Palad Vol. 22

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About the cover “Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.” - John Milton ***

We submerge ourselves, deliberate or not, to the unknown. It is where our fears amplify, our regrets blossom, and our failures thrive. Do you want to forget? A rebirth, perhaps? The water may be fine, but I think it’s time to come back up.

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palad

Literary Digest of Heraldo Filipino Issue No. XXII June 2021

Shekynah Angelene Samadan Palad Editor Jacinth Banite, Kayla Nicole De Quiroz, Lean Jane Pantorilla, Sheka Ignaco, Ahmad Mahusay, Aprilean Octavo, Maria Victoria Busine, Juliana Patricia Octavio, and Elaine Belen Writers Emmanuel Esmilla, Alexandrea Rey, Charles Howard Gaa, Ma. Bernice Victoria Obias, Sheka Ignaco, Julianna Patricia Octavio, Rachelle Ann Calaustro, Alyanna Nicole Tiaga, Stephanie Ann Arreza, Miguel Luis Abenales and Jose Mari Callejo Artists Josua Soralbo Contributor Stephanie Ann Arreza, Rachelle Ann Calaustro, Azreil Nathanielle Nuestro, Juliana Patricia Octavio, and Alexandrea Rey Layout Artists

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Message

The myths foretold that to drink the waters of Lethe is to free one’s soul—to wash ourselves clean of this life’s filth, and to drink away the regrets and mistakes that have long burned our throats.

But the myths don’t speak of those who drift in Lethe’s waters—of bodies that sank beneath its murky depths, of dreams and hopes lost in the pitch-black darkness. Souls that are neither dead nor alive, floating along the debris. The myths don’t speak of stories that are stuck between being forgotten and being remembered.

Sins that even Lethe cannot wash. Wishes that Lethe will always remember.

As Palad Volume XXII dives into Lethe, we explore what remains of forgotten truths and glorified lies: of ghosts that cannot let go of the past, souls that long to be present, and us, who are castaways of the future. There is no telling whether our journey will bring more pain or absolution. Maybe one day, it will no longer matter. Maybe one day, all of mankind’s suffering will vanish like memories flowing through a stream, formless and irretrievable.

Maybe it will persist. Maybe we are too stubborn to forget.

Maybe, it is mankind’s own brand of revolution—to remember.

Lean Jane Pantorilla Editor in Chief

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Foreword Where should I even begin?

We give this to you, this ink and paper relic, from a world far from what it once was. As I write this message, know that with all honesty, it was not an easy ride.

To jot down even one word so I could try and make sense of it all was outstandingly difficult, because beyond this page—nay, this whole folio—was an event none of us expected. Maybe we were too feeble to comprehend it, or maybe we were just too occupied with the mundanities of everyday life that when it all halted, we were left clueless. Lost in the shallows.

Death after death after death.

The world behind our safe spaces felt as if it was all being carried away by a massive wave and to a billowing sea of fear and uncertainty, and most times, it was hard to stomach that this was the only thing we were able to do: Write. Make-believe. Beat our prose purple.

Our cheap attempt to immortalize what was and is currently drowning us.

But still, we float.

Even with our mouths and noses barely gasping for oxygen, trying to grab hold of whatever branch we might find along our arduous journey—we float; and we refuse to capsize.

The strength of holding on to mere fresh air is firmly injected into every page of this literary folio. These are our hands outstretched to anyone who needs them. Our palms wide and ready to latch on to yours so we may float this desolate river as a unit.

Hand in hand.

Together we go, so long as we never forget.

Shekynah Angelene Samadan Literary Coordinator

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Table of Contents

prose & poetry The Waters We Tread

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In the Pages I Lose Myself in

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The City at Night

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Attraversiamo

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To-don’t List

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Monomania

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An Elegy to the Year I Lost

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Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

Jacinth Banite

Sheka Ignaco

Lean Jane Pantorilla

Ahmad Mahusay

Maria Victoria Busine

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Cog

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Snellen

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Once Promised

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Samsara

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Convicted

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Tick Tock

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Balik Tanaw

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Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Jacinth Banite

Infinite Wish Aprilean Octavo

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Ahmad Mahusay

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Jacinth Banite

Memories of Yesteryear

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Oil on Canvas

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Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Jacinth Banite

Aprilean Octavo

350 Grams

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Entries From the Grave

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The Keeper / Ang Katiwala

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New Year’s Resolution

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Lean Jane Pantorilla

Lean Jane Pantorilla

Maria Victoria Busine

Jacinth Banite

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flash fiction Setting Sun

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Kandila

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Ang Linggo ay Dumugo

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A Good Deed

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Cri de Coeur

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You Gave the Okra Plant to the Snails

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Elena

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Dare I Say

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Da Capo

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Dinner Recipe: Sinigang na Baboy

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Makakalabas na ‘Uli

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Garapon

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Solidago

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Jacinth Banite

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Juliana Patricia Octavio

Josua Marquez Soralbo

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

To Not Being

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Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Maria Victoria Busine

To Whom It May Concern Lean Jane Pantorilla

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Juliana Patricia Octavio

Short Story The Witness Jacinth Banite

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Sa Ilalim ng Langit Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

Henry

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Lady Riding Hood

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Circle in the Mall

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Huling Gabing Paglunod

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Seven Shots to Afterlife

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Bumbilya

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Jacinth Banite

Pahayag

Jacinth Banite

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Elaine Belen

Elaine Belen

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Lean Jane Pantorilla

Daw Delights

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

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91 Jacinth Banite

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dive deep find despair in the unknown or find peace in the quiet the River knows not what you want but what you need

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prose & poetry

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The Waters We Tread Shekynah Angelene Samadan

heaving pathways

he dove in

like the great flood

in chaos

the Noah of today

treading mercilessly

the murky waves in tsunamis his hands

shriveled with splinters

from the unfinished ark God forgot

in the seabed

the green leaf settled

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In the Pages I Lose Myself In Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

I used to be free, walking the long roads every night without a care in the world. The city lights would shine upon me as I skip happily on my way home. I owned the nights, for I never noticed that I was filled with sorrow. Until a tragedy struck.

In a span of months, a virus has spread around the world and forced everyone apart. No more crowds and buses filled with workers coming home. Streets emptied out and became quiet. Fear lurks within us all, knowing how expensive it is to have ourselves cured of sickness.

For the first time, death comes at a mere inhale. I was suddenly stuck at home with books that served as a gateway for my adventures. Hundreds of pages thick and stories crammed into tiny vessels. It feels as though I am one with all these stories. One time, I trudged the long roads with kings who fought wars, and queens ruling their lands. Another time I was in a dystopia, feeling the thrill of running away from my supposed sins, and another time, I was with wives, abused by their husbands while their children watched. I went along with each character from the pages of these books; cried and laughed, mustered up the courage to face their obstacles. There was nothing else I could do. They told us that life should continue as it is.

Outside the pages, others made coffee, others danced to music, while others bonded with estranged family members. We never believed it. It was all a hoax. A ruse by powerful actors who play their little games.

It will be all over in a short time, until that short time stretched longer than planned. I continued to do my work, to hang out with friends in the virtual world, and tried to see positivity in whatever odd angle I could conjure. Everyone found new ways to own their spaces and find life amid the struggle. I clung onto the hope that this is all a nightmare and I was simply too late in waking up.

The strange feeling didn’t stop. It lingered at the back of my mind, like an itch waiting to be scratched. The anxiety—the fear of staying at the place that I loathed. I try to convince myself that things are fine as the

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whole world seems to crumble apart. I still have my books, my stories, my adventures, anyway. Hence, I made my own little world, complete with all the things that would make me blind to whatever was happening outside the window and inside my home. I knew that this room was my only safe place. The soft pillows that smell like fresh laundry, the heavy weight of the blankets that cover me through nights where I felt the sadness caving in, the warm light that comes through the windows and the sound of my breathing. There was safety in the four corners of my room. Nothing would harm me here. Not even the virus could touch me.

I denied, until I couldn’t.

The world as we know it had disappeared and turned desolate in a short time. Chaos erupted in different parts of the country and for the first time in years, we were witnessing injustice put into a pedestal and highlighted for all to see. Where men in uniform abuse their authority, men in power constantly lie and order to kill, and most people with cars and fully stocked pantries would tell the masses to discipline themselves.

Cries of the underprivileged are shunned aside, and deaths suddenly become a norm. It revealed the evil in the systems we thought worked out for our society, until we saw and felt for ourselves how it took its toll on the people. As the sickness plagues each and every corner of the world, we are reduced to numbers, the deaths no more than an addition to the tally.

As our governments scramble and incentivize on our catastrophy, we are left scrambling in the dark not knowing if tomorrow, we’ll still be able to breathe the air that keeps us alive.

That’s when it hit me. I’ve run out of pages. This is my reality, and it has been for a while now.

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The City at Night Jacinth Banite

Drizzle-drops smeared on the glistening road Clamoring engines derange the restless highway Headlights beam at the back of lining cars Drivers roll their necks while they wait for the green light Hands hover on the clutch as they chase golden hour Puddles catch drifting tires, splashes blend with rags that children wear Feet shifting to wait on the side of the pedestrian lane Some of them washed, some of them stained While the sunset marks the end of the day, City lights persuade different beginnings Stiletto steps echo around, running after the fading instant Ladies turn their heads as they wait for their bus Hugging their bags, or holding their lovers’ hands Crowds race to the supper served at home Braving the dwindling safety that comes with sunset Carts are leaving the sidewalks Vendors pick coins among candies and cigarettes Restobars on the rented pavement are awake Glass doors glare with blinding lights, While lullabies play from distant houses

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A medley of disco scream into the silence of dusk Streets try to sleep while the night relishes its life Fancy as the glitter that covers the lips of evening’s goddess Glowing in the alley of gents with their dashing suit and tie Selling a porcelain skin, a penny in exchange for her kiss The dawn hides the lingering shadows of the wind Silhouettes straggle in empty spaces, waiting for a prey The right hand is clenched while the left holds a dagger A cast in his face, a blanket of uncertain escapes Hiding the façade that only the dark can witness As daylight dwindles, some depart from their haven While there are those who race back to a soothing laze Others put on their masks, and some bare their faces The night is a solace for the brave, a risk for the careless Indeed, a transient empire for the evil soul The city at night is like a thief during the day Certainly vulnerable but crawling with secrets It glares at people, hunts for those unguarded Yet, with the lingering peril and lies that owls hide The city still looks much more interesting at night

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Attraversiamo Sheka Ignaco

I’ve found myself on the cusp of day and night Meeting daydream after daydream My consciousness and sanity gets eaten away I try to put it aside but I’m in love with a figment of my mind I daydream Italy, the place where everything makes sense Drifting right next to him, a familiar face “Mi amore, if reality tries to pull you away from me, Attraversiamo.”

I get carried away, replaying the same storyline The longer I am awake, the longer I pine; This is how I disappear in the real world: By chasing coliseums and chapels in the sky Taking myself into another plane To escape in times of distress What is the point of real life?

I just find happiness inside my head If only

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To-don’t List Lean Jane Pantorilla

To-do list, two semesters ago: 15 assessments, 7 major 3 finals project 1 proposal to save a sinking boat 3.5 by the end of the sem 500 followers more 10% increase in YouTube subscribers At least 10 likes per post To-do list, one semester ago: 21 assessments, 10 major 4 finals project 1 sick joke Dinner by five Some time alone Help my brother with modules Try not to spiral out of control To-do list, and To-don’t: Lunch with family by twelve Some rest after working from home 24 assessments Pray for God to have mercy on our souls Survive the sem Learn on my own If not, just survive as a whole

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Monomania Ahmad Mahusay

Lost pieces are locked, Keys flown away by water, I can think again

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An Elegy to the Year I Lost Maria Victoria Busine

here lies familiarity, buried six feet under, as we tread the deep waters of uncertainty here lies normalcy, the forgotten feeling, the death of routines that kept us going here lies the year I lost, spent in front of a screen, pretending that nothing’s wrong here lies the past, buried beneath these strange times, when I look back, will I remember? here lies the time that slipped by, leaving us wondering where it all went

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Cog

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Clunky, rusty metals spin fast as you run. Step after step, your legs refuse to wear out. One sudden stop and they will pluck you off your post.

No dinner for your frailing wife and child. The scorching sun beams its nasty rays directly at you, causing your pores to sweat profusely. Enough to lube up this devilish contraption you are in, enough for you to slip. You are trapped. You know this. Glued to the soles of your shoes are the bars of this hamster wheel device. Bleak. The sky is festered with the manic scene of white and grey, but the sun continues to burn you, and the clouds refuse to be your friend.

The lunch break had zipped by like a bloodsucking vermin, having already forgotten the taste of your fluids. Right now, all you can think about is the exit door, despite knowing the pain it takes to navigate that treacherous path. It is hidden beneath a maze of convoluted hallways, with a Minotaur looming on every corner. They say you must have a map to know the ends of this nine-to-five nightmare. You have to know the lingua franca by heart, and you have to give up a limb or two in order to free yourself from this overbearing curse Ego has put forth onto you.

Washed out in grayscale, your life moves in a looping reel. Stomped to bits by rules, chaining you as a suit-wearing, briefcase-carrying freak of the night. No wonder why they hinder your escape, you dove headfirst to the shallow pool of business letters and on-site meetings. It is disgusting how much you rely on stale coffee and holiday bonuses to function. Clock in, clock out—you are gone. Though honestly, I could not entirely blame you. No words can hide it, but you are a victim. A victim of the cloying promise of winning in a marathon with no finish line in sight. But they continue to whip you into shape, saying you will be ahead of the game if you just run, run, run, and run. Until you draw your last breath.

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Once Promised Jacinth Banite

Standing on a tilted stage is a man in a high-end tuxedo, wearing his vigorous façade. He speaks fluent English while his tongue is tied to each word he utter. His chin is up, his eyes are oozing with satisfaction, glaring toward flashing cameras that go along with murmurs of the crowd, wearing thick lanyards on their neck. As his hands go deeper in his pockets, conscious with his posture behind the podium, he firmly tells his story of success with a modulated voice.

“There are two kinds of people in this world, those who dream, and those who succeed in their dream,” he says with a grin on his lips, syllabicating each word as if it is his first time saying them.

As he reaches the bottom of his self-effacing speech, there comes another statement carved on his tongue for so long, yet remains unceasing; “With right grit and determination, I stand here in front of you wearing what I wear, saying what I say. This is not because of fate, nor because of someone else. We do make our own future, so now, you decide, which one of those two kinds of people are you? Are you a mere dreamer, or are you the one who chooses to live your dream?” He removed his gaze from the prompter in front of him as he firmly fixed his stare to the crowd. Shifting to the language of masses, he utters a final line with more power in his voice, “Hindi mo kasalanan kung pinanganak kang mahirap, pero na sa iyo na kung mamatay kang mahirap.”

With those parting words, the crowd goes loud as he slowly takes a step back from the microphone, standing firm at the center of the stage, taking a moment to acknowledge the round of applause the crowd is giving him.

Somewhere in the city of Manila, the same man is standing on the narrow and elevated platform, wearing a striking determination on his face.

He speaks the mother tongue with pure persuasion and intent, articulating every word he says. He wears nothing fancy, a plain, almost-faded red shirt and old Levi’s pants. His grip is tangled with the microphone cord as he speaks to his fellow college students, whose eyes are gleaming with admiration. As the tropical weather intensifies, he firmly tells his wellestablished viewpoints: “Iyong mga nakaupo at mga nasa itaas! Sila ang

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tunay na taksil! Hindi sila marunong lumingon sa kagaya nating nasa laylayan ng lipunan!” The crowd goes loud amid the ear-splitting vehicle horns passing on the nearby highway. He says each word with a daring look of anger on his face.

As he reaches the momentum of his speech, there comes another statement that has long been tangled in his heart and thoughts: “Pagod na akong marinig mula sa mga mayayaman kung gaano kadali para sa kanila ang mangarap! Napakadaling sabihing kasalanan ng mahirap kung sila ay mahirap. Samahan nyo akong sagutin sila na hangga’t may mga mapagsamantalang kapitalista, hangga’t may mga nakaupong sariling kapakanan ang iniisip, ang mayaman ay patuloy na magiging mayaman, tayong mahihirap ay mananatiling mahirap!”

With those passionate words, the crowd maintains its energy as he slowly lowers down the microphone from his mouth. He stands firm at the center of the platform, taking a moment to acknowledge the round of applause the crowd is giving him. He is about to continue when a loud whistle disturbs the escalating cheers, followed by five police vehicles approaching the crowded street of Manila. A trifling stampede pans out, leaving nothing but the broken microphone rolling alone on that narrow and elevated platform.

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Infinite Wish Aprilean Octavo

Eighty years from now Slapstick, fraud, false hopes will end Till then we speak up

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Memories of Yesteryear Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

I vaguely remember the twinkling stars, The ones that guided us To trudge the long road Where we danced until our feet hurt, And the breeze relieved us The nights where we walked With no direction in mind— Talked about our dreams of becoming People we wanted to be Under the moonlight, Our eyes sparkled with hope For we know that as days go on, And challenges get rough, There will always be tomorrow However, the starry nights were replaced By empty ceilings, And laughter can no longer be heard Not unless we make it ourselves For tonight, there are no roads to walk on, With our feet bare and hanging On the windows of our home, Only remembering our freedom Nostalgia kicking in, And our reality sinks in, We can only reminisce— But we can’t dance under the stars anymore

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Oil on Canvas Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Can ambiguity form us another image of Madonna and child where warmth is once again warmth but with kisses from mother amplified by years of staining oil that is not only of the Holy Child for the next life being I utter a novena to make a religion and perfume my own feet Splatter of wine and treachery mix me with bronze and gold call me the next Masterpiece

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350 Grams Lean Jane Pantorilla

The average breathing human Weighs 136.7 pounds With heart, lungs, And brain intact The mass of earth is constant 7 billion humans and counting Yet it doesn’t get heavier Doesn’t get lighter Doesn’t fall out of space in all its grief Or shrinks in itself when it all gets too much Day in, day out It revolves around the sun Like a broken spinning top Death means nothing To this oversized magnet: Life goes on, with or without Yet the human heart is different It boasts a mere 350 grams But falls hard with the impact Of a meteorite meeting the ground It can only skip a few beats Can only pump so much blood But who knew this fist-sized baby Can fit so much pain and love The average human heart Weighs less than 1 pound But the more people come and go The heavier it becomes (Almost as if it could never get enough)

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The Keeper Jacinth Banite

Silence lingers everywhere Firmly, a man rests his glare Keeping thy highness secrets With thick blades in his pockets

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Ang Katiwala Jacinth Banite

Tahimik ang paligid Tikas s’yang nagmamasid Tangan ng amo’y lihim Sa bulsa’y nagpatalim

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Snellen

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

with steady vision I train my eyes to move along with my desires locomotive they go to addictions, they pillage the dirt road you bare arid while I maneuver to be something out of nothing

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Samsara Ahmad Mahusay

As we eat the leaves We crawl back to our pupas A cycle happens

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Convicted Jacinth Banite

PNP arrests suspect behind Santos rape-slay case BREAKING: Manila, 2021 — Philippine National Police (PNP) arrests suspect in the Michelle Santos rape-slay case around 2 PM, today, August 16, in Tondo, Manila. Identified as Hilario Rivera, the suspect is a 47-yearold garbage collector who lives a few blocks away from where the body was found. Rivera was allegedly seen segregating wastes nearby the crime scene the night before Santos’ assault.

Initial findings of the police certify that the murder occured somewhere else from Tondo, yet PNP had soon retracted this statement by claiming that they had not found any marks on the body that would suggest a possible transportation.

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Meanwhile, latest police reports stated that five sachets of what seemed to be methamphetamine hydrochloride, commonly known as shabu, were found in Rivera’s home. This accusation was immediately denied by his wife, Ana, saying that her husband does not have any record of drug use.

“Oo, nahuli ‘yan [Rivera] dati dahil may ninakaw. Pero kahit kailan hindi gumamit ang asawa ko ng droga. Hindi ko nga alam kung saang lupalop nakuha ng mga pulis na ‘yan yung mga nakuha nila,” Mrs. Rivera said in an interview.

The suspect is expected to undergo a series of trials starting tomorrow to prove his innocence.

Convicted suspect Hilario Rivera dies by suicide BREAKING: Manila, 2023 — Convicted murderer and rapist Hilario Rivera hanged himself inside his cell in Manila City Jail around 3 AM today, July 1, as reported on the official Facebook account of the Philippine National Police (PNP) this morning.

Rivera made headlines back in June 2021 for being the primary suspect in the death of 16 years old Michelle Santos, the girl whose body was found in a dumpsite in Tondo in the same month two years ago.

