Seize The Book! Vol. 1, Issue 1 - August 2020

SEIZE THE BOOK!

FROM THE PHOTOS 33

SEIZE THe BOOK!

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

VOLUME ONE ISSUE ONE AUGUST 2020

TOP ENTRIES A REAL SACRIFICE 6 FINAL CREDITS 7 THE HEART GETS WHAT IT WANTS 22 GARDEN OF EMOTIONS 22 DEATHBED 34 GIRL ON STRINGS 38

COLLOQUY 43

1



ALL-TIME ALTERNATIVES JUNE'S FINEST

SIMEON DOMINICO

6

CEDI FAUNTLEROY

7

Final Credits

CHO YOSEI

9

Tukso, Layuan Mo Ako

KOKO BAEK

9

The Sun's Prophecy

SIRIUS DOE

10

Mga Rason Kung Bakit si Stella

BAI LOUYIWEI NEUFELD

12

Our Days Count

CASSIDY HEREDIA

14

The Love That Burns

CIN ESCROTES

16

When the Game Ends

AIZORA SIRVERT

17

Six Feet Under

QUEEN CLEOPATRA

21

Happily Ever After

CEDI FAUNTLEROY ELI GONZALES SIMEON DOMINICO

22 22 23

 A

Real Sacrifice

Based on The Velveteen Rabbit Based on the Theory of Love Halaw sa akdang Nagpatukso Based on the Camp Half-blood Chronicles Halaw sa akdang 100 Tula Para Kay Stella Based on HIStory3: Make Our Days Count Based on Lucifer Based on After

Based on Five Feet Apart Based on A Walk to Remember

LET'S DO IT AGAIN IN JULY  The

Heart Gets What It Wants

Beneath the Skin Potpourri of Prompts

A compilation of drabbles

Hold Me Tight

ELI GONZALES

23 24 25 26

MKL ARCHELAUS

31

Long Way Home

CEDI FAUNTLEROY ALTER HOAXER EAN DENERIS (HAIBARA)

Our Rendezvous Just Another Dead Star Estuary

A collection of short stories A fiction of short chapters



MKL ARCHELAUS CHIHAYA MORNINGSTAR FRANTZISK NINA WESCA FIDEL WRITES

34 35 36 36 37

FROM THE PHOTOS PROSE  Deathbed

The Urban Jungle Reflect Untitled Takipsilim

POETRY ELI GONZALES VAUDE CLEOUS MADRID GROUVÉ ORLEANS VICTORIA KATANA MADRID CELESTINE MERCADEJAS

38 39 39 40 40



SIMEON DOMINICO

44

SIMEON DOMINICO

45 47 48

ELI GONZALES

48 49 50 50

 Girl

on Strings

[Does] Passion Reincarnate?

Fatal Fantasy Catastrophic Melody Absolute Melody of Music

COLLOQUY ON BOOKS Plague of Love

A multi-pronged criticism on the Locust Girl

Of Goth, Gore, and Oddity

Historical criticism on Hollow City

WITH THE READERS Top 3 Most-raved Authors Characters You Wished to be Real

ON MUSIC “All Along the Watchtower” “Pride” “Money” “If Love is a Red Dress”

LETTeR FROM THE eDIT0R

T

HE FIVE-MONTH-LONG quarantine, as I write this letter, has almost sucked most of the soul out of our bodies. However, this did not stop us to pursue our love of literature and our unfaltering will to change its course in our society. As we strive to improve ourselves on writing and appreciating multiple forms of media, we recognize its sociocultural values and implications to the consumer end in this day and age, further affecting their lives for good. Furthermore, we have become wary of the trends in literature that are worth the flattery and the mockery.

Intrinsically, analyses and criticisms on the execution of plot devices and tropes; the reader-response, psychoanalytical, and sociological perspectives on featured motifs; nuanced social contexts; and the biographical inspirations of the storyline itself are only some of the essential points in shaping contemporary literature. These, if not given due consideration and/or proper scrutiny, can impede the transformative aspect of the text.

In that regard, most of us in the guild collectively despise readers that fail to acknowledge, analyze, and criticize what they consume, since we certainly believe all readers must always have a keen eye and a sharp mind when consuming literature.

I believe that we must redefine the connotative meaning of the words "modern", "trendy", and "popular". For instance, pop fiction books that do well nowadays do not exactly mean their construction is utterly remarkable in general, but rather appealing due to its relevance to the status quo. Moreover, riding the bandwagon does not necessarily either deprive people the chance to constructively criticize the said pop fiction books or easily repudiate its repercussions on multiple aspects of the society; instead, one can take it as an opportunity to influence others to see the big picture with different theoretical lenses to further effect the quality of the pop fiction books in a positive manner.

As we are currently facing this pandemic, we must take this time to reinvent our appreciation of literature by being literate ourselves. One may participate in online seminars and literacy camps to delve deeper on perceiving literature by means of different literary theories; one can also try drawing relationships of literature to the humanities, arts, social sciences, and other philosophical aspects in a myriad of approaches. Let's not be content in what we consume: we must easily seek inspiration and satisfaction in subpar or mediocre works, but rather be more exploratory in appraising literature.

Simeon Dominico Cedi Fauntleroy Administrators Cho Yosei MKL ARCHELAUS Moderators Aizora Sirvert Alter Hoaxer Bai Louyiwei Neufeld Bambi Wisdom Chihaya Morningstar Cin Escrotes Ean Deneris Eli Gonzales Lionel Sybill Thorax Cole Vaude Cleous Madrid Members

All for the best!

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VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

SEIZE THe BOOK!

 Simeon Dominico presents a more harrowing alternative of Margery Williams' The Velveteen Rabbit.

Moreover, the exuded naïvete of the original passage was slightly reduced, and its intended emotional impact to the reader was amplified in lesser words.

PHOTOGRAPH BY EMILIANO VITTORIOSI

ď ˜â€‚ A Real Sacrifice

Based on The Velveteen Rabbit (How Toys Become Real) by Margery Williams-Bianco "What if the boy died

of scarlet fever?"

L

ittle Rabbit always wanted to go to the seaside with the boy to hear the resonant rustling waves and to see the tiny periwinkles and crabs crawling their way to the rocks that remain fervently still despite the spring tides that only dramatically allay overnight. However, the plan seems to have crumbled apart once Nana caught sight of him lying under the bedclothes.

"How about his old Bunny?" she asked.

"That?" said the doctor. "Why, it's a mass of scarlet fever germs! Burn it at once, and get him a new one. He mustn't have that any more!"

Little Rabbit found himself cramped into a sack full of rubbish and old albums, carried out to the end of the garden behind the chicken coop. The gardener was supposed to burn the sack but had crops to tend to, so he promised he will burn the entire lot first thing in the morning.

The boy slept in a different bedroom with a new rabbit with real glass eyes, too excited to go the seaside he even dreamt of it. However, he woke up in the middle of sleep with joints he can't even move, a tummy that aches yet looks like bloated, and swollen glands. He sought for the rabbit he grew on, but got perplexed when he found a clean white plush that replaced his shabby favorite.

Struggling, he went outside the house and scoured every nook and cranny of the garden in the hopes of finding the little Rabbit, and he later

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realized he hasn't even looked behind the chicken coop. As he hurried, he stopped and shrieked in pain as his body was swollen over, not to mention that it has already been taking a toll on his kidneys, his faint heart, and his other vital organs.

Little Rabbit hastily went outside the sack and was shocked to see the boy lying in the grass, clenching his fists in extreme pain. He immediately had thoughts of his precious owner dying at that moment, and could not do anything but to remain frozen on his feet. Suddenly, a

real tear trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.

And then a strange thing happened: for where the tear had fallen a flower grew out of the ground, a mysterious flower, not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had slender green leaves the color of emeralds, and in the center of the leaves a blossom like a golden cup.

It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to cry, and just lay there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out of it there stepped a fairy.

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

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She was quite the loveliest fairy in the whole world. Her dress was of pearl and dewdrops, and there were flowers around her neck and in her hair, and her face was like the perfect flower of all.

She came close to the little Rabbit and gathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his velveteen nose that was all damp from crying.

"Little Rabbit," she asked, "don't you know who I am?"

The Rabbit looked up at her, and it seemed to him that he had seen her face before, but he couldn't think where.

"I am the nursery magic fairy," she said. "I take care of all the playthings that the children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don't need them any more, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into real."

"Wasn't I real before?" asked the little Rabbit.

"You were real to the boy," the fairy said, "because he loved you. Now you shall be real to every one."

"No, I don't want to be real if he'll die at the sight of my very eyes," little Rabbit said, "I would rather let him live than proving my existence to him, that I am real."

PHOTOGRAPH BY JEREMNY YAP

The fairy failed to grant his wish, as it was beyond her abilities. As he found himself slowly getting covered in real fur, the boy started to slowly have his existence covered in permanent darkness.

The boy's love made little Rabbit real, and his life was what made the toy realized that it needed not be real, yet the toy's mere presence was enough for him to keep going. Now, as a real sacrifice, little Rabbit decided to continue living for the sake of the boy's love.

—Simeon Dominico

This literary work contains an excerpt from its basis. Scan the QR code to access it.

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Final Credits

Based on Theory of Love, a TV series adaptation directed

by X Nuttapong Mongkolsawas & Film Pawis Sowsrion "What if Third has finally set his heart off Khai?"

E

verything in my life is going smoothly.

I finally got the chance to go home after directing my first film, as I took a car home after the shoot. As I take footsteps towards my main door, a memory of an old dream strikes at me like a ray of sunlight in a summer morning.

A man was wearing the same uniform I wore when I was in college.

He was standing by the shore, and I was just behind him. I was staring at him before he had started walking towards the ocean. He was calling my name while his feet started to get soaked by the water.

I felt shivers up my body as I heard him calling my name. So, I started following him while we were still ashore. Holding a necklace in his hand, the sunlight shone on him brightly, preventing me from seeing his face clearly. But, all I know is that I'm

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

following him because of his voice.

Just as I was about to clutch him by the hand, I began to hear his sobbing as he constantly called my name.

“Third! Third! Third!”

“Third! Hey, Third! Third!”

My eyes widened as I quickly turned around to see Bone. He was one of the members of Savage Team, the one we built way back in college. We used to be the happiest team in the school, but everything changed when my heart got swallowed with sadness, making it unable to me to find joy from the people around me.

When Khai confessed to me in the middle of the stage play we performed back in college, all I felt was grudge, hatred, and anger. It's like trying to pull yourself up back to that same old road where all you want to do is fall in love

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and be happy with the same person who broke your heart. But all the sadness and rejections I experienced in my time of loving him keeps on pulling me back, making it harder for me to give him a chance.

Yes, I rejected Khai, because I am tired of living everyday blaming the same person for my pain, for my anger. I know he would never change. Later on, we graduated from college and I left the Savage Team and created a filming team I am currently managing.

“It's been a long time! How have you been?” Bone asked me suddenly, making me blink before giving off a warm smile.

“I am fine! I just came home from a shooting.”

“Shooting for a film? Series?”

“A film, Bone. I am having my first film now.”

Bone suddenly grasps me by his hand and hugged me as he gently rubs my back. “Congratulations, Third! I am very proud of you!” He looked at me before fixing my hair.

“I can't believe that our small friend here is now a director!” he chuckled.

“Anyway, would you like to hang out? Let's go to the beach! Since it's already one in the afternoon, maybe you would like to watch the sunset with me and Two?” Bone added.

My eyes widened at his question as I pursed my lips. As a response, I nodded and gave him a bright smile. Right after preparing some things, I headed back to his car and shared a ride with him on our

way to the beach.

“Two, look! Third is here!” Bone approaches Two from afar, sitting by the seashore.

Two ran his way to me after I waved at him. He hugged and carried me lightly, him being all cheerful after seeing me again.

“We really missed you so much!”

Two whispered happily. I smiled at him before hugging him by his waist.

“Would you like to drink with us while staring at the sunset?”

“That would be great, I would love to!” I replied.

While sitting at the sand, with our foot touching the sliding ocean waters. I suddenly remembered Khai. So I asked them about him.

“Khai...? Uhm.” Bone looked down after hearing my question.

“Yes... where is he?”

“He is out there, enjoying the ocean waters.” Two answered.

“What do you mean?”

“He's dead... He died, a month after you left the Savage Team,” Bone said in a weak, shaking voice.

All of a sudden, everything stopped.

All I can remember is the dream I kept thinking about as the waves rise and becomes stronger as they hit the rocks.

“He drowned himself on the sea, Third. His auntie told us that he suffered from depression after you left the team. He even went back on this beach without telling us. He stayed here for 3

weeks. On his last night, his auntie told us that he used to sleep on the seashore as he kept on waiting for you, thinking that maybe you are going to come and see him again, just like what you did on the train station. The next morning, his body was found dead and floating on the ocean,” Bone said.

I can hear nothing but his voice, and I can't remember anything else but the dream I had. In that dream, the man also wanted to drown himself on the ocean, but I woke up as I try to stop him.

I stood up while crying silently, my heart is in deep sorrow, all of a sudden I was in deep loneliness as I can feel my chest getting heavy. Bone then comforted me by hugging me as Two kept on crying. Gently taking my hand, he spread my palm open and handed me the necklace. “His auntie said that he saw Third holding this in his hand.”

This necklace, was the one he gave me, along with a mug. And the man I dreamed about, was him.

