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WRITING PORTFOLIO

by Juliana Caminong | ADT11-A, CWR

Table of Contents "Blabbering, Prattling, and Chattering" "Bacon Fried in Unsaid Words" "Beneath the Warmth is Blood" "There is Not an End in Sight" "Supernova" "Pigsty" "On Bustling Roads" Writer's Profile

01 03 05 07 09 11 13 17

Blabberin g Prattli n g and Chatteri n g

A jaded and weary salaryman's day filled with thorny confrontations and the buzz of old lightbulbs.

Sitting in an office floor crowded with cubicles, those of which are filled with people despondently doing their mundane job just to live paycheck to paycheck, is Argo. The cheap office chairs bought in bulk groan intermittently in the background as employees who have been sitting around for hours adjust their postures and stretch their sore muscles. Flickering lights, outdated desktops, and dusty floors all surround a specific cubicle in the corner.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps disturb the somewhat peaceful environment, circling around the maze that is this specific floor.

Argo sits, back slightly hunched as they continue to type data into a spreadsheet. They steel themself for the routinely afternoon admonishment from their balding and beerbellied douchebag of a department head. No more typing sounds nor groaning chairs, only the buzzing of the lightbulbs accompany Argo.

"Here you go again, not bothering to clean up your surroundings. Are you dimwitted or what? Do you have no empathy for those around you? Learn how to clean up, you're a grown man. Also, get a damn haircut, be more presentable, and have some shame in yourself." With his arms akimbo, he starts his tirade while Argo turns around to continue inputting data. It has always been like this, they are not the first victim.

Perhaps the whole floor has been through this at one point in their life, but as of now, Argo is his most preferred target. "Are you listening to me? Now you're even disrespectful to your superiors upfront, I can contact human resources and have you fired at any time I want. Do you understand that?"

Argo swivels their chair around to face him, "Have you seen everyone's cubicles?" They scoff, turning back to their monitor. This angers the man, who tries to grab their chair and turn it back around but is stopped by Argo turning around by themself. "You're disrupting my work, how about I report this to HR as well? It would be a shame if our department loses our benefits, no?" They say with a smug upturn to their lips; it drives the man furious, contorting his face.

His fists clenching beside him, eyes somewhat bulging, and nostrils flaring, make him look like a toad. It's a funny image, as everyone watching the debacle hides their snickers behind their hands.

01

This is probably the first time he's been answered like this, evident from the lack of his previous composure. Argo has never bothered to talk back the past few times this has happened but their day started bad, in addition to this headache of a boss, and it just piled up. This was a rare chance, they would never talk back in defense of a coworker because none of their coworkers have ever defended them. Everyone gets what they deserve, and only they themselves have the power to change that.

"So what if you report me to HR, only your floor would lose the benefits. Do remember that I am your department head, I enjoy plenty of benefits on my own. But you? You’re a mere cog in the workforce, what you do is easy, meaning that you are replaceable. Everyone here can do what you can, maybe they’ll even do it for free, so stay quiet. You have no say in anything.” He heaves, chest rapidly rising and falling. Of course, he has the gall to say this because it's old news that he, other department heads, and those even further up top have been embezzling company funds for years. No one's reported it to the authorities because nobody wants to lose their job, especially in the case of the many employees who are living paycheck to paycheck. It's a large hassle, especially for those at the bottom of the company food chain, it might even lead to anger against those who reported it.

The man walks away, footsteps heavier than when he entered. Everyone goes back to doing their jobs, including Argo whose face goes back to indifference from the small smirk earlier.

Later in the day, Argo receives a message informing them of overtime ordered by the department head. It is most definitely unpaid, but surely they can just write a letter of request to HR for overtime pay.

As some of their colleagues pack up to leave, they and a few others stay for overtime.

The repetitive work lulls them to remember a distant figure, back bent over a laptop and still in her blazer and pencil skirt combo. Her ruffled hair dyed brown with black roots showing, a table full of paperwork, and pumps messily strewn over sneakers by the entrance. Argo vaguely remembers her tired voice telling them to be careful in the kitchen followed by silence, with only the soft noise of typing and the sizzle of thick bacon in oil to indicate that it was ever real.