Rivera received a life sentence without the possibility of parole after the court favored the authority’s investigations against him.

Meanwhile, netizens expressed their anger and disappointment on social media, claiming that an “injustice” was done to Rivera.

“He couldn’t take it anymore… paying for something he did not do,” a Twitter post reads. “Sana mahuli na kung sino talaga may kasalanan.”

“Evidence against him was purely circumstantial, yet he was sentenced to life. May you rest in peace, Kuya Hilario,” writes another netizen on Facebook.

The Santos rape-slay case had surfaced media’s top stories in 2021 for having too many layers and angles that the police failed to clarify. Along with the spread of conspiracy theories online, rumors of an alleged manipulation from the PNP following the investigation of the case had circulated under the hashtag #RiveraNOTGuilty, which now trends once again, as they claim that the said

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deceased convicted murderer was also just a victim.

Former PNP chief Fernando Suarez arrested for 2021 murder-rape case in Tondo BREAKING: Manila, 2025 — Former Philippine National Police (PNP) chief Fernando Suarez was arrested this morning after an unidentified whistleblower disclosed Suarez’s participation in the murder of Michelle Santos, a 16-year-old girl who was raped and killed in Tondo, Manila in 2021, which led to the arrest of Hilario Rivera, the inmate who hanged himself inside his cell in 2023.

The anonymous person cleared out the connection of Rivera to the Santos murder case, saying that Suarez intentionally ordered to dump the body in a slum area in Tondo in hopes to shift the blame to someone else within the area.

By providing a folder of evidence which includes videotapes, photographs, and voice recordings taken when the murder occurred, the whistleblower told the police that Suarez had killed five more females aside from Santos and hid their bodies in his villa located in Makati.

According to the police, guilt led the said whistle blower to come out and confess Suarez’ involvement with the mentioned murder cases, saying that they can no longer maintain silence about these killings knowing that they could happen again anytime.

Authorities are currently retrieving the victims’ remains which are expected to undergo a sequence of postmortem procedures to determine the cause of their death.

Meanwhile, Suarez’s camp have requested for a trial, claiming that the accused is being framed by someone from the opposition, disrupting his plan to run for the higher office in the upcoming senatorial election. They appeal for the court to consider granting Suarez a partial probationary order instead of sentencing him to life.

However, following the narrated confession, the Rivera family demands the Department of Justice (DOJ) for the reopening of Hilario Rivera’s case, two years after his death.

“Nanahimik kami laban sa tanim na ebidensya nila, ngayong tadhana na ang nagsasabi ng katotohanan, amin na ang hustisya!” said Rivera’s wife in an interview.

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Tick Tock Jacinth Banite

It is indeed fascinating, the clock inside this virtual maze The handless pace racing as mere digits, As runners conquer the passing limits— A magical sixty seconds within such illusive space Inside is crowded, some find paths, while others walk and wander But oh, thou shall not be forgotten, the danger within Those who are lost, and are foes of searchin’ The thieves of time wasted for forged hunger The longer they loiter, more manners go astray With a fugitive façade, delusive wits, and potent word A well-equipped deceiver amasses a herd Jutting the time they steal as they run and play Echoes of disputes linger within the cyber haze Pavements are haunted with mere seconds Eyes blink with fierce, feet take steps in laze Wiser lips syllabicating, the weapon of misguided legends The clock smirks when quarrels erupt The time keeps ticking and is never up They all favor it, while it favors none Often misused, thy generation’s disguise of fun

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Balik Tanaw Aprilean Octavo

Minsan sa aking paglilibot ay aking nasilayan, Mga ibong malayang nakalilipad sa kalawakan Mga isdang masayang binabaybay ang karagatan; Kay sarap pagmasdan ang bughaw na kalangitan Sa gitna ng aking masayang paglalakbay, Napadpad at napatigil ako sa gitna ng tulay Pinipilit ang sariling magpatuloy sa buhay, Habang unti-unting nararamdaman ang lumbay Sa aking pagpapatuloy ay aking natunghayan, Mga ibong nakapiring habang lumilipad sa kawalan Mga isdang mabilis na lumalangoy palayo sa kasakiman; Kay lungkot pagmasdan ang pula sa kalangitan

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Entries from the Grave Lean Jane Pantorilla

03142020 2300

Initial observation indicates that I’ve fallen into an unexplored crevice.

A ditch, maybe? Height and depth remains unknown, and there appears to be no source of natural light. Perimeter of current location estimated 10x10 feet, the size of an average room. Just like mine back home There seems to be a passageway up ahead, but whether to explore or remain will be decided later. No way I’m heading there.

Remaining supplies within my backpack include one flashlight, a spare set of batteries, a small box of matches, and some paper that may be used as kindling.

This is so stupid.

04062020 1345

After a few days of exploring within the perimeter, it has been confirmed that I have been buried.

Although the mass of earth above me has no indication of having collapsed nor being cemented, there is no other way to explain it. My body possesses no injuries that would suggest a fall, nor does the room have any other exits saved for the dark passageway ahead. I attempted to check where the small tunnel might lead, only to discover that it leads further below.

I can’t breathe. Oxygen levels appear to be low, which suggests that I may be further down than I thought. Am I going to die? The only chance of survival would be to explore.

I’m hearing strange noises from down there.

04062020 1345

I made a mistake.

The passageway was too dark, and I was too late to notice that it led to

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a cliff. It has been some hours since I fell into some unknown body of water. The flashlight no longer works, along with the battery.

This journal is only able to survive thanks to my earlier initiative to wrap it up in plastic, a standard procedure in exploration for those who are too oldfashioned to rely on technology. With any luck, someone might find this, and be able to find and identify my corpse

But then again, I am already buried

I have started a fire after drying out the kindling, and by now I am able to get a better grasp of my surroundings. There’s only a few feet distance from where I am now and where I fell, so I can assume the body of water must have been meant to be some kind of water source.

The voices are getting louder, and I can only hope that there are living animals down here to eat.

Or, instead, they might just eat me

05072020 1625

The fuel is all gone.

With only a few spare matches on my person, I can only deduce that I have fallen into the darkest corner of hell. Science will try to refute my claims. The whole world will laugh at my insanity, but they have not seen the things that dwell down here.

One such beast clawed my wrist, which is why I cannot write properly.

I’m losing blood. I have not taken a good look at its face, but it seems to bear some human-like appearance, and is biped. A long mass of hair sits on top of its head.

It can speak. It tells me to bleed. It says that red is the only color I’ll be able to see down here.

I was only able to get away from it after dousing it in flames. It can scream.

It is a relief to finally hear something other than me.

12112020 ??

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It’s chasing me

It found me

It wants to eat me alive

I’d sooner kill myself than let it touch me

I don’t know where I’m going. It appears that I am going deeper, but deeper where... I have no idea. I’ve broken a few bones along the way.

I shouldn’t have left that room. It’s so dark down here.

I’ve used up one of my last matches to write this, only to warn others that dare explore this deep. Turn back. Turn back and take yourselves with you. There is no use trying to get out. You’re better off waiting to die in that cramped up space, than risk your lives facing off these monsters.

You’re buried alive with no way out there’s no way out

At least not in your own head

????? ???

This is my last match.

They caught up to me

I faced them

The creature seems to bear facial similarities with humans. Sunken cheeks, sleep-deprived eyes, bleeding lips and a posture no different from quadrupeds.

Spine seems to have bent from the weight of the world, and gaze seems to be unfocused, empty and hollow. Breathing is ragged and shallow. Voice is cracked from too much screaming.

It stops moving whenever I stop. It runs when I run. No wonder I could never get away from it.

I have been running for so long that I forgot that thing can speak. Forgot that it has words. Forgot that it is capable of human thought, and therefore, human feelings.

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You have buried me for so long. It croaks. It’s so dark down here.

It’s my turn to be buried

03142021 2300

Escape comes in the form of company.

The creature, despite its horrid state, does not eat me. I did not attempt to kill it either.

I noticed we both had the same scars, in the same parts of our bodies.

With both of us wounded and stranded in the dark, we have grown used to each other’s presence.

Having the worst demon beside me, I no longer fear what lies within.

Initial observation indicates that the topography is less bumpier and more stable now. There is no natural light, but we make do. We crawl in the darkness and try to get a feel of our surroundings. On narrow passages, we learn to squeeze in.

When we fall in unknown waters, we swim.

I’ve stopped running, but somehow I keep on going. It’s still dark, but I’m miles away from where I started.

We could be going in circles. We could be heading somewhere worse.

We could find our way out of here.

From this point on, it would only be a matter of getting used to the lack of matches. Even now, as I write this, I wonder if my pen has made it to paper. I don’t even know if it has any ink left.

Will this be my last entry? I don’t know.

The sky hasn’t opened up and claimed us yet. The ground didn’t split and spat us out yet. There is no light at the end of the tunnel...but there is a hand reaching out in the darkness.

And if we meet more demons, at the very least, we can make a party out of hell.

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New Year’s Resolution Maria Victoria Busine

January 1, 2020

This year, I promise to be more organized.

Yes, I’m saying this as I sit in an unmade bed instead of my own desk, cluttered with papers and files that piled up during the semester. Being more organized was also my new year’s resolution for 2019, but I never really followed through, for reasons I no longer wish to recall. I even bought an expensive planner to keep me on track. I didn’t know why or how I came to think that spending so much money on something could discipline me. I ended up discovering that I’m not one for scheduling my days as I abandoned my planner in just three weeks, so there goes my precious 500 pesos, I guess. I wish I could get my money back.

Still, I plan to get organized, starting with my closet. All other parts of my life can be a mess in one way or another, but my pile of clothes takes the cake for being the messiest. I’ve been meaning to organize my closet for quite some time now: to get rid of clothes that never saw the light of day, and those that were barely worn, if only the idea of saying goodbye to them hadn’t been too daunting for me.

I can’t seem to bear the thought of throwing away the clothes I was once attached to, those that held memories of the past as I wore them to special and memorable events but don’t fit me anymore. But maybe this year will be it. After that, I’m not really sure what’s the next step. I wish I was also good at planning things.

I’ve been making new year’s resolutions as far as I can remember. Even when I was younger, there were some things that I wanted to do for a fresh start whenever January arrived. But every year, I always failed to follow through. I found it too hard, too tedious, or too ridiculous to continue as days passed by. Now, however, I write this entry in the same planner I abandoned last year, wishing so bad that this is the year that I finally get it together. Hopefully, the next time I write my new year’s resolution, I can proudly say that yes, I got it together, indeed. *** January 1, 2021

Bad news. I failed once again. I don’t really know why, but my life became even more of a bigger mess that pushing through my new year’s resolution already

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seems pointless. I eventually had to abandon the resolution of being more organized for the year, all in favor of plowing through piles of deadlines that I had to meet. I’m so behind on schoolwork now, and even if I try to cram in as much stuff, catching up is still unlikely to me.

Oh, and there’s the clothes too.

My closet seems more like a home for all the clutter than it did for my wardrobe, as I only go through like, five T-shirts in rotation for weeks on end.

I really thought 2021 was going to be the year I’d get it together. But once I abandoned the resolution I made for the new year, there’s a small part of me that whispered, “Don’t worry, there’s still next year.”

This year, however, I don’t know what I plan to do. I don’t even know if things are ever worth planning for anyway. Not when I remember how I’m spending yet another year staring at my laptop screen as an attempt to convince myself that things are still normal.

I don’t really know anymore at this point. ***

January 1, 2023

I have officially given up on new year’s resolutions on the day of new year itself. So maybe I skipped last year’s new year’s resolution. I forgot. Sue me.

But the truth is, there were just so many things that were happening at that time. I never really had the chance to sit down with my thoughts, and convince myself that this year is the one where I finally get to stick with my plans.

Is that a good thing? I honestly don’t know. Happy New Year to me, regardless. I just felt so tired at this point that I don’t even dare think that anything is worth trying, not anymore. But I have to say, even with those failed attempts at new year’s resolutions for the past years, I have learned something new. Maybe this is an anti-new year’s resolution movement that I’m making?

I don’t really know, but the thing is, after those past years where many unprecedented things have come my way, maybe just trying to survive each day and making the most out of it is a new year’s resolution in itself.

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Setting Sun Jacinth Banite

Kneeling beside you, I hold your hands as they tremble on the armrest of your wheelchair. The air wrestled against your fragile breaths, enough for me to wish I could give all of mine. I dive deep into your eyes and drown in the waves of your slowed blinks, but your musing gaze remains uninterrupted from the melting, orange sky peering through the mid-sized window in front of you. I wonder what goes on within your mind. Maybe you are thinking about how beautiful this Thursday afternoon is, how the sun is about to set, or maybe you are just tired of moving the muscles in your body, wishing for a permanent and peaceful rest. It is in the same pair of eyes I’ve found the answer—you are chasing after your memories that are being taken away by the cruelty of time.

Wrinkling, like the texture of your skin, moments you shared with me still echo in your dreams. I felt ephemeral joy when you called me by my name that Monday evening. I rapture to hear those syllables again, but alas, what followed after was another truth piercing deeper in my chest.

“Michael, I would want you to wear your Tatay’s tie for your wedding day. Mmm?” you asked with a smile in your eyes, wearing that same excitement when you said it the first time ten years ago, a week before my wedding day.

How I wish you still remember that moment when you beat my now wife and the mother of my children, Melinda, for crying the most.

“Yes,” I responded after a deep inhale. I kissed you on the forehead, just like you did to me back then. It was a moment I am certain you can no longer recall.

Weary, like your trembling knees, you linger in a time you cannot escape, nor do you desire to. You stay there with your boy, guiding him in his youth, reminding him about curfews since he always goes home late, or asking for the empty Tupperware he often forgets to put in the sink when he gets home from school.

“Are you going to Aldrin’s house?” you asked last Tuesday when I was about to leave for work, wearing my suit and tie. “Make sure you get home by 9 PM, Anak. Mmm?”

Except, your boy is now too old to spend the night over his high school friend’s house.

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“I’ll be home soon, ‘Nay, wait for me,” I said. The words break around the edges as despair creeps in, but it registers in your ears as the excitement of a little boy, who can’t wait to leave.

Fading, like your vision, you lose your sight of reality. You filled Wednesday’s twilight with your phantom touches I have been waiting for so long, yet still made me scared for the day that would follow. I woke up to your soft voice humming my favorite lullaby. You filled the space by my side, holding me like I was still a newborn child. Before I knew it, as your hand tapped my chest in an attempt to bring me back to sleep, tears had already stained my pillow.

“Shhh. It’s okay,” you hushed reassuringly, “Nanay’s here now.”

Your are eyes filled with so much happiness as you look into mine, your precious little boy. It was a kind of feeling I know you will later forget.

Kneeling beside you, I hold your hands as they tremble on the armrest of your wheelchair, and listen to your breaths as they shudder in agony. Your pensive gaze remains uninterrupted from the ocean-blue sky, peering through the mid-sized window in front of you. This Thursday afternoon is indeed beautiful. I squeeze your hands even tighter, collecting all my courage to speak. I’m scared that when I say what I have to say, I will completely lose you.

“Nay….”

Silence. Nothing.

“Nay…” A little louder this time.

Slowly, you detach your glance from the window and turn toward me. The smile in your eyes had faded along with the sun, replaced by an empty stare.

“Nay, the nurses are here. It’s time to go.” My heart aches at every word. You examine my face as if you’re measuring the spaces from the tip of my hair down to my chin, calculating the gap between my eyes.

“They’re going to take good care of you there. We’ll visit you as often as we can.” It is a promise which your eyes do not believe in. They’re telling me I’m lying, but there is something else I would wish for to be a lie— your response as you loosen your grip, completely letting go of my hand.

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“Who are you?”

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Ang Linggo ay Dumugo Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Alas nuwebe ng umaga Nagsisigawan sila May dugo galing sa dibdib Katawa’y kinaldagan Binasahan

Pero sino ang basura Kung hindi ang naka asul Sa kadiliman ang kabuhayan Gatilyo’y kinamot, walang binayaran Tanda ko pa, “Apo ni Bonifacio!”

Sigaw ng iyong dibdib Tansong Mariah ang nakakita May basbas ng langit ang iyong mga salita “Sa huli ang singilan, sa una’y digmaan” Batid ng aking isipan Para sa nagdududa Noon pa nagsimula ang gera Hindi ito ligaw na bala

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A Good Deed Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Self-obsessed in hyper self-fixations Your words drip off flowery emotions One petal then the next and another Smoothing out edges, you make it softer But purple is the color of bruises Punch-drunk and tender with dying muses Saccharine, you write rhythmic and prosaic Prozac-dependant, a daedal mosaic We trust no one with the likeness of you Gone with your fictions, you are what we rue Be banished to be a lone pariah Muzzle you more for you’re no Messiah Sail you away in the crest of a gust To No Man’s Sky, deprived of light and trust

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Cri de Coeur Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Under impunity, there is an invisible hand that guides the man who has his finger on the trigger. Eyes on the target, it whispers. No one is safe when said man fears no one, not even the law.

His vision is impaired by a state that favors their actions, that cleanses their tracks. One wrong step and his eyes turn red, angry like the heavy iron on their hips. Volatile at best, mercenaries at worst. The system churns out monsters like him, vomiting them out to fester into the veins of the city. To cause havoc and blame it on the innocent. To blame it on the sleeping slums just trying to make a living.

He crawls like a parasite in the night, combing through not just in our urban homes but also in our deep, fruitful, rural lands. Masked with false judgement, he crusades in doublespeak and tortures the innocent to save face. His actions are riddled with belligerence and might.

Does he not feel the pyre that burns within the people’s angry hearts? They are tired of being torched at the stake. Their indignant voices will overcome your loud sirens. Be afraid.

It is high time justice rises above the violence they inflict, to remind them why they wear their uniforms and don their badges —to serve and protect the neglected, not the thieves.

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You Gave the Okra Plant to the Snails Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Your tongue will not diversify Grow up, young lady. The taste of slime and seeds Will not ruin you. I say it will help you go stronger Always the wiser, you presume Maybe because I like the way it tastes in my sour soup Are you going to let it die completely?

Your land is fertile, lady Why challenge God and spit on his face?

Solitude in lieu of responsibility You accepted to give it to the snails so they May feast on your foliage I have never seen such bravery Wilting leaves with gaping holes Your unperturbed face intrigues me

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Dare I Say

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Dare I say we laugh at your mere breathing. We belittle you and your bravado, your utmost cowardice. Behind the television screen, what are you? A lone, hollow walnut of a man. Enough to feed the undead.

I wish we could. The living does not want to bear you any longer. The moment you open your mouth, a dump truck appears right on-site to collect the garbage you spew. Trash after trash, you spit maggot-filled lies you accept without question. The ever so loyal rotten corpse’s bitch.

Those who walk their humble lives were left to starve and those who were none the wiser were left for dead. You bear no compassion beneath that thick, crocodile skin. Always hiding underneath your master’s gold leash for protection against the voices that could eat you whole. How dare you stand before a dying nation utter the words, “congratulations”?

As if the amount of people suffering and lives lost were a worthy cause for celebration. Probably for you, so you may have an excuse to dance around with dolphins. No glorified coffee nor artificially dyed bread can fix the wound you keep screwing open. You with your masters’ grimy liquids infecting it loose and wide. While we are the ones who are left scrubbing off last night’s mess.

You dare condense this downfall to a mere vacation as if we were fully packed and ready, like we were looking forward to this. As if we screeched in excitement while each passing day eats us whole. As if we asked for the heedlessness and incompetence of your so-called “service”.

As if it was us who craved such chaos in the first place.

So I dare you, as my dirty words mimic your crude sense of being.

I dare you, a snake with split tongues spitting poison, to step off your marble floors and meet the people. Grace us with your presence, and with no holds barred, we will feast on your rotten flesh.

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Dinner Recipe: Sinigang na Baboy Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Ingredients: 1 liter of water (or rice water) ½ kg Pork belly 1 Red onion 1 Taro 2 Tomatoes 1 Okra 2 Kamias 2 Siling haba 1 bundle of Kangkong 1 bundle of Sitaw 1 tbsp of fish sauce 1 pack of Sampalok mix of your choice

Cut the pork belly and taro into chunks, like the way they did to your body just because you took a wrong turn in a dark alleyway. Make another victim of a brutal murder, the way the world seems to have done with you. Julienne your onions, but watch your eyes or you might salt the broth even before extracting the flavor from your ingredients. No one wants a salty dish. No one wants to taste your selfishness.

In a pot, prepare your sliced ingredients and drown them in lukewarm water. Add salt for taste if you think your tears weren’t enough.

Boil it with anger for five minutes.

