Category: Fiction

Tomorrow Night

Fiction by | October 3, 2010

He pulled her hand hastily and brought her to a dark alley away from a lonely lamppost.

They walked deeper and deeper towards the shadows until total darkness enveloped them.

He pinned her to the wall, his lips devouring hers, gentle and fierce, then suddenly her tongue forced its way into his mouth. For a moment she felt surprise, then he responded to her excitement. Roughly he pulled her closer, crushing her breasts against him. Tentatively he let one hand cup her breast and she coiled her leg on his hip. He slipped his hand into her dress and under her brassiere.

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White, Brown, Old, Young

Fiction by | September 26, 2010

My name is Ling-Ling and I am speaking from inside a jar. My place is no ordinary piece of container. Back in 1993, when my husband won a small-time lottery in Australia, he backpacked to China and spent a fortune on antique porcelains. One of the precious things he shipped to Australia is this huge Chinese porcelain jar from the 16th century, painted with blue intricate scenes of ancient Chinese life. But I am Filipino inside a Chinese jar in Australia. Is this an instance of globalization? At least I know I have finally ended up in an exquisite and expensive place.

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Sakeenah

Fiction by | September 19, 2010

Bismillah. I smoothen this cream liberally on my face covering every inch of skin, looking at the mirror for missed spots. I read the label on the product again and again. I wrangle with doubt. The cream is authentic. It is from Saudi; purely pharmaceutical. Unlike the intertwined reasons for my divorce. Katao. Maratabat. Hormonal imbalance. Our lack of blood relations. But I am still wearing my wedding band. As if I am still his wife and he will be at arm’s length at the slightest ruffle of my malong.

The walls at home box me in regret. I become a coward. I run somewhere else, slipping off convenience. I watch luxury slip away.

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Kei by the Stream

Fiction by | September 12, 2010

I discovered that stream while wandering through the woods of Singao, just beyond our house, the last house of Apo Sandawa Phase 2. As a little girl, the forest was my playground.

It was a small stream in a shady clearing, barely larger than my arms outstretched, just a few inches above my ankle. In and along it were stones of different sizes. I would go there before going to school in the morning and after coming home. I kept it clean by picking up and burying the dried leaves and rearranging the stones that seem out of place.

No one else knew about it, and it became the secret center of my love for the forest. If I wasn’t in school or at home doing chores, I was by its banks, where I read or just listened to the sound of the gushing water.

I was in early sixth grade, just twelve years old, when I first met him.

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A Private Family Affair

Fiction by | August 15, 2010

Ate Stella and her husband Marco eloped two days after their wedding had been annulled, causing all the feeling of anguish to both mother and father.

It was the least expected event to happen in our family. Mother and Father had thought my eldest sister would start getting a better life after a long hurdle of going to the court, giving testimonies, and presenting pieces of evidence in front of Judge Gomez to convince him that Ate Estella’s marriage with Marco was null and void, and that, on her part, she had suffered physical abuse and emotional stress after her husband had become a drug addict and a total wreck.

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Fishy

Fiction by | July 4, 2010


The day Doy left with his motorbike, our little white cat Fishy began mewling on the front yard. She had lost half of her weight and her eyes were always watery and flaky. She would not eat or drink and her breathing was getting heavier day after day. I didn’t know what happened to her. Had she eaten something? Did our tomcat Porky rape her? I didn’t know. All I knew was she was dying.

Doy found her five months ago together with Pating the day he showed up with his motorbike. They were in a box just out of the gate and he carried them up to my apartment. Doy had said before that he had a surprise for me. I thought it was the kittens, but it turned out to be the bike. He told me how he tricked his old man into buying him that shiny black bike. He promised me that he would take me anywhere with his bike, helmets off, from the beaches of Mati to the mountains of Cotabato. But I liked the cats better.

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Uncle Gaspar takes a wife

Fiction by | June 27, 2010


Growing up as I did in our little barrio of Kauswagan, I only knew of Uncle Gaspar through the balikbayan box of chocolates, cigarettes, wine, and small appliances he sent every Christmas. Uncle Gaspar worked as a truck driver in Saudi, you see, together with his brother, my Uncle Diosdado. In the five years he was away, he sent money to Lola Estella to build a house and to buy a farm lot.

I always suspected that Uncle Gaspar was a mama’s boy. Mama said that even if he was naughty, Lola had always given him special attention. With Uncle Gaspar far away, Lola Estella would sometimes take out the photo album she kept in the aparador of their house. She showed us pictures of Uncle Gaspar together with Arabs in long, white gowns and equally long headscarves. Sometimes, the pictures were of Uncle Gaspar playing cards with other Filipino workers.

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Saturday Soul Searcher

Fiction by | June 13, 2010

Elsa smoothed her hair as she got to the university entrance. A glance at her watch showed it was 4:55. Just in time for her regular 5pm Saturday mass. It was actually an anticipated Sunday mass. She made it a habit to attend this schedule to allow her to loll in bed the whole Sunday while watching TV or DVD’s. Given the possibility that the priest might give a long homily, she would be out of here by around 6:15. Then she would take a tricycle ride and still catch up with her favorite TV program on showbiz news.

But the chapel seemed full as she came near it. Definitely, this was not her day to show off her fashionable get-up to full advantage. In the past, she would usually walk down the center aisle and head towards the front seat near the altar, her head held high. Reluctantly, Elsa walked towards one of those plastic chairs set right outside the chapel’s door. She found a corner seat beside a small artificial pond. She glanced furtively to her right. Good, there was still an empty seat between her and the other churchgoers. She was about to place her small bag there when a young girl hurriedly sat down.

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