02

s ai

Wo

W

Un

ords

d e i r F Bacon in d id a s rds U n

Argo reminisces of their youth, the splattering of oil, the resulting burns, and the unusual silence of supposed family.

I stand atop a makeshift stool, clammy and chubby hands gripping metal tongs that flip the thick slices of bacon on the pan. As I let them cook through, I gingerly step down onto the kitchen floor to grab two plates from the drawer and place them beside the stovetop for easy access. The bacon sizzles and the oil pops, and I grab the cover for the metal pan to shield myself from the oil splatters.

"Ouch…" I mumble as some specks of oil hit my arms, there is no response from the living room. The sound of continuous typing might have covered up my voice. My mother is a very dedicated person, so I stay put and take care of myself while she works so we can have food and shelter. I understand that she's busy and I try my best to not bother her, though I am kind of getting used to being by myself in our house. I've been cooking for us lately, so she bought me a beginner's cookbook.

When the bacon is done, I ration and plate for us with three slices for mom and one for me. They're very thick slices of bacon, after all. With the leftover oil and pork fat left from the bacon, I fry four eggs sunny side up. Eggs are a quick fix, with runny yolks and crunchy edges. I plate them as well, with two for me and mom each. There are still a lot of pieces of white bread in the pack, so I'm sure it would be enough for us. I steadily hold mom's plate with both hands and put it on the table, placing her fork beside the bacon. As I go back to fetch my own plate, I call for her, "Mom, dinner's ready…"

She closes her laptop and places it on top of her papers on the small table in the living room, then she takes off her blazer and folds it over the couch's arm before she walks to the dinner table.

We eat together again, after a long stretch of time.

----The noise of typing fades back in as Argo sighs, looking down at their hands that have long stopped typing on the keyboard. Their chair creaks as they move away from their desktop, hands clasped on their lap. Black waves cascade over their face scrunched, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, looking at their shoes.

03

Time seems to pass them by, leaving them sitting alone in the dark. They missed the clamor of the other employees packing up, not even bothering to check in their cubicle before shutting down all the computers. Argo sighs, as they stand up and stretch. With the flashlight of their phone, they gather what little belongings they have on the desk to bring home and start their trudge back to their dingy apartment.

What welcomes them is a dusty foyer, the only surface that has minimal dust is the porcelain ashtray on a small cabinet where they put their keys. The silence in the home is as usual, only the crickets and the occasional car passing by can disturb it. Argo leaves their shoes at the entrance, and the patter of their footsteps lead to their cramped bedroom. They quickly change into a baggy shirt and sweatpants then move into the bathroom to brush their teeth. They stare at their reflection in the mirror, dark bags under their eyes, cracking lips, and as pale as a ghost. It reminds them of what they truly look like in the eyes of others, reminds them that they are human and not just an omniscient shell roaming the earth, experiencing everything that everyone is also experiencing. They brush their teeth, eyes staring down at the sink and not once looking up at the mirror. Their hands tremble as they exit the bathroom, footsteps rushing to the bed before burying themself under the covers. As the clock on their bedside strikes midnight, they fall into a dark slumber.

Argo is sitting at their desk, inputting into a spreadsheet the pile of printed data beside the keyboard. The thumping of heavy footsteps approach their cubicle, and their faceless department head starts to nag in gibberish.

04

e h W t h t a a rmth e n e B is B l o o d

A detective's journey of shocking discoveries and acceptance, all in the span of a day.

The sunlight shines through the curtains, bringing light warmth to the room. As I get ready for work, the warmth seeps through my body from head to toe. Aside from the warmth, the tatami is somewhat sticky, probably some of my spilled sake from nights before, and there are pens and paper scattered everywhere. I avoid looking at the floor; the tatami mats have probably all grown mold. A reverberating bell shakes me into a rush, the nearby clocktower’s signal to the eighth hour.

