Category: Fiction

Of Nightmares and Daydreams

Fiction by | February 23, 2014

I am staring out the window as our driver is taking us to the regional courthouse. My dad sits in the passenger seat and my mom is next to me.

“How are you feeling?”

I look at my mom and her warm expression. My dad steals a look at me from the rearview mirror.

“I just want to get this over with.” I mutter, looking down. My mom reaches out to pat my knee then sits back.

Three years ago, one innocent night in July, I went to the movies with my best friend. I was twelve then, completely unaware of the girl code that dictated we should never go anywhere without each other. The theater was completely full; it was the weekend of Kris Aquino’s second horror movie, after “Feng Shui.” Although it was rated PG-13, Jen and I were able to get in easily. For a thirteen-year-old, my best friend looked way older, and we used this to our advantage all the time.

“Let’s meet at the CR after, okay?” she whispered as she watched me take a seat near the left set of stairs, next to a man in a plain white T-shirt and jeans.

“I’ll text you,” I whispered back absentmindedly, my eyes already on the screen before me.

Before long, with everyone around me screaming because of ghosts, I realized in that dim theatre that it really was the living that we should be afraid of. The man next to me was now standing in front of me, pants down.

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Family Picture

Fiction by | February 16, 2014

The floor needs sweeping. That was the first thing I thought when I opened my eyes and saw the floor, its cold hardness slowly waking me from sleep. I continued to stare at the dust that accumulated under our bed, forcing my brain to work and commanding my body not to move. The tambis tree outside our window already cast shadows on the walls. It must have been five-thirty in the afternoon. I could already hear the sizzling of Aling Elsa’s pans and the grating sound her spatula made as it caught its bottom. Berto had turned on the garden hose and started with the watering. Children’s laughter and chatter filled the street as they made their way towards our house that our neighbors envied. Somewhere down the same street, my children were making their way home to me. My angels, my two beautiful boys, my world. Nothing in this world would keep me from giving them the best. They deserved nothing less but the best home, the best food, the best clothes, and the best memories. These things could only be given to them by the best family. Nothing would keep me from giving them these things I never had. Not even the pain that prevented me from standing.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed at the corner, on the couch where we had made quick love a few times.

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The Boy in the Corner, Part 2

Fiction by | February 2, 2014

Continued from part 1

A week passed. During those days, Tim continued to watch Grim. He noted unusual behavior from Grim. Sometimes, Grim wore a smile, at other times a frown – without any cause. But Tim discovered something more disturbing: Grim talked to himself. Because of how he observed Grim, the other students treated Tim the same way as his subject of interest. Tim didn’t care. He needed, he wanted, to know Grim.

Lunch came. Tim got ready to observe Grim from a distance.

“Notebook, check. Pen, check. Oh, no, he went ahead!”

Tim rushed outside the classroom to check if Grim was still in the hallway. He saw Grim heading downstairs. After letting out a sigh of relief, he followed Grim. Tim went down the stairs and passed by the admissions counter. Suddenly, someone tapped him from the back. He turned around and to his surprise, it was Grim.

“Tim, right?” Grim asked. He looked serious.

Tim didn’t know what to say. He was shocked. No, he was afraid. He was afraid that Grim would do something bad to him. Tim stayed silent. Grim lost his patience and dragged Tim to the restroom. Continue reading The Boy in the Corner, Part 2

The Boy in the Corner, Part 1

Fiction by | January 12, 2014

The black bells rang. An eerie bong echoed along the dim hallway as a shadow loomed from the rusted gates of the school. The shadow came from the new student, Tim. He was a former student of Eagle Academy, but because of financial problems his parents enrolled him in the Gray Institute.

It was already recess when Tim arrived. The gates were still shut, but from where he stood, he saw figures of what seemed to be, the students of the school. Suddenly, the gates opened; creaking as it’s rusty hinges moved. Tim was nervous. He did not know what to do. He thought of running back home, but because he was well aware of his family’s problem, he chose to go forward. He could not afford to simply waltz away from an opportunity to learn.

Continue reading The Boy in the Corner, Part 1

Padugo

Fiction by | January 5, 2014

“Legends say that blood lures gold and for a gold mine to be full of gold, it needs blood. But a goat’s blood is not enough,” said the fifty-eight year-old Mang Berto as he shared his story to his fellow small-scale miners during siesta as they rested in a nipa hut near the Matiao River. “The mine needs blood that is pure and innocent.” Mang Berto said coldly to everyone in the hut.