As I tried to take a step into the waters, the sun had started to set, hiding itself in the thick clouds as the waves calmed down. In deep sorrow and loss, my legs lost its strength as I grasp the necklace with my both hands, kneeling down as I cry out my grief.

Why, Khai? Why are you still waiting? I'm sorry, for I was in deep anger after all the things that happened to me. I'm sorry for closing my doors as you gently open the windows of your heart. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting.

—Cedi Fauntleroy

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Thank you.

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VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

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The Sun's Prophecy Based on the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan

"What if Percy wasn't

Poseidon's son?"

P

Tukso, Layuan Mo Ako

Halaw sa akdang Nagpatukso ni Pilosopotasya "Paano kung pumayag na makipagtalik si G. Marco kay Sin?"

PHOTOGRAPH BY DYNAMIC WANG

“I

'm sexually attracted to you, Sin.”

may kung anong namumuo sa aking loob na pumipigil sa akin.

Agad kong naramdaman ang dalawa niyang palad na gumapang sa aking dibdib. Lalo ko pang hinapit ang baywang niya papalapit sa akin.

“S-Sir,” mahinang daing niya na lalong nagpainit sa akin. Maling nagpatukso ako sa kanya, pero... tangina, nangyari na—hindi na ako makaaatras pa.

“It was not the best feeling in the world. I saw you with a guy a few weeks ago entering a motel, and God knows how angry I was when I heard a guy's voice answering your phone that morning,” mahinang bulong ko sa kanya. Naramdaman ko kung paano siya nanginig sa hawak ko pero nanatiling matapang ang mukhang nakatitig sa akin, nangaakit.

Hindi na ako nagulat nang halikan niya ang pisngi ko pababa sa aking mga panga. Gusto ko siyang itulak ngunit

SEIZE THe BOOK!

Paggising ko ng umagang iyon ay hinanap ko ang pagsisisi sa buong sistema ko. Damn, I should've respected her! She's my student and I like her...

I'm supposed to treat her more than a sex subject! I'm so stupid to get burned by her flames. Ang gago mo, Marco.

I was about to call her, when I heard her talking to someone over the phone.

“I win, Unica. Game's over.”

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

—Cho Yōsei

ercy Jackson came out with great talent in the arts. He loved the strokes of oil and color on his paper, the way his voice aligned with any instrument he played during his spare time. He enjoyed the sun's shimmering light everyday. He had no time playing with other kids as he used to be alone with himself, creating songs, poems, and short stories for his mother who never told him his father's story. Not even once. It was a secret until one morning when he came home from school, his father stood there, wearing the most brilliant suit. He knelt in front of him and removed his sunglasses.

"Ah, my son? How's your arts?

How's school? How's the attention?" he chuckled, his voice oozing with joy and power, deep yet very attractive even at the age of 45. That's his father's age based on what his mother told him.

"Now, now who wants to go for a summer camping? Yes? It's you my not-so-handsome-like-me son." His lips formed a beautiful smile.

"Camping?" Percy replied with a low voice, finally found his voice. He couldn't think straight. It's his first time seeing his father, and he looked like a teenager that escaped from the prison.

Yes, he wore that fancy suit but the way he spoke and moved? He seemed like a teenager.

He stared at him.

"Who are you? You're not my father!"

The man in front of him laughed before a blinding light enveloped the room.

Now, facing him is man in a white robe with a beautiful face.

"I'm Apollo, the god of arts, medicine, and sun, " Apollo waved his hands, "and I'm your father."

—KoKo Baek, former member

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Mga Rason Kung Bakit si Stella

Halaw sa akdang 100 Tula Para Kay Stella ni Jason Paul Laxamana "Paano kung tinanggap ni Stella ang alok ni Fidel na tumugtog sa Tipsy Tarsier?"

“P

ara na tayong sirang plaka,” ang huling linya ng kantang tinugtog ni Stella sa Tipsy Tarsier. Malakas na tugtog ang sumunod doon, hudyat na tapos na ang unang araw ni Stella. Sa gabi ring ito ay natanggap si Stella para regular na tumugtog. Masaya si Stella nang matapos ang screening kaninang tanghali, malakas kasi ang kutob niya na matatanggap siya. Hindi lang inakala na ngayong gabi agad ang simula. Hindi ako pumasok at nanood dahil ang alam ng may-ari ng bar ay may problema ako sa school. Iyon ang ginawa naming dahilan ni Stella para siya ang matanggap at makatugtog.

“A-ayos ‘yung pag-pag-kanta mo ka-kanina. Ang linis. Anong sabi sa'yo?

Narinig ko ‘yung pala-pa-palakpakan ng mga tao. Parang may artista,” natatawa at nauutal kong sabi. Malakas ang hiyawan bago lumabas si Stella, kaya sigurado akong siya ang pinapalakpakan ng mga tao.

“Naku! Mukha raw maraming pupunta tuwing tutugtog ako dahil maraming nakapanood kanina,” maligayang tugon niya.

“Naks naman, solohista na,” natatawang sabi ko na lang bago siya ayain kumain.

Pumunta kami sa kainan kung saan kami nagkita kahapon dahil iyon pa lang daw ang kaya niyang ilibre sa akin.

Pinilit niya akong ilibre kahit na ayaw ko naman, pagbawi na lang daw niya para sa pag-reto ko sa kanya sa Tipsy Tarsier.

Masaya ako para kay Stella. Masaya akong ito na ang simula ng karera niya.

Matagal na niya ‘tong hinihintay, kaya alam kong masaya siya.

“Punta ka sa Biyernes, may pupunta raw na sikat na banda. ‘Di ko lang alam kung sino, ‘di na kasi ako nakiusisa,” sabi niya habang nginunguya ang pagkaing

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binili niya.

“Sige ba. Basta banggitin mo papangalan ko ha,” nakangising tugon ko.

Pagkatapos naming kumain ay hinatid ko na rin si Stella sa hotel room niya at diretso na ring umuwi sa dorm.

Madali namang natapos ‘yung project namin at mabilis lang din napromote ang guild namin sa isang event ng mga architecture students, kaya naman dumiretso na rin ako sa Tipsy Tarsier at gulat nang makita ang isang sikat na banda. Nakita ko na lang ang sarili kong nakaupo sa harapan ng stage habang nakatingin kay Stella.

Nagsisimula na ang takbo niya.

“Isang malaking kaway nga pala sa tropa kong si Fidel. Salamat sa pagpunta,” ang mga unang salitang binitawan ni Stella bago kumanta.

Wala ako sa katinuan at nakatingin lamang sa kanya. Ang liwanag ng mga ngiti niya, at isa itong rason kung bakit hindi ko maiwasang mahulog. Napapikit na lang ako nang magsimulang magpalakpakan ang mga tao.

“Fidel, tutal nandito ka naman na, maki-jam ka naman sa'min!”

Nakangiting sabi ni Stella at nagsimulang maghiyawan ang mga tao.

Wala akong ibang magawa kung hindi sumampa sa stage, at kunin ang mikroponong binigay ng isang staff.

Bumulong si Stella sa mga tutugtog para sabihin kung anong kanta ang kakantahin namin. Napatingin ako sa kanya nang biglang tumugtog ang isang pamilyar na himig: Balisong.

“Your face lights up the sky on the highway,” panimula ni Stella at tiningnan ako para sabihing parte ko na ang susunod.

“Someday, you’ll share your world with me someday,” tuloy ni Stella

nang mapansing wala ako sa katinuan.

Lumapit siya sa akin nang nakangiti, ngiting nagsasabing kaya ko ‘to.

“You mesmerize me with diamond eyes...”

Naghiyawan ang mga tao nang magsimula akong kumanta.

“I try to fool myself, to think I’ll be alright. But I am losing all control; my mind, my heart, my body and my soul.

Never in my life have I been more sure, so come on up to me and close the door.

Nobody’s made me feel this way before, you’re everything I wanted and more,” sunod ni Stella habang dinadama ang bawat linya ng kanta.

“To speak or not to, where to begin?

A great dilemma's I’m finding myself in; For all I know you only see me as a friend. I try to tell myself 'Wake up, fool, this fairytale has got to end.'”

Nakasulyap ako sa mga mata ni Stella habang sinasabi ang bawat salita sa kanta.

“You’re everything I wanted…” ang mga huling lirikong lumabas sa bibig naming dalawa. Malakas na palakpakan ang sumunod noon.

Kalahating oras rin siguro na dirediretsong kumakanta si Stella kaya malakas palagi ang hiyawan. Nang matapos ang shift niya ay may iba pang tutugtog, pero napagdesisyunan na naming umuwi na lang.

“Ayos ‘yung pag-kanta natin kanina e, ‘no? Lakas ng hiyawan ng mga tao,” basag niya sa katahimkang bumabalot sa amin. Napangiti na lang ako at pinapasok na siya sa kwarto niya. Pagkatapos magpaalam sa isa’t-isa ay diretso na rin akong umuwi.

Dalawang linggo na ang lumipas simula nang sinamahan ko siyang tumugtog sa Tipsy Tarsier. Nagkukwento

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

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PHOTOGRAPH BY ROCCO DIPOPPA

siya noong unang linggo, pero untiunting tumitigil.

Nararamdaman kong nagiging abala siya sa pagtugtog.

Hinayaan niya na rin akong umuwi sa dorm dahil nahihiya na siya na ako ang nagbabayad ng hotel room niya. Sinabi niya bago ako umalis sa hotel na sisikapin niya raw na lumaki ang sahod para makaupa na ng bahay dito sa Maynila.

“Sorry. I-ina-inaabangan ko kasi si S-Stella. Sabi niya pupunta s-siya.”

Napangisi na lamang si Chuck nang malaman na si Stella ang dahilan kung bakit ako na-late.

“Pupunta naman ba?” Biglang tanong ni Chuck habang inaayos ang kwelyo ko.

Yumuko na lang ako at sinulyapan ang cellphone kung mayroon na bang sagot si Stella. Umangat na lang ang ulo ko nang tawagin na ng host ‘yung pangalan ng grupo namin. Magpopromote kami ng Performer’s Guild dito sa bagong event ng mga freshies.

Nang matapos kaming magpromote, dumiretso ako sa hotel ni Stella para sana kumustahin siya. Ngunit, wala siya doon. Sinubukan kong tawagan pero hindi sumasagot. Pumunta agad

ako sa Tipsy Tarsier para ipagtanong kung nagpunta ba siya doon nang bigla ko siyang makitang kumakanta. Suot ang itim na lipstick no’ng una ko siyang nakita. Ang lipstick na naging unang rason kung bakit siya.

“I wanted to turn you on, my favorite song; wanted to be near you, but of course somebody owns you now, and I tried to live somehow,” napatingin si Stella sa akin nang umupo ako sa harapan ng stage. “Somebody owns you now, somebody owns you now...”

Nang matapos ang pagkanta niya ay diretso niyang kinuha ang bag niya at lumabas ng bar. Hinabol ko siya nang makita ko siyang lumiko sa isang eskinita. Hinawakan ko ang braso niya para pigilan siya. Huminto naman siya pero hindi ako nilingon.

“Bakit, Stella? Bakit hindi mo sin-sisinasagot mga tawag k-ko?” nagtatakang tanong ko.

Lumingon siya pero emosyon ang mukha niya.

walang

“Bakit ka ganyan?”

“Ikaw, bakit ka ganyan?” tanong niya sa akin. “Bakit ka nauutal?”

Our Days Count

We visited the new house we bought, where we will share our new memories.

Even if it's pretty expensive, I rented it just to make him happy. Also, I lied to him about its price.

"It's eleven o'clock, are we going to get late?" he asked.

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“Pero ayaw kitang gamitin para umangat ako, Fidel. Nag-resign na ako sa bar. Sinabi kong may problema sa bahay, kaya uuwi na ako ng Pampanga,” matapang at walang emosyong niyang sabi.

Naiwan lang ako sa eskinitang iyon na umiiyak. Walang salitang lumabas sa bibig dahil sa takot na kung anong masabi ko.

—Sirius Doe, former member

"I am," I cut his complaints.

"Eleven will be okay, I told my mom 11:30, but knowing her, it'll be past 12 before she arrives," I replied.

After that conversation with him while preparing the food, he handed the ladle and scooped some soup. "Taste this for me. Check if the onion pork soup is good enough," he requested. I held his hand, helping him blow the soup gently.

He looked at me with amazement.

As I was looking at him, everything was in slow motion, and every single angle makes everything perfect.

"It's hot," he uttered. I looked at his face, I felt the love he always showed me.

His cute eyes, soft lips, everything about him, I love it.

"It'll be fine. You'll see," I said.

I started to wash the carrots I sliced and placed them on the table. "We've prepared everything, all that's left to do is to stir-fry, then it's done," I loudly said in relief then smiled at him.

I cut my stares at him and started to take a sip to check the soup he made.

"Hua... It's so sweet, so delicious!" I said and took another sip. After checking and tasting the food he made, I pinched his cheeks. I'm so proud of him.

"What if Yu Shi-Gu didn't die?" t's a special day today, since I finally fulfilled the terms I and my parents have agreed upon before: I passed the National Central University's exam. As what my father had promised, I can now live with Shi-Gu.

Hindi ko na lang namamalayan na tumutulo na pala ang mga luha sa mga mata ko.

"Are you sure?"

Based on HIStory 3: Make Our Days Count by Tsai Mi Chieh

I

Napatigil ako sa mga tanong niya.