I run to the office, annoyed at the sticky feeling under my feet on the geta that I accidentally wore due to panic. After slamming my briefcase onto my desk, I walk toward the supervisor’s desk to grab the folder of the case assigned to me. It details a report from a neighbor stumbling upon a dead body by accidentally peeking into an open shoji, with blood seeping into the tatami. Sounds pretty interesting if you ask me, it’s not like I get assigned murder cases every day.

Bringing my notebook with hastily written notes from the report, I arrive at the neighbor’s home, planning to drive her into a corner until she spills all the details. After showing her the badge on my guntō, she welcomed me in for tea. I notice that she's oddly familiar, then she starts to narrate her story to me.

----I usually water the plants after sunrise, so when the sun started gently beating down on the dewy grass I started to fill up the wooden bucket and water the plants. The way that the water droplets slide off their shiny leaves brought me immense fulfillment, aware of the smile creeping on my lips and straining my cheeks. The smell of nature surrounds my entire being and I take a deep inhale. Within the scents, there is a hint of something… but what? It smells metallic, like freshly welded iron and the interior of the swordsmith's shop just a few blocks away. It stumps me, it's not like anyone within our street works with metal as far as I'm aware. So what really is it? Is it that…?

It surely can't be, after Emperor Taishō ascended the throne and the start of the war, many men were dispatched to the frontlines. The turbulent time presented an opportunity for criminals all over to wreak havoc, but many of the women in town have told me that they have long been imprisoned and some sentenced. Well, that surely doesn't guarantee that they're all gone, but a murder? Right beside our house as well!

05

Motivated by my curiosity, I climb the fence that separates our lot from the neighbor on the left. I recall gossip about his being a detective of the local police box, the ladies often see him searching for lost pets and stolen goods. The soil in his small yard is dry and sandy, easily crumbling beneath my geta and leaving depressions on the earth. I look around, assessing the premises and spotting a slightly open window on the side where I stand.

I gingerly approach, the hand I placed on the window's frame trembles and I become aware of the silence that surrounds me, only the sound of my heart about to beat out of my chest accompanies the emptiness. As I open the window wider, all that enters my vision is dark red and within it, a corpse splayed out on the floor. My knees wobble and I grip onto the windowsill to steady myself, looking back inside and seeing the black of spilled ink mixing into the edges of dark red. There are scattered nib pens, crumpled paper, and medical anatomy books in all corners of the room.

I immediately start running to the local police box and shakily report all the required details. On my way home, a man running passes me by and I pale when I realize his lack of feet.

----She stops, picking up her cold tea with trembling hands. A knock sounds from outside the door, and I watch as she welcomes the new trainee from the office.

"Detective… why are you here?" In shock, I ask aloud. The body from next door was just cleaned up, and it was clearly the detective's! I was just there! There were stabs on his neck, causing the blood to puddle underneath. I stare at the detective, scanning his entire being. His kimono is layered in the wrong way, there's no trace of his feet as he sits in seiza, and there is clearly bloodied geta at the entrance of the house.

"What…?" He abruptly stands up, walking over to me and then stops in his tracks.

"Oh, that's right."

I watch as he drops everything he had, a small notebook and the guntō, and floats into his home. The lady is frozen in place, her visage paling and hands quivering. I quickly guide her to sit and I run next door, only to find no trace of the detective.

06

There is Not an End in Sight

In Atata hell, one of Diyu's cold hells for sinners, walks a lone man who struggles in the introspection of his worth.

There is not an end in sight.

In the vast white of snow, there was nothing except dead trees. Just pure, blinding snow and myself.

My teeth chatter, at-at-at, it seems that they might fall out at any moment. There is nothing I can do but walk forward; for if I stop just a minute, my suffering would be more. The thick layers of my hanfu do nothing to shield me from the cold, merely becoming another burden in my trudge.

At-at-at…

In the blankness of snow, there is nothing to do but reminisce, I have been given a lifetime's stay here, after all. I walk with all I can muster due to the cold's effect on my entire body; I am shivering but even the coldest moments here would not end my suffering.