Mang Berto and his family lived in Matiao, a province where the primary source of profit for most people was mining. In his early thirties, he’d worked in a large-scale mining company called King Midas Mining Corp in the Gumayan province. The boss of the company, who 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 lure out the elusive gold nuggets. During his stay in Gumayan, Mang Berto worked as a hired kidnapper and the one who executed the ritual along with other hired kidnappers. His job brought instant money and soon enabled him to buy a small house. However, until one incident changed the course of his life.

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Yellow Christmas

Fiction by | December 22, 2013

Rolando Tuka awoke to the familiar morning chill. He was already awake, but he didn’t open his eyes. Lying stiff as a steel bar, he listened to his little siblings’ shuffling feet, the bubbling pot of instant noodles her mother probably stirred, the tapping of the soft rain on their thatch roof, and his favorite, his family’s laughter as they start to gather around the kitchen table which serves as their dining table as well. A typical morning, only today his siblings are singing Christmas carols.

Kasadya ning taknaa. He opened his eyes, sat on the bed, wiped the grit off of them and stared at the poster he had on his small room. Dapit sa kahimayaan. He was a very practical eighteen year-old and he knew that his small frame that spoke so little of his age can only accomplish so much. Mao’y atong makita. That’s why, unlike his other co-workers who begged for the Mitsubishi or Ford cars posters a convenience store at the next town discarded, he asked for the other poster that was ignored. Ang panagway nga masanglagon. He was grateful for the Max’s Restaurant’s Chicken-all-you-can poster that was granted to him. Bulahan ug bulahan. That was three months ago and he appreciated the reminder to work extra hard for a little luxury of impracticality on Christmas Eve.

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Dead End

Fiction by | December 8, 2013

He leans his back on the wall, his hands gripping his gun tight. He wishes he could shoot the moon and tear the dark sky into pieces. He wants the night to end, that in the morning, he will forget everything about this, and all the nights before. He is tempted to light a cigarette, hoping it would take away the agitation he feels. Flashes of thoughts and images of people he knows, and even seemingly strangers keep pounding on his head, causing the lines on his forehead to be more visible. He throws curses into the air, almost whispers but in a profound tone.

The rules are clear. No cigarettes on the field. Don’t leave any trace behind. Finish the task as quickly and silently as you could. Focus on the target. No resignations. No spitting of information. No getting out.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and regains composure. He knows he shouldn’t permit his thoughts to affect his assignment. He has been trained to think and feel less so he can focus and act faster to get things done. He has been waiting for Kulot to pass by the street, the same Kulot whom he never knew, but whose picture he has been glaring at every night for about a month now. He knows that Kulot has multiple records at Agdao Police Station for theft, illegal carrying of fire arms, and dealing of illegal drugs. Kulot is five-feet tall, has round eyes, dark complexion, five piercings on his left ear, and a tattoo of a skull, smiling on the back of his neck. That’s all he needed to know, as if two sentences can summarize thirty years of a person’s existence. Kulot could be a father, or a drunkard, or a rapper, or a pedicab driver, but no matter what, Kulot will be his eighteenth kill.

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At Kumbakit Ko Minahal Ang Pagsusulat ng Dagli (Part 2 of 2)

Fiction by | December 1, 2013

ang nakaraan…

III. Ibang Diwata
Dumating ako sa bahay nang palubog na ang araw. Tulad noong nakaraang taon ay hindi ko ipinaalam ang eksaktong oras at araw ng pagdating ko. Kusa na lang akong kumatok sa pinto.

“Kumusta na? Kumusta man ang imong seminar didto?” Tuwang-tuwa na bungad ni Mama nang makita niya ako. Ipinaalam ko sa kanya ang pagdalo ko sa Ikalimang Palihang Rogelio Sicat kaya hindi ako agad umuwi ng Cagayan de Oro nang dumating ako galing Saudi.

“Maayo man.”

Inabot niya ang aking bitbit na bag. “Kabug-at gud ani.” Binuksan niya ito nang mapansing mabigat at tila nagtaka kung ano ang laman.

Tahimik niyang itinupi ang ilang damit na nakasilid doon. At maingat niyang inilabas ang ilang kopya ng aking libro. Matagal niyang pinagmasdan. Sintagal ng mga panahong ginugol ko upang mabuo ang isang pangarap. Ang pangarap na makapagsulat at makapag-publish ng sariling aklat.

“Sakit naman intawon ning akong mata. Unsaon na lang nako ni sa pagbasa sa imong libro?” Ang nawika niya habang binubuklat ang hawak na aklat.

Continue reading At Kumbakit Ko Minahal Ang Pagsusulat ng Dagli (Part 2 of 2)