Category: Fiction

"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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The Savior

Fiction by | April 26, 2014

Three months left. That was all. And it was not even a whole three months. It was two months and twenty nine days. He had been counting. Every morning, since that visit to the doctor, he had been counting. And tomorrow, it would just be two months and twenty eight days. And then, in the end, he would have to leave his son. Alone. There was clearly nothing left to do, but pray. And cry.

They were on a bus, his son and himself, going no place in particular, on the sunniest of spring days. The boy almost looked normal, except that his eyes seemed a little uncoordinated, somewhat unfocused. But you had to look at him closely to notice. The way he acted, however, gave his condition away. He looked ten, perhaps eleven, but he was most decidedly too childlike for his age. “Fire truck!” he would say, identifying the red vehicle parked in its station. “Dog!” he exclaimed, pointing at a morning jogger’s pet on a leash. “Flag!” he said, looking up at a waiving banner, glancing at his father for reassurance and acknowledgement that he had identified correctly.

The boy had his father’s visage. Lines and wrinkles on the older man’s face camouflaged the similarity, but the boy’s eyes whispered of his father’s. Assenting with a nod and a smile, the father thought back to a moment just half a year ago, when all hope was snatched from him.

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Ngano'ng Nangaso si Balaw sa Patag sa Palawpao? Part 2

Fiction by | March 30, 2014

Photo RAE, from "Daloy"
Photo RAE, from “Daloy”
Gipadayon gikan sa Part 1.

Pagliko ni Balaw sa naay kawayan, nakita niya ang payag ni Don Angelo. Gilibotan kini sa iyang mga sakop nga walo kabuok. Mga dagko ang mga sakop ni Don Angelo ug ang matag usa dunay gigunitan nga bunal. Milusot si Balaw sa kural ug miduol sa payag nga galungot-lungot. Nabantayan siya sa mga sakop ni Don Angelo. Dali-dali nga nagtapok sila atubangan sa payag kay atoa man si Don Angelo sa sulod mga namantay ug nagpaminaw.

“Igawas ang mananap nga mipatay sa akong amahan ug nangilog sa among yuta!”, ang singgit sa galungot-lingot nga si Balaw sa mga sakop ni Don Angelo.

Nagtinan-awa ang mga sakop ni Don Angelo ug nangbuhakhak og katawa sa ilang nadungog. Gikantsawan nila si Balaw.

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Ngano'ng Nangaso si Balaw sa Patag sa Palawpao? Part 1

Fiction by | March 23, 2014

Photo by RAE, from "Daloy"
Photo by RAE, from “Daloy”

Kining sugilanon ang nakadaog sa Unang Ganti, Ika-2ng Satur P. Apoyon Tigi sa Mobung Sugilanong Binisaya.

Wala pa nagmata ang adlaw apan duna nay napukaw’ng kaisog taliwala sa matun-og nga kalasangan sa Palawpao. Sa sayo’ng kabuntagon, nakigharong na si Balaw ug ang iyang sundang sa taas nga bangkil. Bangkil sa dako nga baboy-ihalas nga gitawag nila og lablab. Ang lablab nga gikahadlokan bisan sa mga tigulang nga mangangaso. Ang lablab nga gaipanghinadlok sa mga layoran nga bata. Ang lablab nga mangilog og teritoryo o kaha pagkaon sa ubang mga mananap. Ang lablab nga mandaog-daog ug maghari-hari sa kalasangan. Apan wala nahadlok si Balaw niini’ng mananapa. Ni walay bisag usa ka gamay nga kakulba ang gatagumbol sulod sa iyang dughan. Gani pa, gihulat pa niya nga muabot kini nga higayona.

Continue reading Ngano'ng Nangaso si Balaw sa Patag sa Palawpao? Part 1

Please Don't Leave Me

Fiction by | March 2, 2014

It was a nice place to rest. The walls were painted pink. The window was covered with pink curtains. The books were arranged neatly on the pink bookshelf. The bed on the opposite side was neatly overlaid with a pink blanket, a pink pillow by the head. The pink lampshade on the pink table by the bedside illuminated the whole room.

Yes, it was a nice place to rest. It was a place to stay in and relax. It was a place that radiated positivity. It was supposed to be.

But Lois, in her oversized plain white shirt and black skinny jeans, only stared into space. Her eyes were unblinking. Her lips were pursed together, not daring to move a word.

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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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