It was warmer yesterday, but I was not here then. It was my last trial before punishment, the 49th day since my death. King Wuguan's court was my destination based on King Qinguang and the Mirror of Retribution. The trial detailed all of my sins, most of them leading to my fate right at this moment. I was one of the many sent to this cold hell, but I have not seen anyone else since I was sent here. It feels like it would take years for me to see another soul in this wide expanse of white.

My foot catches on the ends of my clothes, tripping me onto the snow headfirst. The endless snow causes inattention, distractions winning out when you are aware that the environment around you would never change. With stiff arms that I could barely bend, I push myself up to sit. The cold has long pervaded my body, not a trace of warmth to feel on my skin. This is punishment, after all. I feel that nothing would happen even if I were to sit still in the same position for the entirety of my sentence here.

At-at-at…

After a moment, I resume my long journey ahead. Considering today was my first day here, it would be hard to imagine the rest of my years. Would I be alone to the end?

Would I trip and fall so many times until I couldn't bear the weight of my sins anymore and lay there, waiting for snow to pile up on me?

07

The silence is eating at me, not even the crunch of my feet in the snow can keep me from thinking. I don't think I regret what I did, it was the only thing keeping me alive, it kept me tethered to the earth despite having nothing more to live for. Well, despite all that, I still died. I was quite thankful then, that I would finally stop wronging people. It quite surprised me when this was brought up with the given reprieve of having my clothes stay on me during my punishment, it seems that the courts are somewhat kind.

I stop for a while, looking around from where I stand. In the blank whiteness, I spot a thatched hut. I thought there was nothing here, but I guess there are still some demons who patrol the cold hells. My body has become numb, sluggish in movement but I try my best to run to the hut. Nearing its vicinity, it seems empty, devoid of life. The ice has preserved it, there are no damp and moldy pieces of wood. The snow here should not be able to melt.

At-at-at…

Despite the added blockage of the walls against the wind, I was still freezing. It was evident from the beginning that letting me keep my clothes was a mere saving grace just for face.

The hut isn't very spacious; The moment I stepped inside, a cloud of dust welcomed me. There are deep marks scattered on the floor from the wall next to an unnaturally large kang, with a discarded chuí on the foot of it. Hung on the walls are Buddhist scriptures and scroll portraits of Lord Yama. It seems that the demon that lived here was a big admirer of the ruler of Diyu. Looking closer at the walls, there are scratches of counting days and scribbles on every surface possible. Despite its impeccable appearance from the outside, it shows that the inside has driven the inhabitant so deeply into madness that they disappeared. I do not expect them to come back here, for I think the snow might drive me insane as well.

Perhaps I'd spend the rest of my days here, writing on the scattered parchments across the table, lying on the kang despite knowing that it will never warm me up, and introspecting whatever I could think of. I've tuned out the sound of my clatterring teeth, maybe when my time is up I'd have none left to show.

At-at-at…

08

Sup e

a v o rn

All alone in space, with life-threatening plights and perpetually being alone with the thoughts inside the mind.

The stars in the sky that seem so far away from Earth are still, anticlimactically, mere specks in the horizon even from a spaceship. If all the visible stars were so close to our planet, it would certainly be a monumental occasion in a bad way, of course. Despite working so hard to get into this spaceship, I find it hard to be mesmerized by the stars.

Even during my extensive education and training, I had never thought of stars as a sight to see whenever I eventually reached space. There's something about them that terrifies me but their concept paints them like the most beautiful thing in the universe, born of gasses mixing into one and their eventual "boom" of death after becoming a supernova is really fascinating. I wonder, would that be me one day?

Nevertheless, here I am. Surely manning a spaceship alone is a large feat, especially considering it was mostly teams of astronauts going into space as a standard. There's something incredibly romantic about wandering alone in outer space but there's also the impending sense of dread and paranoia, of being stranded without anyone to help or rescue you. I fear that one day, I’ll actually be all alone after losing contact with headquarters back on Earth. Would thinking about it like this make it actually occur? I would never actually know until it happens.