Inaalala kung anong nangyari noong gabi nang maghiwalay ang mga magulang ko. “Lahat ng bagay na nangyayari sa’tin Fidel, may dahilan. Noong una, nagdadalawang-isip ako na tanggapin ‘yung alok mo na ako ‘yung pumalit sa’yo sa bar na ‘yon dahil ayokong gamitin ka para lang sa putanginang passion na ‘to.

Iba ka sa mga lalaking nakilala ko Fidel.

Handa mong isakripisyo ‘yung mga bagay na dapat sa’yo para lang matupad ko ‘tong putanginang pangarap na to,” dire-diretsong sabi niya.

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I kissed his cheeks and prepared the food we cooked.

"Do you think uncle and auntie will like it?"

"For sure. They liked strong salty flavors more," I assured him.

He went straight towards the basket full of things we bought at the grocery.

As I took a look at him, he was looking for something. I heard his gasps and he turned his whole body towards me—like a baby who got something stolen.

"When I got the cola just now, I left the salt on the shelf," he said with a disappointed yet sweet voice. I shrugged my shoulders and laughed. "Then, I'll hurry up and get some. Watch the soup for me."

"Okay, remember to bring your keys," I replied as he started to leave. I saw the keys he was holding and waved his hands at me before leaving the house.

I turned off the gas stove then checked the stuff we bought. After getting a half of them, I saw Shi-Gu's wallet, what a forgetful man. I picked my phone to call him immediately. "Hello?"

"Wallet."

I heard his movements over the line, maybe he is checking his pockets. And he giggled over the phone call. "Okay, walk back. I'll give it to you." I replied as I took the duplicate keys before leaving the house.

As I reached the said place, I saw many people were crowding on the highway.

Curiosity starts to feed me, I went to that place to know what happened. But, I was shocked after looking at the intersection.

I felt my body getting numb.

No, this is not true.

"Day 1,459." I spoke. I am very frightened, I still often dream about that intersection. That car, and him lying there. Everything is a picture, a memory.

All those things left me feeling that I really want to explode.

"It's been a long time since that

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incident happened. I miss you." I uttered, as the camera is recording, I don't now what to do. I can't speak my worst feelings right now.

"You sleep too much, please wake up. Tomorrow is our special day. Do you remember? We'll celebrate it, please wake up now." I spoke at the camera.

That painful intersection, it keeps on haunting me. Everything is too hard to accept. I don't know how long it would take, but I'll wait for him. After that incident, Shi-Gu is still in a coma for almost 3 years. Tomorrow is the 4th year of him being unconscious.

"If you wake up, we'll continue our plans. You'll study again, we'll eat together, we're going to ride bicycles again. Whitey and I are waiting for you.

Please wake up now," I said, even I can't truly see him. I know he's listening to me. I picked up my phone and called Sun-Bo who's in the hospital.

"Hao-Ting! Good timing! You need to come here as soon as possible!" He said over the line. Why is he acting like that?

"What happened to Shi-Gu?!" I loudly said. "C-Come here quick! Sh-Shi-Gu needs you right now!" He said.

"Congratulations, exclaimed in joy.

Shi-Gu!"

I

"We made it, I already told you that we're always together right? Now, we achieved our first goal."

"Yes, but the incident that happened before, it still haunts me."

"Oh, don't worry," he replied, gently cupping my cheeks with his warm hands.

"I'm here now. I'm still alive because I made my promise," he replied. I looked at him with eyes full of love, leaning close to him before kissing him passionately.

I immediately wiped my eyes as it was getting soaked with tears as I looked back at how we started. From strangers, when I blocked your way to get the scholarship. The confrontations, the arguments, family problems, and that incident. It's too detailed to be forgotten. Now, we're making our days more memorable as we step up in the next chapter of our lives.

"I'm done! What about you?" I asked and went to my car to get my bag, waaiting for Shi-Gu to get his things.

"Okay, coming!"

"We're getting late for our flight."

I felt my tears rolling down my cheeks. I stood up, grabbed the keys, and ran immediately. "No, Shi-Gu. Please don't leave me!" I shouted as I drove my car fast as I could. I don't know how to restart my life without him. "Please, wait for me, I'm coming, Shi-Gu." I whispered and cried.

He went straight to the entrance as I entered the hallway, he looked at me.

When I reached the assigned room, I saw Sun-Bo and Brother Chang standing right after Shi-Gu. They're all crying. I kneeled down. I can't move, I feel numb.

Why?! "S-Shi-Gu." I whispered. And I let my tears rolled down. Crying is the only option that I have right now.

"Now, we have another challenge in the US," I said. Both of us decided to take the entrance exam at Stanford University, as some of my friends recommended me that Stanford is known in physics and other programs.

"I'm going to take astronomy, how about you?" He asked. I just smiled at him and looked at my wristwatch.

"I already told you that I'll take physics," I held his hands and smiled.

"THAT'S MY SHI-GU!" I shouted and clapped as I kept calling his name.

"Another season of challenges, more experiences to encounter in the future," he said. I held his hands and kissed it.

After a long hour of waiting for the ceremony to end, I ran towards Shi-Gu, wrapping my arms on his waist as I greet him with a warm smile.

—Bai Louyiwei (Klikhotnonghiplert Ruengchovehj) Neufeld

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"We made it once. We can make our days count together," I replied.

13

The Love That Burns

Based on Lucifer, a TV series written by Tom Kapinos with the characters created for DC Comics' Vertigo by Neil Gaiman, Sam Kieth, & Mike Dringenberg "What if Chloe poured the poison on Lucifer’s drink?"

I

immediately flashed a fake smile as soon as the elevator opened. I went out only to see Lucifer smiling widely with a rose on his hand, placing it on a vase on the table.

I gulped, trying to hide the nervousness I’m feeling.

“Hi, Lucifer,” I greeted him as I walked towards him that made me caught his attention.

My heartbeat started to double. I felt my hands being very sweaty when he reached for his glass and was about to drink when I called him, “Lucifer!” He glanced at me with a creased forehead.

“Detective, what’s wrong? You’re acting a tad weird,” he chuckled and my eyes widened when he drank the wine with the poison... he just... oh, my gosh.

“Detective! You look... beautiful.

Please, sit,” he welcomed then gestured the available seat in front of him. I nodded my head and sat down the chair.

“Do you know, Detective, that this is my favorite wine? I really love... the... uhm,” he started coughing and I don’t know what to do... he... “Lucifer... there’s... blood,” I stood up and went towards him.

My right hand was inside my pocket the whole time, holding the bottle with the poison. I stared at the wine glass near his plate when he stood up. “Oh! I made some... grilled cheese. Your favorite and not some fancy stuff,” he chuckled. I only smiled a bit, feeling sweaty for a moment.

He covered his mouth with his palm when he coughed once again. He stared at his hands full of blood as he turned his head on my direction, his eyes were very confused... and so am I. “Detective... what...” I cut him off, “Why are you bleeding, Lucifer?! Y-you’re the devil, right?! Why the heck are you bleeding?!”

He went to the counter and got the plate where the grilled cheese are, then he placed it on the table. He then reached for the bottle of wine and started to pour some wine on our glasses. I remained smiling, to avoid suspicion from him.

Panic. I started to panic when Lucifer held my hand. I stared at it as the tears in my eyes started to form. “Can’t you see, Detective? I also don’t know how but... uhm, I’m vulnerable when you’re... uhm, around.” I blinked, trying to process what he said. I was about to speak when we heard the elevator sound.

I suddenly felt thirsty. I reached for my drink but my hands were trembling that causes the wine to spill. Lucifer glanced at me with wide eyes, “Detective!

What’s wrong? Wait up, I’ll get a cloth.”

I bit my lower lip when he stood up again and left.

Immediately, I reached for the poison inside my pocket and poured it on his glass. I was breathing heavily when he came back, my eyes glued on his drink. “Detective, wipe off that stain on your shirt.” He handed me the cloth before sitting down on his chair, the smile on his lips never faded.

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“Detective Decker! Good job!”

Lucifer’s eyes remained on me as I stood up and walked towards Father Kinley, feeling furious.

“Liar! You fucking liar! You told me, you told me he won’t die! He’ll just get weak, and lose his powers but he won’t die! You lied to me! How... how could you?!” He stopped me from talking.

“Thank you very much, Detective. You are such a big help in bringing the devil back to his chamber, to the place where he belongs.”

My world crumbled upon hearing his words. “No, no! No! He’s not evil, you are!” But I only heard his laugh. His guards stopped me from attacking their boss. “Let go of me!” I shouted when they started performing the ritual on making Lucifer go back to hell. “Lucifer!”

He glanced at me, eyes filled with tears. “Detective... how can you... how can you do this... to me?”

Despite the incantations of the priests, I reached out to Lucifer, trying to explain my side. “I... I didn’t know also, Lucifer... He... he lied to me. Please, I’m sorry, Lucifer!” I shouted his name when he suddenly groaned in pain.

His devil face was slowly coming back and he’s getting weaker and weaker.

My tears flowed continuously as I stared at him. “Lucifer...”

He glanced at me and flashed a weak smile. “Detective... I didn’t know that my love for you... will be the reason... for me to go back to the place I hate the most.” I looked away, I can’t bear to look at him while he’s in so much pain.

“Guess this is the love that burns, huh?

Burns the soul.”

“No, no, Lucifer!” I shouted as I feel their grip on me loosened when Lucifer’s body started to fade away. I ran towards him and held his hand immediately. “No, Lucifer... stay, please, please, Lucifer.”

He chuckled. “Detective... I know, I disgust you. I am... disgusting...” I shook my head, disapproving all the bullshit he's saying. “And... I understand why you... did this... Because... you cannot... you cannot accept... me. And it’s fine...

Detective, just please... don’t forget your greatest partner... of all time, alright?”

He held my cheeks with his right hand, caressing it slowly. “Hope not to

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PHOTOGRAPH BY YBRAYYM ESENOV

see you in hell, Detective. ‘Til we meet again.” Then, his body turned to ash and I was left there, drowning in pain... and guilt.

You’re wrong, Luci. I think we’ll see each other in hell.

—Cassidy Heredia, former member

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15

When the Game Ends Based on After by Anna Todd

"What if Hardin never fell in love with Tessa?"

I

t all began with a party that I never even tried until college. If not only because of Steph, my roommate, I wouldn't be who I am now, and if that dare game never existed in my past, I wouldn't be as happy as I am at this moment. But, having this life I desired, this caused me two consequences: My mother cut me off financially; and I lost Noah, the man who loved me more than anyone. From that day, I have nothing but Hardin; he is my everything, and I want him to feel my overflowing love, so I gave myself to him.

We entered his room while kissing roughly. I stared at him when we stopped and uttered, “I want you now.”

We undressed each other without breaking our kisses. He lifts me up, and I felt his cold bed from my back as he set me down. He puts himself on top of me, naked, while our skins are brushing against one another. By then, I felt liquid gushing between my thighs, signalizing how much I crave for him.

He stretched his arm, grabbing a sachet of condom from his nightstand.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I immediately replied.

After putting it, I felt pain as he enters my middle, giving me a strange sensation. He continued to thrust, pulling himself harder inside me, and all I could feel is a mix of pain and pleasure.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, just go slow,” I commanded.

He thrust slower just as I told him. I then wrapped my arms around his neck, and rendered him again a passionate kiss. I could hear his whispers, curses, and moans; everything from his mouth is music in my ear while the thought of Hardin moving beneath me feels wonderful. I smiled, closing my eyes, silently wishing this night won't end.

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The next day, a beam of sunlight from the window woke me up; I frowned with the thought of not seeing Hardin beside me. But, as I recalled the pleasure I felt last night, a split-second of sweet smile marked my lips. The rest of the day goes smoothly, yet no Hardin showed up the entire day. I grabbed my phone and texted him, “Where are you?”

But I received no reply from him, instead I received one from Jace, Hardin's friend, telling me he knows Hardin's whereabouts. As I arrived at Video Drone, I saw Hardin's car, so I immediately hopped in without knowing it was Jace inside. “Why are you in Hardin's car?”

“Why? Can't I borrow his car?”

“Jace, just tell me where he is.”

“Maybe he's at Blind Bob's,” I rolled my eyes and went out the car to go to Blind Bob's.

As I entered the place, I saw Hardin's group of friends and shockingly, he was there, making out with Molly. “What the fuck is this, Hardin?”

A mischievous grin showed up on his lips. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Are you insane?”

A memory of him in Soto's class flashed through my head. How could I forget that?

“Hardin–” “Stop it, Tessa. Can’t you see?

Hardin's done with you. The game is over,” said Molly. I looked at her with confusion, “Remember truth or dare?

You, rejecting Hardin. You really think that's the end of the game, don't you?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Tch.” she scrolled down through her phone before handing it to me. She's showing me a video of me and Hardin from that party, the night where I first ran into them.

"I'm done playing this game," I blurted before storming out.

"Looks like Hardin Scott just got his first rejection," Molly teased him.

"You don't think I can make it happen?" asked Hardin.

"Make what happen, Hardin?" Sophia asked.

"Here's the dare: Make her fall in love with me, then I'll just..." he snapped his fingers before saying those last words, "turn it off."

Yeah, he didn't. “You made me feel like you do-”

My bottom lip quivered, and my shoulders dropped in resignation. I took a step backward, looking at them with disbelief. I got played, and it hurts me, but the thought of Hardin doing nothing other than staring at me as if I'm a complete stranger breaks me. “Hardin, I don’t understand, I chose you over everything-”

“Whoa, Tessa, you need to chill,” he let out an unbelievable laugh. “Love?

