Game

GAME

Copyright Š 2019 Booked Game Volume 8, Part 2 LXXVII No. 6 Literary Folio of Tolentine Star, the official student publication of University of Negros Occidental-Recoletos All rights reserved. No part of this folio may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Editor-in-Chief.

Published by the students, faculty, and alumni of the University of Negros Occidental-Recoletos at Impress Quality Printing, Talisay City, Negros Occidental.

Literary Editor Steffanie Condemilicor Associate Editor Charlene Grace Gelotin Editor-in-Chief Alyssa Marie ArceĂąo

FOREWORD FOREWORD

(Press Start Button)

Welcome to this game called life where we are given one chance to serve our purpose - to live life with no regrets and what-ifs. By our failures, we learn as we see it as a challenge.

By our successes, we see it as a motivation. But, unlike any other game, we have no cheat keys and only the hot keys that we strive to practice to control. These hot keys, the values and virtues, that we have engraved on our souls will help us move forward as we navigate the map leading to the completion of our missions. We might encounter enemies ahead but never should we falter. instead, we should raise our flag and conquer the enemy lines. Do not let your mistakes define you, or your fear control you. You are the hero of your own storybattle.

So, prep up, wear your gear, choose your weapon, and get ready for the game of life!

6

BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Lynx by Matthew John Lorizo

GAME

Defeat in a Victory

by Mirray Christine Maguad

It's a rank game.

"Five seconds 'til the enemy reaches the battlefield. Smash them!"

Zilong runs in the mid lane, enemies start to throw their arrows.

"First Blood!"

"You have slain an enemy!"

"Double kill!"

"Triple kill!"

"Killing spree!"

Trrrrt trrrrt trrrrt~ Love is calling...

I'm torn between two but the game is getting intense.

I can't stop. I'm sorry.

Call declined.

"An enemy has been slain!"

"Enemy rampage!"

"You have been slain!"

Trrrrt trrrrt trrrrt~ Love is calling...

I know you can wait. This will be fast, honey. I promise.

Call declined.

"God-like!"

"Unstoppable!"

"Legendary!"

Trrrrt trrrrt trrrrt~ Love is calling...

You love me and I know you will understand.

Just a little more time.

"Your team destroyed the turret!"

"VICTORY!" We won the battle. I knew it!

I checked my Messenger.

I know she missed me.

"You can't reply to this conversation. Learn more."

"This is an extreme defeat," I said in a deep sigh.

7

8

BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Childhood by Leslie Banaban

GAME

Tamang Timpla ni Aly

Saksakan nang init ang tapat ng Ramon Dimaguiba Provincial Hospital nang tumirik na ang mataas na araw - senyales na ng hapong pagod. Halos usok ang nakabalot sa bawat estante; tanging pamaypay at karton lamang ang pumapawi sa kapal ng usok.

Nakakaubo ngunit mabango; ang inasalang tila nakadiskwento na ang presyo, sakto para sa mga empleyado na halos araw-araw nasa petsa de peligro. Hindi ako sigurado kung kaninong inasal ang pinakamasarap kasi naman parang magkakapareho lang ang timpla ng bawat estante; hindi bitin, hindi masyadong matamis, maalat o maasim-tama lang.

Walang babagabag sa konsensya kung magpapalit ka ng suki. Eh, kasi naman, walang kompetisyon sa lasa. "'Te Grace, dalawang tocino nga tapos isang isaw, isang betamax with two cups of rice po," sabi ko sabay kuha ng apat sa nakadisplay na paninda.

"Parang gutom, ah, Nina," pangiting sagot ni ate Grace.

Matagal nang nakapuwesto sina ate Grace at asawa niyang si kuya Jonald sa tapat ng RDPH. Bago pa ipinanganak si Jonald Jr. na binata na ngayon, nakikipagsabayan na ang dalawa sa iba pang sampung nagbabarbekyu. Naku, sulit talaga yung isaw nila kasi isaw ng baboy ang ginagamit hindi yung sa manok. Napaupo ako sa pagod dulot ng six-to-two shift. Babad na babad na ang mga paa ko sa kakatayo at ngayon makakarelaks din tsaka makakasimot ng kamay na may kanin at chicken oil. Ayun, alas kwatro na't nakahanda na yung pambayad ko sa kanin at ulam na may nakatutuwang halaga ng singkwenta pesos lamang. Bumili lang ako ng maning salted at hinatid ako ni kuya Jonald para iwas dukot daw kasi ang daming mga adik tsaka lasing sa aming kanto.

Matagal na ring nagmamaneho ng taxi si kuya Jonald; pinuhunan ang Avanza galing sa kita ng pagbabarbekyu.

Maaga pang nagsasara yung mga estante. Bago pumatak ang alas siyete ay nagaalsabalutan na ang mga tindera't tindero. Mabilis yatang naubos kaya napabilis din ang pag-empake nila. Madilim na nang iniwan ako ni kuya Jonald sa may tapat ng bahay namin; napadali nang kailangan niya pang tulungan ang kanyang maybahay sa paglilinis ng estante. Malayo-layo na ang naabot ng Avanza nang nalaman kong naiwan ko pala yung isa ko pang bag na may lamang mga maintenance na gamot para sa diabetes ni mama. Tinatamad akong habulin o kawayan si kuya Jonald ngunit parang wala nang ekstrang gamot doon sa bahay. Napilitan akong tumakbo para umabot sa kanya. Nang marating na ng Avanza ang pinakamadilim na parte ng kanto na naka-angat sa isang eskinita, dahan-dahang huminto si kuya Jonald, ako naman, dahil sa saksakan ng tamad, napabagal din ng lakad. Baka naman napansin niya ang bag sa likod. Napahingal ako at umupo muna sa hagdan nina tiyang Betty. Lumabas si kuya Jonald pero, sa halip na ang bag ko yung bitbit niya ay itak na parang bolo na ginagamit sa sakahan ang daladala niya. Ang hingal ko ay napalitan ng kabadong paghinga. Dali-dali at dahan-dahan akong nagtago sa mga orchids ni tiyang Betty at biglang nanalangin dala ng imahinasyon kong papatayin ako ni kuya Jonald. Ano ba ang ginawa ko? Nagbayad naman ako, ah.

Diyos ko, patawarin mo ako kung palagi akong late sa duty. Napa-ihi ako sa takot nang narinig ko ang Avanza na umarangkada papalayo.

9

10 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Pag-uwi ko sa bahay sabay hingal, patay yung mga ilaw - walang tao. Lintik. Anak ng tokwa. Hindi ko keri ito. At dumilim ang paligid. "'Nak! Hoy! Gising!," napabulalas ako sa sigaw ni mama. "'Nyeta naman, oh. Nanggaling lang ako sa Mah Jhong, ganyan na inabot mo?"

Buti na lang at nagsaing na si mama tsaka nagluto na ng eskabecheng isda; hindi na ako uutusan pa. Umungol na lang ako at umakyat sa aking kwarto sabay napabagsak sa higaan. Ang panghi na ng pantalon ko ngunit parang napagod ako sa isang masamang panaginip.

Maaga akong nagising at malamig pa ang tubig panligo. Mas maaga pa ako kesa sa alarm kong alas tres y media ng umaga. Bumaba ako at naghanda ng almusal. Pareho kaming maaga ni mama na aalis dahil Biyernes ngayon at huling araw ng buwan. "Nina, bibili kaya ako ng isang kilong mani. Kita kong may hawak-hawak ka kagabi. Parang ang sarap kumain," sabi ni mama galing sa kwarto niya. Habang naghahanda sa mesa, umalingasaw ang wangwang ng ambulansya sa kabilang kanto. Sabi ni mama, wala namang usok o ano sa kabilang banda. Bandang alas singko na at papaalis na ako ng bahay nang napasigaw si mama habang nanonood ng balita. "Nina! Dali! Si Homer 'to, ah!," nanginginig na turo ni mama sa TV. Oo nga at si mang Homer sa kabilang kanto ang nakabalandra sa pang-umagahang balita - este ulo lang pala ni mang Homer.

Nakalatay ang karatulang "Huwag tularan" sa tabi ng mistulang nakangangang mukha ni mang Homer. Iniwan lang ng taga-katay ni mang Homer ang ulo niya sa eskinitang malapit sa bahay nina tiyang Betty - kung saan ako nagtago at umihi sa panaginip ko kagabi. Panaginip nga ba yun kagabi?

Papunta na ako ng trabaho nang puro guni-guni ang nilalaman ng aking isipan.

Taga-tokhang ba si kuya Jonald? Oo, lasenggo't adik yang si mang Homer pero 'di ko mailalagay sa puwestong mamamatay-tao si kuya Jonald. Pagbaba ko sa jeep, binati ako ng ngiti ni ate Grace sa tapat. Nilunok ko na lang ang laway ko't ngumiti rin pabalik.

Kakain pa ba ako diyan mamaya?

GAME

VR by Dyniel Keith CataluĂąa

11

12 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

You should—

by Jusalanne Matulac

Here's for the day That could've turned into great adventure If you weren't too afraid To get wounded.