It's quite difficult to maintain order in a spaceship when you're all alone, but the technology has gotten a lot better after all these years of intensive research and assembly. I’m hoping that I won't lose my motivation in the middle of it all, everything would truly end if I abandoned the routine that keeps this spaceship running and in connection, prolonging my life.

A "BANG!" pulls me away from my thoughts, and I do my best to quickly approach the panel that made the sound. The blinking red light flashing in the corner of my vision as I fumble to check the situation: multiple warnings from headquarters of an asteroid's trajectory within my vicinity. They've left directions and it seems plausible to avoid it, it's not like it's going to arrive sooner than headquarter's estimate.

Being held down by the seatbelts, I feel that it's not going to be that bad. The slight tightness of the belts feels like a hug, despite the lack of human warmth. It gives me an extra sense of belonging— of security, that everything might turn out for the better and I'm fit to be where I am right now.

09

After making sure that the spaceship doesn't block the asteroid's orbit, I float away from the panels filled with buttons, levers, and screens with cold limbs and heavy eyes.

In the center of all the objects, I fold into myself and try to block out everything.

Within the darkness beneath my eyelids, fragments of what just happened replay and it all feels so debilitating. Everything is as cold as it can get, and it gives me the illusion that I'm truly floating all alone in space without anything.

I feel the numbness spreading throughout my body, the weight of metaphorical shackles on my heavy, heavy limbs and the cold within my bones. The faint buzzing and beeping surrounds me, too preoccupied with the clinking and clanking of the metal weighing down on my feet.

The loud siren that starts blaring out of the control panel stirs me out of my stupor, every corner of the ship is blinking red and staining every possible surface. The cups, the plants, the spacesuits are all red. I push myself the best I can closer to the panel and buckle myself in, the secure hug of the belts now felt more like a chokehold vying to deplete all the oxygen out of my brain. The shaking of the switches and buttons beneath the force of my hand doesn't help either, especially with the cacophony of sounds surrounding me and my heart about to beat out of my chest.

The prompts from headquarters remain ignored, and years of knowledge all fly out of the window. Reflected on the panels is my face, behind me are floating meal packs, pens, and shirts. I watch a tear trail down my cheek in the midst of the buttons and switches.

It all happens so slowly in my eyes, the walls of the ship gradually crumbling and curving inside, all the furniture debris floating into outer space… it feels fitting to think of classical music as I feel the asteroid collide with my very being.

Is this really all that I'll achieve?

10

ꟼ

y t igs

A sentient pig's day, waking up to a happy breakfast and enjoying some alone time in the fields with the farmer.

The loud crowing of the roosters from the coop just outside startle me awake, alongside everyone in the barn. All I can hear is the grunting of fellow adults and children, preparing to go out to the trough to eat a hearty breakfast before walking all around the field and scavenging to find buried treasure. All they usually find is mud but I think they're pretty content with that, especially since it's fun to roll around in. I don't think the farmer likes it very much though, but despite it all, he still just washes us even if it will be the same the next day. It's a fun and never-ending cycle. I usually go with the children, but I noticed that the farmer has been following us for a few days to see what we're up to. He sometimes gets splashed even from far away due to the ruckus the children cause. I really hope he goes today, too.

When the sunlight suddenly pours into the barn, it means that the farmer has opened the doors and it's time for everyone to eat together. It's a nice start to the day, since I don't plan on joining the children to splash in mud later. Some alone time on the fields sounds quite nice too, hopefully I would find something hidden in the dirt on my path or encounter a cute little bunny foraging for food.

It's always funny to hear everyone absolutely devouring their food, even if I make the same sounds myself. It becomes quite loud in the mornings, with the chickens, cows, goats, and sheep also being fed. A cacophony of animals, is that how the humans would describe it? I like how lively it always is but there are times when I feel sad that one of the children would be gone when we go to wallow near the river. Despite all that, I don't think it's ever quiet in the farm and I like it but some alone time walking in the fields would be quite nice for a change in scenery.

After having my fill, I wander around and start to separate from the group going towards the mud pools. The trees near the field already have ripened fruits and some have fallen to the ground for easy pickings. I start to gnaw on the shiniest apple I could find and stay for a few under the trees. I can barely hear any of the animals from here, even if we're just a few miles away. I quite enjoy it, the serenity of being alone. It's quiet, it's calm, and it's the respite I needed after a while.