I'll tell you again, Love is just like a transaction, we can turn it on, and we can turn it off. Do you remember these words Tessa?”

I ran in the rain, trying to distance

“I'm completely sane, Tessa.” A naughty laugh escaped his lips, sending me shivers down my spine. This can't be, I know he loves me.

“Hardin, you said you love me.”

“Did I?” he asked in sarcasm.

“That I never asked.” He said coldly.

I looked away as I felt my face turned red, because of hatred and disappointment. I at last got my strength to turn my back at them, including him.

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Her smile was something I could never get tired of, and her laugh made the air take up color. Trees became blue and the sky became green. The moon was yellow and the sun was white. It was like I had found a whole new color spectrum, a kaleidoscope bursting with new bits and pieces of shapes and sizes.

She made my heart whole again.

It's weird, wanting something and waiting for years until you can get it and then it's miraculously given to you, but at what cost? If it meant that I was going to live with lungs while Stella didn't have her own, it would've been even worse than not getting them at all. So, I told them to give her the lungs that night.

from that place that suffocates me. Everything I had after meeting him are all lies. I can't believe I got fooled. I'm so stupid, I hate lies, I hate everything including myself.

I couldn’t hold the heartbreak any longer as I fell to the floor in a disheveled heap and my eyes poured out a flood of uncontrollable tears. I should have seen this coming.

If only I listened, I wouldn't be in this state of heartbreak. I lost everything, from Noah, my best friend, to Hardin, my first. And now that the game ends, everything will never be the same. —Cin Escrotes

Six Feet Under PHOTOGRAPH BY DANIEL RYKHEV

Based on Five Feet Apart, a motion picture by Justin Baldoni "What if Will got the lungs instead of Stella?"

"W

ill? Will, I love you. So much."

My eyes fluttered open at the feeling of immense bright light entering the room. I could faintly see my mother standing up to approach me. She helped me sit up straight.

"Where's Stella? Is she okay?" were the first questions that came out of my mouth despite the dozens floating around in my mind. Mom pursed her lips and puts a hand on her heart. She looked relieved, but also scared at the same time. "Mom, tell me where she is." I mumbled, suddenly feeling the anger rushing up my body. I was silently panicking. And suddenly I remember the time when we rebelled. When we got to take just a few more steps closer to each other, not giving a shit about the consequences. We were out in the cold, coughing and tired, but that didn't matter.

We were together, and that was enough to make all the stars shine in my little galaxy.

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"I gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I'm sorry. I didn't have any other choice." That was what I said.

But I lied. I did have a choice. I could have just stayed out of her hair and did my regimen on my own. I should have ignored her from the very beginning and pushed the thought of romance away.

Everything I did from the minute we met up until that point were decisions I made. I had a choice, but I sure as hell am not good at choosing the right one.

The one where Stella could have had new lungs. The one where she didn't have to risk her life to be with me. The one where she could have lived five more years if it weren't for me.

"Five feet apart at all times." It was just one rule I couldn't even follow.

I breathed heavily as my hand crumpled the white sheets of my hospital bed. Mom didn't say anything. She was just staring at me with a weird, unreadable expression that made me uneasy. I instantly got off the bed and put on my mask.

"Will?" I ignored her as I walked towards the door. "If you're not gonna tell me, then I'm finding out myself!"

She shook her head. "Will, please stay here."

I groaned. "And then what, mom?!

Stay here and try to stay comfortable

17

PHOTOGRAPH BY FABIAN MOLLER

18

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while Stella might be in danger?! Mom, she fell through the ice! How can I just relax when-"

of the room. Stella's mother kissed my forehead and heads out along with her husband, and so did Mom.

"She's dead, Will," Mom snapped.

And at that moment, my world shattered.

It was like something was tearing my heart away piece by piece. My throat narrowed and my body weakened. There was a storm going on inside me. Strong enough to blow away this entire hospital.

Strong enough to create a tidal wave.

Strong enough to destroy thousands of homes and multiple countries in a matter of seconds... but not strong enough to bring her back.

No. That can't happen. "Don't say stuff like that." I couldn't look my mom in the eyes anymore., but I knew she was crying. "Will, she's gone. Her lungs had collapsed a-and they got filled with her own blood-" I shook my head.

"You're lying. She can't just... She isn't dead, mom. Sh-she promised me we would go to an art gallery together.

She told me she wanted to travel the world with me and do crazy things like her sister did. Stella isn't... Mom, Stella's not-" I was cut off by my own pathetic sobs. I fell to the floor as my mom hugged my body tightly, almost as if she was preventing me from breaking into tiny, little pieces. The tears didn't stop, and my heartbeat didn't stop drumming in my ears.

When I saw the white blanket spread over her body, reality started to sink in, hitting me hard. A big train just passed by and squished me. A bus came and ran over me. A jet just pierced a whole in my body, not that anyone noticed.

Her parents were there, and her mother gave me a tight hug. I gently take off the fabric to reveal her face. I looked away. This can't be real, and just like that, I was falling apart all over again.

"Stella, please... everybody's waiting for you, please come back. I know you wanted- I know you still want to live.

Come on... come on!" My shoulders were trembling as I gently shook hers.

"D-don't do this to me. You still haven't ridden on a ferris wheel, right?!

You still want to go thrift shopping right?! Ride a bike without falling, climb a mountain without getting scared, give all your stuffed animals to an orphanage...

Stella, wake up! Please... You can't just leave me like this without saying goodbye.. Open those eyes, dammit!"

Mom gestured the others to get out

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I'm being torn apart. Everything around me is spinning; I can't help but feel the sudden weight on my shoulders.

In the morning, my mom told me that I could rest for one more day and then I'd leave the hospital. I sighed as I stared at my room. Moms really have a way of making their kids comfortable, even in the most uneasy circumstances, and I appreciate that.

I decided to take a look at her room.

As I opened the door, I was taken aback by what I saw. It was completely empty.

Like the coziness and warmth left just as soon as Stella did. There was a notebook on her bed with a note on it from Barb.

"She wanted you to have this."

Her master list, of course. I chuckled as I flipped through the pages, seeing how she loved to cross things off and get stuff done. ď † Love Will forever My smile grew and my tears fell.

There are emotions that words can't explain, and this was one of them. It was like seeing her for the first time, thinking that she'd burst out wings and fly away, as she looked like an angel in disguise.

It was like finally getting a hold of her hand. We were wearing gloves at that time, but her warmth spread through the fabric and onto my skin immediately.

I honestly thought we would get electrocuted and die, because those tiny little sparks coming from her touch were enough to make me burst into flames. Emotions like this are intense,

19

passionate, fast, slow, wild, calm... it's all a hurricane. I sighed and went to the rooftop with the notebook.

The air was cold, delicately dancing on the hairs of my skin. I could see fresh packs of snow on the spot where I tricked Stella into thinking that I was gonna jump. The city was lit up perfectly— bright and radiant. A thought came to mind, so I closed my eyes and made a wish.

Roses, spring, black, blue, pink, daisies, stars. Nothing else mattered anymore. The sounds that I heard, the wind, the birds... everything was static.

All I could think about was her, and I can't stop drawing. Her smile is stuck in my head. I'm afraid that if I don't put it on paper I might forget. I don't want to forget, ever. My hand vigorously shades the hell out of it as I finally give in to the burning sensation.

"Damn it!" I slammed my sketchbook on the table and threw the pencil away.

I miss her so much. Just then, I heard a knock on the door.

"Hey." she greeted. I let out a sigh as I scan what's in her hands.

"Coffee?" she offered. I nodded.

"Come in, Barb."

"The funeral is in a few days, you know. Are you up for it?" I shrugged.

"It's not like I'm not gonna be there."

Barb sighs and takes a sip of her drink.

"She was always a free spirit, that girl.

Always knew what she needed to do."

She's right. There was never a pause button for her. Stella put others before herself even if it was supposed to be the other way around. Barb gets up and gives me a pat on the back, "Hang in there, 'kay?"

"Will? Some of your friends came by to visit you." Mom smiled, making way for three people. "Hey," I greeted.

"You should have seen the look on Zoey's face when she found out her dear old Max has a girlfriend. Man, she looked like it was the end of the world or

20

something!" Alex teased.

burns, real bad."

"Hey, at least I actually have the balls to admit my feelings. You haven't even said one word to Inna!" Zoey shot back.

She takes a moment to smile and look at the sky.

Blake tiptoes his way to my side and whispers, "There they are, fighting like cats and dogs again." We watched as Zoey and Alex continued insulting each other with their comebacks.

My room was filled with their arguing and the laughter Blake and I shared. I was home, away from the hospital, and it felt surreal to me. Weird, almost. Alex has gotten taller and his voice is definitely deeper than usual.

Zoey started to wear makeup, though I liked her natural beauty better. And, Blake's very muscular now. All around me, I can see their little yet significant changes. Everyone was running full speed ahead into their future while my life, while I stayed still. Is that it? Am I still on pause? Not moving from the last spot I've been in?

"Hey. You just walked out on us back there. Is everything alright?" Zoey asked, concern spread all over her face.

"Tell me Zoey, if you really loved someone enough you'd give your heart and soul for them, and they disappeared from this world, what would you do about it?" I mumbled. "W-Will, I-" "Would you be sad? Angry? Lonely?

Would it make you want to shut yourself in your room and never come out again?"

Zoey takes a step closer. "Will, I know how you feel."

"No you don't. None of you do," I breathed out. She smiles wearily and sits on the floor. The evening was quiet and peaceful, unlike the storm that was going on inside me.

"Actually I do. People take pain very differently, Will. Some cry and others punch walls. It hurts them so much that they feel like they've been stabbed in the same spot over and over again. It takes the joy away from their hearts. And it

"Life is shit sometimes, but no matter how hard you fall on your face, you eventually learn to get back up again. It's like riding a bike for the first time. It's scary as hell, but you just need a little push, that's all."

I nodded. I need a push, and a big one, that's for sure.

"Really, Will, you need to learn how to tidy things up a bit. I can't always do this for you," Mom whined as she picked up t-shirts, socks, and underwear from the floor. I had an empty pizza box in my hand and I was ready to take it outside when I saw a piece of paper on my nightstand. It was an invitation for Stella's funeral.

"Hey, mom?" She hummed in response. "What did you realize when dad was gone?"

She froze for a second, then sighed.

"He's the love of my life, and nothing, no one, could ever change that." I smiled at her answer and headed outside to sketch.

Mourning faces, her picture next to a coffin, her voice that I would never hear again, her parents and their longing to have their daughter back... It was all too much. I gripped her toy panda and ran.

The rain was pouring and it was soaking me along with my suit, but I didn't care.

I made sure to cover the stuffed animal, though. My legs stopped and my knees met the ground. The raindrops weren't the only ones running down my face.

Sometimes love can feel amazing.

You get weird, happy butterflies inside you, and it makes your whole world burst with color. It gives you the drive to do things even if you're tired. But then, there's the ugly side, where you want to rip off your flesh from your bones or slit your own throat. It's like cupid pierced a rusty arrow through your heart. My hand shakily reaches for Stella's notebook that was in my suit's secret pocket.

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"Love Will forever."

always grateful for that."

My heart has strings like that of a guitar's, and right now, they're snapping.

"I love you, a bushel and a peck," I started singing. "A bushel and a peck though you make my heart a wreck. Make my heart a wreck and you make my life a mess. Make my life a mess, yes a mess of happiness.." The melody I was singing slowly faded into quiet whispers, covered by the sounds of the rain.

Even before we got to touch, she always made me feel that she loved me.

When I went back, it was time for me to give my message. I took a deep breath and tapped on the mic. "Stella has impacted my life in a way that I never thought she could, just like how she impacted all of you. And, there are three things that I would say if someone would ever ask me what she's like. One, she's stubborn: Whatever she wants you to do, you don't get a word in. And sometimes, her stubbornness works, especially when she uses those big hazel eyes of hers." The crowd chuckles.

"Two, she's kind: I thought about how privileged I am to have been a part of her life because her life was about the people she loved. And three, she gives people hope: She gave me hope. I'll

I face her, lying down with her eyes closed. She looked so peaceful and she would be, forever, just like how I'll love her forever.

"Now, people are always saying that if you love something, you have to learn to let it go. I thought that was such bullshit, until I watched you almost die.

And in that moment, Stella, nothing else mattered to me... except you. I don't want you to go. All I want is to be with you, but I can't. I don't know what comes next, but I don't regret any of this."

I took out her notebook and read something from the back of it that I never noticed until now.

"La vie est trop courte pour perdre une seconde. French. It means life's too short to waste a second."

I looked at the sky that was clearing up, making way for the bright sunlight piercing through the light gray clouds slowly turning to white. My beautiful bossy Stella, you're right. l'âme ne connaît pas le temps, for the soul knows no time. I will always love you, now and forever, 'til the day I take my last breath.

—Aizora Sirvert

Happily Ever After

Based on A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks "What if Jamie Sullivan survived?"

W

e were married on March 12, 1959. I remembered the most difficult walk anyone ever had to made.

She was sick and pale, but she still chose to walk to the altar. I was nervous at that time, my heart beating so loud like a stereo on repeat. In every way, it was a walk to remember and the most wonderful moment of my life.

Forty years later, and I can still remember everything from that day.

From the smile on her lips, to the vows

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we shared. It was a sheer moment of bliss, a moment I will hold dearly in my heart.

“Love, breakfast is ready!”