Waking up in a picturesque spot With a cup of coffee in both hands, Unwinding on the high-end mountains, Jumping on cold water like there's no end.

Here's for the people You could've met If you weren't too afraid To be rejected.

A dancing hello for strangers, Exclaiming no sign of danger.

As your eyes meet in a distance, A new companion among your existence.

Here's for the dream You could've accomplished If you weren't too afraid To fail.

Applauding hands of people in a bit Whether you have won it or you lost it.

A smiling emoji plastered in your eyes As you conquer the impossible lies.

Here's for you.

You could've been a better version of you If you weren't too afraid To risk.

It is better to try Than to regret and cry.

Losing is not an option.

That would hinder you in creating the best life.

-Risk!

History

by Alrenzi Esparagoza

Checkered boards and wooden armies.

Snakes, ladders, and moral dilemmas.

Kingdoms, faces, suits.

Strategy and tactics, the race to victory.

Adventure waiting at the push of a button.

Demons, monsters, and battles to death.

Conquering one obstacle after another.

Saving the princess, becoming top of the league.

Honesty Game by Lourdes Angeline Sendico

GAME

13

14 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Playing Pretend

by Tisha Celine Erika Ocampo He came like a blizzard With games on his mind.

A sprinkle of fairy dust And I was blissfully blind.

Away we went To a place of magic and stories Of happily ever afters, too!

Flying in circles, Never landing And I forget'Tis also a game, this happy ending.

He will always be a boy.

He will not leave his fun.

For all must grow up; All except one.

I left his playground And blinked the stars away.

For a boy playing manFor that boy, I will not stay.

As all stories go, Our tale must come to an end.

So I closed my window, I barred my door, And I waitedWaited for that boy no more.

Wanted

by Delilah

Isa, dalawa, tatlo Magtago na kayo Apat, lima, anim Parating na ang patalim Pito, walo, siyam Walang may makakaalam Sa pitong libong pulo Ang napatay ko na ay sampu.

GAME

15

I killed him.

by Lyka De La Torre

Unsympathetic music plays in the background.

Despite the noose around his neck, he remains cocky and arrogant, uncaring of the demise he'll face once I make my fourth mistake.

I ponder on how he could've possibly gotten there - with a braided rope ready to choke him and a trap door waiting to open by his feet.

I ponder on what he needs to know but my lack of intellect is starting to get to me.

Is my stupidity going to kill him?

Cold sweat race down my spine. My drenched shirt only reminds me how long I've been trying to remember something I didn't even know about.

My first mistake was from the apathetic guessing but the second and third were my shameless display of illiteracy and blind faith that my luck will save him.

Oh, gosh. The choices I make only tighten the noose he so pompously wears.

I can't make another mistake. Not anymore. Not even for someone this arrogantly unafraid of death.

Of twenty-six choices, what are the chances of me making four mistakes?

I click on the letter E, but, alas, the trap door opens and down goes the disappointed-at-me kangaroo, dragging the noose by his neck.

His ghost flies its way up, staring at me like daggers in his eyes.

Such is how I failed yet another game of Hangaroo.

Game by Romchelle Chris Danielle Waminal

16 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

GAME

17

Deal or No Deal

by Jezreel Caberoy

"For 1 million pesos, deal or no deal, Mr. Gerald?" said the host, an imitation of a hit television gameshow inquired to the man on a laptop camera.

"I- I- Ummm," Gerald, the contestant who was sweating profusely, stammered.

The online stream was flocked by thousands of people being entertained by the game. To be more precise, they are looking forward to what reaction contestants make for the actions they themselves took. Whether by their gut feeling or crunching numbers, these contestants will try to win the game through their answer.

Out of the 24 cases, only 8 remains and one of them contains the 2 million pesos off the board, the offer goes lower. Gerald looks down and finally deduced.

"Deal!" he announces his answer.

"Booooo!!!"

"Quitter" "Wanker" Slowly, messages can be seen piling up from the stream chat. Unrecognizable characters are also seen, implying non-English speakers and its diverse audience.

"Aww, Mr. Gerald, it looks like our audience is not happy with that answer. And we still need some air time," the host queried and leaned closer to the screen revealing a white masquerade mask.

"Please, I need the money. That amount is just enough for my daughter. I love her. I don't care about the money, I just want her out of the hospital," he pleaded.

"Boohooo! PLAY DA GAME!" "Lol he's gunna cri" "Well, Mr. Gerald. They are still not convinced of your performance. Tell you what, let me personally throw in, for the next offer of course should you still play the game, a pick-up truck. Call it, a heartfelt gift from your good host this evening. That way you can also drive little Suzy from the hospital to a new home earned from your game winnings," he offered while waving his cane.

Gerald's eyes start to swell. The desperate man looks over to the available "values". The second jackpot is still up. He knows there is less chance for him to have it locked and win. His luck is the worst. And tonight, it is worse than he thought.

"Ok. Uhhhh—No deal," he succumbed to their wishes.

"Hohoho. Looks like we have a fighter here ladies and gentlemen. Well then, Mr. Gerald, select four more briefcases," the undesirable jester said as the player follows his instructions and chooses four briefcase, trusting his gut feels for the last time.

"Looks like you have a fairly good streak here. For 600,000 pesos, deal or no deal, Mr. Gerald?" he asked.

"Deal" "no deal" "Take it!!!"

This time, the chat is polarized. The exchange rambled on for some time. I am getting sick of these freaks.

"You know what? I know nothing's going to happen if I do get that money. Not even something good... Go big or go home," he gave his final decision.

18 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Imbibed by Renee Suala

GAME "Hohoho. A fighter might I add. Seeing the bravery of this young man inspires me want to paint another masterpiece. But I can't make it while hosting," the host said.

"Nooo make art" "We love you host" "Why are you still talking to that loser?"

"I want to cut this short. So, here's your locked briefcase!" he leaned out of the recording.

Computer graphics danced around the stream.

"CONGRATULATIONS, Mr. Gerald. You WON the grand prize!"

The winner is now jumping around his room cheering for joy while whispering, "Thank God. Sweetie, just wait a bit longer." After that I paused the video on the laptop and looked my partner in the eye demanding for an explanation.

"This is a footage from Mr. Andrew Gerald. Age 37. Construction worker. He is our John Doe in the river. His daughter, Suzie Gerald, is 7 years old and was suffering from a heart problem, spent 5 months in the hospital but recently died," the guy beside me said.

"And that video?" I asked.

"He was not rich to afford a transplant. So, he contacted the rumored gameshow. It basically means you are risking LITERALLY EVERYTHING for this. You win good. You lose, you are a dead man with no burial grounds save for some folk. High risk-high reward."

"And he gave us this footage not because it is illegal, but because everything is nothing to him after her daughter died. He was not fast enough to reach her or use the money for a new heart." I deduced while my partner just nodded in agreement.

"And the 'audience' is either people who entered previously or just investors. If they are not happy, they will simply hire people to kill you even if you won because the management only like 'good presentations'," he added.

We both left the evidence room after we saw our supervisor in one of the audience streams.

Karma ni Kyun

Kalipay ang naagom sang nakuha ang alahas nga malahalon

Gilayon man pangita sang manugbakal agod may yara sang inugbakal pagkaon Apang isa ka oras mahuman post sa Facebook,PM ang nadangtan pagkahapon

Ugaling imbis nga si Ana lang ang yara sa meet-up, iya nga kaupod

amo si PO2 Dato-on

19

20BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

The Game Is In Your Hand by Nevermore

GAME

21

Out of Time

by Jessel Siruelo

If you are reading this, It's the moment you know something is[ There's a monster inside my head but none of you could hear The noisy words formingmumbling, shouting right in front of my teary eyes Every night, in the sharpest edge of my dark room I sit but it feels like I'm running Until I can no longer move.

It was temporary so I took a rest and started taking another long leap to protect myself.

I jumped so high from those hurdles of life.

I kept on running and running away from the scariest beast that haunts me But he reached me and I became its captive.]

- happening but you only have 3, 2, 1, 0 seconds to save me.

Jenga

by Ella Jane Mercado

52 blocks piled up; Two or more players are ready.

The game is about to start.

Everyone is chilling already.

First player slowly pulled out a block, Placed it at the top successfully.

Second player did the same and so on; Clapped as they see the blocks still standing strong.

"Back again to player one!"

He looks at every single block confusingly.

Alas! He figured it out; Again pulled the block gently.

It was so gentle, yet not enough.

The blocks surprisingly fell And the game ended.

Clearly, being gentle is not the strategy.

22BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Rock, Paper, Scissors, Revolver by Jocer Macalisang

GAME

Know Your Worth by Joelle Mariel Paderog

23

24 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Tamang Tuhog ni Aly

Lumipas ang oras sa trabaho't binagot ako nang masyado. Hindi ko inakalang ala una na pala ng hapon. Isang oras na lang at mapipilitan akong lumabas nang mahapdi ang tiyan sa kaba at takot... maliban na lang kung lalabas ako sa kabilang exit- sa likod.