Then, add the lone okra because you hate the way it tastes. The slime sticks to your throat so hope that the heat kills it. Next, add in the chopped tomatoes for color. Simmer it down to medium and watch the seeds float above with the gunk from the pork. Try skimming them off the way you tried to skim your own impurities through ice-cold showers. You failed. Just mix it in then. Justify that it’ll only add to the umami of your soup. Pray no one will notice how lazy you are.

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Add the chopped kamias because you think things will get better after this. Hopefully it controls the way your blood is curdling from the once struck nightmare you endured. Pour in the whole pack of the sampalok mix. No speck left behind. Hope the piercing sourness shrouds their faces off from memory.

Leave it to boil for eight minutes. That’s how long it lasted. Don’t forget to keep an eye on it so it won’t boil over… or escape.

Add the two siling haba for heat because you never do it without it.

The one time you did, you screamed to yourself it was only happenstance.

A reckless mistake that kept you inside for two months.

Next, surely you’ve broken the sitaw by now for easy eating, along with the kangkong leaves. Put them on top of the mess, disguise yourself with green to seem desirable again.

Pour in the fish sauce for good measure, then leave it to cook for a minute or two.

Try forgetting it.

Once the greens are wilted to shreds and the pork is falling apart, taste the soup and make sure it’s sour enough to consume you from the outside in. Make sure it packs heat that it oozes from your pores. Taste if it’s salty like the dead sea waters that flowed through your forehead and down to your mouth.

Pour your dish in your finest bowl of your liking and enjoy.

Best served scalding hot.

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To Not Being Maria Victoria Busine

What is it like? to not be anymore Is it like eternal sleep?

Is it like resting in peace?

What is it like? to be without breath, to have a heart that stopped beating, to be without living What is it like? to suddenly not be One moment you are here, And the next moment you are not What is it like? to lay lifeless underground, or to be burned to ashes, where everything you once were becomes a memory

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To Whom it May Concern Lean Jane Pantorilla

To: leanpantorilla@gmail.com From: leanpantorilla@gmail.com Re: Pandemic Concerns To whom it may concern:

First and foremost, I hope this message finds you well. I’m most certainly not. The past few months have been grueling, if not almost cruel, especially for us who can barely make ends meet before given the context of the pandemic. I imagine much has taken place during my absence a lot has certainly happened on my end, and no amount of excuses could make up for my lack of correspondence not that you’d give a fuck anyway.

Still, I write to you in good faith, hoping you would grow a heart and a conscience that whatever force compelled you to open this letter… will be the same force to have you read until the end.

I don’t even understand why I feel the need to explain this, when work and university are the least of my worries right now. My family is struggling, my mind is in shambles, and my health has gotten worse throughout the course of the pandemic. Honestly, my body would very much like to kill itself right now, with how bad I’m treating it. I wish I had a detailed report of every struggle I faced along the way, a financial statement to prove how bankrupt I am, and a medical certificate to justify why I can’t seem to get my shit mind together whenever I am needed.

There’s no paperwork for grief, loss, anxiety, or breakdowns.

After all, we don’t get paid nor do we graduate for being human.

But rest assured, I don’t ask you to understand my situation. All I know is that you’re probably struggling too, in ways I can’t also hope to understand. This probably won’t be the first letter to find itself lodged in your mail, nor will it be the last. For both of our sakes, I hope it’s the latter.

I can’t apologize for doing what’s best for me, nor can I promise

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to get back on my feet within a certain time. I can’t even tell whether I can survive. All I ask is that when you read this letter, I hope it reminds you that many of us are struggling—those of us who live in places that privilege cannot reach, and in the farthest corners where blessed people cannot see. On the other side of this screen, it’s taken all I have to simply put words on paper.

The reality cannot even compare to that.

I am only one among the many, but when you finally cross my name off the roster, I hope you remember that it took a pandemic to get me off the list. It took the whole world falling apart for me to quit, and even then, it hadn’t been my choice: it was the world who made the choice for me.

So to whom it may concern, if you still have any of those left, may you never run out of it before this whole crisis blows over. You will need it, and so will others. These trying times will change you, as it changed me. Whether it changes you for better or worse… I hope it’s the former.

Until then, I hope you would never have to write a letter such as this for yourself.

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flash fiction

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Kandila

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Makapal ang balot ng gabi sa ating mga katawan. Nagpakalunod tayong dalawa, parang isang sakramento. Malalim. Malamig ang simoy ng hangin sa ating munting espasyo. Ako’y nanigas, nanginig sa tabi. Halos yakapin ko na ang sarili upang hindi matamoy ng sumisigaw na ihip.

Nandito ka ba talaga?

Narinig ko ang kiskis ng posporo. Nagsilbing istorbo ito sa tahimik na kasalukuyan.

Bigla-bigla namang nabuhayan ang aking sarili. Nakakabulag na ilaw! Ang apoy ng kandila’y sumasayaw na para bang matalik silang magkaibigan ng hangin. Nakita ko ang matalim mong mga ngiti. May diin at may lalim. Ang mga mata mo naman, malagkit ang mga tingin at naglalakihan ang inla. Hindi ko mabatid, pero ang sarap ng init na ibinibigay ng apoy ngayon. Sa aking gabing pagtanda, kasama kita at itong nag-aalab na sinulid ng maliit at makulay na siryo. Nakatusok sa matamis na mamon na nabili natin papunta sa ating taguan. Sa gabing ito, ako’y sigurado na...

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“‘Lika, ihipan mo na ang kandila.”

Elena Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

Jane looked at the ceiling, thinking about how hot it was inside her room. At this point, two weeks had already passed since the government implemented the lockdown. People could only go out to buy groceries and receive packages, and gone were the days spent rifling through busy streets and congested roads. Work was suspended, and Jane’s equipment at the office was sent to her, enabling her to work from home. It had been a week since she settled into her makeshift office, which also meant one week of being toasted in the heat.

She went toward the fan that stood on the side of her room, and rotated the dial to the highest setting. She felt relief as the cold air blew on her face. It was probably a bad idea, but she had been thinking about making herself some coffee that was trending on TikTok for a while now.

She put two scoops of instant coffee in her mug and began to stir.

“You know that’s bad for you. You’re acidic,” a voice told her.

Jane smirked at the tone and answered, “Come on, Elena, it’s not like I’m gonna die drinking one cup of it.”

Elena laughed.

“You say that now, you’re gonna be cursing yourself later,” the girl replied.

She ignored Elena’s pleas and went back to mixing her coffee. She called Elena last Wednesday because she could not bear to be lonely. Her thoughts had been intrusive, especially with bad news coming in from all over. She knew it would be easier for the sadness to creep in.

Elena had been keeping her company ever since, talking to her, stroking her hair and eating together—just like how old friends used to be.

When she’s working, Elena would just sit beside her and read a book, or hold her hand whenever she reached out to her. They became inseparable.

The small room apartment was never too crowded for the both of them,

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and for the first time since the world halted, Jane’s had actually started moving again. ***

It had been three months ever since Elena left. She was no longer on the couch where she used to sit whenever she was reading, or in front of the fan where she always positioned herself, or the kitchen where she used to cook for Jane her favorite food. It happened when Jane went out with a friend and simply didn’t find her when she came home. There was no note indicating where Elena went, or when she would come back. That was fine

by Jane, after all, by that time could now call her other friends to hang out with, and they did. They smuggled liquor and allowed themselves to drink their stress away.

However, the surge happened and the lockdown was imposed once more, leaving Jane alone with her thoughts again. She remembered Elena, and wondered if they could simply go back to the old days, when the lockdown had started. But even after calling Elena several times, for some reason, she wouldn’t come. Jane tried to convince herself that it was expected: after all, Elena may be dealing with problems of her own.

She’ll come around eventually, Jane thought. This marked the beginning of another farce: by constantly doing her work and learning new hobbies, Jane kept the growing sadness at bay, pushing it in a small corner of her mind. It kept pestering for a while until it finally won her over, sending her to the depths and making her incapacitated as the days went by.

She never called on for help. She stopped calling for Elena too, knowing she wouldn’t come anyways.

One night in September, Jane got retrenched. It seemed inevitable in the face of a pandemic, but still, Jane could not believe it. Refused to believe it, rather. She tried looking for another job, and tried to be positive while doing other things to get it off her mind. But as the bills suddenly piled up, so did the mounting pressure. No reason to continue. It had to happen that night, she was tired of being lonely and broke. The numbness was gone and she could feel everything as if it was begging to be felt. Jane went to her night stand and took a handful of her sleeping pills and laid peacefully.

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That was a month ago.

She couldn’t remember anything from that point on save from the fact Elena was there. In her most desperate time, she had actually gone back and forced Jane to vomit all the pills that she took. Elena kept an eye on her throughout the night and apologized for not coming back soon enough. She cleaned the mess and called the ambulance as Jane slipped in and out of consciousness. When the ambulance arrived, Elena had gracefully moved to the side of the room to give way for the medics. Jane could vaguely recall doctors asking her to stay awake, and Elena blending in with the background. She reached out an arm to touch her, hoping for Elena to reach back like they used to.

Instead, Elena had only smiled at Jane from afar, right before the ambulance whisked her away.

When Jane woke up at the hospital, she asked the nurses if Elena had come for her. They told her that only her family did. When her brother visited her, she asked him to call Elena but her brother told her that she had no contact named Elena.

“You might be having delusions,” her brother said. ***

After a year, most countries including hers have already been recovering from the pandemic. There were no traces of the girl who saved her as she came back home. No clothes, books or anything that Elena used or touched.

There was nothing.

Maybe it was her imagination, but where Elena had left no evidence of her existence—not a crease in her bed or in the pages she left unread, her mark had stayed with Jane with every breath that she took. A bittersweet reminder of that dreadful night.

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Da Capo

Juliana Patricia Octavio

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I found myself in a woeful position. The room was pitch black, except for a tiny crack on the wall where the street lights peeked in. Its utter silence allowed malevolent whispers to torment me, leaving me no choice but to stand there and take it. They were no longer glorious as they once were, I thought as I stared into the trembling hands bracing my knees. The gaps between my thighs were narrow, but the space felt endless—as if I was falling over the Seven Hells.

Before I descended any further into madness, I collected myself and tiptoed out of the room. The space I ended up in felt familiar and foreign at the same time. It looked like a small greenhouse. Its ceiling was transparent, the path draped in soft covers of moonlight. At the edge of it stood a big harp, illuminated with a soft light as though it refused to be touched by the night. I propped myself up the wooden stool beside it and ran my fingertips the thin strings in back and forth motions. Then, as if they had a mind of their own, the plucking started to form a steady rhythm, trapping me under.

I could still hear the music, but the darkness faded away as the awfully familiar scene unfolded right in front of me: the cityscape lit up like stars as cars sped into the evening rush hour. Pedestrians packed the corner of the street where the restaurants were. Suddenly, a woman came out from a black sedan that parked just right by, wearing a long-sleeved polo and a pencil skirt with bright-colored pumps to match. It was an ensemble I vividly remember. She waved at the girl who just came out of a Japanese food place and walked toward her.

“You didn’t think I’d forget the take out, did you, Mom?” the girl who just came from the store beamed, raising the small paper bag she was holding. In turn, the woman ruffled her hair in approval and assisted her to the backseat. Clueless about what’s to come, they smiled as if all was right in the world, especially the girl. And for that, even though we look nothing alike, I knew that girl had to be me.

In a blink of an eye, a force thrusted me inside the car beside my then-self. I waved a hand in front of her, but she didn’t seem to respond.

My hands passed through her shoulder when I attempted to tap it. Fading in, the harp changed its echoing tune and it transitioned into something ominous. I wanted to stop the music, to stop time. Yet my heart could

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only sink to the floor as my Mom pulled the handbrake down and slowly drove the car towards the highway. These people were clueless, but aware as I was, I hastily gripped the edge of my seat and leaned on the back of the passenger seat. There was no time for prayers, or last minute bargains to any entity with the power to intervene. Minutes later, the car jolted from a huge impact.The shaking vehicle swung back and forth, and I caught a glimpse of the yellow truck that hit us just in time before it exploded into flames.

Everything stopped. The motions, the harp, the city’s sounds, everything—until all that remained was an obnoxious ringing noise piercing my ears. I tried to scope my surroundings despite my throbbing head, only to find myself unable to make out anything sensible. The rubbles and dented parts of the car separated us, but I could see enough of Mom from where I was. In that moment, she was all that mattered.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” she asked weakly, followed by a violent cough. I let out a grunt in return. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be—” She dropped her head down and winced in pain. As her voice faded along with the white noise in my ears, I forced myself to raise an arm to reach out to her, but they barely moved an inch. They were ashen and extremely sore, and the smell of fire looming around didn’t help either. My eyes felt heavier and it was getting more difficult to stay awake as I waited for the sirens to blare at a distance.

Waiting felt like forever, and it was nothing like impatiently yearning to finish a recital with my harp. In what seemed like hours later, the first aid responders finally arrived at the scene. They pulled me as carefully as they could away from the vehicle and laid me on a stretcher gingerly. I was vaguely aware of the crowd of onlookers that circled the crash site, mumbling to each other with pitiful looks. They didn’t matter; getting out of that car felt like flying, and I was gasping for air desperately. But my relief came to a stop when I realized who I was missing.

“Mo...ther…” I whispered to one of the medics. He didn’t say anything, but he slightly nudged his head to the direction of the scene. I looked back, and to my horror, a stretcher covered by white fabric was

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also being carried away. The last thing I could remember was another bout of pain stabbing through my heart, as though I was hit by a truck all over again. Tears ran down my cheek right before I closed my eyes.

I woke up once more and found myself in a woeful position.

Only this time, the room was blindingly bright, the curtains flew with a breeze. My fingers continued to roam around the strings, unable to find relief even as I approached the end of the piece. I already knew what came next even without looking at the music sheet.

Upon hitting the last note, my fingers have resumed their starting position: D.C. Again, the torturous instrument whispered. From the beginning.

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Makakalabas na ‘Uli Josua Marquez Soralbo

Alas-singko ng umaga. Lunes. Bagong ligo, nanunuklay pa at ganadong pababa si Hernan mula sa ikalawang palapag ng kanilang bungalow na bahay sa maliit na eskinita sa may Blumentritt.

“Sioni, naplantsa mo na ba yung polo kong kulay asul?” masayang pagtatanong ng padre de pamilya sa kanyang asawa.

“Halos dal’wang buwan din kaming di nakalabas nila pareng Vergel ano, Sioni? Nakakamiss din palang makalanghap ng itim na usok,” pandagdag pang sabi ni Hernan habang nagtitimpla ng kape. Sabay tawa na parang si Santa Klaus.

“Hindi ga delikado yang labas nyo Hernan. Ah-ah! Ehhh. ECQ pa eh. Ayaw nyong magsipirme dine. Kating kati mga palad n’yong kumambyo aba,” nangangambang sagot ni Sioni habang sige naman sa paghagod ng polong asul ni Hernan.

Napahinto sa paghigop si Hernan sa mainit nyang kape. “Hindi naman kasi sakto ang bigay ng munisipyo. Anim tayo dito sa bahay. Hindi natin alam kung kelan pa ulit ang ayuda o kung meron pa ba. Pa’no naman tayo mabubuhay kundi kami magbabakasaling lumabas.”

“Ay sya sya! Hindi ako mananalo sayo. Basta mag-ingat lang kayo. Baka kayo mabagansya sa tigas ng ulo n’yo,” sagot ni Sioni.

Sinuot na ni Hernan ang mainit init pang polong kulay asul.

Humarap muli sa salamin na parang batang pupunta sa graduation ceremony.

“O, nakalimutan mo ata ‘tong goodmorning towel mo. Halika nga rito nang mailagay d’yan sa leeg mo. Parine ka dali,” pang-e-engganyo ni Sioni sa kanyang mister.

“Ay ka-gwapo naman talaga nire oh. Pahalik nga! Mamaya eh

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amoy araw at usok ka nanaman,” dagdag pa ni Sioni habang nakalingkis kay Hernan.

“Ikaw naman. Kahit amoy araw at usok ako hindi ka naman nakakatanggi sa’kin. Kaya nga tayo nakagawa ng anim ey,” pabirong palambing ni Hernan.

Tok! Tok! Tok! “Pareng Hernan, tara na! Baka maunahan pa tayo sa pwesto.”

Dali-daling kumilos si Hernan nang marinig ang pagtawag ng kaniyang pareng Vergel, “Ohh siya mauuna na kame Sioni. Pagmagandaganda ang kita eh mag-uuwi ako ng masarap na ulam. Tulog na tulog pa ang mga bata. Sabihin mo na lang sa kanila.”

Binigyan pa ni Sioni ng matamis na pabaong halik ang asawa.

Sabay itinuro ang susi sa lamesa.

“Hindi yan ang gagamitin namin ngayon, tabo muna hanggat bawal pang mamasada,” sagot ni Hernan sa senyas ng asawa.

Sabay silang naglakad ng kaniyang pareng Vergel patungo sa mga kalye na dati nilang iniikutan subalit hindi upang mamasada kundi para paglimusan.

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Garapon

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Kakaiba ang kanyang alingawngaw. Hindi ko mawari sa kanyang kaliitan na ganoon ba naman ang kanyang sigaw! Pinilit kong harangan ng unan ang kanyang mga iyak, ngunit pinilit din nitong pasukin ang mga hiblang bumubuo sa aking punda.

Unga nang unga, bumabaon sa aking mga tenga ang ingay na nanggagaling sa maliit na garapon sa ilalim ng aking higaan. Kasama niya ang mga napag-iwanang laruan at masisikip na damit, mga bagay na nais ko nang kalimutan.

“Pwede ba!” isinigaw ko sa nagbabalot na kadiliman sa aking silid. “Tama na!”

Kakapirasong balat lang siya at wala pang bunganga pero sobra ang kanyang hagulgol. Dapat nga’y ako ang nagkakandarapa sa pag-iyak ngayon, ngunit ang mga mata ko’y tila namumuti na sa galit. Sa aking labinlimang taon na pagkabuhay, ngayon lang ako nakarinig ng ganitong klaseng tunog. Naghahalong takot at pagsisi ang aking naramdaman.

Nagpatuloy pa rin ang nagmamakaawang iyak niya, ngunit ako ay pagod na sa pagtitimpi. Tinanggap ko na lang ang kanyang mga sigaw, binitawan ko na rin ang naghihigpitang dakma ko sa unan. Nilunod ko ang aking sarili sa kanyang mga hagulgol. Siguro, ito na ang aking kabayaran sa aking pagkakasala. Ngunit, kasalanan ba kung gusto ko na lang mawala ang problema? At iyon ang pinakaepektibong solusyon para sa katulad ko? Kasalanan bang ako ang nagdala kaya ako rin ang kailangang maghila palabas? Kesyo ako ang laman, ako rin ay may karapatang mabuhay ng matiwasay at walang inaalala.

Ipinatong ko ang aking mga nagbibigatang kamay sa aking tila hungkag at patag na tiyan.

Hindi ko pa kasi kaya…

Ako’y nanatili na lang sa kama at inihalo ang sariling pag-iyak sa lumalamon na kaingayan.

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Solidago

Juliana Patricia Octavio

Sa kabila ng mga magagandang bulaklak at simoy ng hangin, pinakatumatak sa aking isipan ang pundidong ilaw sa bahay ni Tatang.

Minsan na siyang tumayo sa ilalim nito at nagmukhang santong iniilawan ng Maykapal, ngunit ang walang buhay niyang katawan na lamang ang aking naabutan sa aking sumunod na pagbisita. Kasing bilis ng kanyang pagkawala ang kanyang lamay dahil agad siyang inilibing matapos ang tatlong araw. Hanggang ngayon, hindi pa rin ako makapaniwalang wala na siya. Maliban sa mga bulaklak na ibinigay ng mga hindi kakilala, wala nang laman ang bahay na dati ay punong-puno ng ilaw at buhay.

Natakpan na rin ng kanilang samyo ang natitirang amoy aparador na aking kinagisnan.

Bumunot ako ng isang pirasong bulaklak mula sa palumpon at isaisang pinagtatanggal ang mga talulot.

“Aalis, hindi. Aalis, hindi,” pakanta kong pinaulit-ulit hanggang sa isa na lang ang natira. Napatigil ako at napasimangot. Bigla akong napatayo.

“Hijo, saan ka pupunta? Padating na ang sasakyan mo,” wika ng boses ng isang babae. Hindi ko na mawari kung si Inay ba iyon o ibang tao at dali-daling umalis papalayo ng bahay. Hindi ko na rin napigilan ang tulo ng luha ko, sapagkat bumabaha ng mga alaala sa aking isipan.