The bubble of memories burst when I heard her soft voice. I breathed deeply, letting the air flow inside my lungs while my heart beats into a typical rhythm.

I looked at the woman she is today.

I remembered the first time I saw her, never knowing that she will be a part of my life. I never knew that the soft-spoken

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Jamie, who was mocked and shunned by others, is the one whom I'll fall in love with.

It was a series of heartbreaks, dumb decisions, and painful setbacks before I gained what I have today.

My wife, Jamie Sullivan, survived.

I slowly walked to where she's standing before slipping my arms around her petite waist.

“I love you. I love you so much.

You're right here with me, today, tomorrow, and all of my days. I can't believe we won the game of life,” I whispered.

Whispering has been a part of my life since that day. I feel like we have this protective bubble around us; I speak loudly enough, it will just pop out, waking me up from this beautiful dream.

“This is not a dream, Landon,” she said. Did I just blurt out my thoughts once again?

She turned around, putting down the spatula before turning off the stove.

She kissed my cheeks before cradling my face like she is the woman version of Atlas, a strong goddess that was born just for me.

“I won it 'cause you're there. You've become my strength and fortress. If ever life gave me another obstacle, I won't mind as long as you're here with me.”

My Jamie survived all those painful days. I chose her and I am willing to repeat the action over and over, maybe a million times if I have to.

Isn’t it funny? If I had made a different decision, I wouldn’t be here now. If I didn't change the pattern of my life and neglected her existence, everything would be so different.

I gave her my destiny and all of me.

I want to hear her symphony, singing it and giving her all. She is my only hope.

—Queen Cleopatra, former member

21

 The Heart Wants What it Wants

O

n a mid-summer afternoon, Jaehyun and Taeyong were at the back of the car, soft chuckles slipping out of their lips as they enjoy the view of the sunset while having a little chitchat about their happiest memories.

I smiled at the view as I walk foward to their places, carrying a wide, gummy smile that they always loved to see in me.

As I stood in front of the happy couple, the nostalgic memories of the good old days swings into my head like a breeze of the wind in a hot summer morning.

I placed my hand on my chest as I began crying out all the misery and regrets.

My tears fell down on the sand like petals being plucked out of the stem,

my mind is in chaos as I try to fight the heartbreak.

murmured into his ear as I flew out with the wind like a dust.

Upon seeing Jaehyun smiling next to my bestfriend, a feeling of pain, and a drop of happiness awakens in my soul.

“Love, did you feel that wind? It was him.” Taeyong uttered a word to Jaehyun as it turns to look back at him.

For my heart has always wanted to be with Jaehyun. Despite the feelings I chose to hide back in high school, at least I know that my heart belongs to him.

Jaehyun nodded upon his boyfriend's question, smiling before hugging Taeyong in his arms.

My soul somehow felt alive as I cupped Taeyong's cheeks to give him a soft smile.

“Thank you Taeyong, for saving my heart from my hands. I wish you are happy with it. I want you to know that even though I lost my life in the middle of the heart transplant, i'm still happy that I helped you from your struggles.” I

“Doyoung really misses you so much. And up 'til now, you are still his best friend. ” Jaehyun replied, eyes staring back at the sunset as the wind blows out, a sign that Doyoung's soul has left again, and a sign that reminds Taeyong of the day that Doyoung donated his heart, so he could be healed from his heart disease back in their high school years.

—Cedi Fauntleroy

Beneath the Skin (Garden of Solitude)

T

he seeds were sown a long time ago.

It began as where one might expect it to be: a library. Soft golden light streamed through the large windows, illuminating the titles on the wooden shelves and the dusty stacks sitting on the floor.

A child's hand runs through the spines, utterly fascinated. She was a small thing brimming with curiosity.

She would be a captive for a long time. Perhaps even forever. I should know. She is I, after all.

It was springtime in me when the words were buried beneath my skin.

When the time came to face the

22

larger world, the words were always with me. The outside dissapoints, so I preferred what was inside.

I was a shrine, and the world continued to turn. I stood still, apart.

In time, the seeds sprouted their tiny leaves.

There were notebooks feverishly written on with inks both black and blue.

There were scrap papers hidden between books, half forgotten. There was a stack of books in the bedside table.

There was a cold look, and a pair of cold brown eyes.

A chair beside the window, a table for six with a lone occupant, a book amid

incessant chatter.

The sprouts had grown, and they hurt as they made their way from beneath my skin. There were cold hands on the laptop keys. Scraps of paper set alight, a strange heaviness from the sight of ash.

I never burnt anything again.

I wish to have that girl back, the one that has sown. But I am no longer her.

Gardens grow from seeds, as they ought to do. That is the way of things.

There is a price for sowing words.

There is a charge for letting yourself be a garden.

I should know.

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—Eli Gonzales

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Hold Me Tight

A

s the sunlight passes through my window, I can clearly hear the chirping birds and the sound of nature sorrounding our house.

I stood up and smiled before walking my way to the kitchen.

"P'Mew must be cooking something again." I said to myself before going my way.

As I saw the kitchen, I saw P'Mew cooking the breakfast meal for this day. I smiled softly at him before hugging him from behind.

"Gulf." Phi whispered, smiling softly as he turns his head to look at me.

Potpourri of Prompts: Quarantine Specials

I

t's the one-hundredth day of quarantine.

It's eight o' clock in the morning. As I woke up with a morning wood beneath the sheets, I first saw Mama and Ate (older sister) working at the office, and my Papa drinking coffee on the dining table.

For the umpteenth time, I don't have any task to accomplish within the day, aside from washing dishes and finding online gigs that may suit my skills.

After the fixing the bed, I hastily closed all the windows and doors, locked the doors, and hopped on the already tidied-up bed.

"Hay. Tangina. Ijajakol ko na lang ulit 'to."

(Ugh. Fuck it. Might as well wank [my day] off.)

I sighed in displeasure. Maybe I survived only to soil the sheets, after all. —Simeon Dominico

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"How long have you been awake?"he asks, focused on his cooking.

"I just woke up Phi. Are we going out for a walk after eating breakfast?"I asked him as I try to shove my head into his arms to look at him and give a warm smile.

P'Mew nodded at my question and turns to hug me tight before giving a soft kiss on my forehead.

"I love you, Nong Gulf." I saw his eyes tearing up after saying those words, so I softly placed my hands on his both cheeks, cupping them while my thumb moves near his eyes to wipe his dropping tears.

"I love you too, P'Mew." I replied.

"Let's eat breakfast now so that we can walk later!" I said to him in a soft and pleasing voice.

This day feels so perfect. I know that P'Mew cooks the breakfast meal every morning. But this day feels very special to me, I woke up with a very happy feeling.

At this day, I want to be happy with P'Mew. I want to spend the whole day with him being with me.

As my heart flutters at my thoughts, I suddenly remembered the words that

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my Doctor told me last month.

"A person with brain cancer can usually live for up to 5 years only. I know this will be hard for you Mr.Kanawut, but this is the reality of this brain disease and you have to deal with it. This type is cancer will play you like a game about life. You have to be happy and contented with the people around you, before it's too late."

I've been living with brain cancer for 5 years now. And this month marks as my 5th year on being a cancer patient.

Meeting P'Mew in the middle of my battle with this disease, I've never been so happy.

Mew gave the light that i've searched for a long time.

He understands me, he knows how hard my life is, yet he's there, making everything light.

He takes care of me, he comforts me whenever I fear that I he might wake up one day that i'm not breathing anymore.

I stood up to sit beside him before kneeling in front of him. I held his hands as I interwine my fingers with his.

"I love you so much, P'Mew. Always remember that." I said those words to him once again before resting my head on his hands.

P'Mew smiled at me, and that smile was the same smile he gave to me after knowing about my cancer.

That smile.. I want to keep seeing it, until my last breath.

"I opened my eyes today and the world seems different, the clock I use is the same as always."

As I sang the lines of Gulf's favorite song, I was leaning my face close to him while holding his wheelchair as we take a walk on near the beach. The sun's heat is still normal at this morning, so I decided to take him to a walk.

I saw him smiling despite the look

23

Our Rendezvous

"H started.

in his face.

His eyes are now heavy, his face is pale, his hands are now shaking.

"I want you to be my last one, the person who I share my breath with." I continued singing his favorite song while I try to fight my tears from falling.

As we pass by the beach, he held my hand. The wind is strong and refreshing.

I feel his thumb traveled along my palm before he looks at me with his warmest smile.

"I really enjoyed this time, Phi." he said in a soft voice.

I took his other hand and helped him stood up before sitting on the sand, softly leading him to sit next to me.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the sea breeze embracing the both of us while Gulf softly rests his head on my shoulder.

PHOTOGRAPH BYTIM COOPER

"Then I first met you, I was already battling cancer, the battle is difficult, Phi. But because of you, suddenly everything just felt lighter now." he said in a weak voice.

And I kept my eyes closed, trying to fight my own sadness.

"This moment will never end, I will always carry this moment with me wherever I go, Phi. Whether it's paradise, or another battlefield. This moment, and the moment I met you. I will use them as my strength and my happiness." Gulf added to his words and I can feel his body getting heavier.

strong and stay happy. I will never let go of your hand P'Mew. Because that hand gave me strength. Because the moment that I first held your hand, was one of the happiest moments I had in my whole life."

As Gulf whisper his words, he gently looks up at me, his eyes are swollen and he looks pale.

"I want you to remember each word of my favorite song, becausr that describes our story. From how we met, till now that we are still inlove with each other." he said, so I leaned my face close to him as tears fill my eyes. I pursed my lips, crying silently yet I tried my best to sing the last part of his favorite song; "If the world stopped turning I'll keep reminding you that I won't change and assure you. There will be only you and I walking side by side."

"Only you loving me forever.."

"And please never let go of my hand.."

I looked at the skies while crying continously, the clouds suddenly turned dark.

I held his hands tight while I hug him close to my arms.

I can't feel his heartbeat anymore, and I can feel the heaviness of his body.

"Our battle ends here, Gulf. Now you can be happy and at peace."

"My life with P'Mew, is as precious as diamobds and gold."

Gulf died in my arms, and he never let go of my hand, his battle has ended, and I was one of his armors.

"No matter what happens, please be

—Cedi Fauntleroy

24

oney, you won't believe the juicy news I got," Doña Florida

"I wonder why I married a woman like you, you're not just a windbaggery but a clown who spoiled a lot of luxurious jewellery to transform your terrible face. Aren't you satisfied with all the diamonds you have, do you?"

Don Patricio muttered while fuming his cigarette. "Enough! You've never forgotten to mock me like a rooster routine every day.

She left her husband on the veranda and went to their room. The door closed with a slam, she began undressing and wore a blue dress below the knee as her homely clothes. A mirror stood next to her, for a minute she stares on her reflection.

Doña Patricio decided to check her wife, he thought perhaps she'll commit suicide. And he's obligated in the night vigil and burial that soon to happen if ever she commits suicide. He believes that staying up late at night will lessen his handsomeness and will give wrinkles on his goddess's face.

"I thought I can be happy without you but I was wrong. I assumed that you killed yourself because I was so mean to you. I'm worried that tomorrow I'll eat and sleep alone. I've never imagined my life without you, " he whimpers and hugs her.

"Really? You're worried to me and afraid to lose me?" she asked and gave him a French kiss. "Of course. I'm scared to lose you, what if they murdered me because there's no wild troll that they're fearful of, " he teased.

She slaps him and gives the distance.

"Aw. Kidding." He walked towards her and caresses her face. "You know what, appearance doesn't matter for me. You may not be the most beautiful woman yet I still chose you. I'll always choose you, " he stated that causes adrenaline

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back to her mind. Her boss was right.

"You know why?" he added while his index finger traced her lower lips.

"Why?" she responded with the eyes of temptation. "I can close my eyes while comin' to your soul."

They arrived in the place like paradise, they're surrounded by flower and the scent of it permeated the air. An awkward unpleasant silence roams. Only humming crickets and the cold breeze were enjoying the night.

She punches his shoulder and gets up from the bed. "What I'm telling you is that about Soles Company. I heard that they're running out of the fund and so they just sold it. They're also planning to leave this town," Doña Florida explained. "It's kinda good news, the pest in San Antonio is now decreasing," Don Patricio retorted.

Teresita was going in the room of servant where she's dwelling when she heard the chit chat of her boss, she felt her heart wrung. "He will leave me without a bid of goodbye."

She's downhearted walking while rustles on the window caught her attention. She opened it and saw Loreto that made her mood change. She hopes that a rumour will remain itself... that he can't leave her.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, why would I?" "Because I can't stay with you."

She let out a heavy sigh, "I'm not mad at you, I will never be mad at you, in fact, I understand you," but her heart was slowly crushing. "What will happen to us," he asked while softly weeping.

"Let's end this, if we were destined, we will meet again and continue our love story," though she's the one who ends their relationship, she owned the deepest heartache. She ran and went away to him. She closed her weary eyes and endure the pain.

After so many years, their path crossed again. If they're still free they'll run to hold each other's hand. If destiny doesn't mess around them there should be a happy ever after. If they're still together then they wouldn't learn.

Stranger's rendezvous wasn't always about love at first sight.

—Alter Hoaxer (Averill Abernathy)

PHOTOGRAPH BY MATEUS CAMPOS FELIPE

"Where are we going? It's already late, your parents will get mad at you" she mumbled. "Relax, we are just going to the place where we started," as he answered her question, the memories they had shared were freshly flashing

PHOTOGRAPH BY AZIZ ACHARKI

rush to his wife.