Madali akong lumakad papunta sa aking locker at papunta sa parking lot nang may tinig na pumigil sa aking paghakbang. "Nina! 'Di ka ba dadaan sa puwesto?" nanikip ang aking dibdib nang marinig yung boses. Bumaba ang bintana ng Avanza at nandoon si kuya Jonald na hahatid sa kanyang pasahero sa emergency room. Ang hirap lumingon nang nag-iisip ng kung ano-ano. "Oo, naman," pumiyok yung boses ko sa nerbyos.

Napaisip ako na dumaan na lang at nang hindi si kuya Jonald maghihinala na saksi ako sa nangyari kagabi.

Ang maghapong usok ay mistulang naging kumot sa tapat ng RDPH; usok ng sinusugbang karne at lamang-loob. Ang dating kinagisnan na bango ng pananghalian ay naging baho ng lansa ng dugo ng isang patay na inumagahan. Kapag magsusumbong ako sa mga awtoridad, baka naman kasabwat din sila. Ang kapulisan at ang gobyerno ay besprens. Parang mababaliw yata ako sa pinasok kong gulong ito. Baka naman ako'y susunod na kay mang Homer kapag pumiglas at magsumbong ako.

"Nina!" sigaw ni ate Grace sa tapat. "Halika," napasensyas siya sa akin. Ako'y tumawid sa tapat ng ospital. Pumili ako ng uulamin at ibinigay ang mga ito kay kuya Jonald para lutuin. Para akong susuka sa takot at nerbyos. Parang lumiliyab ang aking lalamunan at tiyan. "'Te Grace! Pabili nga ng mineral water," sabi ko. "Kuha ka lang diyan sa ice box," sambit niya sabay turo sa maliit na Styrofoam na ice box. Dali-dali akong tumayo at pumunta sa likod ng ihawan at, nang kinuha ko ang takip, nandoon nakatago ang mga karneng baboy at lamang-loob sa sisidlan. Nagkamali akong nabuksang sisidlan.

May umagaw sa aking atensyon nang sa kaloob-looban ay mayroong kumikinang na bagay at dahil pakialamera ako, dahan-dahan kong tinabi yung plastic ng karne habang nakatalikod sina 'te Grace. Punyeta't kalahati! Napasigaw ako sa aking ulo. Parang susuka ako. Dali-dali kong sinara yung ice box tsaka lumipat sa kabila at kinuha yung mineral water. "Oh, nahirapan ka ba sa pagpili ng tubig?" pabirong sabi ni 'te Grace nung pabalik na ako sa aking upuan. "Ah, dalawa kasi yung ice box ninyo, 'te," pangiti kong sagot. Ngunit sa kabila ng ngiting yun ay ang nginig ng aking kaluluwang nakakita ng singsing at kwintas sa unang ice box. Baka sa mga biktima yun ni kuya Jonald at, baka, baka naman malas akong tao, sa mga biktima rin nila yung iniihaw nila araw-araw.

Napatayo ako, nagpaalam, at kinuha yung aking order. Nang napalayo ako sa puwesto, kita kong nag-uusap silang dalawa habang pinapanood akong naglalakad nang palayo.

Naku naman! Baka kaduda-duda na yung mga kilos ko at ako naman ang itotokhang naman nila. Nanalangin ako ng taimtim habang nag-aabang ng dyip.

Nang dumating ako sa bahay, tinawag ko si mama. Walang sagot. Sigurado akong dapat nandito na siya sa bahay kasi walang Mah Jhong sesyon ngayon. "Ma!" sigaw ko ulit, "Ma! Punta muna tayo sa kanila ni tiyang Judy! Ma!" Katahimikan lang ang bumati sa akin. Dumeretso ako sa kwarto niya at baka tulog lang naman siya. "Maaaaaaa!!!" sigaw ko sabay hagulgol. Nandoon si mama sa kama, nakanganga tulad ni mang Homer sa TV, napaliguan ng kanyang sangkaterbang dugo na tila dumanak at umabot sa aking puting sapatos. Sa gilid niya ay may humalakhak. Hinigop ni kuya Jonald yung dugo

GAME

Dreamer by Caesar Daniel Parayno

25

26BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

sa leeg ni mama. "Batang walang alam. Eh, kurakot naman sa city hall mama mo, eh, hindi sayang yung buhay niya. Alam niyang den ng shabu yung mismong lugar na mina-Mah Jhongan niya," at dumagdag at lumalim pa ang halakhak niya, "Alam kong alam mo ang nangyari kagabi, Nina. Napaaga ka lang ng dating dito. Mamayang gabi pa yung schedule mo sana. Sayang. Masipag, matalino, at magandang bata ka sana pero pakialamera't madaldal ka, eh. Kung sana lang maaasahan ka na 'di sisira sa mga plano ko, eh di 'di ka na malilintikan," namumula't nakakatakot yung mga mata niya.

"B-b-b-ba't mo iniinom dugo ni mama?" Kasama 'ba 'yan sa pagtotokhang?" tangatangang sagot ko.

"Yun nga ang masarap 'pag aswang ka't taga-tokhang - nagagawa mo trabaho mo nang madalian; busog ka pa. Ayaw na ng pulis ang trabahong ito; nakakasira raw ng reputasyon. 'Tsaka malinamnam 'yung karneng tao; tipid pa sa negosyo. Masarap pala ang dugo ng mama mo, ah. Malalasahan mo ang diabetes sa tamis at linamnam."

Napasigaw ako sa kaba at nagdalawang isip na tumawag ng saklolo. Unti-unti siyang lumakad papunta sa 'kin. Naghalukay ako sa bag ng kung anong pandipensa laban sa putang inang aswang na 'to. Ang layo ng kusina para sa asin o ano pa diyan na nakikita nating ginagamit sa Shake, Rattle, and Roll. Mala-Manilyn o Janice versus aswang ang eksenang 'to. Ang tanging sandata ko lang ang matatabang barbekyu stik ng inasal kanina.

"Oh, sige, lapit ka pa!" banta ko sabay atras habang hawak ang mga stik. Napatawa lang siya ng malakas. Nanginginig ako sa takot nang tumatakbo sa aking isipan na baka may supernatural powers siya tulad ng nasa mga horror na pelikula; baka tutubuan siya ng pakpak o kung mag-aanyong aso o ano pa 'yan. "Buti na nga na ipasasara yung inasalan ninyo! Wala man lang kayong business at sanitary permit! Eh, mas kurap pa kayo kaysa sa iba riyan, eh. Kayo pa 'tong nagtotokhang!"

"Daldal mong bata ka, ah!" nasa kusina na kami nang madalian siyang humarurot sa akin at parang katapusan ko na ito ngunit... "Lintik! Aaaaahhhh!" napasigaw siya sa mala-diyablong boses. Ayun. Tatlong stik na mayroon pang isaw [malamang ng tao] ang nakapako sa kanyang dibdib. Napaatras ako't nasiko ang isang mangkok ng maning salted. Habang umuungol si kuya Jonald, hinagis ko ang laman ng mangkok. Napasubo siya ng marami-raming maning salted. Yung iba, mahapding tumama sa kanyang mukha.

Lumaki ang kanyang lalamunan at tila umusok ang kanyang bunganga.

"Tulong!" Mabilisan akong tumakbong palabas at humingi ng saklolo. Nagsilabasan ang mga kapitbahay at dinalhan ako ng kumot at tumawag ng pulis at ambulansya.

Paglingon ko sa bandang dulo ng kalye, nandoon ang Avanza naka-parada.

Dumating ang mga pulis upang sumuri ng sitwasyon. Isang pulis ang kumapa sa aking balikat at binigay ang bag kong puro maintenance na gamot at ID ang laman.

Napaiyak na lang ako at sa wakas nakuha ko na rin ang bag ngunit wala na si mama; ang bag na puno't dulo ng lahat.

GAME

Joker by Steffanie Condemilicor

27

28BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

Love Games by Rheymar Chua

GAME

29

6

THE

th

Gawad Tolentino

FOR SHORT STORY AND POETRY WRITING

WINNING ENTRIES

30BOOKED

ARTWORK

VOLUME 8, PART 2

FIRST PLACE

artwork by Hyacinth Salazar

POETRY FIRST PLACE

Tagu-taguan ni Keith Adrian Nolido

Tagu-taguan maliwanag ang buwan. . .

At nagtakbuhan sina Tonyo At ang kanyang mga kaibigan Habang sumisigaw ng "Maligayang bagong taon," Dahil sa mga paputok Na narinig na parang kuwitis. . . . masarap maglaro sa dilim-diliman At nagtakbuhan sina Tonyo At ang kanyang mga kaibigan Habang sumisigaw ng "Maligayang pasko," Dahil sa pula na pintura Na kumalat sa sahig. . . . pagbilang kong sampu nakatago na kayo At nagtakbuhan sina Tonyo At ang kanyang mga kaibigan Habang sumisigaw ng "Happy Halloween," Dahil sa taong nakahiga sa kalsada Na parang nagpapanggap na patay. . . . isa, dalawa, tatlo May sumigaw ng saklolo. . . . apat, lima, anim, pito, walo "Nanlaban ang iyong itay, Tonyo." . . . siyam, sampu!

