Tirik na tirik ang araw no’n, at narinig ko ang galabog ng pinto. No’n pa lang alam ko na. Pinihit ko ang gripo nang lumakas ang tulo ng tubig, pagkatapos ay mabilis na binuhos ang tabo sa aking katawan. Mabilis na mabilis, kasama ang ingay ng tubig sa timba, malamon lang ang ingay ng paghuhubad ng sapatos at medyas, ang pagpapalit ng karsunsilyo, ang biglaang bagsak ng mga pinto ng aparador at kusina at ng bodega. Pinapagod ko ang sarili sa kakabuhos at kakasalok ng tubig, akyat baba, akyat baba, hanggang sa hingalin ako’t naghahalo na ang pawis sa malamig na tubig nawasa, at ang pawis ng takot at kaba sa batok. Nakakanginig ang lamig, nakakalunod ang pagbulaga ng tubig sa mukha, minamanhid na ang katawan ko sa tubig, na kung iisipin ay unti-unting kinukulubot ang lahat–ang paningin at ang balat, ang hilagyo, ang malay-tao.
Sumambulat s’ya sa banyo mula sa pinto, at ang galabog ang tumabon sa halos huni ng mga mabibigat at matatalas na patak ng tubig.
Putangina, mura n’ya.
Kung sa bagay, naibibili ko naman s’ya ng mga kasuotang may kuwelyo, nasabi ko sa sarili. Ninais ko n’ong magrason, magpaliwanag na hindi ito ang intensyon ng mundo. Sasagipin ta’yo ng kung ano mang diyos, dahil balang araw at malulunod din tayo tulad ng iba, tulad ni Rosing at Tonio, tulad ng mga kapitbahay hanggang sa kabilang nayon.
Hindi ko alam, hindi ko alam! at sinundan ko ng mabibilis na iling, ang pinagpawisang tubig sa anit tumatalamsik sa kanyang galit, huminahon ka, maaga pa, siguro nga’y wala nang palaman ang tinapay.
This entry was written by , posted on September 1, 2010 at 7:12 pm, filed under Tagalog, Vignettes. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
In a debut the mother was crying. She was trying to compose her message as the fountain behind her spews water like a geyser in the middle of Bryant Park. You could fit in a hundred debuts in the price tag, so her relatives couldn’t figure out if she was crying over the bills. She said she’s proud to have a grown-up girl. She said she would really love to go home. The debutante sits on her throne, watching the projected Skype conversation, webcam and all. At first, the people who attended didn’t fret in their seats, but they scavenged over an entire neighborhood of grilled chicken. They ignored the waiter’s warning that the buffet’s not yet ready, the chickens not yet carved.
This entry was written by , posted on at 2:40 am, filed under Slang and random, Stress ball narratives, Vignettes. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
I killed him. Shot a bullet through his spine, while in his laptop he’s viewing this Scott Pommier Photography website. This. Blood splattered the motorcycle and it gleamed too scarlet a color. The background is soft, reminiscent of an April sunset in the backyard. Her face seemed to feel sarcastic about the blood, as if to say, stain me, I’m fine with blood stains. The thing is, I wouldn’t have screamed but the woman in the picture looks at me in shame. See her eyes and how it narrows as she looks at me. Her gait is effortless; a domineering woman. She could have been my wife or a girlfriend in the past, but I barely recognize her. She probably smokes a little cigarette, drinks a little beer, a girl tamed by vices and motorcycles, just right for someone like me.
I put back the gun in the holster and shoved the body away from the garden to the trunk of my car. I drove away, screaming, as she made another apparition. As I drive she multiplies, her motion hypnotic like a Slinky: she stretches herself up to a million duplicates, then collapses back, stretches again, an endless domino chain effect. She vanishes then shows up again. I put on a cassette tape of this something band (the scotch-taped label says NORTH). It was all instrumental, with the countryside thing going on, and their music as if played on a meadow. For some time it chased her away from the road and the Slinky motion stopped and it was all fine, the gun at peace in my holster, my eyes tired from the gore of the shot, and the bloody Scott Pommier Photography still open in a remote basement, charging.
This entry was written by , posted on August 29, 2010 at 3:14 am, filed under Vignettes. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.