11

The crunch of twigs being stepped on and the trodding of boots on the dirt sounds from behind me, the weight of a warm hand suddenly sits atop my head. I look up and see the farmer smiling at me, his eyes all scrunched up and the wrinkles on his face deeper than ever. He places a bucket down beside me, filled with food.

"Are you going to stay with me for today?" I ask, despite knowing that he would never understand what I am saying. Even if he doesn't, hearing his reply would further brighten up my day. His hand continues to pet my head and I feel his other hand prodding at my belly and back. Maybe he really just thinks they feel soft or that I've been eating more these days? I'm not sure but I hope my food won't be less later during dinner.

He hums and nods, grabbing a few apples straight from the branches and putting them in a little sack to tie on his belt. The farmer starts to lean back down and grab the bucket, putting it over my head.

What is happening?

I thrash the best I can within his arms, hearing his grunts as my hooves hit his gut.

Why is he doing this?

The bucket on my head shakes as I try endlessly to shake it off. The dim light passing through the thin plastic is the only thing keeping me going, not the food sliding out of the bucket through gaps and the sticky feeling it leaves behind, not even the thought of not having enough to eat at dinner.

I understand where the children went now…

12

On

Bu

Ro

a

st

li

ds

ng

Feeling the warmth of Meng Po's soup in her stomach, she marches on to a new life surrounded by fur and meows.

Tall mountains hidden behind white mist and clouds, snow-covered peaks with birds flying around them. Every minute, the shuffling of feet against dirt becomes an addition to the waves of the running river. All the mist seems like it would make one feel dewy and damp, but it's quite the opposite. The crisp and fresh air just a few steps near Naihe Bridge, is a reprieve and a blessing to souls on their journey to rebirth, a comfort to those who have let go of past burdens and memories. Towering bamboo surrounds the cliff, only leaving a gap for the bridge. Beside the long line of sinners to be reincarnated is the venerated Meng Po, her gray hair up in a bun and the wrinkles on her face deep with wisdom and age, though storytellers describe her to be older than she seems in their tales.

The line of sinners ahead moves slower than a caterpillar but whenever a soul tries to flee from Meng Po, all the heads in the back peek out, like a strange depiction of gossip. It's whimsical to see all sorts of people here, there are eunuchs, concubines, generals, and so many common people. Even in Diyu, everything is lively, and it's not really much different from night markets teeming with people and vendors.

“Dearie…” Firm pokes on my right arm startle me, I’ll probably see purple bruises if I dare to lift up my sleeve. Meng Po grabs my hand and forces the bowl of soup into my grasp. The steam wafting from the bowl hits my face, tears forming from the heat. I look up and around, hearing the impatient tsks from behind me and the kind gaze from Meng Po. Taking deep breaths, I gulp down the warm soup, feeling its temperature flowing through my body. Despite the warmth it brought me, it feels like nothing has changed.

I give back the bowl to Meng Po and move in a stride towards the bridge. The creak of the wood under my feet as the last goodbye to my previous life. I recall all the beautiful sights in Diyu and my life before that, being a shrewd street vendor and seeing all kinds of people. Alas, it all ended on a night where everyone was roaming the stalls at the market and there were grand boat displays. Being a crowded place, no one was paying too much attention and a criminal took the chance to rampage. Before I knew it, screams echoed and watchful eyes stared at me. Only a black mass of fur shielded me from gazes longing for gossip, pawing and licking at the warmth pooling at my chest.

Now, here I am, about to live once again, turning along within the Wheel of Life.

13

A flash of blinding light and the feeling of weightlessness welcome me back into the world, yet the darkness immediately takes over. The feeling of slime throughout my entire body, the inability to open my eyes, the soft yet repetitive meow, meow, meow, all work against me. The only thing I can think to do in this situation is sleep.