Just Another Dead Star You and me are just five feet apart few steps to take, thousand risks to break.

Every inches screams longing, yearning— a paroxysm you just completely digest while I burn together with the sentiments that built the greatest wall between us, the unspoken end, the muted reply: "Is there still any sparks when our hands touched?"

You and me are just five feet apart just a short distance I can't pass through or else I'll break, I'll be a mess you'll make.

Wondering how thing could have been, if we were just two hearts never apart, if we were just another summer night— two souls watching the stars live and die with an unspoken conversation in silence where my eyes shamelessly beg for the heaven: "Please don't let this love die young."

But unfortunately the heaven's ain't on my side.

We are just another dead star that will never find its sparks again.

—Ean Deneris (Haibara, Clemency)

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25

Estuary: Rhapsodia

“T

he freedom you crave does not exist.”

By the lakeside, beneath a hawthorn tree, stood a green bear. His hue contrasted to that of Spring’s natural green.

“It does not, and you have to accept that.”

I rowed closer to the bank, but stayed silent.

“Why don’t you speak to me?” he asked, dark round eyes staring into my grey ones.

“Is it my fault?” I asked.

He was silent for a time, as if to ponder.

“Perchance,” he answered finally.

“Mayhap this is always what is meant to be.”

“Or it could be your fault,” I heard myself say.

Otherkin. That is what he’s called.

But he has a true name I once knew.

Why do I know these things?

him to know my true name and I don’t know what his is. The Otherkin spoke again. “We are yet to be saved. Salvage whatever remains beneath these waters.

There lies the wreckage of your mind.”

The Beneath. In there lies all my fears, everything that I loathe and ridicule.

“The lake is all you remember. You may not remember much at the moment, but I assure you, all will be revealed in due time. Who can tell? Mayhap you’ll even remember my true name.”

Otherkin’s true name. The name of the strange beast embosomed within me.

I looked down the Beneath. There I saw, more clearly than others, a rabbit hole that glowed. A little boy was at its threshold, held captive by its strange beauty. I wanted to shout, “Don’t go in there!” but it’s too late. The boy fell.

I had fallen, and never climbed out again.

There is a reason why I prefer the Winter’s cold embrace.

Because once, long ago, he was my friend. You now wonder what have happened. You’ll learn it soon enough.

For now, it would suffice to say that he fooled me. With my love for all things fantastical, I let the Otherkin fool me.

Fooled me with bright lights and exotic places and falling down rabbit holes. And here I am now, certain that I am losing my sanity. You are, after all, reading me as I talk to myself.

Summer is never kind. Spring is cruel. Autumn is fickle. And Winter is merciful. It freezes this lake, and for a time hides what lies in the Beneath.

“Aye, that too, can be true. But you came here willingly, even refused to leave,” answered the Otherkin.

I do not have to fear what lies underneath.

But I do not refuse now.

“Then I am surely mad for refusing,” I retorted.

“Madness does not claim the lives of all it inflicts, Bartholomew.”

Bartholomew. How unfair it was, for

26

Winter offers variety. For three seasons, there isn’t much to do but row across this lake. But when frosty winds start to blow and snow begins to fall, the surface hardens and turns to ice. Then I can glide and slide as long as I please, so long as Winter is here.

Fragments of my life swim underneath me. I would not even know if they are real or not, because who asleep knows he is dreaming?

Am I the only one to see the Beneath?

Perhaps I may have out it already too late. I’m not working to keep my sanity.

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PHOTOGRAPH BY ALISTAIR MACKENZIE

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27

I am working to escape, for I am already insane.

I looked up to see the clouds step aside to let the sun shine through. There it was, a large eye, looming over me.

Judging me for what I have become.

But I have not become. I am just beginning.

I plunged.

Yet I didn’t drown. It didn’t seem as if I fell down to the water.

Instead, I found myself lying down in moist grass amongst the tombstones.

I got up and examined them. They look as if they haven’t been visited for a long time, for they are lidden with moss and lichen. Forlorn, just as I am. Some are even crumbling. I can’t make out any name of the dead. What is stranger is that there seem to be no names at all. Other than that, this place seems a regular graveyard. All forlorn, just like me.

“Welcome lad, to the Graveyard of Forgotten Dreams.”

The Grim Reaper has come for me.

What else could I make of this hooded man in a black cloak?

“Good morrow, sir,” I finally managed to say.

“Good morrow, Bartholomew.”

And out from that dark hood came a smile and a pale, bony face.

“How did you come by?”

“I do not know, sir. I do not even know why I am here.”

I followed him until we came upon a granite tombstone. Two spades were lying on the ground. He picked them up and handed one to me.

“Dig.” So we did, till the sun was high.

At last, he seemed to have found what he’s looking for.

“Help me hoist this up.”

A black coffin.

He opened it.

To my surprise, it was empty.

“You are to be buried.”

I stepped inside, and laid my weary head to rest.

The room was dark, the bed unmade.

A small, scared boy hunched beneath the bed, silently trying to hold back tears. He still could hear the shouts outside. It was one of those nights. He was wiser now.

He bolted his door, turned off the lights, and hid under the bed for good measure.

I watched as my host greedily devour the meat before him.

“Well?”

I looked at the chunk of raw meat set before me. Not being keen on offending my host, I started eating.

The meat is not drained, and I taste blood gushing down my throat with every bite.

My host hastily finished his meal, and proceeded to watch me as I eat the last remaining portions.

Then he was silent for a while, eyes quietly regarding me.

“Satisfying meal, is it not?”

“A seeker,” he finally said. “You come in search for someone… or something.

What is it?”

“Now that you’re full, follow me.”

Peace.

“Peace.”

“Aye, just so. But it comes with a price.”

“Whatever it is sir, I am ready.”

“Very well. Come with me.”

28

I nodded.

Now that he’s standing, I can see the terrible figure of Beelzebub, prince of demons and lord of the flies.

I followed him to a room which contained nothing but rows of dusty wooden shelves with empty glass bottles in them. This room is a stark contrast the dining room’s luxury. Beelzebub stopped at a particular shelf. I noticed something

peculiar.

Green smoke swirled inside the only jar among the empty bottles. Beelzebub took the jar and handed it to me. Then he grinned a wicked, yellow-toothed grin. “Don’t open. Or do. It’s up to you.”

I stared at it. The green smoke looked as if it has a life of its own. It seemed to beg me for release. I took the jar from Beelzebub’s hand and stared at the green smoke inside for a while.

Slowly, I unscrewed the lid. No sooner than I opened it, I felt as if I am standing at the edge of an abyss. I looked down to see a yawning pit slowly getting bigger. I looked in front of me, but Beelzebub was no longer there.

Instead, there was a severed pig’s head on a stick. It’s grinning. Then it spoke.

“You are all my children. My kingdom’s bigger than you think.”

Those were the last things I heard before I fell.

For how long I fell I cannot tell, but I am certain this fall is oddly slow. Swirls of color flew around me, dancing lazily until they disappear. I see a lot of other things too. Fractals and shadows, ghosts and specters of my life. Memories… like the ones at the Beneath. But unlike the memories underneath the lake, these aren’t vivid, they fade as soon as appear.

Still, they sting.

I closed my eyes and awaited the end of this fall. Yet with eyes closed, I still see.

I see that fateful day.

The day I followed the Otherkin.

A hawthorn tree.

A lone tree stood in the vast expanse of the moor. Its small pink flowers were blown away by the breeze, their sweet scent mixing with the salt spray.

A beast on a rock by the sea.

I approached the tree and saw a large rock hidden amongst the tall grass. Atop the rock sat a green bear with an unnatural hue. The bear seemed real. His eyes told me

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so.

ever be going out.

A dream that was sent to me.

I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself in an attempt to wake from this dream, but to no avail. “This is not a dream. You’re yet to have one,” spoke the green bear. His voice was gruff but kind.

“But… this isn’t something I’d consider normal.

The bear laughed. It wasn’t cruel, it was high-pitched and childlike. It doesn’t suit him. it?”

“Bartholomew. That’s your name, isn’t “Yes, it is.”

“Well, a knight once said ‘what songs the sirens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means… that you’re about to know the answers to the questions you asked earlier.”

I saw a hole by gnarly roots of the tree, and I’m certain it wasn’t there before. I’ve been here a lot of times before, if only to get away from them. They won’t even notice if I’m gone.

The green bear simply crouched down and looked inside. Then without warning, he climbed in. As soon as he did, the hole glowed. The light coming from within were like the northern lights I’ve read about. It glowed green then pink then a soft golden hue, and green again. There was I, kneeling on the brink, fascinated. I reached out to touch the light. They made my fingertips tingle. It’s pleasant, so without thinking, I leapt.

Then I fell and fell and fell.

I hit the ground with a thud. It hurts, and I wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Good. Anything is better than dreaming.

I’m used to the falls. I’ve been on plenty since I came here. By falling I came, and if that’s the way out, then so be it.

Only that I’m not certain if I will

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The cave floor is damp. I sat up, looking upwards then in front. Above is the cave entrance. In front is a lake.

I crawled my way into the water. I submerged, waiting for something to happen. Only that nothing happened.

Here am I, floating in the water, staring up at the blue sky. Clouds went sailing by. They look pretty up there, while I’m down here, with pruned up fingers.

There is no way out but up. So I climbed, gripping every protrusion and cavity. I soon learned I’m atop a monolith. Now comes another daunting task of going down. Looking down, I heard it.

L’appel du vide.

I took a step, and the rock beneath my feet crumbled. There is no use fighting gravity.

At the last seconds, all I felt was a sharp, excruciating pain. Then everything faded. I lay stiff inside this tomb. For how long now? I do not know why am I even alive. My bones should’ve shattered to pieces long ago. Or was it yesterday or a few hours ago?

I’m not yet a feast for worms. Yet it feels as if I’ve been here for so long. This tomb is cold. My body feels cold, but I don’t shiver. I just breath, and I do not even know how or why.

Am I truly dead? All I know, I’ve been buried alive some time ago. But I came back out alive. What now?

Then I became afraid. Very, very afraid. Still, I do not sweat out or tremble.

I tried to move my limbs, my fingers, my neck. Nothing.

I can’t move. It’s only normal, who can move after falling from such a height? And who lives after falling from such a height?

I’m dead.

I’m dead. After all, how can I be buried if I’m not dead?

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Yet someone buried me while I’m still alive. It was in a dilapidated graveyard.

The man wore a hooded black cloak, and has a bony face. There was something in his smile that I envied. Yet as soon as I laid inside the coffin, I was finally out of that place.

Just lay your weary head to rest.

Rest. But I’m now at rest. Perhaps I need another sort of rest.

I took a few deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. A strange feeling came over me.

It’s not calm, just something akin to it.

Contentment, perhaps?It could be. But it’s supposed to be warm and fuzzy. What came over me was cold and somewhat tightening. Then afterwards, I felt as if I am a tomb myself.

Cold and heavy.

The boy’s refuge is not his room alone.

Outside, beyond the moor, a solitary tree grew near the edge of the cliffs. Waves crashed down below, filling the air with salty spray. He wandered the place, finding mostly just heather and grass. He always expected to find any member of the fae folk, or find a faerie circle that may transport him to another world. Perhaps they can give him warm hugs or warm meals. He had forgotten what those were like. Or perhaps he never got them.

Little did the boy know, he has a world within himself where he gets warm hugs and warm meals. It took a green bear, a large rabbit hole, a glow of light, and a fall to make that known to him.

Little flurries fell furiously into the ground. I tried catching them in my tongue, then in my palm. I loved the Winter. But that was when I still felt the true cold of this season. Before I had been entombed. Now, all I feel is this perpetual numbness. There is no use in playing with the snow.

So I walked and walked. I do not know where I am going, and I do not care. As long as I get somewhere.

Somewhere where I can feel again.

29

That somewhere, as it turned out, was the place I hate the most.

An oak tree stood sentinel by a lake.

The lake itself was frozen, making it a perfect skating rink. I do not hate this place when Winter comes.

A green bear came out of nowhere.

Otherkin.

He appeared to hold something in his large paws as he approached me.

“I believe these are yours,” he said, handing me a pair of skates. Their sharp blades gleamed white and perfectly reflected his dark eyes.

I wore them hastily and headed over the lake. I peered at the surface, half expecting to see the Beneath, but the ice obscured it. How merciful.

I glided lazily across the ice.

Otherkin sat beneath the bare oak tree, eyes intent on watching me. It was sunset when I returned to the bank. Otherkin then broke his silence.

“So you have returned.”

“Aye. There seems to be no escape.”

“A pity. What did you see?”

“Many things.”

“But not everything.”

atop a candelabra. This room seemed bare, save for the table in the middle.

Atop it was a bottle and a muffin. Tied to the bottle with a piece of yarn was a little rolled paper. I opened it, and in spidery handwriting were the words “Drink me”.

It was the same with the muffin, the only difference were the words “Eat me.”

I want no more of their tricks.

Placing them on the floor, I lifted the heavy table. Then I hammered it against the thick wooden wall.

“Well, that is a rather unconventional way of going out. People usually drink and eat and find a key,” said a hare in a bowler hat.

“It might be a trick.”

“Oh, but everything is a trick.” The Hare’s ears twitched and he grinned a wide grin.

“Look, I don’t want any tricks please.

Not today.”

“Is that so?” taunted the Hare.

“Yes. So if it wouldn’t be too much, which way do I go?”

“It depends entirely on where you want to go.”

