Category: Fiction

Fast-break Breakfast

Fiction by | May 6, 2012

“Dino, did you know that there’s some really good toast served in a mysterious island somewhere around Samal? It’s rumored to be the greatest dish of toast ever toasted. One hell of a breakfast!”

“Rex, dude, are you serious? That sounds seriously interesting. The world’s best toast, huh? How do we get there? Is there like a secret boat that will take us there?”

“No. We’ll have to swim.”

“Swim? To Samal? From Davao? Fart yeah! How do we recognize the island though?”

“It breathes fire. I don’t think it’ll be that hard to miss.”

“Should we go now? I mean it is 2 am.”

“No better time than the present, bro.”

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Future Husbands and Nail Polishes

Fiction by | April 29, 2012

As I am painting my nails on this 26th of January 2012, I wonder what my future husband is doing. He might be someone I haven’t met before. He might be someone who just got his heart broken, sad, angry, and alone.

Or he might be laughing at some joke his girlfriend just said or just buying milk from the grocery.

Or, I might have already met him.

He might be reading a book or pretending to listen to someone drone on and on and wishing I was there beside him. Or he might be thinking the same way as I am. Wondering if she may be the one?

As my nail polish dries and my toes glimmer from the paint, I wish someday I could look back and think that I got one thing right from all those things I just said now.

I don’t know what, but I wish I would be up to it all when it all hits very close to home.

—
Golda Ceniza is a graduate of San Pedro College and is Registered Nurse. She comes from Digos, the City of Mangoes. This is her first work featured in Dagmay.

Ang Manggagamot

Fiction by | April 15, 2012

Sa loob ng silid gamutan ni Manong Jose, na kung saan naliliwanagan lang ito ng iilang kandila at maliliit na ilaw.

“Anong maitutulong ko sa’yo, iha?” tanong ni Jose sa dalaga niyang pasyente.

“Ano kasi, Manong, ilang linggo na ‘tong tiyan ko na sumasakit. Tapos nung pinatingnan ko po ito sa doktor, eh wala naman daw silang nakikitang masama sa’king tiyan—ayon sa kanilang pagsusuri. Pinainom lang nila ako ng gamot na pampaalis daw ng sakit, pero hanggang ngayon hindi pa rin natatanggal ang sakit. Naabala na tuloy ang trabaho ko. Ilang araw na akong hindi pumapasok dahil dito,” salaysay ng dalaga kay Jose.

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Homecoming

Fiction by | April 8, 2012

Nagising ako. Nanibago ako sa oras. Sinilip ko ang wall clock. Alas-tres ng umaga. Tahimik ang buong bahay ngunit di ako payapa.

Itinodo ko ang ikot ng electric fan at itinutok sa akin. Muli akong nahiga. Ipinikit ko ang aking mga mata. Alam kong ayoko nang bumalik sa pagtulog.

Ito ang unang umaga ko sa bahay namin nang ako ay mag-Saudi tatlong taon na ang nakalipas.

“Nagmata na man lagi ka,” narinig ko ang boses ni Mama. “Sayo pa kaayo”.

Kilang-kilala pa rin niya ako. Alam niyang gising ako kahit nakapikit.

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White Roses

Fiction by | February 19, 2012

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright.”

Noah is busy adjusting the lens of his camera. His back is facing Karen, who has arrived fifteen minutes late. Karen is upset. It’s not usual for her to be late, especially for business appointments. And who can blame her? Her boss just asked her to drive all the way from the city to his rest house practically located in the middle of a forest.

Now, she’s standing here in her boss’ safe haven surrounded by trees approximately fifty feet tall. She watches him take pictures of leaves and flowers and insects and so much more. The trees scare her a little. But the forest is peaceful, very peaceful, and she likes it.

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Night Visitor

Fiction by | February 12, 2012

Editor’s warning: What follows is a horror story; it contains some disturbing imagery.

The sun was setting. It was surrounded by an unusual reddish orange, the kind usually seen in landscape art pieces. It was visible through the clear glass windows that surrounded the office. Countering the view were photographs of the top salespeople in the company.

The clock ticked exactly five and everybody in the office prepared to log out from the company database. All except for Althea.

Every afternoon, when it was almost time to go home, her face would cloud with gloom. She did not really want to go home. Behind her back, her officemates said she was going through an emotional roller coaster, but she was careful enough to hide it.

Althea waited until the line of coworkers at the biometric scanners dwindled before she got up from her desk. Althea slowly half-stumbled half-walked. She continued in this manner until she reached home. At times she would cover her right ear, but hesitantly, as if she wanted to conceal her actions.

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The Old Lady at the Bus Terminal

Fiction by | February 5, 2012

The last trip was at 10 pm and I was already having a problem with my stomach. It was aching. Must have been from the water I drank earlier. I asked for it at a carenderia near the terminal. I had never drunk tap water before. But the long wait at the terminal made me thirsty and clammy, and I only had enough money for the bus ticket and a few coins to pay for my jeepney ride once I arrived in Davao.

It was always like this at terminals in provinces. The benches were made of varnished lumber, and only two fluorescent would be lit. The sidewalk vendors had all gone home, and the stores nearby started closing. I sat uneasily on the bench, flipped my long hair from side to side, and fanned my neck with my hand.

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Purple Coffee

Fiction by | January 22, 2012

The alarm clock rings at 5 o’clock in the morning. Jasmine lazily stretches her arms out to the side table, and turn off the alarm. Once again, she hugs her pillow and folds her legs. She’s still sleepy from last night’s dinner date with her friends. She doesn’t want to get up but she has to. She has made herself a promise. She slowly forces herself to move; she gets up, washes her face and brushes her teeth. Then, she pulls her running clothes from the closet. She combs her hair and pulls it up, and wears her socks and slips her feet into her running shoes. It’s the first day of September and this day will be different for Jasmine. Today, she will not be reporting to the architectural firm which has stressed her out for almost 5 years; she won’t be seeing Paul, and she will be living her life in such a way that she has never lived before. She closes their front door and looks at the purple hue of the peaceful sky. A mild breeze plays with her ponytail. It’s still quite dark and she’s a little scared because she has never done this alone before. Nevertheless, she takes the last step on the porch, gets into her car and leaves.

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