A rough yet comfortable something starts to brush onto my head, accompanied by the dampness and the stink of fish. My eyes open little by little, like the experience of surfacing from water and opening your eyes after squeezing them shut. Around me are mounds with varying coats of fur, yowling to the skies. A large paw, claws hidden, swats at them and pulls them over to a furry belly. I know I’ve been reincarnated, but it feels better to assume that I’ve been transported into a fantastical world where cats are supernaturally larger. Looking around, besides the cats, there are rotten wooden walls and a humongous statue made of stone, seemingly weathered by thousands of storms but still standing, the usual depiction for a deity in a temple. Dilapidated is all I can say, but it feels fitting for cats in the wild.

Days, maybe even weeks go by, it's difficult to tell when the concept of time barely matters in a body with wobbly limbs that survives mainly on instinct and a mother's care. It's not much unlike a human life, no? Both kittens and children rely on the care and education from their parent, albeit kittens mature faster…

In the midst of my thoughts, I feel the gentle but firm grasp on my scruff. The feeling of weightlessness welcomes me once again, though it differs from that in Diyu. I feel a comforting weight pulling down on me, in contrast to the truly featherlight sensation of my soul bouncing and moving all about in its journey to this body. I watch the scenery wobble around me for a moment, before getting placed on the dewy summer field beside all the other kittens. Mother leads us to a certain patch in the grass, and runs to a nearby tree stump. My siblings start to call her back, but she remains near the large roots, digging and poking in the soil. The muffled sounds of thumping and whimpering echo out from the grass in front of us, and I feel my legs start to stiffen, my back arch, and my claws poke out.

A small furry head peeks out… And lunge! I bite the bunny by its neck and hold it down with all the strength I can muster in my small body. Watching the mother cat also bring back another in her mouth and run towards us, I loosen my grasp on its scruff a little.

14

Meow! Aren't you proud of me?

The days continue to go on like this, with the grass in the fields turning yellow and the other kittens also learning to hunt on their own. On a particular day, when there was barely any prey hiding in the fields, the mother cat left to go somewhere, probably finding food in the market. It's been a while since she left, so the other kittens have taken a break from their play fighting to start yowling at the clouds in hunger. Some, despite still causing a ruckus with their noise, run to the field behind the temple. Being left behind, I consider my choices to stay or go and try to retrace her steps, since only the market from a little away has food. Reaching my destination, I start to run amok, looking at every corner and every alleyway yet not a single sight of the mother cat. In my haste, I tumble onto the feet of a passing stranger who carries me back into his home.

After years of tender care and company, I have grown into an adult cat, leaping and climbing on the city gates and walls decorated with red lanterns and lotuses for the nearing festival. In a night full of glee and celebration, I follow the other street cats in climbing roofs and absorbing the essence of the moon. Some of them have told me that many other cats cultivated this way and have long gone into the forests to wander and guard the environment. I feel certainly feel more powerful after years of practice, but legends do say that demon cats can turn into humans yet I cannot as of this moment in time.

With people crowding most of the streets, some hooligans have taken advantage of the festivities to abuse and abduct cats for profit, it's not unheard of but sadly it's more common when everyone is enjoying the night. All the town’s stray cats have scattered into other places, some even hiding in the old dilapidated temple where the mother cat used to shelter us.

The pierce yowling of pain startles me, from just a nearby alley. I run through the roofs, jumping over every eave and tile. I notice a weird feeling throughout my body, weight on my sides and pain in my back but uncaring for what it is, I rush over to where I heard the cat.

15

Holding a burlap sack with stains of red seeping from the inside, is a hooligan. With trembling hands and eyes seeing nothing but blood, I lunge at the hooligan, scratching every possible surface on his body despite the noise he makes. With hands stained a deeper red, I take the burlap sack and bring it back to the rooftops.

I cradle every cat in the sack, tears streaming from my face and mixing into their wounds. Slowly, they start to stir awake, some even reaching up and licking at my face with all they can muster.

Maybe what that cat did for me in the past, I can do to help other cats.

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Writer's Profile Juliana Caminong DLSU SHS - Arts and Design Track, Creative Writing stream S-ADT11-A ID123

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