Naninikip ang puso ko sa bawat hakbang sa mga kanto kung saan minsan kaming naghabulan ni Tatang hanggang sa mapagod at maligo ng pawis.

Mas lalo akong napahikbi nang aking maalala na sa kabila ng iniindang pananakit sa bawat bahagi ng katawan, pilit niyang sinabayan ang malakas at maliksing batang ‘gaya ko. Mas mainam kung umalis na lang ako, sabi ko sa sarili. Pero bakit tila may salikmatang posas na nagtatali sa akin sa lugar na ito at hindi ko magawang lisanin?

Tulala akong nagtungo sa bukid. Ninais ko ng katahimikan para makapagmuni-muni, ngunit natagpuan ko ang sarili ko sa gitna ng plaza, kung saan puno ng tao at napaka-ingay. Hindi hamak na rinig na rinig ang mga matatandang kababaihan na nag-zumba sa lakas ng kanilang paghiyaw.

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Patuloy ang daloy ng mga taong naglalakad sa kalye, at ang ilan sa kanila ay mapagpasensyang naghihintay sa senyales ng mga nagmamaneho ng traysikel. Sa kabila ng maingay na busina at mainit na pagtirik ng araw, kuntento kong nilanghap ang sariwang hangin at tumingala para lasapin ang pakiramdam na natatangi sa baryo. Sa aking pagtungo ng ulo, napukaw ng dalawang mag-ama ang aking mata. Nanlaki ang inosenteng mata ng bata habang pinapanood ang magtatahong nilalagyan ng arnibal ang baso, at ang tatay niya’y napangiti sa kanya reaksyon. Hindi ko maiwasang tahimik na tumawa sa aking sarili. Ganyan na ganyan din kami noon ni Tatang, sambit ko sa aking isipan. Madalas kaming tumitigil pauwi noong elementarya pa lamang ako para abangan ang magtataho, habang hawak niya ang aking kamay sa takot na baka ako ay mapahamak o madakot, subalit gusto kong isipin na ninais niya rin sulitin ang bawat oras namin na magkasama.

Tuloy-tuloy kong inalala ang pinagsamahan namin sa bawat bagay na napansin ko sa mga naglalakbay. Kinalaunan, nakarating na rin ako sa malawak na bukid kung saan kami huling nag-usap.

“Salamat at nakarating din,” sambit ko habang hinahabol ang hininga. Aking naabutan ang dilaw na langit na tinatakpan ng mga ulap.

Hindi na mahapdi ang sikat ng araw, at naging mapayapa at mala-ginto ang himpapawid. Tahimik ang lugar at tanging mga huni ng ibon lamang ang maririnig. Muntik ko nang malimutan kung gaano kaganda ang takipsilim sa probinsya. Kaliwa’t kanan akong lumingon para tignan kung may taong makakakita sa akin, ngunit ang kalabaw na nakatali sa malayo lang ang nakita ko.

“Tatang! Nakikita mo po ba ‘to? Ang ganda, ‘di po ba?” sigaw ko habang nakatingala sa langit. “Tara! Sabay po ulit tayong manood.” Bigla na lang nanginig ang aking boses at katawan.

Subalit walang tumugon sa akin kundi ang simoy ng hangin.

Doon ko lamang naramdaman na magdamag, tanging sarili ko lamang ang kasama ko. Sa pagnanais kong makapiling si Tatang muli, may bahagi sa aking iniisip na kasama ko pa rin siya habang nagbabalik-tanaw. Siguro umasa ako na kahit saglit man lamang ay kaya siyang ibalik ng Itaas, kahit isang saglit lamang. Napaupo ako sa damuhan panlulumo, kung saan may naramdaman akong mga maliliit na bilog sa aking palad. Inalis ko ang aking kamay, at doon tumubo ang paboritong bulaklak ni lolo: ang mga tatanduk.

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Muli mang tumulo ang aking luha, hindi pa rin napigilan ng mga labi kong mapangiti. Padalos-dalos kong pinunasan ang aking mukha gamit ang braso at tsaka muling pinagmasdan ang paggalaw ng mga ulap.

Binalot ako ng mga alaala mula sa aking pagkabata, kung saan ilang beses kami naupo sa pwestong ito at pinaglaruan ang mga tatanduk kasama si Tatang. Sa munting paraan, kahit mag-isa lamang ako sa yakap ng mga bulaklak, pakiramdam ko ay kasama ko siya.

Lumipas ang ilang sandali nang biglang may tumawag sa akin mula sa likod, “Hoy! Kanina pa kita hinahanap. Sa sobrang tagal mo dinala ko na yung sasakyan papunta sayo, ” sabi ng pinsan kong si Caloy na nagmamaneho. “Uuwi ka ba o ano? Ibabalik ko na sa bahay mga gamit mo kung—”

“Hindi, hindi! Tutuloy ako,” tugon ko sa kanya. Saka ko lang napagtantong hindi ko na pala namalayan ang oras, at nakalimutan kong luluwas ako ngayon. Gusto ko mang manatili pa sa baryo, subalit kailangan na ako sa Maynila. Sumakay ako sa harap ng kotse, at umandar na ang sasakyan palayo sa palayan. Lumingon ako at sa wakas, ngumiti.

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“Hanggang sa muli, Tatang.”

The Witness Jacinth Banite

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“She’s starting to smell,” said the man who stood above the pit the two other guys were digging. I could hear his breath tremble from where I stood, and it had nothing to do with exertion. His hands shivered uncontrollably while he scanned for any other presence around the vast meadow. How unfortunate that a pair of vigorous eyes were sightless on my bravery as I bear witness to his fear, glaring under the blinding moonlight.

While he showered in his own sweat and gruel over his bloodstained hands, I believed his fear was not from standing in the middle of nowhere, effacing the patent stamps that prove his sin. He was fearful that the night might betray him and the morning would tell the whole world what they had done to that woman’s body lying beside him, whose legs were spread apart, wearing nothing but her own battered skin.

As the night got deeper like the hole they were digging, the other gentlemen threw their shovels on the side of the narrow ditch, panting as they climbed up from the edge. Their faces were covered with dirt and their exhales were as heavy as the daunting atmosphere. I could not see their features very clearly, but the shimmer of blood from the fresh cut on the other guy’s left cheek was distinct enough—probably the only trace of power the victim had over these hustling gentlemen.

“Quick! Toss her inside!” demanded the man who was then kneeling down while the soil he was intensely gripping had long given out and slipped from between his fingers. I felt his patient wane into a mere desperation, yearning to bury his guilt and virtue along with the body they plunged inside the hole. The two men were quick to obey his order and carried the body from her arms to feet, tossing her in the hole in a way that is similar to throwing garbage. While the commanding man was using his bare hands, the other two immediately grabbed the shovels and started dumping the soil back into the pit. My lips formed a smirk as I watched them pray for the ground to gobble up the remaining evidence.

The entire night was filled with misdeeds straggled in the mud between fingers and nails, in the arcane scratches on skin, and in the reeking smell of upturned earth mixed with stains of blood and sin. The sound of their footsteps as they all ran away from the grave echoed as they faded from my vision. They all thought it was that easy. I walked toward the clearing, staring at the makeshift grave. Its ragged edges can be easily discerned just by looking at it. I tried kneeling down with my ears moving closer to it, hoping to hear her heartbeat. Her scream. With

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my eyes closed, I waited for those signs of life while trying to embrace the ground until the sun launched back to the sky.

Silence welcomed me as I opened my eyes. I can smell the earth with my face almost buried in the soil. As the morning chased out the lingering shadows of the night, I thought about running outside the meadow to plead for help—the same thing the girl below probably did before she took her last breath. Yet, my feet seemed stuck on the crypt and I could not leave. My steps could not move any further. A huge part of me was scared that if I started walking away, I would lose her spot in this field of nowhere, and no one would be able to find her body. So I waited until darkness roared again throughout the desolate field.

The next day was nothing different—the same emptiness, the same silence—and the body was still yet to be found. It was probably around late afternoon that’s when I started tracing random shapes on the dirt.

Each was an epitome of everything taken from the person lying six-feet under: circles, stars, and hearts, wishing that despite having no tombstone, these will mark where her unrested soul is lying.

The sun and moon might be starting to get tired of my stagnant figure as they come and go with the clouds and stars, probably wishing every time they appear, someone has already found me and the body has already been recovered. At least on that part, I was not alone. But just like them, I was beginning to get tired of waiting, seeing every mark of the grave slowly fading every day. Grasses started to sprout around its corners, maggots began seeping through the dirt, racing their way to feast from her rotten corpse. The scent of flesh decaying underground permeated the air—a pungent smell combined with a tinge of sickening sweetness.

By how fast time flew, my unceasing perhaps had become more real. Edges and shapes I drew began to fade in the moist of loam, along with the body, decomposing into mere skeletons. Helpless, I was the only one who got to witness it all.

I lost count of the days. Tracking the hours, along with their similar and mundane phases, was indeed an extreme demand for a loner. Yet, among those indifferent exchanges of mornings and nights, one particular day stood out. Murmuring voices from a distance woke me, instead of the daylight’s soft whispers. I immediately hid behind the same spot during the first night as I heard footsteps of two men walking near me.

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Two men in police uniforms were taking slow strides toward the grave, guided by a sniffing dog that seemed to have traced the smell of the buried, stifling secret.

Finally! I thought, as hope slowly revived my heart. It wouldn’t be much later until her body was found, recovered like pillaged loot. A dog came into view, walking faster as it was getting near to what it’s probably looking for, apprehensively dragging the two officers toward the grave. It stopped at the very spot where the body was buried, sniffing around, then barking, telling the officers something was buried there.

“He found something,” said the other officer.

“Of course he did.” The man who held the dog rolled his eyes.

He knelt down to check the ground the dog had been sniffing.

Then, he saw it! He caught the fading edges of the pit and started tracing it with his fingers. Then, he stood up and erased the mark with his right foot.

The other guy checked into their other colleagues from a distance, as they all looked for possible grave marks. Based on his gestures, I discerned that he was making sure they were not looking. That no one was looking. As he turned his head toward them, I saw a bland scar on his left cheek.

“No!” I screamed as desperation squeezed my soul.

“Found something?” shouted another man from the other group.

“Nah, there’s nothing here!” the guy shouted back, yanking the dog by its leash. It started barking toward me as it was dragged away from the grave, almost like a plea. The man looked in my direction, and our gazes met.

“Come on, Boy! There’s nothing there!” He continued pulling the dog away, who kept on resisting as if its life depended on it. Its gaze was filled with apologies for being the only one who could see the naked ghost of a broken, missing, and murdered young girl.

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Pahayag Jacinth Banite

Sa ‘yo na nagbabasa nito, Kumusta ka? Sana’y maaliwalas ang iyong umaga, at hindi kasing kulimlim ng aking paggising. Sana’y ikaw ay mahimbing sa gabi, at hindi nababalot ng takot at pangamba gaya ng aking maghapon. Sana’y ‘di tulad kong nabibingi sa umaalingawngaw na mga putok ng baril, ikaw ay malayang nakikinig sa musikang iyong tipo.

Ipagpaumanhin mo kung hindi ko na magagawang masilayan ka.

Hindi ko batid ang wastong bilang, ngunit alam kong ilang oras na lang ang natitira bago tugisin ng mga armadong tulisan ang aming kuta. Bago iyon, naisip kong pudpurin ang natitirang tasá ng aking lapis at hayaan ang aking nagsusumamong puso ang magsulat sa madumi at pinirapirasong papel. Sana’y maging sapat ang mga salitang aking isusulat upang iyong maunawaan ang nais kong ipahayag. Hindi ko batid ang sukat ng pagitan nating dalawa, ngunit umaasa akong sa kabila ng mga ligaw na bala, mga nakapangkat na nakikibaka, at mga tangkeng nakaharang sa kalsada, hahanap ng paraan ang tadhana upang makarating ang liham na ito sa iyong mga palad. Nawa’y sa puntong iyon, angkin na ng paligid ang kapayapaang patuloy na ipinagkakait sa kanya ng kasalukuyan.

Kung pwede lang sana, nais kong ipakilala sa ‘yo ang aking mga kasama na tulad ko’y nakaabang din sa tunay na paglaya. Nagsisiksikan sa loob ng mabanas na kwarto, hawak ang pluma na akala ng ilan ay kutsilyo at tinatarak ang mga letra sa pahina ng manuskrito; sa kabila ng aming pagkakabaon sa sariling lupa, ang mga dyaryo ay pilit naming pinangingibabaw. Ngunit, sa puntong ito’y madampi sa naginingas na mga kamay, mga abo na lamang itong masisilayan nilang mga dapat makabasa.

Dati kaming labinlima, ngunit nang lumabas ang walo sa amin upang subukang ilathala ang katotohanan sa likod ng mga propaganda, maski anino nila’y hindi na namin muling nasilayan.

Pasensya na kung ika’y nababagot sa aking mga panaghoy. Kung sana’y mamarapatin ng kapalaran, nais ko ring malaman ang kalagayan mo. Habang ito ay iyong binabasa, ikaw ba ay payapa? Malaya nang ibinabahagi ang isip at pananaw? O marahil, ika’y tahimik na nakaupo sa loob ng sariling kweba, makulay, at komportableng nakapikit sa

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lahat? Kung gayon, nagagalak ako, ngunit huwag sana ang pinili mong mundo ang maging dahilan upang iyong makalimutan ang lupit ng aming kasalukuyan. At kung aking malalaman na ika’y tulad kong nagkukubli at patuloy na nakikibaka laban sa halimaw ng lipunan, batid ko ang katapangan mo. Gayunpaman, kay lungkot isipin na hanggang sa iyong kasalukuyan ay umiiral ang mapagpanggap na katapatan sa bayan.

Kung ikaw ay ang una, iisa lamang ang aking kahilingan: huwag mo sanang piliin ang pagsunod kasabay ng pagtikom ng bibig sa kabila ng matatayog na bakod sa paligid mo. Huwag mag-atubiling luksuhan ito sa oras na sumigaw ng tulong ang masa. At kung ikaw naman ang pangalawa, huwag sanang mamutawi ang iyong pagyuko sa umaaliping sistema, nawa’y magpatuloy sa pagtarak ng katotohanan at ipaglaban ang api sa ano mang paraan na alam mo.

Kung kanino mang mga kamay ito mapadpad, gusot man o unat ang mga balat, iyong isipin na mas pipiliin kong maglaho ang aking pangalan sa iyong isipan, ngunit hindi ang diwa ng alin mang ipinaglaban ng oposisyong armas ay tanging tinta at mga salita.

Mahaba pa ang tasá ng aking lapis, ngunit ang oras ay napupudpod na. Naririnig ko na ang papalapit na yapag ng mga mabibigat na sapatos.

Malamang isa sa walo ang pinahirapan ng mga tauhan ni Mcoy upang pilit isiwalat ang aming pinagtataguan.

Ang mga salitang sa aking isip ay nakaukit, akin na lang babaunin patungong bilangguan hanggang sa aking paglilitis na hindi ko rin batid kung ipagkakaloob sa akin. Ang dami ko pa sanang gustong sabihin ngunit hahayaan ko na lang ang simoy ng nakaraan ang magsabi sa iyo. Nawa’y lagi kang mag-iingat.

Nagmamahal, Alfredo O Mamahayag mula sa

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Daw Delights Shekynah Angelene Samadan

“Do you trust me?”

The voice is soft as the curtains faintly sprawling their veil on me. When the wind finally ceases, they are quick to go back to their once peaceful stance, like handmaidens making way for a queen. Charming, I much prefer them to be kept in place. Maybe to save a bit of space in here because right now, I cannot bear this cage.

“I said, do you trust me?” Stern, she wakes my drowsy, pent-up head filled with cheap booze and nicotine. Why must she disturb me this late? Why must I follow her every need?

“I honestly don’t know,” I say in my sincerest tone. I finally sat up from my lounging while I tried to make sense of her voice. She is lulling me again but not to sleep; I think she wants to… dance?

“Yes.” Ah, she confirms my suspicion. I can tell a sly smirk is plastered on her face when she utters the word. I bet she finds me amusing.

Sullen eyes, corroding lungs; I am her well-appointed yet involuntary jester as the night sky comes clean of any impurities as thieves and clouds form by smog. Oh, how she wows me for being so foreboding, bright, and skillfully manipulative. She blights my very existence with both joy and despair. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy that she is a reliable companion, but at times I wish she could at least leave me some space. I know in myself that I am much like a domesticated animal, dependent on her guidance, but most times, especially in this state, I am nothing but a weak man.

“I wish you could come closer,” her voice consumes my selfcontrol. So full of mischief and mayhem that it scares the living hell out of me. Every now and then, I hear her relentless commands, saying I should come see her with the excuse that she misses me. Back then, I had the strength to protect myself from succumbing to her before the night struck

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twelve, always assuming the same position: one foot tied and a pillow covering both of my ears. Before, I still had reasons not to listen. But now, what am I but a shell of a man? Hollow. Now, I accept all her taunting, her whispers and secrets. 384,400 kilometers away yet her voice is as loud as a fly buzzing around my tired ears.

I’ve gone weary and yet she is still there, august and mighty. She is always so drawn to me because I never sleep.

“Why don’t you dance again? Promise I won’t laugh at your leftfooted moves. I’ve been with you since you were just a boy. Trust me.”

She is so compelling in her tone, I hate that it makes my feet stand up from the mattress. My frail figure left a noticeable divot in the soft cushion but I took no interest. The wind blows away the dead skin from my shirtless flesh, replacing it with some stranger’s specks from the city. I accepted the intrusion with bliss. I am in need of new skin anyway, this one is all worn and torn.

“Now, come closer.”

If she had hands, her fingers must have been grazing the bottom of my chin right now. Like a dog, slowly, I followed the sound of her voice.

If I still had the will to actually attempt a fighting chance, I might have stopped then and there, screamed at her face and pivoted my way back to the bed. But the air is cold as it welcomes me in such embrace, I guess she is shifting it for my liking. I am flattered, I must thank her.

“What’s next?”

“I think you can’t dance in that stuffy old place, no?” she asks. Her tongue drips with mirth as if already knowing the answer to the question.

“Yes. I think so, too,” “Perfect.” I still cannot see her face but just from that tone, I sense her mouth is in a toothy grin.

My feet seem to have a mind of their own as they walk toward her light. Silver, she hangs up there. I cannot tell if she is an angel or a

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piece of black magic made by some deranged witch of Victoria’s past, but I traverse out the dusty bedroom and into the open-air balcony. The chills clung to me like an old and forgotten paramour, but finally, there she is… oh. She is glorious.

“Nice to see you again.” Unfazed, I pretend. I look up at her form, eyes transfixed to the aura around her shape. To say I am mesmerized is a complete understatement.

She meets my eyes with a low, satisfied gaze, knowing that she finally has me right where she wanted me to be.

“Now, dear. Why won’t you free yourself from that cage you’re in, hm? Why waste your time in that hell of a high-rise apartment of yours?

You have wings...” She pauses for a moment, sizing me up and down in a challenge. Probably waiting if I will run back to my ghastly one-bedroom studio box and hide beneath the table. She gives me another chance to speak up, but I am already indebted to the lilt of her words. Then, I found my feet moving up and up, to the point where I found myself on the thin rails of the balcony. My heart is in rapids while the tired metro sleeps beneath me. To put it simply, I am on autopilot. Trapped in the chains of her hypnotic shine that I cannot move. As the breeze fights greatly to rage against my figure, I stand firm like a wolf with wide-eyes.

Then, she finally says, “I think it’s time for you to fly.”

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short story

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Sa Ilalim ng Langit Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

Nahihirapan nang huminga si Papa. Ramdam ko ang bawat paghihirap niya sa pagkuha ng hangin. Tinitignan ko lamang ang kanyang mukha, pinagpapawisan at nakapikit.

“Okay lang ako, anak,” aniya. Naramdaman niya siguro ang aking presensya. Ngumiti ako nang bahagya at kumuha ng pamunas para sa kanyang mukha. Sabi ni Papa, lagnat lang daw ito. Huwag daw kami masyadong mag-alala, lilipas din ito, maaaring pagkatapos ng ilang basong tubig at saglit na pahinga. Halos araw-araw niya itong sambit, katulad ng kanyang mga nakasanayang ruta sa bawat pasada. Tsuper kasi si Papa at tanging ang lumang dyip lang niya ang bumubuhay sa amin.

Kaso, natigil ito ng halos tatlong linggo dahil sa mandato ng gobyernong kailangang manatili sa bahay ang lahat dahil sa pandemya. Nang matapos ang tatlong linggo, pinilit ng aking ama na bumiyahe muli.