At tumahimik si Tonyo, At nagtakbuhan ang kanyang mga kaibigan.

GAME

31

32BOOKED

SHORT STORY

VOLUME 8, PART 2

FIRST PLACE

Late Night Walks on Santa Muerte Avenue

by Neil Stephen Valenzuela

Tonight was the night when I decided I would finally do it.

With a shift that ends in the wee hours of the night, there isn't really much else to do other than to go home and hit the sack. But, being quite the adventurous type and all, I'd much rather prefer to pass the time wandering around the dimmed and deserted streets of the city, immersing myself in the rare, quiet moments of a bustling metropolis known for its spontaneous night life. This tale that I will regale, however, was not the kind of adventure I usually associate myself with.

It all began when out of curiosity and sullen boredom, I joined a group on social media wherein the members would share urban legends they've claimed to have experienced, and how to replicate that same experience for others to try for themselves. Scrolling past some of the groan-inducing, obviously fake baits, I eventually come across a post that had a large following, with many users claiming this person's method has the highest rate of experiencing the supernatural.

Everyone in town is quite familiar or at least has heard of the tale of the "Waylaid Traveler in Santa Muerte Avenue." The tale goes that in the early 1900s, the son of a powerful and influential haciendero fell in love with a girl from the commons. One night, on his way to visit the girl, he asks for directions from a stranger as to where she stayed.

The passerby, being unfamiliar with the place as well, unintentionally directed him to the seedier part of town where he was promptly mugged and killed afterwards. The street has since been infamous for its vehicular accidents and occasional prowling cutpurses.

Now I did mention that I had a penchant for adventure, but as soon as I saw the words "Santa Muerte Avenue" come up on screen, even I had second thoughts about what I was about to get myself into.

The post details the various lines and responses that the Waylaid Traveler would ask once he'd appear and what replies you should make. It also seems that the Traveler doesn't have a definite look. Some report him to be tall at 6'5" while some say he's only at 5'0". Some say he's a rather chubby person while some would say otherwise. His clothing choices range from hoodies to denim jackets to even tank tops. Basically, he could shape shift and be anyone. The final line on the post concludes that you'd know if you played the game correctly if he finally allows you to ask him a question. The question has to be personal and unknowable but it can't be anything as absurd such as finding the winning combination in the lottery. As an example, there have been people on the comments section to have reported finding lost family heirlooms and such.

Tonight is the night when I'd finally know if this is the real deal or if it's just a silly game to prank people.

I took my place on the designated area on Santa Muerte Avenue with only a waiting bench and a forlorn streetlight to keep me company. I lit a cigarette to keep the chill off my bones; literally from the cold and from what will transpire soon. The stillness of the night was often broken out by the shrill rasping of the wind, which only served to hasten my uneasy heart's pounding.

After six torturous minutes of anxiously waiting, I began to ease up a little. The guide said he'd appear after five minutes. Now it's a minute past and I thought it was

GAME

33

nothing. The whole post was probably made up by somebody who just had a little too much time on their hands. Boy was I wrong.

"Excuse me," a thick voice from the dark rang out. Clear as glass, reverberating throughout the entire neighborhood. The hairs on my neck stood stiff. "I think I'm lost."

The game was on.

The rules said you should never look at his face directly while the game was in progress. Once the game was over though, you were free to look as you please.

"Good evening," I squeaked. It was a scripted reply. The time of day in the real world didn't matter. You always had to greet him a good evening. Clearing my throat, I continued. "How could I help?"

"I need to get to Santa Muerte Avenue," peering behind his back as he spoke.

"Could you point me in the right direction?"

While we were actually in Santa Muerte, the guide instructs you to just walk around town with him for 10 minutes then concluding with the response, "Well this is it, end of the line."

"Sure. I was heading there anyways so let's go together.

"Thanks. I'd very much appreciate that."

Scripted.

We walked off in silence flanking one another. I took a glimpse at what he wore tonight and I can safely say that he has left all form of that early 20th century fashion in the grave. Tonight he was wearing a white Dark Side of the Moon shirt, denim jeans, and a pair of Stan Smiths. Fashionable for a hundred year old ghost I'd say.

"Are we close?"

"Yep. Just around the bend and we'll soon be on Santa Muerte," I replied. An unscripted banter. The guide said small talk was fine as long as it wasn't too much that could possibly annoy the Traveler, hence ending the game.

"Have you ever been in love?" He asked.

He caught me off guard. While the guide said he'd occasionally initiate small talk, it never said he'd ask such personal questions.

"I- yes. Once or twice maybe," I stammered.

"Hmmm," He mused a while on my response. "Yes, to experience love is truly a great experience."

I didn't exactly know how to respond with fear of abruptly ending the game so I just nodded, half-doubting he'd see the gesture beneath the shadows.

We continued on our path with barely a word to each other.

At nine minutes I shallowed my breath, listening intently for any distant noises that could pose a real-world threat such as thieves or muggers. Nine minutes without getting shanked on La Muerte Avenue is a real record breaker.

The final minute went past and I knew it was time.

"Well, this is it," as I stopped beneath a lamppost. "End of the line."

The Traveler looked around the surrounding buildings then sighed. It was only then that I noticed his shirt was shredded and caked with dried blood.

"Thank you for taking the time to accompany me," he said weakly. "I suppose you have a question for me?"

A lump on my throat began to swell, as I stood there desperately trying to hold back the tears.

"I- I need to know," I took a deep breath and paused a while.

34 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

"Go on. There's no need to rush. We have all the time in the world," he reassured me, placing a bloodied hand on my shoulder. I stopped myself from recoiling at the gesture.

I recomposed myself and finally looked at him straight in the face. Besides the scars and flesh wounds he sustained, he looked like an average person with an average face.

"I need to know if she's at peace or if she blames me for what happened."

The Traveler smiled sadly then made his reply.

"No and yes... she does."

I shut my eyes and nodded.

"This comes at a price I'm afraid," he began. "Sometimes what we're looking for is not what it seems, and we're left disappointed with what we actually find."

Confused, I took a step back and faced him once more. "What do you mean?"

"Those who come seeking for the truth are not always pleased with it," he continued, as he edged towards the sidewalk. "So they let the street take its justice. And for those who do, are damned to walk the eternal walk until another takes their place."

This was completely unscripted and was no longer part of the game. I felt a chill rush past me, as an insatiable desire to walk beyond the pavement gripped me.

"Keep safe." A scripted response that was the last thing he always said before he left.

Before I knew it, I was back to where I started. The waiting bench and streetlight accompanied me once more. Groggily, I took a seat and swiped my phone open. And there she was, beautiful, happy, and wearing that infectious smile that I loved so much.

It was taken two weeks before our accident. It not only left me with a large gash of my cheek, but a larger gash in my heart that will never completely heal.

As I write this, I'm thinking of taking another walk tonight after my shift. To anyone interested, I'll be wearing a grey cotton hoodie, ripped jeans, and a pair of high-cut Chuck Taylors.

Keep safe.

GAME

ARTWORK SECOND PLACE

artwork by Princess Kiara Suarez

35

36BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

POETRY SECOND PLACE

Remember

by Bianca Cababahay

'Tis a little narrative to you from me about younger days under the bright mango tree.

Do you remember the way we used to dance, Playing pretend or maybe a little prance?

Pulling our hairs, we were somewhat a bit crazy— games in a short while can get a little scary!

At the end of the day, our shirts were torn with holes on the sides and the stitches really worn.

But it wasn't as though it mattered— no!

When we were young, we couldn't give one thought nor a clue.

We were happy like that—a simple life so pure.

Do you recall the tree I mentioned? I certainly did!

But as for you, I couldn't be sure.

When times changed, I watched as you did, too.

Do you remember the cans we would strike down with our slippers?

Or the crude chalk markings that we would draw in front of the peanut vendors?

How about those times when we would catch the fluttering fireflies?

Do you still remember what it felt like for your toes to be beneath the sand?

I could only sigh...

Or have you forgotten how to be a child of the Philippine land?

GAME

SHORT STORY

37

SECOND PLACE

Russian Roulette

by Dustin Granada

"Have you ever given up your life to chance?"

Those words hung around his ears like a ghost, perpetually whispering. Like a dauntless lover come to take him home. He wanted to make the voices stop. He wanted to make HER voice stop. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, just like how he was before he met her.

University Library, 4:00 PM. Four weeks ago.

She was absolutely pretty. She had raven black hair flowing halfway down her back and big, brown, fawn-like eyes that pierced straight through you whenever you gazed into them. And that was exactly what Donny was doing, or trying to do. From the far corner of the library, he wondered what she was doing. She didn't seem to be studying.

She didn't seem to be the book-reading type either. She had her earphones on and looked like she was going to fall asleep any second. It annoyed him, but he found it cute too.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes, fully awake from her previous near-sleep state and looked straight at him. By this time, he was in panic.

"Did she notice I was looking at her all this time? Does it even matter? What if she thinks I'm some sort of maniac?" he thought.

As Donny was derailing back and forth from these lines of thought, the girl stood up, slowly, but steadily walked toward him. Her piercing gaze trailed on his flustered self.

