Category: Fiction

The Young Sultan and the Plague

Fiction by | April 4, 2010

sultan
In the days when the Kingdom brimmed with prosperity and good fortune, the dining room of the Palace flowed with food and wine for the many revelers. Expensive draperies festooned the windows; servants brought in exotic delicacies on platters made of gold and silver.

Now, the days of such merriment were long past. The young Sultan shuffled into a dining room dim and empty. No revelers, no food, no wine, windows closed, an eerie silence pervaded the room. Only a flickering candle on the round table held back the darkness. The sultan said sat on his throne, still uneasy.

While he was though how all this came to pass, the three Rajas, whom he was expecting that day, arrived one by one.

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The River Rages

Fiction by | March 28, 2010

river rages
She slept at the balcony on the banig that Andres laid down for her. He had given her the mat the night after the fire burnt their house down. Earlier that morning, he came to her and gave her money to buy merienda at the store. He had this light aura around him and smiled generously as he had the night he offered his place for Minda’s family. Her mother, Manang Leticia, did the housework for Andres who lived alone in his house near the river.

The river had a stench because of the garbage that the people dumped into it regularly. Minda could hear the wet rustling as pailfuls of dried leaves, candy wrappers, and bottles are thrown on it. The river swelled as the trash mounted and created pools of stagnant water. She smelled them from the balcony and she buried her face in the pillow that had Andres’s hair gel scent on it.

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Zeta's Quest

Fiction by | March 14, 2010

Because she was the last girl on earth, Zeta’s only friends were Sally the Seabird and Terry the Turtle.

Every day, the friends would meet on the island where Zeta lived. Terry and Zeta would swim in the water. Sally would swoop from the sky to catch fish they could eat.

One morning, while at play, Sally dove in for a catch. However, unlike before, she did not emerge from the water. “Something is wrong,” said Zeta.

“I see something,” said Terry. He swam out to sea. When he returned, he bore Sally on his back. Her neck and wings were trapped in a yellow thing.

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Probabilities

Fiction by | March 7, 2010

Assuming that Rudolf is in front, there are 40,320 ways to arrange the other eight reindeer, he boasted as he came up to me with a new book about probabilities. Peter stood about 5’6” but he looked shorter than he actually was because he was duck-footed and because he always wore oversized shirts. He sat beside me, brushed his nose and gave me that kind of ‘you-don’t-know-this-dummy’ look, and I wanted to break his nose for it. Except for the fact that I couldn’t, of course.

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Ang Kakaibang Pangako

Fiction by | February 28, 2010

Nangyari ang lahat sa loob lamang ng sampung buwan at isang linggo. Ngunit para kay Nico, ang maikling panahon na iyon ang maituturing niyang pinakamahalagang panahon sa buhay niya. Pagkat sa panahong iyon lang siya nagbuhos ng maraming luha, nagmahal ng todo at nawalan bigla. Batid niya pa rin sa kanyang puso’t isipan ang lahat-lahat ng nangyari sa maikling panahon na iyon.

Ang simula’y malabo pa. Pasukan noon at nasa ika-apat na taon na ng kolehiyo si Nico. Isa siya sa Top Three ng buong paaralan nila. Mahilig siyang kumanta at tumugtog. Sa katunayan, siya ang pinakamagaling tumugtog ng gitara sa buong kampus nila. Siya rin ang may pinakamagandang boses sa mga lalaki. Ngunit pagdating sa pag-ibig ay mahina si Nico.

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Jeepney

Fiction by , , | January 3, 2010

“One order of Adobo,” uttered Mario while drawing a 20 peso bill out of his battered wallet.

Maja stood up from her wooden stool and took a glance at the bulky man at the counter. Probably at his mid-forties, he had a white towel hung on his left shoulder and wore a simple white shirt and faded jeans. Behind him was a shabby karinderia with just four tables and a few plastic chairs. Fortunately, it was break time. The usual people: the jeepney driver, their 12-year-old neighbor, the college student and the street vendor were there. Her father, Felipe, was not — as usual. Where was he? She couldn’t tell.

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Ug Mingiob ang Kalibotan

Fiction by | October 25, 2009

The Communist Party of the Philippines, together with the entire Philippine revolutionary movement, condemns in the strongest terms possible the brutal and ruthless killing of Bishop Alberto Ramento, chairperson of the Iglesia Filipina Independiente (IFI) Supreme Council of Bishops, human rights stalwart, critic of social injustice and fighter for people’s interests. Bishop Ramento, who was found dead with several stab wounds inside his parish church in Tarlac City before dawn Tuesday, was brutally and heineously murdered. We hold the Arroyo regime responsible for Bishop Ramento’s murder. From: http://qc.indymedia.org/news/2006/10/8808.php

NAABTAN ko siyang way kibo sulod sa iyang opisina. Daw may lawom nga gihunahuna. Sa akong tan-aw, may dako siyang suliran. Ang iyang panan-aw didto nahipunting sa bentana…milapos sa jalousie, daw nagsud-ong sa usa ka halayong esena. Ingon na gayod siya niining ulahing mga adlaw. Way kadasig.

“Nia na ang juice ug sandwich, Monsinyor. Snack time na.” Gitandog ko ang iyang pagkasangit sa kahilom.

Gibuhian nya ang tugot sa iyang paghinuktok ug mitan-aw siya kanako. Sa lulot niyang mga mata, nakita ko ang duha ka lusok nga luha nga inanayng midagayday sa iyang kaapingan. Sa akong nakita, natantiya ko nga usa gayod ka bug-at nga butang ang nakapahasol sa agalon kong Obispo. Mangahas unta ko sa pagpakisayod kon unsa kining butanga apan nadat-ogan ako sa dakong kaikog.

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The King of Cabantian

Fiction by | September 27, 2009

He was acting strange around the house lately, my father. Often I would find him peering through the jalousies. As though in participation (or probably in some unfathomable sympathy) the whole world would fall quiet—the occasional barking of the neighbors’ dogs, the sound of children playing, and the gurgling noise of tricycles, all would suddenly wane.

Bare-chested and potbellied, he would pace around the house, anxious, then later, he would sit in front of the TV, switching channels as swiftly as the tube could accommodate. Mamang would sit beside him at night and complain of getting dizzy from the bright flashes of channels being changed now and then. At daytime, as Mamang left for work, he’d usually settle on a basketball game. Though jobless since the day I learned fathers ought to have a job no matter what, he wasn’t like this. He used to go around the village without a shirt on, meddling on other people’s lives, influencing other husbands to emulate him.

“It’s my job,” he had boasted at dinner when asked by Mamang, “I am the king of Cabantian, and I have to constantly oversee the status of my kingdom,” to which Mamang just rolled her eyes and sighed.

So much for being the invincible king, I thought after noticing his unusual behavior for the past two days.

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