Hindi namin alam kung saan niya ito nakuha. Isang araw, umuwi na lamang siya sa bahay at nahiga. Masama raw ang pakiramdam kaya naman hinayaan namin siyang magpahinga. Noong ikalawang araw, tinignan namin kung anong nangyayari sa kanyang kalagayan. Nagpatulong kami sa kapitana upang maipa-check up kung nahawaan nga ba siya ng sinasabing virus.

Kinuha ko ang aking ipon para makadagdag sa pambayad ng pang-test sa kanya. Tatlong libong piso para sa isang swab. “Bahala na,” sabi ko, “babalik din naman ang pera.” Magtatrabaho na lang ako muli habang nag-aaral.

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Papa.

Matapos ang tatlong araw na paghihintay, lumabas na positibo si

Sinubukan namin siyang dalhin sa ospital, ngunit dahil punuan na, sinabihan kaming kung pwede ay sa bahay na lamang magpagaling si Papa. Kinailangan kong mangutang ng pera para sa oxygen tank na kailangan niya upang matulungan siyang makahinga. Inayos namin ang higaan niya at naglagay kami ng mask, face shield at guwantes para sa aming mga sarili upang maalagaan siya nang maayos. Noong una, nakakakain pa naman si Papa ng sabaw, pinipilit namin siya kahit wala na siyang ganang kumain. Para laging presko si Papa, lagi kong pinupunasan ng tuwalya ang kanyang kamay at paa, pati ang kanyang mukha para lagi siyang malinis. Kinakausap ko siyang madalas, tinatanong ko kung anong nararamdaman niya, kung gusto niyang kumain, at kinekwentuhan ko siya kung ano na ang nangyayari sa paborito niyang palabas.

Nito lamang nakaraan ay nakakapagbiro pa siya, ngunit ngayon ay halos hindi na nito maigalaw ang kanyang buong katawan. Masakit raw ang kanyang dibdib. Turo nang turo sa parte ng katawan niya na masakit.

Hindi ako umiiyak. Bawal. Sabi ni Mama kailangang magpakatatag at pagbutihin ang pagdarasal para gumaling si Papa. Pag mahirap ka at kumakaharap sa isang malaking problema, pananampalataya lang ang tanging pinagkukunan mo ng lakas. Tibayan mo lang daw ang paniniwalang gagaling pa ang ating mahal sa buhay.

Ngunit hindi kalaunan, dumating din ang gabing kinatatakutan namin. Hindi na makahinga si Papa. Humihikbi ito at naririnig ko ang maiksing paghigop nito ng hangin na para bang may sumasakal sa kanya.

Nakapikit, at naninigas ang mga kamay nito nang makita namin.

Tawag dito, tawag doon. Katabi ni Mama ang kanyang telepono at sinusubukang tumawag sa mga malalapit na ospital. Hihikbi ng kaunti ngunit hindi pwedeng tumulo ang luha, kailangang maging malakas para kay Papa. Puno na raw ang mga kwarto, siksikan ang mga kwarto at walang mapwestuhan. Parang mga dyip sa normal na araw na ala-sardinas ang mga pasahero para lamang makauwi na ang lahat. Wala kaming magawa kung hindi subukang tawagan ang iba pang ospital na maaaring may bakante pa.

Nang hindi na makatiis dahil nawawalan na ng malay si Papa, tinawagan namin si Kapitana at nakiusap na lang na kung pwede ay hiramin namin ang kanilang traysikel. Ngayon lang talaga. Salamat sa Diyos at pumayag naman ito at isinakay agad si papa upang dalhin sa ospital. Hindi na ako

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pinasama dahil iisa lang daw ang maaaring kasama ng pasyente.

Tine-text ako ni Mama kung ano na ang nangyayari, tinanggihan sila ng mga ospital na tinawagan niya. Wala raw kama at ‘yong isa naman ay dalawang oras pa ang hihintayin bago ilagay sa waiting list. Sabi ko kay Mama ay magpakatatag siya. Maghahanap daw ulit sila ng ospital.

Ngunit, nang bumalik sila ng bandang alas-otso dito sa bahay, nanghihina na si Papa. Kitang-kita sa kanyang pangangatawan ang kahirapan nito sa paghinga, naninigas na ang kanyang mga kamay at namumutlang labi.

Pinahiga siya sa dating higaan at inilagay ang oxygen tank. Hinawakan ko lang ang kamay niya at bumubulong ng dasal para bigyan siya ng lakas sa paghinga. Sana mawala na ang sakit ni Papa, hindi ko kayang nakikita siyang nagkakaganito.

“Papa, ‘pag nagpagaling ka, hinding hindi na ako magpapasaway.

Pangako ‘yon,” sabi ko sa kanya habang hinahaplos ko ang kanyang ulo.

Mag-aalas dose na ng umaga nang tinawagan kami ng ospital, mayroon na raw magagamit na kama. Dali-dali namang nag-asikaso si Mama upang madala agad si Papa sa ospital. Pagdating doon, pinahiga si Papa sa kama. Sa labas ng emergency room. May dalawang pasyente pa raw kasing nauna kaysa sa kanya kaya pinapila muna sina Papa sa labas.

Wala raw talagang espasyo doon sa loob. Ang ibang pasyente na hindi naman nadapuan ng virus ay nakapwesto sa mga daanan ng ospital, kumot ang tanging sapin sa lapag. Buti na lang may kama silang pinuwesto sa labas dahil nakatawag kami. Nakahinga nang maluwag-luwag si Mama.

Akala namin tapos na ang kalbaryo.

Hindi pa pala.

Bandang alas-tres habang naghihintay si Papa na makapasok sa ospital, hindi na ito gumagalaw. Kausap ko sa cellphone si Mama noong nangyari ito. Humihikbi siya sa kabilang telepono habang ako naman ay sumisigaw. Ramdam ko ang pagbagsak sa akin ng langit at lupa. Hindi ako makahinga habang pinapaliwanag sa akin ni Mama ang nangyari.

“Hindi na humihinga si Papa mo.” Ito ang mga katagang dumurog sa aking pagkatao. Kumuha ako ng unan at kinagat ko ito para doon sumigaw. Ang sakit-sakit. Hindi ko inakala sa buong buhay ko na ganito lang mawawala si Papa. “May pag-asa pa” ang bulong niya sa akin kanina bago sila umalis patungong ospital. Matapos lamang ang ilang oras ay

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wala na siya. Hindi ko alam ang aking gagawin, napaluhod ako hawakhawak ang unan at humagulgol. Wala na si Papa. Paulit-ulit kong sambit.

Wala na siya.

Matapos ang tatlong araw ay napa-cremate na si Papa at naiuwi na rin siya ni Mama. Kailangan pa kasi naming maghanap ng pera para sa crematorium. Pagdating ni Mama, pinaligo ko muna siya at inasikaso.

Hinainan ng pagkain at sinuklayan ko ang kanyang buhok. Wala ni isa sa amin ang may ganang magsasalita. Pagkatapos ay umupo kaming magkatabi at umiyak nang sabay. Hindi namin kaya ang mag-isang dalhin ang sakit sa dibdib. *** Isang buwan na ang nakalipas nang mawala si Papa. Habang sinisindihan ko ang kandila para sa kanyang altar, narinig ko sa telebisyon ang balita.

“Rodolfo Dimagiba is diagnosed with COVID-19”—isang pulitiko.

Ayon sa report, naghihingalo na raw ito ngunit naitakbo pa sa pampublikong ospital, kung saan namin dinala si Papa. Iyon kasi ang pinakamalapit at pinakamalaki sa lungsod. Pinakita sa TV ang isang larawan nito na mayroong aparato sa paghinga at naka thumbs-up pa. Ayon sa anak niya, okay naman daw ang pakiramdam ng senador sa kasalukuyan.

Naiyak ako. Tumatakbo sa aking isip ang napakaraming tanong, noong kami ang nangangailangan ng ospital, bakit wala kaming makuha?

Bakit parang ang bilis para sa mga may kaya na makakuha ng kwarto sa ospital? Buwan na ang nakalipas mula nang namatay si Papa. Dala-dala ko pa rin ang sakit ng kanyang pagkawala. Namatay ang aking ama sa tabi at labas ng ospital sa ilalim ng malamig na gabi. Dahil walang kwartong mailaan para sa kanya. Tapos sa isang pitik ng kanilang mga daliri, itong mga trapo ay nakakuha agad ng espasyo sa loob ng punuang ospital?

Gulong-gulo ang aking isipan at galit na galit naman ang aking dibdib.

Ngayon, kitang-kita ko na ang sinasabi nilang pagkakaiba ng may kaya at mahirap. Malayong malayo sa pinakita nila noong nangangampanya pa sila. Langit daw ang matatamasa, impyerno pala sa piling nila.

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Henry Jacinth Banite

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A door made of steel was slammed in an isolated abyss, loud enough to startle the dust floating around the narrow and dark chamber.

“Well, well, well. Someone’s having a bad day,” said the naked boy sitting in the muggy corner of the room, as he noticed the sharp expression on my face the moment I entered his ruined space.

But for me, the first thing that hit was the smell: a rancid odor emanating from his frail physique, blending with the whiff of rusting chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles. The noxious scent was highly irresistible—so addictive that I kept coming back for more, relishing in the nausea that flooded my system.

“Shut up,” I hissed, walking toward the makeshift couch near a table.

It creaked as I placed the bag of canned soft drinks along with his favorite double-decker cheese sandwich. I always despised this boy’s sarcasm—not a trace of gratefulness toward the man who had been providing him solace, keeping him accompanied with daily visits and elusive conversations.

“Let me guess, the police are starting to ask questions about me again, aren’t they?” he asked while his face remained down, emulating the voice of an evil spirit.

However, as he turned his head up and looked at me, a slow chuckle filled the room, mocking and disdainful. The boy was right, authorities were indeed looking for him again, hunting for secrets lurking within this dreadful cradle.

From my peripherals, I caught him staring idly, which my instinct suggested I should return with an equal kind of glare. When our gazes met, it was not his eyes I saw but a bare face covered with sludge, a pair of lips that were pale and perfectly chapped, and scrawny shoulders trembling amid the skin-peeling humidity. Blended with his pernicious shape were fresh bruises carved on his keen phases. Those finger marks on his neck were almost like the finishing touches of a dreadful art piece.

The more I examined this boy’s ravaging advent, the more I grew fascinated with the blatant vigor in his eyes and words, despite his dwindling strength. I wondered how long it would take for the twiddling paint to completely turn him into a mere shadow in the corner.

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“They won’t find you here,” I said as I loosened my tie, keeping my eyes on him.

“Oh, I know.” His grin became wider. There goes that look as sharp as daggers that could easily pluck my eyeballs out. “That’s why I have to escape,” he said, with a pause between each word. That statement alone was too hopeful for someone who had been kept here for decades.

“What are you trying to say?” I cocked my head in confusion.

“I said, I need to escape.”

“And how on earth are you going to do that, with those…. chains?”

Instead of replying, he threw a gaping stare at the bundle of keys hanging from my belt, not even bothering to hide his interest. I never saw him crave for something that much, until this moment. Still, I clasped the key with my bare hand, already refusing his suggestion. “No, no. Setting you free is the last thing I want to do. Especially now. It won’t be good for the business.”

He responded with a cold grin, chilling like the haunting noises at midnight. Then he stopped, looking into my eyes with an evil glint, the look reminiscent of a possessed porcelain doll.

“I like seeing you this way. You’re looking more like your father.”

Damn that word!

“Don’t!” The word slipped out of my mouth almost instinctively.

Then, realizing what I’ve just done, I clasped my lips tightly together, trying my hardest not to break down at that instant. I looked down on his figure threateningly, with my nails digging through my palm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I pushed a soft spot, didn’t I? Silly me!” The sarcasm in his gaze melted into mere pretension.

“Why do you always do that?! Why do you keep mentioning him despite us having the deal not to?!” I clenched my fists even harder as grinding teeth weighed out the tone of anger in my voice.

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He mocked me with an empty stare, with that observing look in his eyes that told me he was simply waiting for the building tension to explode.

I refused to give into his words, though, and let a few seconds pass. The boy was the first to break the silence.

“Well, I just wanted to know. How’s Emmanuel doing? Haven’t seen that man in ages.” He placed his right palm under his chin, where I could see the iron collar eating away the bone in his wrist. It rattled heavily because of his movements. His position shed light to his serrated jaw, sharp like a skeleton. “If he had the guts to put me in here, he should at least have the decency to visit.” I almost thought I recognized a tone of begging in his voice until he hid it under a shallow chuckle.

“Well, if not because of your stupid curiosity, you wouldn’t be here.”

“It’s not my fault I accidentally saw that tape in his room that night,” he insisted.

“Well, if you could’ve been more careful, then…” I stopped as the alarm on my wristwatch went off.

“I need to go,” I reminded myself then started fixing my tie back.

“Here, suit yourself.” I placed the plastic back I brought on his side.

A few steps away from the door, the chained person called my name, this time in the voice of a 17-year-old.

“Henry,” he muttered, almost like a plea.

I stopped in my tracks, waiting for the rest of his words without turning my head to look at him.

“You have to let me go, you can’t go back here over and over again.”

There’s a subtle hint of desperation in his voice, indicating his sincerity in pleading me to not come back in this filthy chamber. To unsee his bare appearance would be quite satisfying, but it would be dejecting to no longer feel the strength his eyes and words yield. I wanted to utter a response, but my tongue could only carve out empty words. I had no reply save for taking the remaining steps toward that same metallic door and shutting it close, loud enough for the dusted walls to quiver.

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***

I woke up at the desk filled with paper and pens. Sweat moisted my entire body while I trembled like a sheep. I was distracted by the noise coming from my wristwatch. I turned it off and caught a glimpse of blinking numbers, then realized that I fell asleep for almost an hour.

I looked around to check if I was still in the right phase of my reality.

The familiar vibrance of my own office consoled my doubts. I almost jumped from my chair when the telephone rang beside me, giving me barely enough time to compose myself before picking it up.

“Sir?” said the woman on the other line. It’s Nikki, my secretary.

“Yes?” “The police are here again, they want to see you.” As she uttered her response, I found myself filling the remainder of her sentence in my mind, having heard it many times before. That was not the first time provoking strangers reached out to me.

Last week, I received an email from a non-native lawyer asking for a casual conversation regarding the family he’s defending. The other day, a journalist from a local publication called my office requesting for an interview, assuring me a set of clean-cut questions about my background. Funny how his voice reminded me of a moment from 20 years ago when I was being blinded by flashes of cameras, punched with countless microphones bigger than my face as I drowned with questions I barely understood.

Those previous attempts have been met with stone cold rejection and varying degrees of telling them I know nothing and I’m busy. This time, however...

“Let them in.” I sighed deeply on my end, covering my face with my palm.

Three gentlemen walked into my office, the badges on the right side of their chests reminding me of my faded aspirations of becoming a policeman when I was a kid.

“Sir.” One of the officers extended his right arm for a hand shake.

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I received it without much pleasure. I partially stood from my chair and gave a plain bump against his palm, with my lips folded together. The officer must have felt my lack of enthusiasm, as he cut to the chase and proceeded to tell me the sole purpose of their visit right then and there “The supreme court is reopening your father’s case, Sir.” It was an uncanny greeting for someone who just woke up from an afternoon nap.

“So I’ve heard,” I responded, trying to sound uninterested.

“The court is asking you to take a stand against him.” His tone made it clear that he wasn’t asking, but rather insisting.

“What for?” The words I let out were as dull as the rim of papers on my desks. Hopefully they didn’t notice me swallow a lump in my throat.

“They believe that you are a potential witness of his child exploitation and pornography dealings almost 20 years ago. And that would be enough evidence to lead him to his conviction.”

I struggled softly, gasping for breath. A sick feeling built up in the base of my gut. Not sure if it was the guilt that lingered within or it was just me feeling sorry for my transient silence throughout these years.

I bet the police noticed my sudden discomfort, for they didn’t comment further. Instead, he took something from his wallet, carefully placing it on my desk. “You can call us here anytime, let us know if we can expect you in the hearing tomorrow.”

Without waiting for a response, they started walking toward the door, eager to give me back my lone space.

For every foot step they took, I heard the chains of the boy locked in that chamber I often visited. The moment I heard the sound of a twisted doorknob, I heard the tone of desperation from that boy living somewhere in my dream, pleading for me not to see him anymore.

“Wait!” I yelled, but it sounded like a whisper.

The officer turned to me. I raised my head and looked him in the eye. Right there, I was met with relief. The next thing I knew, I was nodding my head toward him... slow but certain.

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Lady Riding Hood Elaine Belen

“She’s here!” a man tried to warn the villagers.

His cries rang out in the black woods of Schwarzwald, causing every person in the vicinity to halt. Not knowing who “she” was, Lena froze from her spot, at loss why everyone was suddenly alarmed.

Lena looked at the direction they bolted from. Five meters from where she stood, a lady in a black cloak stood unmoving amid the stream of villagers stampeding away. Curious, Lena plodded toward the lady who seemed to have her eyes closed.

But a man had gotten to the lady before she did, approaching without hesitation and yelling in front of her face, “Lady Riding Hood, I am not afraid of you! Leave these innocent people alone!”

The lady brought down her hood, her eyes still closed. Lena stood from afar, but still she noticed how the man shook out of fear even though the woman did nothing to scare him. cold.

“Where is your princess?” Lady Riding Hood asked the man, her voice

“It’s no use. The princess has been missing for a long time. Better you surrender now for you will never find her!” the man replied sternly.

Lady Riding Hood smirked as she steadily opened her eyes, the full force of her gaze bearing down on the man. “I know she’s here and I will find her no matter what you say.”

Little did the man know, Lady Riding Hood had an unbearable power that normal humans like him could not take, even though she felt weak while the princess was around. He looked at Lady Riding Hood’s hazel eyes, her pupils dilated and her transparent corneas immediately filled with the color amber. The man fixed his gaze on Lady Riding Hood’s like he would at a sunset. However, as they stared into each other’s eyes, the man stiffened and found himself unable to move away from his position. His heart started to race as stones gradually formed

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from his bone marrows to his veins, until it enveloped his whole body.

“You are nothing to me but just another monolith. Now, you will serve as my own monument,” Lady Riding Hood said.

She placed her hood back on her head and hid her eyes once again. Lady Riding Hood left a statue in place of a man, his terror immortalized in stone.

Lena had watched the entire scenario unfold from where she stood. But instead of fear, her blood started to rise in anger for what Lady Riding Hood had done to the man. She attempted to run toward him to help, but one of the villagers grabbed her by the arm and contained her.

“Please, come with me! We should hide before Lady Riding Hood sees us.

Do you want to turn into stone like him?!” the villager warned Lena.

Lena was struck speechless by the implication of her words. Having barely processed the man’s untimely demise, now they have Lady Riding Hood on the loose, capable of turning more people into stone. The next course of action was obvious: first, get away from Lady Riding Hood as far as possible, and second, catch up to hide with the other villagers.

“You people can’t run away from me forever! I will find you and your princess even if you hide…” Lady Riding Hood’s voice echoed throughout the clearing. “And once I have your princess in my hands, no other power can stand in my way!”

Even as she blended with the crown, Lena had been able to take one last glimpse from Lady Riding Hood’s burning irises, threatening to consume them alive. *** A spark of candlelight lit up in a dark and mysterious underground bunker, which was where the villagers were led to hide from Lady Riding Hood.

“Find other lights we can use and spread it around the area,” the chief officer ordered his rank guards.

Suddenly, a ten years old boy pulled the chief officer’s right sleeve and asked, “Mister Chief, are we safe inside here?” The boy’s face was still round

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around the edges, with a smidge of baby fat in his cheeks. His voice wobbled as he spoke.

The chief officer knelt down to his level and replied, “Hallo, son… Of course we are safe here! This bunker was built by our ancestors a long time ago.

They made this earth-berm structure to keep us safe when the time Lady Riding Hood comes.”

“But Mama told me that the Lady Riding Hood will only come if the princess is here...” the boy aired out his worries to the chief officer.

“Yes, Lady Riding Hood is in search of the long lost princess. She thinks the princess is in our village right now. But we must not let her get hold of the princess, if she really is here, because we might lose another member of the royal family. Legend says, once the princess realizes that she is royalty, Lady Riding Hood will lose her powers for good. That’s why Lady Riding Hood is hunting the princess to sustain her power while the princess does not realize yet she is a royalty. So, you must stay here and we will find the princess before Lady Riding Hood does, okay?” the chief officer said while his hands rested on the shoulders of the boy.

“In Ordnung. I understand,” the boy replied, then he raised his fists and clenched his thumbs.

The chief officer nodded, then stood up and headed out to find more candlelights.

