaon nga bakal, ang isa, nakakapot sa kamot sa iyang inahan. Niginhawa si Ondong, pero ang iyang nasimhot kay ang baho nga singot sa mga kalawasan sa naglingkod palibut kaniya, ang mga baho sa isda, karne ug gulay nga dala-dala nila, ang baho sa syudad nga ila nang biyaan.

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Ink

Fiction by | June 1, 2014

One hot afternoon, by a window that opened to a meadow, Marco sat. Hair uncombed, beard unshaved, still wearing his Silliman University shirt, smothered with black ink. He was almost finished writing the last chapter of his latest story when Don Alfonso came in, a glass of brandy in hand.

“Oh, hijo, are you writing in your ridiculous diary again? Wasting your time trying to encapsulate your thoughts? Ha!” Don Alfonso exclaimed while walking around Marco’s room, kicking away soiled clothes strewn on the wooden floor.

“You can’t even clean your own room. What will my amigos and amigas say when they see this? The son of Don Alfonso Aguerre, a wealthy, well-known haciendero, untidy! What? You don’t put your used clothes in the laundry area. You have all day… wait, all year to do so! Yet you spend all your days scribbling nonsense! … Why, you are no different from the pigs found in our farm! You are hopeless, son. Hopeless.”

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