When she stood right in front of him, he froze, not knowing what to say. Wordlessly, she slid out a chair from under the table, sat down, and looked straight at him, emotionless.

It was the most awkward situation he had ever caught himself in, he was berating himself for freezing on the spot, not being able to say anything.

"Next time, try to be discreet when you're stealing glances, okay?" the girl spoke, breaking the awkward silence.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words would come out. The only thing on his mind, though, was this girl right in front of him. Even her voice sounded angelic.

He was like a mute in the presence of such majesty. But he steeled himself, and tried to speak once more.

"You're pretty."

The girl was taken aback by such brashness. Even Donny himself could not believe he just said those words. He didn't even know the words were his own until he had time to register what he just said. He was prepared to get a good scolding and probably a slap on the face, but neither came. Instead, the girl smiled and eventually started laughing.

"That was pretty straightforward," she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"My name's Elena."

"Hey, I'm sorry. You rattled me," he replied, taking a deep breath. He was glad the situation wouldn't get any worse. "I'm Donny."

"Well, Donny, it was nice to meet you. Try not to stare too much next time. It makes you look like a creep." She told him while getting up from the table.

"What, you're leaving already? We just met," he replied while taking a glance at her student ID. She was in the same college as he was.

"Yeah. I just walked over to tell you not to be a creep," she told him.

38BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

She never gave him a chance to reply. She walked away and out of the library with a smile on her face. Donny never realized that he was smiling too.

Even so, he would see her every day. She seemed to be an average student, she wasn't exceptional, but she did good. Eventually, both of them grew closer to each other.

Donny decided it wouldn't matter if he knew nothing about her. She was a friend to him now. He would talk to her whenever he got her alone and would ask her out for lunch or some other activity. They would go out together. At times she would refuse and explain that she was busy and had too little time.

Somewhere outside school grounds, 6:30 PM. Two weeks ago.

One time he asked her out to a Saturday night dinner and as he expected, she refused.

"Come on, Lena, a pretty girl like you shouldn't be at home on a Saturday night."

He pleaded.

"Don't pull that crap with me. You know I'm way too much of a realist to fall for those cheesy lines." She laughed.

"Well it was worth a shot."

"And don't try to play cute with me either. You're not cute."

"I was kidding, Lena. I just thought we could go out sometime."

"I know. I know. Maybe some other time. Not tonight. I got stuff to do."

After that exchange, Donny went out for a few hours for a few drinks then decided he couldn't enjoy all by his lonesome so he decided to go home when it was around 2:00 AM. He slumped on his bed and was fast asleep, too asleep to even mind the sounds of police sirens and ambulances rushing past his house.

The next day, Donny woke up and followed his usual routine. It was a Sunday morning with nothing much to do. He turned on the TV to see if there was anything good on. There was a live coverage on one of the news stations and the place seemed familiar to him. Then it clicked. It was one of the banks in the downtown area. The place was a mess. It seemed that there was a fire, no, an explosion that tore a hole through the ground right under the vault. Millions of cash and other items were stolen. The reporter referred to it as "The Most Ambitious Heist in History". It was indeed an amazing bank robbery, as bank robberies go. No alarms were tripped up until the explosion. Whether this explosion had been intended or not, no one can say. There were no casualties either. When police came in to check on things; there was nothing left. No trace. No money. No nothing. Power lines were cut. CCTVs weren't working. Whoever broke into the place were obviously professionals. All they left was an unfired .357 bullet right in the middle of the entrance to the vaults.

Donny looked on, amazed. Then finally he put down the remote and took a sip of coffee.

"Not my bank." He muttered.

The next day, Monday. Donny looked out for Elena and wanted to ask her out for lunch like they usually do. But she was not in the entire day. He tried calling and texting, to no avail. She couldn't be contacted at all.

Somewhere, in a run-down apartment, Cassandra could feel her phone vibrating, the Super Mario soundtrack ringing in low volume. She looked at her phone to see who was calling. When she looked at it, she could only let the tears fall until the call went dead.

She wiped her tears with her bloodied hand and muttered. "I'm sorry, Donny."

GAME

39

Somewhere in the Downtown area, 7:00 PM. One week ago.

Police cars and emergency vehicles were flooding the area, forcing bystanders and civilians to evacuate from the scene. All attention was focused on one lone individual right in the center surrounded by police officers and media personnel. Everyone was watching her. Everyone.

"Cassandra Villasor!" a police officer shouted through a megaphone. "You are fully surrounded. Do not retaliate."

She only looked at them with blank emotionless eyes.

"I repeat, Miss Villasor. Stand down or you will be shot." Again the megaphone announced.

She smiled, emptied the cartridge from her revolver and reloaded the cartridge back.

Then she aimed.

Donny could not believe his eyes. The girl on TV. The one they claim to be Cassandra Villasor. She was his Elena. What had she done? Without thinking, he went out of his apartment and ran.

Cassandra aimed the gun. The onlookers watched in horror as she lifted the gun with the barrel straight to her head.

"No!" Donny screamed as he arrived just in time to see her with the gun to her head.

"D-Donny?" her eyes letting loose tears.

"It's me Elena. I'm here. Don't do this."

"No. Don't take step closer."

Donny stopped in his tracks, unsure of what to do.

"Let's play a game, Donny." She smiled at him as she spun the cartridge and stopped it with the click of the hammer lock. Donny looked at the bullets she emptied on the floor. Five cartridges. She had a .357 Magnum revolver with one loaded bullet.

"I have five chances to one Donny. If I win, you can visit me in jail. If l lose, you know what happens."

"No. Don't do this."

She smiled at him, the smile only he knew and said, "Have you ever given up your life to chance?"

She took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

CLICK.

40 BOOKED

ARTWORK

VOLUME 8, PART 2

THIRD PLACE PLACE

artwork by Louther Jan Adarle

POETRY THIRD PLACE

TAGU-TAGUAN ni Cleajane Macapagong

Tagu-taguan, maliwanag ang buwan.

Masarap maglaro sa dilim-diliman.

Ang sarap magkaroon ng kaibigan.

Hatid niya'y kasiyahan na walang hanggan.

Kahit kailan ma'y walang iyakan, Laging maghahabulan kahit naka-yapak lang.

Pero bakit ganoon makatingin ang iba?

Na para bang mali ang tumawa tayong dalawa— Na para bang mali na tayo'y maging maligaya— Na para bang mali na tayo'y magkasama.

Ngunit kahit gaano man pilit paglayuin, Ikulong man sa apat na sulok— Itali man ang mga kamay sa likod— Ikadena man upang hindi makalayo.

"Araw-gabi kitang hahanapin."

At sa wakas ay dumating na rin ang panahon.

Makakaalis na rin sa puting kahon.

Suot ang puting bistida na naglayo— Suot ang puting bistida na magtatapo.

Ngayon, Sila na ang maghahanap, Kami na ang magtatago.

Sa aking isip, magpakailan man.

"Taya!"

Pagbilang kong tatlo, Nakatago na kayo.

Isa, Dalawa, Tatlo!

"Time of death, 11:11 PM."

GAME

41

42 BOOKED

SHORT STORY

VOLUME 8, PART 2

THIRD PLACE

S.O.S

by Norielle MeĂąez Everything was twisted- no, not like her haunting braids- more like the joke that took her life away. The water was land and the land was water. You swallowed a handful of dust and it quenched your thirst.

Never forget but don't linger on the memory. Everything in your life was successfully done in reset and nothing in this world will bring you back. Give that a sigh of relief.

Write S on the center! There, a point.

Give your opponent a glance. Arturo is clearly taking this seriously. Swiftly break the ice or you will both catch attention.

"Is there like a jackpot prize for this, Art?" He chuckles. A good sign.

"Sorry. I just for once couldn't explain how we could be so satisfied by merely getting to draw more lines across S.O.S.- W-wait a minute! Oh look at that!" He saw a spot. How did you miss that horizontal S.O.S? That horizontal S.O.S. A helicopter passed by. You wrote the biggest S.O.S you ever could on the ground and ran around desperately, hoping that it would catch their attention. Instead of being rescued, you saw how everything became distorted, like a modern photograph transforming into an abstract masterpiece.

The Twisted Forest, as what the game makers call it, alters all the physical forms of every living and non-living things within its vicinity. That was the first world you chose to condemn yourself in right after her burial. A world dated February, 2300.

She would have disagreed. She would have told you that your value far exceeds the foolishness you were about to get into. But who did she think she was to ever speak to you that way?

Why wouldn't she just emerge and insist on her point?

At 2102, the world had finally mastered the concepts concerning illusions, making it appear like worlds and dimensions exist within a single estate. When one agrees to be inside, the illusions would either be his home or his exile for an entire lifetime.

There were three tablets to swallow in order to enter these worlds; each tablet was equivalent to one false world with a fixed time period. Yours had a picture of an island, a city, and something with only a big question mark. The length of every pill is always uncertain. Sometimes, it wouldn't last a day; sometimes you die even before you get to experience the effect of the other tabs. Everything you see are all products of hallucinations, like that of a schizophrenic. The only difference is that you are not insane-only stuck.