Shortly afterwards, one of the rank guards came up to the chief officer. He could barely catch his breath as he fumbled for his words, and said, “Chief, there are two women outside heading toward the hidden bunker while Lady Riding Hood is around the vicinity. Should we let them in?”

“It is our duty to keep all of the villagers safe, we must not leave any of them behind,” the chief officer replied.

“But Chief… Lady Riding Hood–” “Let the two women in. We are safe from that creature if we all remain underground,” the chief officer cut off the guard’s sentiment. Emphasizing clearly on the all.

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“As you command, Chief.” The guard firmly nodded, acknowledging the chief’s order.

Lena and the villager hurriedly entered into a one-way glass mirror, the entrance of the safe haven. As soon as they both entered, two guards immediately met them and led them underground. *** Three days have passed after Lady Riding Hood’s latest appearance. Since then, the village grew quieter than ever, as its people continued to hide in the bunker while guards scouted around the area for Lady Riding Hood’s whereabouts. There was still no sign of the cloaked figure, but the guards received multiple reports about young women she killed all over the town. There was still no news of the princess despite the killings, which meant that Lady Riding Hood was still at the height of her search.

At the same time, residents of the bunker took the liberty to share bedrooms filled with bunk beds. Lena caught herself lying down on one of them, right at the bottom bunk of a fairly spacious room. She wondered if Lady Riding Hood also searched for the princess from where she came from, which is the neighboring country not so far off from this town. Lena’s sole wish had been to find her longlost mother in Schwartzwald, and who knew she’d come in such a precarious time.

Yet for some reason, she also could not stop thinking about the whole legend the village had been talking about. Hoping to find answers, she rose up from her bed and strolled toward the resources area. She then came across with the villager who warned her about Lady Riding Hood.

“Hallo! It’s nice to see you again!” Lena greeted the villager.

“Likewise, Lena.”

“Listen. Thank you for saving me back there. I was hoping you could share a few things to me about the legend of this mythical creature, Lady Riding Hood, and the lost princess? I’m new here, I just came from the neighboring country. I hope you don’t mind,” Lena cut straight to the point. “Sure. Shall we talk about it at the mess hall?” the villager replied while wearing a smile.

Thankfully, the bunker was restored with food every month for emergency purposes, which was how Lena and the villager were able to help themselves both with Bratwurst sausage and Sauerkraut on the side. In between bites, the villager

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enlightened Lena with the local Schwarzwald legend, and how Lady Riding Hood will scour the whole world to spill royal blood. According to the story, the princess would realize her true heritage in the end, making her confrontation with Lady Riding Hood inevitable.

“Does the legend say how the princess will realize she’s the one Lady Riding Hood is looking for?” Lena found herself asking, ridiculously enraptured by the tale.

“Hmm, the legend ended with Lady Riding Hood searching far and wide for the princess, she remains unknown ever since...” the villager continued, then paused.

The villager’s next words would then change everything Lena had just learned know.”

“...But since you are new here, there’s something important you have to “What is it?”

“It’s only between us and the villagers… but I am the only one who knows everything about the identity of the princess.”

Lena’s eyes widened.

“I’ll show you something...” The villager reached out from her pocket, taking out a gold emblem.

Lena gasped. “That’s—” “Yes. An insignia of Schwartzwald, bestowed only to the most trusted servants of the King and Queen. This badge shows in my official recognition that I am the last one left from our generation to look after the royal family. That’s why it has been my duty to track the princess, keep her safe, and make her realize that she is who Lady Riding Hood is looking for.”

“What?! I never would have thought I would meet the princess’ servant.

How would you find her?”

“Well, you see, there is this song…”

Before the villager could explain, they were interrupted by the sound of rushing footsteps, revealing two guards and the Chief officer who signaled the residents for an emergency meeting. Everybody including Lena gathered

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around the safe room and quietly waited for the guards to check on them for safety precautions. Minutes later, the doors opened and they saw two guards with one helpless lady in her dirndl in the middle.

“Attention, all citizens of Schwartzwald! This is Alice, we found her in the middle of the field looking for help. It is a good thing the outside guards immediately brought her in the bunker after all the reported killings of women. So, please help her settle in,” the chief officer announced, his voice carrying with both comfort and authority.

Tension started to fade around the safe room, then, Lena and the villager approached Alice instantly to help her. They led her into the ladies bedroom and gave her the available bunk bed at the left side of Lena’s bed. She then asked Alice, “It’s been three days since the whole village evacuated here, how did you manage to be by yourself out there?”

“Lena, she just got here…” the villager reminded Lena.

“No, it’s fine. I was stuck home alone hiding from Lady Riding Hood until I got the courage to find this bunker.” Alice responded as she looked around the area, she then asked, “Do you have any idea who might be the princess?”

“Oh, we don’t know yet but my friend here knows how to find her.

She’s the royal family’s most trusted servant.” Lena whispered to Alice while she pointed out the villager.

“Is that so?” Alice realized and looked into the villager’s eyes.

“Yes, I am. Everybody knows my position here and I know almost all the citizens living in the community. But I’m afraid this is my first time meeting you… Are sure you’re from around here?” the villager asked Alice with thinly-veiled suspicion.

Alice smiled slightly and said, “Of course I am! I just don’t go out too often so maybe that’s why you never see me. I’m just curious about the princess, that’s all.”

“The guards are on their duty trying to find the pri—” “But how would they know who the princess is?” Alice cut off the villager.

“The princess will know,” the villager replied. “Excuse me for a moment,

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Lena, will you join me at the mess hall?”

“Yeah, sure. Take your time settling in, Alice.” Lena said to the newcomer as they headed out of the bedroom.

Alice leaned back to where Lena and the villager headed out. When they were finally out, a devilish smirk lingered on her face. *** The villager pulled Lena’s arm toward the restroom, she closed the door behind them and grabbed her arms. “I have something to tell you.”

As soon as they were inside the restroom, Lena then asked, “What is it?

Aren’t we headed to the mess hall?”

“No. I don’t think we can trust Alice. I know every citizen around the village, even the newborns. I really think Alice is not from around here. She even keeps asking about the princess.” the villager reasoned.

Fair enough, except Lena raised another point, “I am the one who is new here, and I asked you so many questions about the legend too, but you never suspected me like you do with Alice.”

“You told me the truth that you grew up from the neighboring country, and admitted that you were new around the village. I suspect Alice was lying about where she came from,” the villager pressed.

Suddenly, Lena heard a humming tune similar to a lullaby coming from the bedroom. She tried to follow the sound but the villager held her back and asked, “Where are you going?”

“Somebody is humming a familiar tune, I can hear it from here.”

“W-wait, you can hear something?” the villager uttered in shock, “Lena, you said you grew up from the neighboring country, where did you hear this?”

“From my mother, why did you ask?”

“Lena, only the princess of Schwartzwald can hear that humming tune.

That was the royal family’s last message to me, the only way to identify the princess! You are who Lady Riding Hood is looking for! You should not follow that

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sound, it could bring you harm! Please remember the time you heard your mother sing that song to you.” The villager composed Lena from following the sound in her head as she was being reminded of who she really was.

The villager was about to call out the authorities when the humming rang stronger. Lena’s thoughts brought her back to her childhood days, and remembered how her mother helped her sleep by humming that same song she was hearing…

How she wished she could still remember the look of her mother’s gentle face as Lena’s glimmering memories saw a woman, humming the tune, glimpsing back from Lena’s point of view. A black hood shielded her whole head and eyes. That woman then turned around, her eyes now opened, transmitting Lena to open her eyes. There was fire in her pupils.

“I remember now,” Lena gaspingly said as she opened her eyes. At the same moment, Alice suddenly slammed the restroom door and hummed through her mind while holding a knife.

“I knew that I would find you, princess. Your mother sent me here to deliver her message. Your time is over!” Alice grinned before throwing the knife at Lena.

Fortunately, the villager was quick to their feet n and shoved Lena to the ground just in time, so the knife wouldn’t graze the princess’ body. Instead, it landed inside the villager’s sternum, directly hitting her heart and lungs. Blood streamed down from her chest to her stomach, then to the floor, her eyes still wide open as she met the killer’s dark, malevolent stare. The villager fought for her to catch her breath until there was no more, and her body finally slumped on the cold restroom floor. Watching Lady Riding Hood kill in front of her for the second time, Lena’s blood roared as her eyes burst into flames. She fixed her gaze on Alice with one thing on her mind.

Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.

Alice looked into Lena’s eyes and screamed, “This does not stop Lady Riding Hood from haunting you down, princess! She will eventually find this bunker until you have nowhere safe to go! You will be dead soon!” At that, Alice’s legs stiffened in place, like being submerged in cement. Her veins dried into ashes as her heart stopped in an instant, leaving nothing but a statue with her mouth open, frozen mid-threat. Lena then approached the human-formed rock and whispered, “Thanks to Mother’s song, I found myself as the princess.”

Her fiery eyes turned into hazel. Power flowed into her veins, triggered by her first kill.

Here she was, the next Lady Riding Hood.

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Circle in the Mall Elaine Belen

Awake as the rising sun, Sekari lays dumbfounded on the glossy ceramic tiles in the midst of a lavishing ritzy mall. She catches sight of an exquisite cave with waterfalls surrounded by shoulder-level metal railings.

Dainty flowers bloom from its natural spring waters as they fall down the cave as bright-colored butterflies roam around the circle. Sekari stands up in awe, mesmerized by the “circle”. She tip-toes toward it, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. As soon as she extends her arms to reach the circle’s balconylike railings, a soft resounding voice behind her ears swiftly passes by saying, “Do not go there, my child.”

Sekari’s hands halt at the words, a sudden sense of foreboding filling her bones. The way the voice phrases it makes it seem like she might get in trouble.

“I am your guardian.” A seraphic, middle-aged woman stands behind her, glowing like the gates of New Jerusalem. “It is my duty to protect you from the circle, Sekari.”

If she’s a guardian, Sekari thought, what is it that they would need guarding from? But most of all— “Where am I? How do you know my name?!” Sekari asks. She had never seen this woman before.

The guardian simply flashes a delicate smile, unperturbed. “Look around, my child. Your eyes are now open to the striking reality of your fantasy and finally found the way to fill into your existence. I have been within you all your life, fostering dreams you thought were unreal. I must know who you are by now.”

Unsurprisingly, her words only caused Sekari further confusion. As if sensing her disorientation, the “guardian” then offers her hand to Sekari, which Sekari takes almost willingly. Almost.

“Let me take you somewhere you love to stand by,” the guardian insists. She leads Sekari to both roam around the mall, away from the circle.

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As Sekari keenly observes her surroundings, she proceeds to gather information about the strange mall and its circle from her guardian. How come other people inside the mall could pass through the circle while she is being restricted? Are there any qualifications to be able to enter the circle? Is there an audition before one could step foot inside? But before the guardian responds, Sekari finds an adorable puppy-like creature along the way, almost resembling a bony greyhound breed. She immediately picks up the mutt and tries to feed him with available snacks from the food court. *** Biting that crusty and slightly toasted loaf filled with peanut butter and jelly is Sekari’s cherry on top from her à la carte meal. In the middle of brunch, a skinny yet well-dressed man trudges out toward her like a zombie, trying to beg for food. Although the man looks affluent just like any other stroller inside the mall, the man persistently asks for Sekari’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich like a child demanding their mother to buy them a new toy. Out of terror, she instinctively hands over the whole sandwich to the grumbling man who munches it in front of her.

Sekari felt two taps from her shoulder, both from her guardian. There’s an odd expression on her face as she says,“It’s almost noon, you should have not given him your sandwich.”

Sekari scrunches her eyebrows together, “Why?” As soon as the clock strikes half a day, Sekari notices the man’s offwhite skin immediately turns purple after one bite of the sandwich. Swollen lumps grow all over his body, like gruesome blisters waiting to pop. Sekari thought that maybe he is allergic to jellies so she plans to perform the Heimlich Maneuver. But before she could do it, her guardian grabs her arm, pulling her away from the purple man.

The guardian then whispers in her ear, “You might want to run for your life right now, unless you want to transform like him if he gets a hold of you…”

Looking back at the man and then turning to her guardian, Sekari asks with full concern, “What are you talking about? I have to help him, he might be allergic to the jellies!”

“He is not allergic to jellies, Sekari… That man really turns purple every noon time! This is their time to find more jellies!” The guardian explained. “...And if you plan to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on him, you must know

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that that kind of technique is used for those who are choking, not for allergic reactions,” the guardian adds to enlighten Sekari. Despite this, she still leads her to the staircase exit to hide from the transforming man.

As they both sprint away, Sekari suddenly becomes stiff as a board after she realizes that she almost forgot her newly found pet. In panic, she turns back to where she must have left it, leaving her guardian alone in front of a clothing store. When Sekari reaches her destination, she spots from afar how her supposed pet mutates into a dog-faced kangaroo. Much to her horror, she covers her mouth to stifle a scream as the small animal’s once dainty hind legs turned muscular, kicking its feet while it twitches and snaps. On its back spring an enormous tail, enough to knock a grown man off his feet. Sekari’s eyes widened. For a harmless creature to evolve almost like a Solgaleo, a Pokémon character, what kind of place was this?

Yet before the transformed creature notices Sekari, she manages to hide behind a plain wall from her side and walk away from the food court.

Being alone for the first time, she takes the opportunity to head toward the circle. Sekari then takes a good view around it. The place is swarming with more purple-skinned beings along with dog-faced kangaroos. These creatures are also chasing “normal” human beings like Sekari, and somehow bringing them inside the circle.

What’s happening right now? Is this the reason why my guardian keeps me away from the circle? So that I won’t be dragged into the circle by one of those creatures? Sekari questions herself, not realizing that almost an hour has already passed.

After an hour of chasing, countless thoughts still fill Sekari on how the circle can be something so magical yet covered with a dark abysmal curtain from behind, where unimaginable creatures appear, making her doubt whether she still wants to walk inside it or not. Sekari then hears a call from a distance that makes her knees weak like a twig. Feeling heavy-eyed and a bit drowsy due to overthinking, Sekari finds an unidentifiable radiant star slowly approaching her way. She cannot look away from the ablaze up to the point that her eyes can only see the pure luminescent spotlight. Many boggling thoughts continuously run inside her mind, leading to absolute confusion. And just as the full tilt of the approaching light comes face-to-face with Sekari, she faints in a heartbeat. *** Awake as the rising sun, Sekari lays dumbfounded on the glossy ceramic tiles in the midst of a lavishing, ritzy mall, immediately catching

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sight of an exquisite cave with waterfalls surrounded by shoulder-level metal railings. Dainty flowers abloom from its natural spring waters as it falls down over the cave as bright-colored butterflies roam around the circle. Sekari stands up in awe, mesmerized by the “circle”. She tip-toes toward it, still unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. As soon as she extends her arms to reach the circle’s balcony-like railings, a soft resounding voice behind her ears swiftly elapses saying, “Do not go there, my child.”

Sekari can not recall the voice calling her yet she turns her head from behind. She glances with no recognition to this angelic middle-aged glowing woman as if she’d seen her for the first time.

“It is my duty to protect you from the circle, Sekari,” the woman says.

“Where am I? Wh-who are you?” Sekari replies.

The glowing woman then smirks lightly at Sekari’s obliviousness. “I am your guardian.” *** Everything is on reset as soon as Sekari wakes up. The same scenarios play over and over like an endless loop, until the beginning blurs with the end.

Through it all, one thing remains constant: whenever the clock strikes noon, the hour-long chasing show always begins and ends with Sekari fainting.

At some point, Sekari has long grown out of her confusion and began to ponder actions she could have done differently. Exhaustion had taken its toll, causing countless possibilities to run through her mind: What if I went inside the circle and did not listen to my guardian? What if the creatures are trying to take me inside the circle… to be free from this time loop I am in?

What if, all this time, the creatures were trying to save her?

Time and time again, Sekari subtly tries to reach out for the railings around the circle everytime she wakes up in the midst. But she is never firm with her decision to pass through because of the terrifying transforming creatures trying to take her inside the circle. Long consumed by her fear, Sekari thought it was easier to trust her guardian, even if it meant going around in circles.

Although the guardian never fails to lead Sekari to “safety”, she still wonders if “safety” is worth all this madness with no escape.

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Huling Gabing Paglunod Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Nangangati na ang aking mga paa sa dumi ng tubig bahang lumamon sa aming lapag. Pabalik-balik na ako sa tindahan ni Aling Lolit upang bumili ng panibagong posporo dahil ‘yong una kong nabili ay nadulas sa aking kamay at tuluyang nabasa na sa maruming tubig ulan. Hindi ko naman kasi mautusan itong si Anne, baka magka-leptos daw sabi ng mama. Bata pa raw kasi at mahina pa ang resistensya niya, baka kung ano ang mangyari. ‘Asan nga ba kasi sila? Wala pang ulan noong umalis sina Mama at Papa. Huling tawag nila sa akin, nasa gawing talampakan pa lang ang baha.

Naka-loud speaker sa may taas ng lamesa ng sala ang cellphone upang pakinggan ang kanilang mga bilin.

“O, Jesse. Ikaw ang nakakatanda d’yan sa inyong dalawa ni Anne.

Bantayan mo s’ya, huwag mong hayaang sumulong sa baha. ‘Pag yan nagkasakit, mayayari ka talaga sa ‘kin,” binalaan ako ni Mama. “Baka mamayang gabi pa kami maka-uwi diyan. Mag-ingat kayo. Huwag mo sayangin ‘yong baterya ng selpon mo ah!”

Bukas pa noon ang TV sa aking likuran upang mapakinggan ang bawat ulat tungkol sa bagyong lalakas pa ngayong hapon. Kaya eto, naghahanda na ako at nagre-reserve ng baterya para matawagan nila ako mamaya.

Daanan naman talaga ng bagyo ang Pilipinas kaya para sa akin, hindi na ako ganoon ka-takot. Kaso, ang inaalala ko lang ay si Anne at yung mga gamit: yung TV, washing machine, at pucha… yung ref pa pala! Ano ba ‘yan!

Sobrang bigat no’n buhatin, ni si Papa nga eh hindi iyon mabuhat. Dali-dali naman akong pumunta sa nakasalpak na cellphone sa pader. Binuksan ko ang messaging app para balitaan sila.

Ako: “ma, pa, pano yung ref?” di namin mabuhat ni anne.”

Papa: “sandali… patulong tayo kay pareng ed… txt q lng.”

Huh. Si Manong Ed. Sa totoo, wala akong masyadong alam sa kanya.

Siya kasi yung tipikal na tahimik na matanda, ngunit, mukha naman siyang hindi ganoong kulubutin o anuman. Siguro nasa bandang sixty o seventy ang kanyang edad? Nakikita ko pa ngang mag-jogging ‘yon minsan tuwing bukang-liwayway. Laging paikot-ikot sa street namin, may dalang tubig at

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dahan-dahan ang mga yapak. Lagi siyang may ngiti sa kanyang mukha kung siya’y maaabutan mo. Wari ko’y siya ‘yong tipo ng taong hindi nangingialam sa buhay ng iba. Oo, yung kabaliktaran nila Aling Baby at ang kanyang alagad tuwing umaga na may session ng tsismis sa harap ng tindahan ni Aling Lolit.

Masusulyapan mo si Manong Ed na pangiti-ngiti lang sa kanila at sila rin ay ngingiti, at pag medyo nakalayo-layo na siya, ayan na ang ratrat ng kanilang mga bibig.

Papa: “paparating na si ed… hintayin mo nlng” Sa wakas, buti na lang may kaya pang tumulong sa oras na ‘to. Ibinaba ko ang aking telepono nang marinig ko si Anne mula sa may gawing kusina.

Tumatawa nanaman ito nang mag-isa at kumakanta habang kumukuha ng pagkain sa aming mababang paminggalan. Sumilip ako at pinagmamasdan ang kanyang kilos mula sa likod ng pintuan. Tahimik ko siyang pinagmasdan.

Sige lang ang kanyang tawa habang may hawak na bukang plastic bag.

Kinuha niya ang lahat ng aming meryenda upang dalhin yata sa itaas para kung tumaas man ang baha mamaya, mayroon kaming makakain. Nakakatuwa na ni siya ay hindi takot sa baha, kasi hanggang ngayon ay nasa talampakan pa ito, at hindi niya alam na brownout kapag may baha. Hindi pa niya kasi nararanasan ang mga bagyong kasing tindi nito. Biniro ko pa siya kaninang umaga na magiging ala swimming pool ang aming bahay kaya ayan, na-excite tuloy si bubwit.

Nang binunot na niya ang huling biskwit at tila niransak na ang maliit na aparador, napatingin ako sa kanyang mga paa...walang tsinelas!