“Well… somewhere.”

I

just

have

to

get

I stared at him for a while. “What do you have in mind?” asked I.

“Oh, you only have to walk whatever way you want.”

“You haven’t yet known my name nor your past. Return.”

I stared past the Hare. There’s a fork road. “Bart, here’s a vital piece of information. Different roads sometimes lead to the same destination,” said the Hare in a serious tone.

I then found myself walking towards the ice. I raised my skate and looked back one last time.

Crack, then falling.

The room was dark, and he could see the thick grey clouds through the glass and bars of his window. He can only guess the time, for he hadn’t known how long he slept. There was a bowl of gruel and a cup of water near the door.

His only wish was to return to the hawthorn tree.

The room I was in is cloaked in soft golden light, coming from the candle

30

“Where does it lead then?”

“Go see for yourself.”

I took the left fork. By the roadside were willows and elms. Little clumps of wildflowers grow beneath them.

Considering the circumstance, this is a rather normal road. So I kept walking till this road ends.

The road ends where the valley begins. The sun had settled comfortably in the west, but still gives a soft golden

light. The valley is strange. No grass grows upon the rocky soil. And bones.

Dry bones were strewn everywhere.

Will I be one of them soon?

I descended down, for there is no other way but through. I bent down to touch the bones, but they turn to dust in my hand.

“Son of man, you only know a heap of broken images.”

I turned to see who spoke, and it was him. The man from the Graveyard of Forgotten Dreams.

“I do not understand,” I replied.

“But you do.”

“Indeed, my life is in shambles.

What are you doing here? And who are you?”

“I am known by many names, or none at all. Wise Man will do. Come child. I will show you something.”

Wise Man bent down and picked a skull. Now holding a handful of dust, he released it to the air. The dust surrounded and lifted us up. Next thing I knew, we were in a luxurious sitting room, sitting upon either side of a chess table. The candles in the chandelier and the fire in the large hearth bathed the room in fierce orange light.

“Here is the deal, Bartholomew. If you win, I will show you something once again. If you lose, you are left to your own devices.”

“Seems fair,” I said, as I moved a white pawn.

The house reeked of alcohol and something else. The woman had enough, and in the middle of the night, stole away from the house. She climbed through the mossy walls and fell to some thorny brambles. She did not mind the warm liquid seeping through her torn dress nor the cold breeze. After all, she did not mind the child she left behind, hunched under a bed, face wet with tears.

He has shown me many things. He made remembered them all, fitting them

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

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into my life’s story, all a piece of a large puzzle. The game of chess brought my freedom. The Wise Man was kind. And so I remembered.

Datta.

What have I given? I gave something in exchange for peace.

Dayadhvam.

I am glad the Wise Man shared my grief. I am glad he showed me the way through.

Damyatta.

I have now regained control of my life. But have you truly? There are still things that are not resolved. You returned to the Beneath for a reason.

A name. His true name.

Otherkin.

The ground was wet from yesterday’s rain, and it made the gravedigger’s task easier. There was a priest and a woman clad in black, her scars artfully hidden beneath her dress. No tears fell from her eyes, hidden behind a veil. When the ceremony was done, she knelt down and cried. She cried until the rains came again, all the while muttering a single word.

The lake of the Beneath glowed emerald, yet the boy does not care. There are no more fragments of life swimming below.

PHOTOGRAPH BY BEASTY

Otherkin smiled, and he smiled in return.

B

eau Taplin once said, home is not where you are from, it's where you belong. Some of us travel the whole world to find it; others find it in a person. For Mikael, it takes more than a couple of years, a few good friends, and a wedding for him to reach her, but when he finally does—he did it, he's home.

“I did.”

They did not speak for a long time, just sat side by side under the oak and stared at the lake.

When the sun began to set, Otherkin stretched a hand.

“My name is Eustace.” ­—Eli Gonzales

mouth and carnations wringing his neck, and introduces Yeonjun.

An awestruck Mikael fails to pick up his fallen jaw and he doesn't realize it until he catches Yeonjun staring at him rather weirdly. He feels positively like an idiot.

TYPICAL

JEALOUSY

He mentally curses the deep dimples etched into her skin resting above her cheeks. He knows himself better than anyone—better than his mother—and this side of her is one of his weaknesses.

His heart sinks but he chants in his head, it's nothing until he gathers himself together. This is going to problem, he thinks. There is jealousy sitting in the pit of his stomach and he doesn't like it, not one bit.

This and every other side, too, he internally winces. cursing himself for being susceptible to the charms of Shin Butter. What can this poor man do to save himself? Absolutely nothing.

DESIRE Mikael wonders if, perhaps in another life where he is not so much of a coward. this is the kind of life they'd live together until they're grey; unchanging.

There it is again. always under his skin and in his blood.

“You came back.”

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Long Way Home

IDIOT Butter smiles brightly at him for a moment. It's so heart-splitting that he can feel the flowers beginning to bloom in between his rib cage until it almost feels like his heart is about lo explode in his chest. Then she turns away, leaves him with daisies crawling out of his

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

FIRST OF MANY Later, dead into the night, he wakes up to find Butter curled up against the wall with her back to him. She looks so small and dainty, even in the same old hoodie she should've grown out of by now. Mikael shifts onto his side, takes a risk by inching closer to her until their bodies are basically glued together, lets his heart roam free to do what it wants in the safety of the night, and places an arm over her waist, his hand resting on top of hers.

There will be more of this, he reminds himself. More of Butter without the hesitant excuses he makes up for himself, even if it's just until they run out of firsts. It's only then with that thought he calmly falls asleep again, with Butter in his arms, in his mind and his heart.

—MKL ARCHELAUS

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 "As a reader you recognise that feeling when you're lost in a book? You know the one - when whatever's going on around you seems less real than what you're reading and all you want to do is keep going deeper into the story whether it's about being halfway up a mountain in Brazil in 1823 of in love with a man you aren't sure you can trust or fighting a war in the last human outpost, somewhere beyond the moon. Well, if you're writing that book it's real for you too."

— Sara Sheridan

ARTWORK BY SIMEON DOMINICO

 EX IMAGINES' Top 5 writers of under both prose and poetry capture various emotions and fleeting moments of life from and beyond what people can perceive through photography.

PHOTOGRAPH BY LUCA DUGARO

PHOTOGRPAH BY JOHANNES PLENIO

 Deathbed

T

you. And I wonder where I fit into the scene. Or maybe I don't fit at all.

You brush your thumb over the back of my hand, a soft caress, a comfort that I long when my joints are creaking, a litany of aches and pains amassing through the years. You rest your head upon my shoulder, feeling the slow rise of your chest like a rhythmic beat beneath my head. Selfishly, I card my fingers through your lightly tinged strands with our feet swinging over the edge of the cliff. I gaze at the water below. It reaches desperately towards the rocks, but the stacks refuse to bow, and the water retreats into itself, only to attempt it again. The sun reflects off of the water, blinding, pretty, like

I'm old, I know. It will be the final time where the world ceases to turn for me, where everything will slow; the pulse, the driving rhythm, the people, the stars, the black holes until it will all fade to nothing. It will be the last time I get to look into your eyes and convey what they want to say. It will be the last time for me to hold you close and feel the warmth of your touch, to smell your hair, to see you smile. It breaks my heart into pieces because I know that even death can't stop me from missing you and it breaks my heart a little more to know that I’ll leave you behind with nothing but our cherished memories from the past.

of time to be with you. To wake up with your hands wrapped around me in an embrace, to kiss your lips and taste your mouth, to hear your laughter like ringing bells on my ears. But death is inevitable and my time’s running out. My sun's final embers go up, my stars no longer to burn. Your lips graze on my lips one last time, with limpid eyes that I thought the Earth no longer needs the sea, with a sad smile and the lovely humming of birds flying nearby before everything fades out like it’s in a movie, the real world stuck behind. I feel like floating beyond reality, between the glittering city lights; staring down at the rushing waves, watching everything with unseeing eyes as the smoke of burning clouds starts to grey.

As I stand on the exit door of existence, like the waves desperately reaching for the rocks, I wish for another moment, desperately running for a grasp

—MKL ARCHELAUS

he world goes up in flames as we sat back and watch with our hands interlocked. I squint at the sunset—my eyes are not as good as what it once was, but I can still remember how glorious the colors of the setting sun are as they reflected on your amber-colored eyes that set my heart ablaze.

34

My world dies out in flames, though there's no fear. You’re here till my time is over. Stay with me, dear.

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

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The Urban Jungle

S

hall we return to the forest now?

Light passes through the blinds of my window, prompting me to wake up. From the height of my scant apartment, I can see the roads being filled with impatient drivers and rushing workers. I look above and see the towering skyscrapers that loom over the city, exerting their economic dominance over its residents.

Seeing all this, I wonder to myself — why did I leave the forest that I loved just to end up in another forest, one that's filled with cold cement and empty hearts?

Day by day, I find myself a zombie to the routine. Wash up, dress up, work, come home and sleep. In the middle of this routine, I'd find various kinds of people. There are those that look at you with steely eyes, glaring you down as they work on their own duties. There are others that try to get into your pants, seeing you as nothing more than a toy they could use. Then there are those who are like me, whose lives are mundanely perfect, yet have blank eyes that let you

sneak a glance into their lifeless souls.

Is this worth it? The mundanity, the emptiness and the hate that fills the crevices of this urban jungle. Is it worth it, to subject ourselves in this hostile environment? The authors have talked about dystopian cities and the destruction that are brought about, but haven't you noticed? We, ourselves, are in a passive-aggressive dystopian society.

Instead of the physical destruction, we are destructing ourselves inside out as we become slaves to the metropolis.

Instead of the steel skyscrapers that dot the horizons of the city, I want to see the thick foliage of evergreen trees giving shade and solace to each person.

Instead of the busy streets with honking cars, I want to see the peaceful rivers and stone paths, disturbed only by little critters that dive in the waters or hop on the stone steps. Instead of the people that are filled with lust or envy, I want to see hearts becoming one with nature, purifiying and cleansing themselves in the process.

Instead of the dystopian city, I want

to stay in the hidden utopia that humans choose to ignore.

The day will come when we can take no more. The day will come when we will snap out of the mundanity that leeches away at our joy; the day will come when we say no more to the routines, no more to the hostility, no more to ripping down others and making skyscrapers off of them. No more, not one more.

And when that day comes, the forest will welcome you with open arms. The arms of the towering trees will welcome you with open arms, the rivers' soothing waters will welcome you with open arms, the blades of grass that sway at the foot of the forests will welcome you with open arms.

When that day comes, we will wake up not to the light that passes through synthetic blinds, but to light that seeps between the crevices of the leaves that hang above your head.

Let's go back to the forest, our hidden utopia. —Chihaya Morningstar

PHOTOGRPAH BY WOJCIECH PORTNICKI

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35

Now, gazing at the scenery and listening to the music coming from bird—taking in its beauty for the last time. I already had a taste of what living for most people was like, might as well realized that I, too, had been alive for so long—in my own world where no else wanted me stiff and deprived of breathing, aside from the shadow I often fought with. I would leave once it's meant to happen, but for me to make the most out my existence without being welcomed by the nature's tenderness or even by someone else's warmth, I should keep going with the life I had established amidst bouts of torment and grievous episodes. Even with concrete walls, burnt wood and broken glass as my only companions, I should go on.

Reflect

—Frantzisk

P

erhaps, it really did have to take decades for myself to ponder on what life had in store for the withering will I possesed—so much more and certainly greater than shadows that could talk and agony which could lend me its ears. I had learned how to settle with darkness as my home that I eventually forgot what existed behind the walls I had built – the definition of living I had totally missed and hues containing what my shelter never had. Whispers from the unknown said they were too much for me and a taste of their kind would have me gasping for air, but a voice I recognized told me I should try. So I did.

It really wasn't as easy as I thought it would be—to go out into the woods at dawn and be embraced by mist and sun rays conflating gently in between gigantic trees, to be held captive by the smell of leaves as they brushed against my knees, and to be seen by the world which seemed to despise me ever since I exhaled for the very first time. For years and on, I was used to dwelling in dim corners inside deserted bungalows and quiet alleyways. Thus, finding myself walking across lightened paths would always feel new for me, for the lone wolf residing in the depths of my being.

Dread hugged me immediately as I let the soles of my tattered shoes graze over the earth, still moist and a little slippery from last night's drizzle. The cool morning air suddenly brought me the feeling of being left stranded in my room and how everyday inside was like facing a deathless death, how melancholia and images of graveyards became things I would look forward to. I knew my fantasies were never dreamy and though dire, they had been enough. With them, I had never gone through nights wishing for an escape or some heroes who would help me flee from the prison I had dwelt on, and I was right for believing that gaiety would reside amidst acceptance, contentment and learning how to not push yourself to limitations you knew you

36

Untitled

S

erene blue ocean, subtle breeze, warm emotions, disheveled hair, dazzling emerald eyes, and expensive crescent smiles were visible.

We were under the naked blinding sun, freely dancing our fiery emotion that once has been suppressed—"I am letting the radiant sun to witness our incomparable and unexplainable affection to each other."

You kissed me senselessly with ablaze desire. Singing out our burning admiration vanished with violent wind —"I love you so dearly to the depth of my despair and desire,” and holding our grip into our lost, disheartened hope — you hugged me tenderly and hum our favorite love song.

As we stare at the abyss of the ocean full of passion, we dance the heat away.