"Ped? Ped it's your turn. Are you alright?" Nod and pretend to be fixed on the game.

Write O on the side just to be safe. Now try your best ignore the sudden sting in your skull.

But why are the straight lines on Arturo's paper slowly turning curved?

"Aaaahhh!" Relax and breathe! Look around, the geometric patterns you have learned to live by are starting to transform to distorted, unidentifiable figures.

Run! That's fine, do not apologize to whomever you bump into as you try to leave.

GAME

43

Remember, none of them is real. Focus your gaze into that bench by the park outside the building; the one occupied by two elderly people. Sit in the middle and do not mind their gaze. You are the only one that matters here. The only one who could actually feel.

Listen to Backstreet Boys being played by someone from a not-so-distant radio.

Indulge in the comfort of your final moments. Sure, there is a huge uncertainty that lies ahead and we wouldn't know if the next pill is going to be even worse than The Twisted Island, 2300. But nothing good ever came out of diving deep into despair. You, of all people should know that.

The gamemakers did a spectacular job with the second pill. After the first one almost put an end to your sanity, The Big City, 1995 rescued your intellect and self-esteem with its soothing simplicity. Too bad all of this wouldn't last. Say goodbye to Backstreet Boys, to Arturo, to S.O.S. Say goodbye to the world you would miss the most. The world that was a century older than where you truly belong.

"Sometimes I wish I could, turn back time. Impossible as it may seem..."

Recall everything from the very beginning. She had always been there; braids and all. It was February 7, 2102 when she finally said yes and promised she would never leave your side. You even laughed at it and said "When did you ever do so?"

Then come February 8, Beth never woke up again.

This led you to an extremely thoughtless decision. The idea of even entering the new gaming hall was tantamount to suicide. People do not just come there out to play a game, they come to completely lose themselves.

Not long after you swallowed the pills, you hear her voice. Then you realized, it was the side effect of the first pill. Your thoughts would speak in the form of the one thing you could never forget.

Then you saw the mess you got yourself into. In the twisted forest, the trees were wild animals, and the wild animals were trees. Every mahogany could devour you whole.

The entire island was literally filled with lions and wolves, but it never scared you because they were apparently, just coconut and papaya trees. The water was land and the land was water. You swallowed a handful of dust and it quenched your thirst.

But there were more carnivorous trees in that place than there ever was dangerous animals in a normal island. And fortunately, before they could all get into you, the first pill wore off.

The second pill took you to a city in the 1990s, more than a hundred years prior to your birth. There, you started to establish and made friends with a man just like you.

Arturo was also easily bored. You both hopped from one seminar to another, playing S.O.S instead of paying attention. This ancient game was first introduced to you by Beth right after she learned it in one of her archaeology classes. According to her, there was something entirely symbolic with S.O.S. Whenever you connect three letters with a line to get a point, you are actually screaming the help you could never ask anyone and keep on hiding it behind a victorious smile. Of course, she never ran out of weird theories.

Most of them entirely made up.

And yet, something always took over whenever you drew those lines across the letters. Like your reason for swallowing the pills. Like the help that you asked from the illusion of a helicopter in the twisted island. Like the help you are screaming for right now to people who are about to disappear into another blur and be replaced by another illusions. You have always needed help, even before she came. More so when she was there, and worst when she left.

44 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

But no help is strong enough. Because for the most part, you only relied on the escape it can give. No help is strong enough, Ped. The only truly beneficial help you can get is the one you bravely use along with your own strength.

Ped? Why aren't you listening? Pedro where are you? Why can't I feel your movements anymore? Is this it? Are you on the third pill now?

Perhaps. Pedro, if there is one final thing I would like to tell you, it is that the third pill is the most dominating one. By the time you get to read this transcription of your time before this, you have probably totally forgotten. That pill will take over your system as if it has been the only world you have ever lived on. You would forget everything, including me- the voice that lingered inside your head. The one who has always, always never left.

I'm probably nothing more than letters printed on a paper now, being read by my beloved who lives in another era and identity and probably has no idea he is all I am talking about. But whatever that world is, please never ever put that pill to waste, however dreadful that final, temporary world may be.

Live, Pedro. All chances are gone. You can no longer scream S.O.S and be teleported by another pill. Stop crying for help and blame everyone if nothing comes. Stop throwing all your hate in a world that is purely an illusion, anyway. Live, my dearest. After you read this, you will probably carry on with that life as though I was just another fly that has passed through your nose.

But for once I had been your inner voice. For once I have always, always stayed.

And now that your Beth couldn't even feel you anymore, at least for old time's sake, please just listen to me one last time: You may be alone now, but YOU WILL CONQUER THAT.

GAME

artwork by Hilbert Sabobo

45

46 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

POETRY consolation prize

Sang Una Kag Subong

by Manolo Salaver, Jr.

Sang una gaililitom kita sang bulad sa init.

Subong galapsi kita, kay wala maayo nabulad aton panit.

Sang una gahampang kita sang laot-laot.

Subong sagay na lang 'ta sang pindot-pindot.

Mga bagay sang una nga manami ibalik.

Mga memorya na lang sa aton utok nga nagatapik.

Daw ka nami guid tani liwaton, Pero bahol na himuon.

Mga bata sang-una gahampang pisikal, Subong mga bata gahampang optikal.

Wala na sila maayo gahulag kag galumbayag, Ang mata gamurarat nga manugbulag.

Kasadya mag hampang sang unders, Pero subong tubang nila mga computer.

Sang una gahampang burador kag pamunit, Pero subong ara didto gahampang sa pisonet.

Mga bata sang-una puno sang ngirit kag kasadya, Mga bata subong hala bira nobyo kag nobya.

Indi man gani kabulig himos sa panimalay nila, Di man kaisrot kag kasangkol magtig-ang ukon mag-gisa.

Masubo nga bagay, ang bata sang-una puno sang kalipay.

Mapalipayon, biskan sa gagmay nga bagay.

Mga kabataan subong, Daw bangrus nga lipong.

Indi pa ulihi ang tanan.

Pwede pa magbag-o Ang mga sala na binuhatan.

Himuon mo ina sugod sa imo.

Masunod lang na ang mga makabalo Kag pangadi-an ta lang gid ina sa aton Ginoo.

Wala imposible sa aton Ginoo, Paagi sa utod naton nga si Hesu Kristo.

GAME

SHORT STORY

47

CONSOLATION PRIZE

Change

by Bianca Cababahay "Papa, what is that?" I asked as he knelt on one knee to hand me a dusty wooden box that I have spotted countless times sitting in solitude atop grandmother's dresser.

I looked up from the object of interest that sat on my father's palms, firmly secured by calloused fingers that worked hard to support us, but gentle all the same during the nights when I had trouble sleeping.

He gave me another cordial smile-one that I'm guessing had mother falling for him in the first place — before he carefully put it upon my hands.

"Son," he began, "this spinning top was designed and carved by none other than your great great grandfather Patricio, and as tradition dictated, this toy has been passed down from one generation to the next. My father gave it to me when I was your age... now I want to give it to you."

I gasped, unable to form any coherent words, opting for incomprehensible gawking sounds one would expect from a six-year-old child overwhelmed with many raw emotions, the biggest of which being excitement. But through that ecstatic display, I bore in my little mind the weight of this newfound responsibility, one that had me protect this legacy of sorts, and I instantly took it upon myself to make sure that no harm came in the way of the toy while it was under my care.

"I promise, Papa," I said with the most solemn look I could muster as he hoisted me-with the box-into his arms. "I promise I'll take good care of it."

That was basically how it began. I remembered how proud I was in those simpler times: How many six-year olds could say that they have been entrusted with keeping their family heirloom?

I felt like I was Spiderman or the noble heroes I would read in my comic books. There was never a single day that passed by that I wouldn't go out to play with my friends, all the while proudly telling them time and time again of how this ancient top came to my possession, or how my father was better than theirs because of his confidence in me. My friends, usually Arturo, would always dismiss and tell me he has heard my stories so many times that he's going to "go deaf one day because of me."

He was just jealous, I would say before shrugging it off. No one can ever displace this spinning top from my heart; it felt like I was bonded to it!

And I believed this for the longest time.

My friends and I had this unspoken routine that we followed through our years of childhood fun: We would play with our beyblades on Lola Nineng's garden, then we'd run the distance of our subdivision to play tag, or hide and seek, or pretend explorer.

After all those, we'd get tired and retire to my house where mother would give us snacks and tetra packs and we would watch the latest episode of DragonBall Z airing on the only channel our TV can provide. Still, we didn't complain—it was better than nothing at all.

We were happy like this, or at least that was the impression. We'd even have sleep overs and campings in our backyard, watching the fireflies whenever chance would have it.

Then... high school happened.

48 BOOKED VOLUME 8, PART 2

More projects, more schoolwork—definitely less forgiving than primary school. The clay figures we'd bring home were replaced by piles of books, paper airplanes by test sheets, and drawings by geometric diagrams. I caught up with my school work quite easily, and even then, I thanked my wooden spinning top, which I never kept too far from my person 24/7.