“Hoy! Baby Damulag!” ako’y lumabas sa aking pinagtataguan at siya’y ginulat. “Nakapaa ka pa ah! May papasok na uod diya sa mga kuko mo, sige ka.”

Sa sobrang gulat ni Anne, nalaglag ang hawak niyang supot, natapon tuloy ang mga nilalaman nito sa tubig baha.

“Ate! Isusumbong kita kay Mama!” iritang paiyak na sinabi ni Anne.

“Ayan tuloy, nalaglag na.” Sabay turo sa mga nalaglag na meryenda.

“Luh! Mas yari ka. Sino kaya sa atin yung sinabihan na ‘wag sumulong sa baha, at nakapaa pa.” Pinaalala ko kay Anne ang kanyang itsura. Bigla na lang natauhan si Anne at dali-daling kinuha ang mga lumulutang na pagkain sa tubig at humarurot na sa pag-akyat ng hagdan.

“Hala! Sige! Madapa ka pa! Hintayin mo ‘ko doon.”

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Pagkatapos kong bitawan ang huli kong mga banat sa bunsong kapatid, umihip nang malakas ang hangin sa labas ng aming bahay. Sinabayan din nito ng malakas na hampas ng ulan na binuhusan pa ulit ng panibagong agos ng tubig ang aming maliit na kalye.

“Pucha, yung ref!”

Dali-dali akong pumunta sa kusina para makita kung nakatanggal na ba ito sa saksakan. At sakto noong ako’y malapit na, bigla namang nag-brownout.

Sa pagpatay ng mga ilaw at kuryente, rinig ang hiyaw ng mga batang nagsisilanguyan sa pataas nang pataas na baha. Maririnig mo rin ang mga sigawan ng mga nanay na gusto nang papasukin ang kanilang mga anak.

Syempre, outstanding pa rin ang boses ni Aling Baby.

Nang ako’y nakarating na sa aming refrigerator, buti na lang at ito’y natanggal na mula sa saksakan. Itinaas ko na lang sa lamesa ang mahabang kable upang ito’y hindi mabasa.

Nang ako’y nagsimula ulit maglakad papunta sa aking cellphone, medyo malapit-lapit na sa aking mga binti ang bahang kani-kanina lang ay nasa bandang talampakan pa.

“Shet, wala pa rin si Manong Ed, papalalim na yung baha.” Ako’y nagaalala para sa aming higanteng appliance. Sumugod na ako sa aking telepono upang tanggalin ito sa pagka-charge.

Umabot lang ng 20%, nakanang. Pinatay ko lahat ng alam kong makakakain sa aking baterya: bluetooth, mobile data, mga apps, at kung anuano pa. Inisip ko nga ring i-airplane mode muna pero baka biglang tumawag sina Mama at Papa tapos hindi ko masagot. Mayayari na naman ako.

Binitbit ko ito papunta muli sa kusina, baka kasi hindi nadala ni Anne yung mga sobrang kandila na pinapasabi ko. Sana maging ligtas kami ni Anne habang wala pa sila. Unang karanasan niya ito sa baha, mabuti na lang may baterya pa ang iPad niya, at may pagkain pa para siya’y hindi masyadong mangamba. Bilang nakakatanda, medyo natatakot ako sa kung anong pwedeng mangyari, pero ako mismo naman ay nakaranas ng mahigit sa tatlong baha at naka-survive naman kami, pero kasi kasama ko sina Mama noon.

Huminga na lang ako nang malalim. Kakayanin namin ito.

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Nang ako’y nakarating na sa may lamesa kung nasaan ang mga kandilang hindi nabitbit ni Anne, biglang tumunog ang aking cellphone.

Isang text ito sa isang number na ‘di kilala.

Unknown: “Helo jess si ed eto.”

Ah, si Manong Ed. Ako: “hi po manong ed! pano nyo po nakuha # ko?”

Ed: “ibinigay sa kin n papa mo. papunta na ko jan.”

Hindi na siya nag-text pagkatapos ng usapan naming iyon. Hinawakan kong mabuti ang aking telepono upang hindi mahulog sa baha at hinablot ang mga kandila. Malapit-lapit na ang gabi, padilim na rin ang paligid ngunit bakit ganito, iba ang pahid sa akin ng hangin. Parang may pangamba na ewan. Hindi ko masyadong maintindihan pero ipinagpalagay ko na lang ito sa walang humpas na bagyo.

Nagmadali akong umakyat pa-itaas ng kwarto. *** “Ateeee, wala pa ba sila Mama?” paiyak na tanong ni Anne.

“Kita mo ba sila ngayon?”

“Ate naman eh! Seryoso kasi.” Halos maglabasan na ang mga luha niya. Inaamin ko, medyo nahahawa na ‘ko sa takot ni Anne. Ang huling dinig ko sa balita eh pati ang EDSA raw ay bihabaha na. Sana hindi sila ma-stranded kung saan man. O kaya, kung natirikan man, nakasilong sila sa isang ligtas na lugar. Hindi ko alam kung ano ang sasabihin ko sa nakabubunsong kapatid.

“Ang bobo kasi ng tanong mo. Galingan mo naman next time,” aking ibinato nang pabiro kay Anne. Nagawa ko na lamang siyang biruin dahil sa hindi ko mawaring nararamdaman habang malakas ang hampas ng ulan sa labas. Humalo na rin kasi ang mga nagdadagundong na kulob kaya mas lalo akong nangamba. Pero… parang may mali.

Tumayo ang aking mga balahibo.

15% na lang ang aking baterya sa cellphone at wala pang bagong mensahe sa ‘kin si Mama o Papa. Yung iPad naman ni Anne, mababa na ang ilaw, mukhang mamamatay na rin. Hindi mapakali ang aking isipan kaya

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naman ako’y umalis muna sa kwarto. ‘Asan na kaya si Manong Ed?

“Anne! Bababa lang ako, ah. D’yan ka lang.” Tinapik ko ang nagliliitang binti ng aking kapatid. Hindi na siya umimik at iginalaw lang niya ang kanyang mga balikat para ipakitang nakuha niya ang aking bilin.

Asa may pangatlong apak na ako ng hagdan noong sinabi ng aking isipan na, oo nga, mayroong mali. Wala na ang ilaw na nanggagaling sa araw at ‘yong phone ko na lang ang nagsisilbing liwanag habang lubog sa dilim at ilaw ang aming bahay. Naka-awang ang pinto. Nung nailawan ito nang saglit, tila may mga nakita akong nanlilisik na mga bilugang mata. Walang katawan, walang mukha. Mata lang siya ng isang aninong nagmamasid. Para ba silang nakalutang sa ere. Hindi na rin ako nagpatuloy sa pagbaba at umakyat na lang ako muli. Baka guni-guni ko lang iyon. *** “Ate, ba’t ganyan mukha mo?”

“Ano?” “Parang mumu.”

Dinig sa boses ni Anne ang pag-aalala niya. Kahit bata pa lang siya, mayroon na siyang pakialam sa mga tao sa kanyang paligid. At buti, pati rin sa akin. Ayaw kong sabihin sa kanya ang aking nakita kaya naman nagsinungaling na lang ako.

“Yung baha kasi medyo mataas na,” totoo naman, “nag-aalala lang ako doon sa ref baka masira.”

“Ref lang naman eh.” Biglang tumalikod na sa akin si Anne at bumalik sa kanyang ginagawa. Nagpatuloy ako sa pakikipag-usap sa kanya upang gumaan naman ang aking pakiramdam.

“Maka ‘ref lang naman’ ‘kala mo hindi niya kailangan. Saan natin ilalagay mga pagkain mo pag walang ref? Hm? ‘Di na tayo kakain!”

“Hala, Ate! Sige, i-save natin yung ref!” Biglang nagbago ang ekspresyon ni Anne. Nakakatawa talagang nag-iiba ang kanyang pananaw sa bagay-bagay pag inihambing mo siya sa pagkain. Baby Damulag talaga.

“Ikaw talaga ‘pag pagka—” Biglang may nag text ulit sa akin. Si Manong Ed.

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Ed: “asa baba na ko jess” Nagbalik ulit ang masamang ihip ng hangin pagkatapos ko mabasa ang mensahe. Tumayo muli ang aking balahibo.

“Ayan nanaman, mukha ka ulit mumu.”

Nang narinig ko ang boses ni Anne, para akong naalimpungatan.

Nagising ako bigla galing sa malalim na pag-iisip. Saan ko ba nakukuha ang mga ito?

“Anne, seryoso ako. Kahit anong mangyari, ‘wag kang bababa, ha.”

Ewan ko kung bakit pero nanginig ang aking boses nang sinabihan ko ang aking kapatid. Muntik ko na rin siyang hablutin sa balikat pero ayaw ko siyang takutin.

Sana nasa isip ko lang ang pag-aalalang ‘to. “‘Ge.” Ang tanging sagot sa akin ni Anne bago ako bumaba. *** Nakita ko siya. Itim na pantaas, tokong na basang-basa dahil sa baha.

Nakatayo lang si Manong Ed sa aming lubog sa tubig na sala. Nakatayo sa gitna at nakatindig sa akin. Pababa ang aking mga paa sa hagdan, ang ilaw lang muli sa aking telepono ang nagsisilbing liwanag sa aming kinatatayuan. Kung hindi ako nagkakamali, nang nasulyapan ko nang saglit ang kanyang mga mata, pababa rin ito ng pababa. Malagkit.

Tumigil ako sa pinaka baba ng hagdan. Nasa bandang bewang ko na pala ang baha, ngunit pansin ko’y nasa gawing binti niya lamang ito.

Gusto ko na sanang bumalik sa itaas kasama si Anne, pero…ako’y nanigas sa aking kinalulubugan. Hindi ko maigalaw ang aking katawan. Para bang may nakagapos sa aking binti habang ako’y nakalubog sa maruming tubig baha.

“Ano, ineng, tara?” Kakaiba ang tunog ni Manong Ed nang itinanong niya iyon. May mapaglarong tunog pero hindi siya nakangiti.

Hindi ko alam pero kinaiinisan ko ang tonong iyon. Parang hindi si Manong Ed ang nagsasalita. Iba ang itsura. Hindi niya katulad ang matandang lagi kong nakikitang mag-jogging tuwing umaga. Yung may ngiti lagi sa mukha pag iyong nakakasalubong, o pag nakita niya ang mga kaibigan ni Aling Baby at wala siyang imik na maglalakad lang papalayo.

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Bakit etong bersyon ni Manong Ed ay parang may binabalak?

“Sige po.” Nagising ako ulit sa aking malalim na pag-iisip. Naiinis na ako sa sarili ko, hindi ko tanggap na kung anu-ano na ang pumapasok sa aking utak. Pinaulit-ulit ko sa aking sarili na kailangan lang maayos ang ref at aalis na rin siya. At pagkatapos noon, matutulog na kami ni Anne, at pagkagising namin ay narito na sina Mama at Papa.

Diyos ko… nagpapawis ang aking mga palad kahit sa kalagitnaan ng lamig ng gabi.

Nang ako’y naglalakad patungo sa kusina, narinig ko ang mga munting alon galing sa mga yapak Manong Ed. Malalakas ito at parang… nagmamadali. Ayaw ng aking ulo lumingon pero, nararamdaman ko, halos tumatama na ang kanyang mga paa sa likod ng aking binti.

Palapit siya nang palapit.

“Ineng, doon ka sa kabilang dulo,” pabulong niyang sinabi sa akin.

Hindi ako umimik at sumunod na lang.

Nang ako’y pumwesto na sa kabilang dulo upang makatulong sa pagangat ng ref, wala na si Manong Ed sa kung saan siya kaninang nakasunod sa akin. Ako’y nagtaka dahil hindi ko na siya nakita sa likod ko ulit. Sinundan niya na pala ako sa aking kinatatayuan. Mas matangkad na siya kaysa sa kanina niyang itsura. Nakatango siya, at unit-unting papunta ang kanyang mukha sa aking leeg...

Namutla ako nang tuluyan.

Naramdaman ko ulit ang mga maliliit na alon ng maruming tubig baha. Ito’y nagsasabi na gumagalaw siya ulit, habang ako, wala. Parang tubig na masyadong nagtagal sa freezer. Mas nanigas pa ako sa yelo. Naramdaman ko ang kamay niyang humahaplos sa aking braso, basang-basa at kulubot.

Malumanay lang ang kanyang mga hawak pero ako’y nasasakal.

Umakyat nang umakyat ang kanyang mga kamay at napahipo sa aking dibdib. Noong una’y matipid pa ang kanyang mga hawak, ngunit ngayon, para siyang isdang nakawala sa tubig. Uhaw.

Masakit. Masakit.

Napaso ang aking leeg sa bawat nakaw niya ng halik. Gusto kong

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sumigaw pero nilamon ng baha ang aking ninanais sabihin. Halos ako’y kalmutin na niya sa gigil habang nanatili akong walang imik. Ayaw kong umiyak, baka mas lalo lang akong malunod sa baha.

Habang ito’y nangyayari, inaamin kong ako’y umalis muna saglit.

Bumisita muna ako saglit kay Lola sa probinsya at nakipaglaro sa aking mga pinsan. Nagliwaliw kami sa maalat pero preskong dagat at nanghuli ng mga patay na dikyang napadpad malapit sa baybayin. Binato ito at nagcontest pa kung sino ‘yong pinaka malayo. Syempre, ako ang nakakatanda kaya naman ako ang pinakamalakas sa kanila, at ako rin ang nanalo. Galit pa si Anne sa akin dahil ako raw lagi ang nananalo pagdating sa mga ganito, pero ano ba ang magagawa ko kung ganito talaga ako kagaling? Pagkatapos noon, napadpad din ako sa bapor. Lulubog na ang araw at naglalakad ako kasama si Layla. Nag-cutting muna kami sa klase naming magsisimula ng 5 PM para masulyapan namin ang ginintuang oras sa Manila Bay. Minsan lang kami lumabas at lagi pang patago. Ayaw kasi ng mga madre na lagi kaming magkasama dahil gumagapang daw ang aming mga kamay upang mahawakan ang isa’t isa. Bakit ba? Tama lang ang gaspang ng kamay ni Layla. Hindi niya pinapabayaan ang tekstura ng kanyang mga palad kaya naman ako’y laging napapadpad sa ilalim nito. Masarap dito pag kasama si Layla. Sakto lang.

Madilim na sa Manila Bay. Wala na si Layla, at nagsisigawan na ang mga bapor.

Maingay. Maingay.

Narinig ko ang kalabog sa may itaas at ako’y nakabalik ulit sa baha.

Nang pagbukas ko ng aking mga mata, wala na ang aking itaas ngunit may mga brasong patuloy pa rin ng paglayag sa aking katawan. Hindi narinig ng halimaw ang tunog dahil walang humpas ang kanyang paghigop sa aking mukha. Nakita ko sa itaas ng hagdan ang maliliit na mata. Basa sila sa luha at tagong-tago sa takot.

Tangina, ba’t nakatanga lang ako!?

“Alam mo Jess, napakaganda mo.” Nakakadiri. “Lagi kitang tinitignan pag napapadaan ako dito sa bahay niyo.” Nakakasuka.

Namatay na sa pagka-lowbat ang aking telepono. Nanginig lang ito nang saglit at tuluyang namatay. Madilim pa sa madilim ang paligid at ang halimaw ay tuwang-tuwa sa katahimikan. Wala raw kasing nakakakita.

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Pero, ang mga mata ni Anne…

Nagbilang ako hanggang tatlo sa ilalim ng aking hininga…

“Isa, dalawa… tatlo!”

Ako’y nakawala sa kanyang mga galamay. Nakita ko ang mapupula niyang mga mata sa kadiliman ng gabi at ang nagtutulisan niyang mga sungay.

Isang inkarnasyon ni Satanas. Pinilit niya akong hablutin pero nagtago ako sa kailaliman ng tubig. Pinilit kong lumangoy papalayo pero hinablot niya ang aking buhok. Wala na sa aking kamay ang aking telepono, wala na rin ang aking pantaas. Malamig ang maruming bahang nagtatangkang lasunin ang aking mga baga.

“Putang ina mo! ‘Wag kang tumakas!” Hinila niya ang aking buhok pero patuloy akong lumaban.

Nang ako’y nakarating sa may gawing sala, rinig ko ang kanyang nagbabantang mga sigaw.

Malapit-lapit na ‘ko sa gate. Halos ayaw na ng mga braso kong gumalaw sa lamig.

“T...tulo...long po! T..u..l..long!” Walang humpas ang patak ng ulan sa aking mukha. Ni kaluluwa, walang nais magparamdam. Halos kinain na ng baha ang aming munting kalye.

Nang nahanap ko na ang bukasan, bigla naman akong napa-agos pabalik sa pintuan ng aming bahay. Paparating na siya at napakahaba ng kanyang mga kamay. Ipinilit ko nang mariin ang aking katawan upang makalabas na sa aming bahay.

Lumangoy akong parang hindi na ako makakalangoy ulit.

Nang umahon ang aking ulo, nasa harap na ako ng bahay ni Aling Lolit. Hindi na ako lumingon pa at hinampas nang hinampas ko ang kinakalawang nilang gate.

“Al...i...ling Lo...lo...lit! Aling Lotit! T...tulong p…po! s...si..si Ma…ma…n…ong E…ed!”

Nang pinagbuksan ako ni Aling Lolit, nakabusangot ang kanyang

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mukha. Nasa gawing beywang niya ang tubig. Hindi na ako nag-isip pa at niyakap ko siya nang mahigpit. Inisip ko na siya ang aking lola na nasa probinsya. Umungol ako sa iyak at tuluyang nanlamig. Niyakap din naman ako pabalik ni Aling Lolit. “’Jusko, Jess!” Iba na ang ekspresyon ng may-ari ng tindahan. Ang boses niya’y puno na ng pangamba. “Bakit ka walang T-shirt! Magkakasakit ka niyan!”

Sinubukan kong magsalita pero nanigas na nang tuluyan sa lamig ang aking katawan.

“Si...s...si… Ma… no..manong… E… ed.” Nagsilabasan na ang aking mga luha. Walang humpay ang kanilang pag-agos pero hindi na ako takot kung ako’y malulunod man.

Wala na akong nasabi pa pagkatapos noon. Napapikit na lang ako nang bigla akong hinila papasok sa bahay ni Aling Lolit. Ang mga huling narinig ko na lamang ay isang galit na tawag niya sa kanyang asawa, isang sigaw ng “Sige sapakin mo pa!” na nanggaling kay Aling Baby, at ang pangalan ni Anne.

Dinala ako ni Aling Lolit sa itaas nilang kwarto at binihisan ng napaglumaang daster. Nang ako’y napahiga sa kanilang kama, halos ayaw ko nang dumilat pa. *** Mataas na ang silaw ng araw sa aming kalye. Lubog pa rin sa tubig ito pero nasa gawing talampakan na ulit. Nakita ko sa may bintana ang pulis mobil sa ibaba, sina Aling Lolit at ang kanyang asawa, si Aling Baby kasama ang mga anak, at sina Mama at Papa! May mga naka-unipormeng blue rin na seryoso ang mga tindig habang galit na galit naman ang mga nakausap nito.

Halos magsigawan na sila.

Sa ingay nila, halos magising na ang batang naka-akbay sa akin nang mahigpit. Kaya tinaklob ko na lang ang kumot sa aming dalawa upang makalayo muna ang ingay sa labas.

Masarap pala sa kama ni Aling Lolit…presko, mabango, at napakalambot. Iniisip ko tuloy na lumulutang kami ni Anne kasama ang mga ibon at ulap. Magaan ang aming lipad habang tanaw namin ang buong kalupaan. Doon sa malayo sa baha.

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Seven Shots to Afterlife Lean Jane Pantorilla

There’s a small bar somewhere down the corner of the street, tucked within alleyways. A crack into the underworld, many people call it. Rumor has it that it doesn’t even exist—just a thing made out of urban legends and false advertising—unless it finds you.

At least, that’s the way it usually goes, until a man steps into the wooden floors of the said bar, startling even the barkeep. Patrons of all kinds snap their heads toward his direction: crumpled coat, coffee-stained shirt, and eye bags that look heavier than the sky when it’s about to pour.

Another lost soul finds its way into their fine establishment, so it seems.

But the barkeep says nothing, and instead sets a clean glass on the counter. Loud enough to cut through the noise, yet gentle enough to keep things quiet. He knows what the straggler will order.

“Let me guess,” he stares at the man, setting his palms flat across the

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counter. “You want the specialty drink?”

The straggler blinks. The barkeep’s hair had already turned silver with age, with brown eyes that burned ruby red under the bar’s ambient light.

