Category: Fiction

Under Our Tree

Fiction by | February 22, 2009

Like all best friends, we told each other everything. From our fears, to our dreams, hell, we even told each other who we liked and all that jazz. No, it wasn’t gay, as some of you might think.

It was perfect. Absolutely, truly, perfect. I was happy and I’d like to think he was too. There were times – a lot of them – when I thought that I could live until I was 150 just as long as he was by my side.

And it was already too late when I realized that I had fallen in love with him.

And fall hard I did.

Pretty soon, I had to stop telling him everything. He couldn’t know. We were friends. Very close ones. And I had broken the golden rule:

Never fall in love with your best friend.

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A Modern Asian Fairy Tale

Fiction by | February 8, 2009

There was this teenaged princess from Southeast Asia who, tired of all the political maneuverings and killings and dissent and poverty unsolved by parliament, sneaked out of the country incognito by wearing a wig and a tailored suit, her crown in a hatbox as hand-carried luggage. Landed in a small Philippine airport, found a small house to stay in the middle of a coconut plantation, then walked to town to pawn her crown.

The rural atmosphere suited her needs, also it was just like home—the land, the trees, the air, the trade. Helped a farmer by burning coconut shells for charcoal, sold these to the barbecue people out in the stands at the town streets, and saved up her money so she could get back her crown.

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In Thy Glory

Fiction by | February 1, 2009

gloryI start my day with Subhanallah and feel the last bead of my pasbih with Allahuakbar. They agreed to forego the dialaga. The wedding is set a month from today. Baba said the mahr is more than generous enough.

You could give your friends, apart from your cousins and other family of course, their adat. No worries about that, Sittie Mouhminah. How much would they want? Give me your guest list too. We are drafting the probable guests. Your Mama has started on some relatives from her side of the family. Compose yourself, atakolay. This one is way better than him. Bangsa, atakolay. Bangsa.

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Mates

Fiction by | January 11, 2009

(An excerpt)

matesThey knew each other. From the moment they first laid eyes, he recognized her, and she him. Nothing would separate them; not even the war that had caused so much misery, which brought their once magnificent civilization to its tragic downfall. Nothing would interfere with their bliss. They were soul mates.

Together with fellow human survivors in the escape fleet, they fled the havoc wrought by their nemesis, the Banac’ans. Their home planet had been pierced through its very core, causing its horrendous destruction. With it, the civilizations, the lives they once knew, the whole planet itself, vanished from the face of the galaxy.

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Sigaboy

Fiction by | January 4, 2009

The dog was leisurely running ahead of him, but it suddenly stopped, sniffing the ground nervously. Alerted by the dog, the young Manobo laid down a bound wild rooster and gripped his spear tightly. He looked around him, quickly scanning the trees for any movement. As the dog did not bark, he relaxed a bit. He inspected the ground, and made out several human footprints. They belonged to strangers, he thought, or his dog wouldn’t have acted nervously. He put his ear to the damp ground, then he raised his head, his ears perking. He inspected the ground again. Mud had caked on the leaves of grass that had been trodden repeatedly. The intruders had passed by several hours ago, he concluded. No danger there. But what did they want, so near his house? He looked up. Towering trees filtered the rays of the late afternoon sun. He had time to investigate. He picked up the fowl.

“Toyang!” he called, and his dog responded, sniffing the ground as it led the way. The young Manobo soon realized they were heading towards the gulch. The spring! His heart began to beat rapidly. Amya! He began to run, his dog trailing him. At the ravine floor his fears were confirmed. A spear was stuck right beside the little pool that collected the water from the spring that flowed beside the root of a tree. Footprints! Signs of struggle! He pulled the lance and inspected it. Mandaya warriors! They had taken Amya. No! He looked around in the disturbed brush and found a bamboo tube for fetching water. No! He climbed up the ravine quickly and ran.

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The Sound of Rust (an excerpt)

Fiction by | November 30, 2008

I was staring at the Christmas lights outside Kenny’s when Rust came. I, Kristine, and Paulo were already there finishing up a Junior Lapad. We decided to wait for Rust before bringing out the longneck.

“He’s here!” shouted Kristine, obviously tipsy.

Paulo then stood up and went to the counter to get the longneck.

“Hi, Sigil!” Kristine greeted Rust when he got inside the carinderia. She leaned her chair back to look at Rust. I was thinking that she might fall and break something. Luckily, Rust was there to grab on to the back of the chair, preventing a mishap. What the hell was she thinking anyway?

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Dalagita

Fiction by | November 23, 2008

Tumingala sa langit. Nasaan na kaya siya?Alas singko y medya. Medyo madilim na. Kailangan daw mag-ingat sa paglalakad. Mahirap na. Maputik ngayon. Sana mamaya na bumuhos ang ulan. Sumakay na lang sana ng pedicab. Medyo malayo rin pala. Parang malapit lang naman ‘to dati. Hinahatid pa niya ako noon. Pwede naman sigurong dumaan sandali sa tindahan nina Lily. Mangangamusta lang, matagal-tagal na rin. Minsan lang makalabas. Magpapakita pa kaya siya? Buntong-hininga. ‘Wag na lang, baka magalit ang nanay. Buti nga kahit pa’no, pumayag ngayon sa paglabas. Konting tiis na lang. Tingin lang ng diretso. Isang kanto na lang, bahay na. Nakakapagod pala talaga.. Kakayanin ko kahit wala siya. Higit sa bigat, yaong mga tingin, yaong mga bulong. Pero andito sana siya. Continue reading Dalagita

Matríce

Fiction by | November 16, 2008

AS SHE LAY IN BED, awaiting with some dread the onset of the next contraction, Naty couldn’t keep from thinking about her mother. Mother: who had birthed her, along with her five brothers and three sisters. Mother: whose magnificent, sturdy birthing hips she had inherited. Mother: still living, with her brothers and sisters, in that tiny house in the raucous market district of Agdao half a world away.

Not for long, she thought hopefully, not for long.

“Soyez prêt. Contraction à venir,” a soft voice said. She felt the tightening in her stomach, and she strained against the pain. It lasted, she felt, for a very long time. When it finally released her, she gasped for air.

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