I tried lifting everybody's mood in class the best that I can. During recess, my friends and I would make sure we had time to spare for a round of marbles or hopscotch.

Sometimes when the girls decided to join us, we would have Chinese garter sessions or giant jump rope matches. Chelsea was the best at Chinese garter and would beat us every time — it was given that she would win with her long legs and gymnastics training, but I was in awe still.

Then I noticed halfway through the year that my invitations to play our usual games were often rejected or just blatantly ignored. My friends began interacting less, and by the end of the first grading everybody had their own mobile gadgets — even Arturo and I. Even though I rarely use my phone, those that did rather intimidated me, because I'd already know the answer before even asking them.

Still, I saw no harm in trying once more.

"Hey Chelsea," I approached her one day. "Do you want to play Chinese garters? I think we still have time before the next class begins."

"Chinese garters?" she answered incredulously. "Pedrito, we are already high schoolers. That's something only children play."

"But we have been playing this through elementary."

"That was then. Right now, we're on another level: We have to catch up to the trends, Pedrito — we don't want to seem like backwashed simpletons."

"I see." I simply acknowledged, and after that I lost the courage to bring the topic up again.

On some days it was lonely, being left out while they explored their virtual worlds, making connections with strangers, as well as interacting with far off loved ones. I mean I'm glad we have these channels, makes for a more efficient system than the ones we had before-yet even though those times were slower, the simplicity of it all presented a setting that fed my imagination and made way for me to see the things that really mattered. I tried catching up with the "trends" through the other's guidance, but even then I just felt rushed — everything was moving so fast and most of the things I've done were out of duty than enjoyment.

I was exhausted with it all, and I didn't want to think of anything more as I went up to my quarters and plopped myself onto my bed. Upon landing, I groaned out, feeling something round beneath my blanket digging itself into my hip. I propped myself up on my elbows, pulled the blanket aside, and I instantly forgot all the words I've ever learned.

It was my precious spinning top. I couldn't believe I had forgotten all about it!

I didn't know how I should feel; for one thing, it was like I just betrayed my promise to my father to keep it safe and special, and for another I was so lost. I had no idea how to connect back to the days when patinetero or taya was the main hype, not WoW Championships or the latest drama on Facebook. We'd go every afternoon and get ice pops, but when the modern wave hit, I would catch my friends lounging in hip coffee shops —like Starbucks.

GAME

49

In simpler terms, I missed whatever me and my friends had before, and something told me the that though it would remain in memory, I could never truly go back. I enjoyed the modern benefits sometimes, but none of it could beat the childhood I cherished.

I let my top spin, watching blankly as the tapered end of it neared a small crack on my floor. My top jittered before stopping altogether, and the quiet drowned me, slowing down time until it was static altogether.

After what felt like hours, I heard a familiar knock coming from my door. Still, I didn't turn my head.

"Iho, hali na. Maghahapunan na tayo."

I found myself smiling at the sound of Lola Nineng's voice. Through my lifetime she has maintained that sweet voice despite the graying of her hair — but mess with her and you're going to get your ears pinched really hard!

I decided to follow her down to the dining table (still with my top in hand), where the entire family had gathered. Sitting in mine, I scanned the faces of my loved ones when I got a text from Arturo.

"Hoy bro! Gusto mo bang sumama samin sa mall bukas? Pwede tayong mag bike :)" It was then that the penny hit.

I may not be able to stop change, and change might give one or two people a hard time adjusting. But that was just the nature of the world; even though we couldn't play patinetero or taya frequently anymore, that didn't mean we couldn't discover new things as we've done before.

It was the people I held dear — my family and friends- that made those simple times more magical, and I know that we could do it again in this era of our lives.

I smiled, thumbs pressing down on my phone's keypad as grandmother affectionately ruffled my hair.

"Cge kita tayo bukas."

My grin widened, and I placed my top back in my pocket as I heaved off a sigh of content.

Tomorrow...I promise I'll start making new memories.

artwork by Leila May Doneza

GAME

POETRY consolation prize

PLAYER ONE

by Ethanen Gumawa

Welcome!

In this game called Life Where everybody is a player; Can and can't, in multiplayer.

You may design yet never choose.

The avatar is predestined; you may use.

"The goal is to shape the character to its best version," says the Creator.

Laughter is the survival kit— A box where to contain emotions.

Strength, your left-hand weapon.

Faith, your sturdy shield.

Are you now safe? Be minded!

Doubts, fears, the closed-Minded.

There are lots of creatures lurking; ready to snatch your well-being.

Facing them on the battlefield, you'll find friends and guilds.

Reloads of faith and hope.

Real alliances seldom says nope.

This war rages, ages and ages, find a good hold, a stand, a fortress.

Family, circles, bonds, a partner.

A place and case for your character.

And if you're ready to play, Push the buttons, start the game.

Remember this only reminder A fact in which you have a lifetime to consider: There's no turning back.

51

52BOOKED

SHORT STORY

VOLUME 8, PART 2

CONSOLATION PRIZE

CRACKING SHELLS

by Charles Gabriel Gelotin

"3 - 2 - 1," the crowd chants together with the ticking time bomb. But before it falls down to zero, yells and cheers bombarded the court signifying the success of my crucial attempt to break the tie. Lost in the momentum, I was barely holding my consciousness.

"There goes the 3-peat championship of Barangay Matahimik," the commentator confidently spoke on the microphone as a swarm of people made their way towards me.

As I was lifted high-up as the back-to-back MVP, I grasped just to supply oxygen to my lungs.

With just a snap, I blacked out.

"John, you just made your Papa proud once again. You really showed them what a true man is." I woke having Papa, at my side caressing the gold MVP medal that is now hanging on my neck.

"It was a close fight, Pa. Thank God I was able to shoot in the last minute." I uttered as I looked around and noticed that we are at the locker room.

I am John Estrella, the team captain of a basketball team and a two-time MVP. My father, Eduardo Estrella, has always been there since I made first dribble, to my first shoot up to my fist win. He guided me not just as a typical father sitting at the benches watching his one only son play but as a hardworking coach thirsty for championship trophies.

Heavy footsteps then started to echo within the room and my teammates, still unconvinced of the surreal victory, came rushing in.

"3 - 2 - 1, SHOOOOOT!" They laughed and mimicked what happened minutes ago as if I were a larger-than-life hero of some historical epic that just brought save the Barangay from destruction or some sort of Prince who saved a Princess from the dragon's lair.

"Well, it was just a piece of cake," I proudly claimed just to blend in with the atmosphere.

"I was really scared of losing a while ago. What face can I show my girlfriend if we lost the game," Rafael shared as if the game was a test of his gender and masculinity.

The room was then filled with several more stories just like Rafael's when suddenly, a locker door banged that caught the attention of the entire room.

"These filthy creatures did it again. It was Rafael's underwear last week now, it's mine!" Michael, the point-guard of the team angrily explained.

Cases of missing and lost underwear have been occurring recently in our team and they all suspect the gay supporters that have been stalking our team since Day 1.

"Yuck! What kind of animals are they?" Rafael blurted out while making an indescribable face.

"We tightly closed the door right? How come they were still able to do this damn thing?" Michael responded.

Before everything went out of control once again, my father stepped in gave some words.

"Okay, okay. Let's not destroy the essence of our day. We will settle this tomorrow.

Now, let's all go to Aling Neneng's Manokan. Dinner is on me.

GAME

53

Passersby, students, and even tambays along the streets of our barangay, painted smiles on their faces as congratulatory words flood our way toward the barbecue place.

What happened is an irony to the name of our barangay which is Matahimik for their loud cheers gave me eargasm. It is as if the Avengers or the squad of the Justice League is passing by.

"MVP, MVP, MVP!" They kept on repeating as Michael handed me a mug full of malt beer.

It was just like a test of strength and power to finish it bottoms-up.

I gaze upon my teammates and my proud father and I can see through their eyes the expectations they have for me. Maybe I tend to get unconscious because of this burden.

"Alright!" I said as tears fell down from my eyes.

"Hey! What's wrong?" Rafael asked with wide eyes, surprised of seeing me cry.

Then I realized that it was my first time to cry in front of teammates; my first time to allow them see a glimpse of my vulnerable core. But seeing their faces, I can say that crying seems so foreign to these studs.

As glasses, empty cans and barbecue sticks pile up, each one starts bidding goodbye to go home.

"Pa, I still have some things to do. See you at home," I told Papa as I aid him in standing-up.

"Okay, son. I love you. You are the strongest person I know." Then I guided my father toward the nearest taxi lane.

I paved my way to the covered court; the locker room specifically. Because I left something there. I left myself there.

Basketball game, the only thing that can truly silence the town, is a symbol of pride among men. It is a venue for girls to idolize and admire boys and a place where men can manifest their skills and potential. A game that is close to the heart of people. A game of takes and turns and hops and dribbles. But most importantly, a game of truth. Game whether to take the shot of or chose to pass and lose the chance.

I opened my tightly locked locker and instantly grabbed today's gem.

"Oh, so this is how Michael smells like?" I cracked my shell.