He takes off his watch, his coat, then his necktie. He pops open a few buttons from his shirt to give himself time to breathe.

“Yes, please.”

The barkeep nods and proceeds to his task. It’s only to be expected that anyone who would dare ask for that drink had to be tired to the bones, may it be from a day’s work or a lifetime of misery.

The barkeep has served enough of them to recognize the same hollow eyes, hunched shoulders, and a posture no different from a sack of flesh being held together like marionnettes to a string.

He slides the finished glass toward the straggler, “Your order, sir. First round on the house.”

The straggler accepts the drink, a look of amusement flashing across his face. He can’t recall who recommended this place, but he’ll never forget the fervor of that person’s words.

“I’ve heard many great things about this,” the straggler murmurs, mixing the shot glass in his hands. “What’s it made of?”

One shot will make you forget what you came there for, the faceless person in his memory had said. The second will make you forget about yesterday, the third tomorrow, the fourth about all other days, and the fifth, of days that had never begun. Sixth will make you forget about days lost, and the seventh of days filled with sadness and love­— It was the first time he’d heard someone wax poetic about alcohol, so at worst, he’s only suspected that the drink must’ve been spiked with some kind of drug.

“If I told sir the truth,” the barkeep treads carefully, “will he spare himself from drinking it?”

The barkeep has an odd way of speaking, the straggler remarks. This, partnered with the curious stares he’s been getting since he stepped foot inside

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the bar, is already way too much attention than he’s used to. He feels heat rise on the flesh of his cheeks, and he hasn’t even touched his drink.

“What’s that?” he asks, chancing upon the small black board hanging above the wall. There are names of different people written in chalk, accompanied by a string of numbers. Six. One. Five. Three.

“A scoreboard,” the barkeep says without looking up. The murmurs are getting louder, as though a fight is about to break out at any minute.

“Everyone who’s ever drunk the specialty drink tallied their points, from highest to lowest. It’s a miracle we get anyone to drink this at all, most usually don’t have what it takes to beat the record.”

The people around them flinch at the barkeep’s words, as though whipped into submission.

“You’re an ass, barkeep,” a person slides beside them. “You know damn well why everyone can’t beat it.”

The man—no, woman—who just slid beside them looks to be in her late thirties, with a blood red smile and a crinkle in her eyes. A gold band glints from her finger as she lifts her own glass to toast with the straggler.

“You’ll never beat the record, lad,” *clink!* “...no one’s ever made it past six.”

Strangely enough, the sight of this gold band feels like an attack to his person more than the jab at his alcohol intolerance.

He thinks of another woman, with softer eyes and lips the color of sunset skies. Another gold band thrown across the floor, like a dignified version of a spit. I can’t be with you anymore, her voice echoes in his mind, shrill like breaking glass.

“One,” he takes the shot glass, and drowns out the memory with his first shot. Somewhere around him, the woman lets out a wolf-whistle.

The victory is short-lived. It takes a while for the taste to settle in, but when it does, it feels like a wildfire scorching both the roof and floor of his mouth. He doubles over and chokes on air, clawing on his throat as if it can cease the burning sensation.

“This is a one way trip, lad,” the woman whispers, rubbing his back.

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“The second round will be much worse.”

There’s no hint of mockery in her voice—almost as if she’s tasted it before. Still, he forces himself to ask a question: “What do you mean...a one way trip?”

When the time comes, and we’ve gone ahead of you, remember we’re all heading down the same road— “Do you have anyone you want to meet?” the barkeep cuts in, leaning forward. “Anyone who’s passed on ahead of you? A long lost relative or family member—” “My parents,” the straggler whispers, almost as if the answer was pulled out of him. He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of his parents while wasting away in some shady bar. He hasn’t thought about them when they were alive—he shouldn’t start giving fucks now, either.

But to his surprise, the barkeep only refills his glass, and slides it back to him.

“Have one shot for every person you’ve ever lost,” he offers, eyes twinkling. “The pain will go away, I promise.”

No one in their right mind would fall for the same trick twice, but the straggler didn’t come for comfort anyway. He takes the glass, unaware of the fact that he didn’t even say anything about losing anybody.

The sweetness melts with the tang of citrus, reminiscent of his grandmother’s signature honey lemon tea.

“How—” he starts, unable to form words.

He takes another shot. This one is warm, going down smoothly like milk.

He couldn’t recall exactly where he had tasted it, even more so who made it, yet could taste something akin to love in there—if love even had a taste. It leaves him feeling sated and full, as though he’d just eaten a satisfying dinner with the family.

The third is more distinct—a roasted texture fills his taste buds—not too bitter and not too sweet. Like the kind of coffee his father would make, and share a cup with his son.

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This shouldn’t be possible...yet it was. The straggler could only savor the drink down to the very last drop.

The barkeep wordlessly offers him another shot, a hint of amusement flashing across his weathered skin. The straggler reaches out to it like a man possessed...or an addict reaching out for his next opium dose.

He missed the taste of better times.

“What the fuck!” he hisses, “It’s gone back to shit!”

The barkeep takes a spare rag somewhere under the table, and uses it to clean the spittle across the counter. “Every once in a while, we drink something that makes us sick. Isn’t that what you came here to do?”

To forget about one’s troubles, people indulge with vices to drown out their sorrows. Fighting fire with fire, they succumb to the sins of the flesh, and corruption of the soul. Maybe, they thought, if you drink enough poison, one can forget that they are dying.

This glass feels like a gasp of fresh air, mixed with water in the lungs.

This is uncalled for. And yet, he couldn’t think of anything to refute against the barkeep—it was his own fault to let his guard down, anyway.

The barkeep prepares another glass, and offers it to the woman beside them. She shakes her head in response.

Once again, the glass slides back to the straggler.

A sinking feeling settles deep in his stomach. “What exactly is this?”

The barkeep prepares a glass for himself, and smiles. “It’s made of the hardest pills to swallow, and all the finer things in life.”

Sixth will make you forget about days lost, and the seventh of days filled with sadness and love— “You shouldn’t—” the woman tries to speak, but a look from the barkeep and the words die in her throat. She develops a sudden interest in her “drink” despite nursing an already empty glass.

“You have five shots down. Three more to beat the record,” the

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barkeep turns his attention to the stragglers and slides the drink closer. “Don’t you want to see the prize?”

“There’s a prize?!”

He looks at the woman beside him, who hasn’t spoken about anything about the prize at all.

“Everyone around here started off wanting that so-called prize,” she huffs, keeping her gaze focused on the glass. “Every single patron had sat on the same chair you’re sitting on, thinking they could beat the barkeep at his own game. Eight shots, with one chance to drink all the way to the end. They couldn’t do it.”

“Those who’ve tasted bitterness feared tasting something worse, while those who’ve had it good are afraid to ruin it.” The woman spits the words out like a curse. “It’s either you’re good at eating shit, or you’re not. It’s rigged!”

“How many have you tasted so far?” the straggler asks.

“Six.” That makes sense. He thought. She doesn’t want me to win.

He drinks his sixth cup and wishes he could take back his words.

“And now...it’s a tie,” the barkeep announces.

If the straggler hadn’t been too busy trying not to puke his guts out, he would have realized how the drink was reminiscent of the cold beer he’d drunk with his estranged co-workers, cold and stale. He’d smiled at the same drink and boasted how it was the best he’d ever had, except the lie had tasted worse than the drink itself.

But at that moment, all he could think about was washing the horrible taste down his throat, so he simply gestures for the barkeep to move on with the seventh glass...

Only to be completely dumbfounded.

Oh. “What does it taste like?” the barkeep asks, his voice finally betraying

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a hint of curiosity. This is the first time someone has tasted the seventh .

It tastes like the red wine I would’ve shared with my wife, if we were able to work it out. The straggler thinks, at loss for words. Like a glass of orange juice I would’ve squeezed out for my kids, if I had any. It’s the coffee I would’ve made for my father, if I knew how to, and a glass of scotch I’d have shared with a long-lost friend.

But the straggler keeps those thoughts to himself, afraid that if he spits them out, the world will once again conspire and use it against him. He switches the attention to the barkeep, whose eyes seem to burn straight into his soul. “You’ve never tasted this before?”

Ruby-red eyes flicker, and for an instant, they take on the shade of human brown. “They all taste the same to me.”

It’s the same moment that the straggler doubles over, gripping his stomach in pain. The taste of sweet wine turns into something metallic, warm and viscous. He detects a bit of rubble and the saltiness of tears.

The next minute is a series of disjointed sensations: 6:58 PM. There’s a sick feeling every time he checks his watch. He wants to go home, but at the same time, he doesn’t. There’s a high chance he’ll be coming back only to see his wife leaving. He has no kids, no family, no friends to even cry to. He never imagined it would turn out like this.

Then, as if the heavens heard this wish, he sees headlights heading toward him at high speed. He hears the pit-patter of rain as it falls over his umbrella, and then, the screams. A chorus of move it and watch out, pounding inside his skull like drum beats. He has a split-second to feel the clash of metal against human flesh, the impact rearranging his guts and hurling him a few feet away.

The eight will make you forget the days yet to come.

The pain melts away as realization settles deep into his stomach.

“Last shot?” the barkeep chimes in, sliding him the final shot glass.

All around them, the bar falls into silence.

There’s another silent offer being made here—another shot at another life.

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He glanced at his watch. 7 PM since time stopped ticking. He can’t believe he actually forgot.

“Shit. I said I’d be back by eight.” He gathers his watch and wraps it around his wrist, almost as if in a rush. He fishes his wallet and takes out a wad of bills, pinning it under the unfinished glass. leaving.

For the first time since it was established, the bar sees a customer The barkeep doesn’t know what to say.

“The drinks are good.. but my wife will kill me if I’m late,” the straggler gets up, now with a smile on his face. He looks worse than he had when he first came here: there are rips where the shrapnel pierced through, and blood mixing along the coffee stains. However, there’s a spark of life inside him that hadn’t been there before. A drunken kind of excitement fueled by the seven shots of alcohol, instead of being washed out.

“Where are you going?” the woman whispers, aghast.

He thinks of all the bitter tastes life has to offer. And then, underneath it all, the good parts.

“Home.”

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Bumbilya Jacinth Banite

“May na-rape na naman daw na dalaga diyan sa kabilang barangay.”

Ito ang bungad ni Mama habang inihahain ang mga ulam sa lamesa.

Bahagyang napahinto ako sa paghahanay ng mga plato at kutsara sa lamesa, isang pares para sa bawat upuang nakapalibot dito.

“Tsk tsk! Grabe na talaga ang panahon ngayon!” dagdag ni Papa mula sa dulo ng hapag-kainan. Inilapag niya ang baso ng kape, hindi mabaling ang atensyon mula sa dyaryong kanyang binabasa. Humalo sa ingay ng mga kubyertos ang yabag ng mga paang bumababa sa hagdan.

“Anong ulam?!” tanong ng bagong gising na si Brian, ang nakababata kong kapatid, habang hinihila ang upuang katabi ni Papa. Dahil nakatingin na ito sa mga pagkaing nakahain, walang sumagot sa kanyang tanong.

Matapos ilapag ni Mama ang baso ng tubig sa tabi ng plato ni Papa, sabay kaming naupo sa aming sari-sariling pwesto.

“Naku, ang mga batang babae rin kasi ngayon mga pasaway! Tapos kung manamit eh kulang na lang maghubad na!” sumbat ni Mama.

Biglang nag-patay sindi ang bumbilya ng kusina, kasunod ng

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pagtiklop ni Papa sa dyaryong hawak upang siya’y maka-kain na.

Napatingin kami ni Brian sa itaas, hindi dahil kami’y nagulat, ngunit dahil kami’y nagtaka.

“Hindi pa rin pala naayos ‘yan?” tanong ko. “Ang tagal na pong sira niyan ah!”

“Hindi ko pa maasikaso eh!” sagot ni Papa habang nginunguya ang pagkaing nasa bibig.

Muling nag-patay sindi ang ilaw.

“Huwag niyo na lang pansinin, kumain na tayo,” payo ni Mama.

Napailing na lang ako habang inilalagay ko ang kanin at kalahating piraso ng itlog sa kutsara. Ngunit muling buksan muli ang usapan, at sa puntong iyon, ako na ang laman nito.

“Kaya ikaw, Clara! Naku, huwag kang nagsususuot ng malalaswang damit kapag lumalabas ka. Tsk! Mababastos ka lang anak!”

Muli akong napatingin sa ilaw, bago lumingon sa katabi kong si Brian. Nakakunot ang noo nito habang ngumunguya, sabay pindot sa teleponong tinatago niya sa ilalim ng lamesa.

“Ma, bakit po ako mag a-adjust?!” tugon ko.

“Aba syempre! Mabuti nang ikaw ang mag-adjust kaysa naman ikaw pa ang mabastos.”

Tumingin ako kay Papa. Sa gitna ng kanyang pag-nguya, niluwagan nito ang suot na kwelyo na tila ba nahihirapan huminga.

“Eh kelan ‘yong sila naman ang mag a-adjust?” pabulong kong sagot bago ang isang malaking pagsubo.

“Ano ‘yon?!” biglang tanong ni Mama.

Sayang, hindi niya narinig.

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“Wala po, Ma.” Ngunit kung alam ko lang ang susunod na mga salitang manggagaling sa kanya, sana pala inulit ko na lang.

“Kasi anak, kung gusto mong respetuhin ka, dapat ipakita mong karespe-respeto ka!”

Muling nagpapansin ang napupunding bumbilya, walang muwang sa umiinit na usapan.“Kapag naka-sleeveless po ba ang babae o di kaya nakasuot ng maiksing short, hindi na siya karespe-respeto?!” aking itinanong kay Mama bilang tugon sa huli niyang sinabi.

“Hindi naman sa gano’n, anak! Ang sa akin lang eh bilang babae kasi, dapat may disiplina ka sa sarili mo. Naku, kung alam mo lang noong panahon namin, balot na balot ang mga babae, ingat na ingat kami sa mga sinusuot naming damit,” pagdidiin ni Mama.

“Noong panahon niyo po ba, wala pong babaeng nare-rape?”

Matapang kong itinanong.

“Ah, syempre meron din.”

Hinihintay ko ang karugtong na sagot ni Mama, pero wala nang lumabas sa kanyang bibig. Sumubo na lamang ito ng isang kutsarang kanin.

Muling nagpatay-sindi ang ilaw, at sa puntong iyon, siya naman ang napatingin dito, ngunit agad ding umiwas at bumalik ang mga mata niya sa akin.

“Basta, anak, makinig ka na lang sa akin! Huwag mo nang bigyan ng motibo ang mga manyak diyan sa labas,” malumanay niyang sinabi.

Matapos kong marinig iyon, napatitig ako sa umuusok na kanin sa aking harapan at nilanghap ang mabangong amoy nito. Mga butil ng kanin na singdami ng gusto kong sabihin, at ang usok nito na sing-init ng aking nararamdamang lungkot dahil sa madayang kaisipan ng aking nanay. Ilang tanong tuloy ang namutawi sa aking isipan. Ilang tahanan kaya ang may ganitong klase ng almusal? Ilang anak na babae kaya ang dinadaan sa pangunguya ang mga salitang nais sabihin dahil hindi nila ito basta-basta mabitawan? Na gaya ng kaning aking pinagmamasdan, hinahayaan itong mapanis dahil hindi kayang kainin ng mga dilang busog na sa nakasanayan.

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“Grabe!” biglang sigaw ni Brian sa aking tabi. Lahat kami ay napatingin sa kanya.

“Si Marry pala yung nakitang bangkay kagabi?! Pinag-uusapan ngayon sa GC. Tsk! Na-rape daw!”

“Kilala mo yun, anak?” tanong ni Mama.

“Opo, sa school namin pumapasok yun, Grade 7.”

“Ano raw balita?” aking sinunod sa usapan.

“Hindi pa raw alam kung sinong gumawa, pero nakahubad daw na nakita yung bangkay tapos yung Jogging pants at T-shirt niya...” Kita ang bahid ng lungkot sa kanyang mga mukha.

“Naka T-shirt at jogging pants siya?!” agad kong inulit. “…Malapit sa imburnal nakita ‘yong bangkay,” itinuloy ni Brian ang kanyang binabasa.

Muling nag patay sindi ang ilaw.

Nag-ingay ang pagkaskas ng paa ng upuan nang biglang tumayo si Mama. “Patayin na nga lang natin ‘yang ilaw na yan!” naiirita niyang sinabi habang naglalakad papunta sa switch.

“Bakit mo papatayin? Ayos nga eh! Nakakagana kumain,” sambit ng kaninang tahimik na si Papa, kasunod ng matipid na halakhak.

Hindi ito pinansin ni Mama at tuluyang pinatay ang ilaw bago ito bumalik sa upuan at nagpatuloy sa pagkain.

“Tapos ano pa?!” pinilit ko si Brian na ituloy ang pagkukwento, ngunit ng magsasalita pa lamang ito…

“Tama na nga ‘yan! Nasa harapan tayo ng pagkain, bangkay bangkay ‘yang pinag-uusapan niyo!” pagpigil ni Papa sa usapan namin.

“Itago mo muna ‘yang cellphone mo na ‘yan, Brian!”

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Matapos ang pagsaway ni Papa, akala ko makakakain na kami nang tahimik. Ngunit muling nabuksan ang usapan, at sa puntong iyon, si Brian naman ang laman nito.

“Ikaw ba Brian, may nililigawan ka na ba?” tanong ni Papa.

“Wala pa po, Pa,” nahihiyang tugon ni Brian.

“Tsk! Mahina ata ang binata ko ah! Dapat meron na. Ang tunay na lalaki, sa edad mo, dapat marunong nang manligaw, aba!”

Kalahating ngiti kasunod ang pagyuko ang isinagot ni Brian.

Hinintay ko ang pagpatay sindi ng ilaw ngunit, oo nga pala, mas piniling patayin na lang ito upang hindi mapansin, kaysa ayusin at muling maliwanagan. Bakit nga ba ganoon ano? Mas madali bang isantabi ang isang bagay na sira kaysa ayusin ito? O marahil, nasanay at naging komportable na lang, kaya hahayaan na lamang? Kung ganoon na lang lagi, nangangamba akong mapuno ng pagpigil ang mundo, dahil ang tahimik ay mananatiling tikom, ang bulok na sistema ay mananatiling mabaho, at ang mga karapatan ay mananatiling hindi pantay.

Kailangan natin ng paalala na may kailangang ayusin.

Nang aking marinig ang nagsisimulang usapan ni Brian at ni Papa, ipinilit kong baliin ang metal na kutsarang aking hawak at ipinakita ang baluktot na itsura nito kay Mama at Papa na nasa parehas na dulo ng lamesa.

“Tignan niyo!” itinaas ko ang baluktod na kutsara, pagkatapos, tumingin ako sa itaas kung saan nakasabit ang pinatay na bumbilya.

“Mukhang ang daming sira sa loob ng bahay na ito.”

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Writers

Elaine Belen

Maria Victoria Busine

Ahmad Mahusay

Aprilean Octavo

Sheka Ignaco

Julianna Octavio

Lean Pantorilla

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Artists

Miguel Luis Abenales

Stephanie Ann Arreza

Rachelle Ann Calaustro

Jose Mari Callejo

Emmanuel Esmilla

Charles Howard Gaa

Sheka Ignaco

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Ma. Bernice Victoria Obias

Julianna Octavio

Alexandrea Rey

Literary Writers

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Editor

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The Official Student Publication of De La Salle University-Dasmariñas Founded: June 1985 Member, College Editors Guild of the Philippines

EDITORIAL BOARD AY 2020 - 2021 Lean Jane A. Pantorilla, Editor in Chief Christine Marie L. Romero, In Charge, Copy Sheka S. Ignaco, Creative Director Ahmad B. Mahusay, Managing Director Aprilean V. Octavo, Office and Circulations Manager Patricia Ann T. Recaña, News Coordinator Maria Victoria C. Busine, In Charge, Features Shekynah Angelene F. Samadan, Literary Coordinator Emmanuel A. Esmilla, Art Coordinator Rachelle Ann D. Calaustro, Graphics and Layout Coordinator William Clarenz P. Constante, Web Manager Dr. May L. Mojica Adviser

The Heraldo Filipino has its editorial office at GMH 120, Gregoria Montoya Hall De La Salle University-Dasmariñas, Cavite, Philippines 4115.

Telephone: +63 46 481 1900 local 3063 Email: officialheraldofilipino@gmail.com Website: heraldofilipino.com Contributions, comments, suggestions, and signed letters should be addressed to the Editor in Chief.

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palad is the literary digest of The Heraldo Filipino, official student publication of De La Salle University - Dasmariñas.

The Literary works published remain as properties of their authors.

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