Profiles

Aly. Aly will take you back to your parents’ playlist. She’s the reason why the 1990s OPM music is still alive in the office. She’s also the founder of the Bangsology Group. Don’t be shocked if one day she’ll put bangs on her cats too.

Jezreel Caberoy. This memeboi is starting his business as an online seller of stolen goods. He also does strange meme reviews.

Delilah. Even if she owns a sealion company, she’s also the financer of Jezreel for his online business. Though that is a fact she still doesn’t know of.

Steffanie Condemilicor. From being an “angery boop”, Panpan has upgraded to a “responsible boop” as she traverses both the intern life and the duties of a being literary editor.

Lyka De La Torre. You might be tempted to ask for snacks because she never runs out of goodies but don’t be deceived, she has rabies. She’s also the supplier of Jezreel, or favorite victim should we say.

Lourdes Angeline Sendico. She formed a business partnership with Jezreel. Most importantly she is the web administrator and marketing officer of their business page.

Matthew John Lorizo. This newly-hatched chick finally happened to catch a breath. Hope he’ll manage that state even if his thesis intervenes.

Tisha Celine Erika Ocampo. Even if this half-human, half-sardine is busy swimming at the riverside, no pun intended, she always finds time to greet her fellow sardines. She has also signed a contract with the Bangsology Group as their newest member.

Kyun. Even if she still needs a 400-hour OJT time, nothing can stop her from flying towards her dreams. She even managed to reach ‘Japan, fourth floor’, despite the overcrowded ‘third floor’ situation, maybe because she so small that she can pass through the crowd with ease.

Dyniel Keith Cataluña. After quitting his job of being a poco loco guitarist, Denden is now flying his moves to the top. Now, people are looking forward on his next attempt, on his lovelife of course, wink wink.

Mirray Christine Maguad. This tiny fairy is getting busy on her academics; hope she’ll find more time to visit the pixie hollow soon.

Jessel Siruelo. This girl beats the energy gap and shows petrifying mutant powers that are beyond mortal imagination. Take note, she’s still a bit shy I wonder what awaits for her once she goes out of her shell.

Jusalanne Matulac. The little soft momshie of her group. She’s the supporter, motivation giver, and sometimes caregiver, too.

Ella Jane Mercado. One of the proud members of the Bangsology Group, a group of people who, when they are bored, cut their bangs and regret it afterwards. Let’s see if they get bored again after that.

Leslie Banaban. She may be shy but once this lady starts singing, you will surely can’t get enough of her amazing voice.

Renee Suala. This young lady is not only adept in arts but has talent for singing, too. Even though she hasn’t signed up yet for the Bangsology Group, she somehow clicks with the members of the club despite not having bangs.

Rheymar Chua. Cardo has a big love not only for arts but also in dancing. Though the reasons why he is nicknamed “Cardo” are a bit comical, it is a wonder if he’ll change it after Ang Probinsyano stops airing on TV. Maybe on late 2030 perhaps?

Jocer Macalinsang. Despite that this witty artist also loves to post memes, he sleeps in the office. A lot.

Caesar Daniel Parayno. This poor fellow, despite his busy time, always spares some for his arts, which by the way, never fails to amuse his fans. And also for the citizens of Bacolod. Grupo Progreso!

Alrenzi Esparagoza. We can’t deny the fact that this girl really has an unconditional love for plants. With that, it is a wonder if she’ll accept a pot of carabao grass as a gift, though.

Joelle Mariel Paderog. She always has her footprints in the sand. With a camera in her hands, this young adventurous girl never fails to capture every moment in her life.

Nevermore. A real-life baymax! He’s so squishy and fluffy that we just can’t get enough of him. He often gets excited of almost anything. ANYTHING. Romchelle Chris Danielle Waminal. This cute fluffly soon-to-be Medtech always drops by the office, which makes her absence felt when she doesn’t pass by. Also, she’s already inlove with photography and of course, dogs.

Bianca Cababahay. This cute girl is crazy about Team Fortress’ Medic. Bianca also loves her doggos very much.

Norielle Meñez. A consistent Gawad Tolentino participant, this smart girl has a way with words that will surely make you have a glimpse of her creative mind.

Dustin Granada. This lad has great passion when it comes to writing. Just give him a pen and a piece of paper and he’ll make you a story of a lifetime.

Neil Stephen Valenzuela. Maybe Neil is somewhat delayed when it comes to trends. It was just last year that he realized people don’t wear ‘glove-like’ shoes anymore.

Charles Gabriel Gelotin. Talk about a committed leader, Charles doesn’t only give that leading aura but he also excels in his academics - an epitome of a good student indeed.

Hyacinth Salazar. May it be singing, drawing, or protecting the environment, this aspiring artist never fails to showcase her point in all of her creations and endeavors.

Louther Jan Adarle. This happy-go-lucky kiddo always has a soft heart for arts and of course, cartoons, especially Steven Universe. Sometimes, you might as well wonder if he really grows up.

Princess Kiara Suarez. We have another wanderlust artist here. Kiara does not only spend most of her time visiting amazing places but she spends it importantly with her family. She’s also an avid fan of all things Korean.

Keith Adrian Nolido. This lad never did once fail to amuse people with his literary prowess. This hiker and future RMT is also an aspiring businessman. Whenever you find yourself short on coffee, cellphone load, or succulent plants, Keith is your guy.

Cleajane Macapagong . This girl improves little by little from always coming to school late. Though we haven’t deduced the reason for here latenesses we’re pretty sure it involves being in deep slumber dreaming about her oppa.

Manolo Salaver, Jr. Tust me, never mess with him. Once he starts beatboxing, you’ll never be able to control those grooves anymore.

Ethanen Gumawa. This is our bookworm. Ethanen dedicates her life for the love of reading and serving her church. This mademoiselle also has a huge love for poetry and arts.

Hilbert Sabobo. This soon-to-be Engineer’s creations are surely to watch out for. Check out his artworks to know what we’re saying.

Leila May Doneza. This girl just loves to sing. Try to add her on Facebook if you want to be entertained by her amazing videoke sessions.

TOLENTINESTAR

THE OFFICIAL STUDENT PUBLICATION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NEGROS OCCIDENTAL-RECOLETOS

tolentinestar@gmail.com | www.facebook.com/tolentinestar | www.tolentinestar.com

EDITORIAL STAFF A.Y. 2018-2019 EDITORIAL BOARD ALYSSA MARIE ARCEÑO EDITOR-IN-CHIEF CHARLENE GRACE GELOTIN ASSOCIATE EDITOR KAYE EUNICE LAMERA MANAGING EDITOR DESK EDITORS STEFFANIE CONDEMILICOR LITERARY EDITOR LYKA DE LA TORRE FEATURE EDITOR TECHNICAL EDITORS LOURDES ANGELINE SENDICO GRAPHICS EDITOR

Our sincerest thanks to the following: The God Almighty. For bestowing the gift of wisdom and skills, granting an avenue for people who made the completion of this literary folio possible; The 6th Gawad Tolentino Participants. For imparting your masterpieces, as in this game of life, may we always preserve the richness of our culture through literature as we grace this literary folio as a whole; The Teachers. For encouraging your students to share their literary prowess and for being with us as we strive for innovation and build a future of literary splendor;

STAFF WRITERS

Ivy Aboy, PhD. For the continued advice that had motivated this publication to strive for only the best throughout the years;

JEZREEL CABEROY MAREVILLE CARO MICHAEL LIBRANDO MIRRAY CHRISTINE MAGUAD JUSALANNE MATULAC ELLA JANE MERCADO TISHA CELINE ERIKA OCAMPO JESSEL MAE SIRUELO

Engr. Ashraf Khater, ChE. For the never-ending lessons that will forever remain in our hearts and souls and for believing in us that we can accomplish anything, anywhere, as long as we persevere.

MATTHEW JOHN LORIZO MULTIMEDIA EDITOR

PHOTOJOURNALISTS JOELLE MARIEL PADEROG ROMCHELLE CHRIS DANIELLE WAMINAL GRAPHIC ARTIST CAESAR DANIEL PARAYNO CARTOONISTS LESLIE BANABAN JOCER MACALISANG RHEYMAR CHUA RENEE SUALLA VIDEOGRAPHERS REINHARDT FIRMEZA PHILIP ANDRE GIMAY LAYOUT ARTIST ALRENZI ESPARAGOZA WEB ADMINISTRATOR DYNIEL KEITH CATALUÑA TECHNICAL ADVISER IVY GONZALES ABOY, PhD

Kaye Delostrito, LPT. For the jokes that had made us forget our stressful and tiring days and for the advice, motivations, and support on our future endeavors.

Mr. Gen Tomas. For being very considerate and for helping us produce quality outputs throughout the years; Dr. Dexter Paul Dioso. For supporting the publication’s endeavors and for being very considerate in any means as we aim to serve with only hotplate truths and fairness to the UNO-Rian community; Rev. Fr. Amadeo Lucero, OAR. For entrusting us as we uphold the development of the student body and promote the Rekoleto spirit in all that we do as we aim for a future of truthfulness along with the teachings of St. Augustine and St. Nicholas of Tolentine.

Literary Editor