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PHOTOGRPAH BY FILIP ZRNZEVIC

could never reach—like trying to reach the forest when you had been living in the abyss all along. It was scenic out here, indeed, but what made this vibrant world different when in spite of all these, I still would choose to be alone?

Reminiscing the memories of how we met—our first year as a couple was a blast and a roller coaster ride. Our first date at a restaurant with so much laughter to handle. Our first magical kiss that made my world stop. Our first walked in the park with intertwined hands. Our first hug that still sends thousands of butterfly in my stomach. Our first tears. Our first fight. Our first dance and our first 'I love you'. My heart goes cloud nine with that thought, I chuckled. I came back to my consciousness. We let the sun witnessed our dance with igniting dishearten hope and admiration for tomorrow we are not sure of if there is.

"Love, which is more admirable for you, is it the sunrise or sunset?" You asked curiously. I stared at your emerald round eyes, disheveled hair brought by the subtle breeze, and found myself getting lost in a place where I can see the pit of my soul. I have finally found my

wonderland. I left it unanswered.

As days passed by, it still has not got off my head and I am still wondering which really is more praiseworthy and admirable, is it the sunrise or sunset?

This question left me with burning curiosity. I keep watching how the sun rises in the morning and the sunsets in the dusk for a while now. I am still in a daze to think of an answer. I walked around and observed the people around, there were in ecstasy, there were looking for answers, there were hopeless, there were in despair, there were in a state of wrath and there were in love, I chuckled.

Humans are really something mysterious to be curious about. As I was walking bewildered I reached the seashore where the sun is about to defy. I was sitting on the sand and stared at the soulful vibe of the mother sun. What a beautiful creation it is! Indeed, a beaitiful creation! thought to myself. I took a deep breath

and wonder, They are both beautiful on their own way. They both have specific time that they could spread their rays and shine freely. Sunset symbolizes that a day is about to end and sunrise symbolizes that a new day and hope is about to start.

I realized something.

I have met different kinds of sunsets as I explore, some were indeed beautiful, mysterious, alone, and fragmented despite the fact that they still set at dusk admirably. They chose to rest in this chaotic space and when the sun rises by dawn again, a new buoyancy hope will arise to hold that there is still a chance to feel euphoria.

Let you heart rests under the bliss of sunset and let your heart desires in the soulful vibe of sunrise.

Is it sunrise or sunset?

—Nina Wesca

Takipsilim

I

to na ang araw na pinakahihintay ko—ang araw na magtatapat ako ng pagmamahal ko sa babaeng mahal ko.

Nasa dalampasigan kami habang tinatanaw ang paglubog ng araw.

“Ang ganda ng araw, 'di ba?” pagsasalita ko.

“Oo nga, Magnus. Sobrang ganda.”

“Pero ikaw ang pinakamaganda para sa akin, Stella.”

Tipid na ngiti lang ang sumilay sa kaniyang labi. Ganoon pa man, ipagtatapat ko na ang nararamdaman ko.

Nag-ipon lang ako ng lakas ng loob bago ko sabihin ang mga gusto kong sabihin sa kaniya.

man tayo pareho ng nararamdaman sa isa't isa, sana ay hayaan mo akong iparamdam sayo ang pag-ibig ko. Stella, mahal kita. Mahal na mahal.”

Hindi nawala ang mga titig ko sa kaniyang mga mata.

“Magnus...”

“No, Stella, just let me. If it didn't work, then be it. Just give me some time,” sabi ko at tumingin muli sa papalubog na araw.

“A-ano ba ang mayroon tayo, Magnus?”

“Ano ba ang tingin mo sa akin?”

“C-couple,” nauutal niyang sabi.

“Stella, hindi ko na sasayangin ang pagkakataon na ito. Saksi ang paglubog ng araw sa pagmamahal ko sa iyo,” sabi ko na ikinagulat niya.

“Sorry, Magnus, for hiding my love for you. I'm into you Magnus back then.”

“Stella, bata pa lamang tayo ay gusto na kita. Mula noon, ikaw pa rin. Hindi

“Really? Stella, tell me you're not joking. Baka sinasabi mo lang iyan para

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Gulat ang naramdaman ko nang sabihin niya ang mga katagang iyon.

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

gumaan ang pakiramdam ko.”

“I'm not! Ano ka ba? Lahat ng sinabi ko ay totoo lamang. Minahal na kita bago mo pa ako mahalin. Naalala mo no'ng nadapa ako at ikaw ang gumamot sa mga sugat ko? Iyon ang unang beses na binihag mo ang puso ko,” kuwento niya habang natatawa.

Kay sarap balikan ng dating mga alaala.

“Tinapalan mo ng dahon ng mayana 'yong sugat ko na naging resulta ng mabilis na paghilom.”

Naalala ko pa ang mga araw na iyon.

Naglalaro kami ng tumbang preso at nadapa siya.

“Pareho pala tayo ng nararamdaman, Stella. Sana matagal ko nang inamin.

Natatakot kasi akong masaktan kaya pinili ko na lang na panatilihin kung ano ang mayroon tayo.”

Hinawakan niya ang kamay ko at

37

itinuro ang hintuturo ko sa malapit nang lumubog na araw.

“Nakikita mo ba 'yong araw? Kapag lumubog na iyan, tayo na,” sabi niya.

“Hindi na ako manliligaw nang matagal?“ “Bakit pa? Magnus, hindi panliligaw ang pinatatagal. Ang pagmamahalan ang dapat magtagal,” nakangiti niyang sabi.

“Sabagay, so tayo na?” tanong ko.

“Pagmasdan muna natin ang takipsilim. At sa oras na lumitaw na ang

buwan, tayo na.”

ng nabuo nating pagmamahalan.”

“Alam mo ba dati, ayaw kong makikita na lumulubog ang araw?” sabi ko kahit malayo sa pinag-uusapan namin.

Ngumiti lang siya at umusod palapit sa akin.

“Bakit naman?”

“Ayaw ko kasing sumapit ang gabi, gusto ko umaga lang.”

“Pero ngayon, gusto ko na palaging lumulubog ang araw.”

“Bakit naman?”

“Stella...” Lumingon siya sa akin at tumitig sa aking mga mata.

“Mahal kita.”

“Mahal din kita, Magnus. Mula ngayon ay may tayo na.”

At kasabay ng paglubog ng araw ay ang pag-usbong ng pag-iibigan naming dalawa.

“Kasi 'yon ang magpapaalala sa akin

—Fidel Writes

This is the night where you will go and pour out your thoughts straight out of your well-formed lips, guitar strings thrumming at your fingertips.

When you stand there you will shine: not with the fierce light of the sun; nor the soft glow of the moon.

The lights will be a spectacular show and it's made just for you.

PHOTOGRPAH BY ROIHAN HAIDAR

 Girl on Strings This is not the night where you listen to errant cicadas and let your thoughts go astray.

This is not the night where tears will fall as if a dam had broken from your chest.

This is the night where you will go and pour out your thoughts straight out of your well-formed lips, guitar strings thrumming at your fingertips.

38

You dreamed of this for long not only when you sleep on damp pillows.

You dreamed when you stared at the crumpled paper smeared in black and blue; when you rested your chin in your elbow as you watched brown leaves blow in the breeze; when you hummed softly as you avoided the clear puddles on cracked cement.

There will be no staring up your ceiling full of glow in the dark stars tonight.

Tonight a dam will break in your chest but you won't be alone to bear it.

Those things you pent up will flow, and there will be shouting and cracked voices, there will be teary eyes, and arms to the sky.

This is the night where you will go and pour out your thoughts straight out of your well-formed lips, guitar strings thrumming at your fingertips.

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

—Eli Gonzales

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PHOTOGRPAH BY AHMAD ODEH

Fatal Fantasy Every bits and pieces of clouds are unreal The seemingly loud thunders are secretly ill It was the taste of pixie pill Any shapes and sizes of my thoughts are like smoke They are blinding like my vision just broke When I touch them they swim away in the air A thin flaw, a tiny stoke on my hair

[Does] Passion Reincarnate?

In my darkest days, When I can't find my place, You listen everything I say, Writing— my solace.

Passion ignited, Visions in my mind became distorted, Without pen and paper, I am no better.

Nowadays I can't weave words, Ideas were getting blurred, As the days pass it's getting hard, Living with a lost part.

It's like my own universe is sitting on my shoulder Mere whisper of what my imagination can offer If i step down it'll be now or never Now the colors is dull as i want it to be I can now walk on water or in the sea Fruits of disguise and chameleon Temporary image of imagination False strength and powerful mask Camouflaging voice that doesn't dare to ask Why does the dreamy dream never last?

Did no one ever wonder why I sleep soundly?

Are you not interested in my fantasy?

It's not hard to overcome fears and agony But this quick glimpse of skies ain't scary!

I'm drunk and pretty unaware I've been fooling myself As if anybody cares?

But these drunken sleeves can hold the heaviest fall I did fell and I’m owning it all I'm actually scared to face the truth I drown in the ocean, I fall Now if anybody is interested at my secret This is my key to forget Yes, forget I pleaded to the wind of a little bubble to stay I shut down every window, I’m my own to obey My voice is what only matter This is not the real world, it's my universe forever Count from one, two three A tick of the forbidden free Drunk, drowning [in] fantasy —Grouvé Orleans

PHOTOGRPAH BY ALICE ALINARI

Incomplete, I can't breathe!

Passion that I used to lived, Inspiration vanished complete, I tried, but it don't succeed.

I lost my sword, How can I survive in this cruel world?

Where everyone can't hear, Thousands of minds think I'm a mere.

Senseless things in my plate Trying to fit in my shape, I guess this is my fate, (Does) passion reincarnate?

—Vaude Cleous Madrid

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39

PHOTOGRPAH BY ELIJAH HENDERSON

Catastrophic Melody A chain of broken melody— Tale of lass singing with no harmony, It's a shame and a felony— She lives in a world of agony.

Once—a lass met a lad, She loved him so much— gave all she had, But something's always broken— seems their worlds were apart, In the end—they burned their own hearts.

Next part— Same lass with a broken heart, Dreamt a new adventure on some undiscovered shore, But then she fell into a lure and the next thing she knew— she had found her lore.

But then—one magic night, Still—broken melody but found a partner with might, A single dance—she thought she'd found a storybook romance, The thought of having a perfect life for once, Across the floor—they're gliding, But it's kinda surprising— She can say it never happened and just a dream from the start, But then—she lived her life with a broken heart.

Now—the heartaches made her blind, She chose not to stay kind— Being the antagonist of her own story, She made it easy because of her misery.

—Victoria Katana Madrid

Absolute Melody of Music Music connects heart, Heart hears everyone's agony Music makes us calm in harmony Music is not just an art

PHOTOGRPAH BY WILLIAM WHITE

It binds differences, We enjoy, we unite Every beat makes us swing and synchronize, This is where we don't mind races Everyone can share, We just have to let our heart and soul speak Let yourself seek, The creativity that you bear Music is the language of every hearts that separated by differences Hearts understand the barrier of our variances —Celestine Mercadejas

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 "Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become."

— C.S. Lewis

ARTWORK BY SIMEON DOMINICO

 Eli Gonzales gives a crtical analysis of Barrett Strong's "Money", which was then popularized by The Beatles. The said song however is a "complete antithesis' of The Beatles' "Can't Buy Me Love".

ARTWORK BY SIMEON DOMINICO

“W

hen the sky was taught a lesson: no one should shine or outshine anyone.” (10) In this dystopian political allegory, the world is polarized by a border between the anhydrous wasteland of the wasters and strays and the last green haven, the Five Kingdoms, of the carers. With Amedea’s journey through ruins and her dream to break the border, Merlinda Bobis creates a creativecritical perspective of modern immigrant experience under various apt and pertinent contexts such as climate change and racism, especially in Australia. Moreover, Amedea’s “lovesong” is a magic-realistic parody of equality based on meagre rations, enforced by those who protect the lush enclave, in a lackluster, ill-fated milieu.

The “humanity’s contemporary wound,” the border, sees the hunger, thirst, and desperate survival rife in the wasters who became bereft of color and vegetation and manipulated subliminally via broadcast boxes. Meanwhile, those across the border are the privileged carers, existing in a paranoid defense and protection of the one remaining refuge of food, water, color, and trees.

During her first appearance in the novel, Amedea described everything they had in the refugee camps as equally rationed: “Our tents were also blue like water and rationed…” (10) Moreover, her blue dress was also rationed alike the number and letter inscribed below her right ear: “425a in blue ink.” (10) Her statement strongly signifies the authoritarian control of the caretakers on the supply of commodities of the wasters for their alleged inability to look after the resources they once had, they argue. This further explains the existence of the border which divides the world into two binary communities. This illusion of parity is how the carers manipulate the political system and history to torment the wasters into absolute dependence. In this manner, the economy and government tend to be centralized by the higher class, the carers, as they have also set sanctions for the strays and communes who attempt to approach or cross the border.

Their Machiavellian intent on parsimoniously

conserving with the remaining un-plundered resources of the barren earth is their malevolent act of preserving their egocentric interest and using their enfranchisement in spite of their attempt to protect the oasis of it all.

Three years after the burning of Beenabe’s village, Amedea finds herself in a transaction with the wretched: A necklace for a jug of water, the last crockery for seeds a fistful, and even “dreams” of colors.

She eavesdropped on a furtive exchange by the wreckage one night: “He (the tall, younger one) slipped two handfuls of seeds into the old man’s bag in exchange for what looked like a shining stone... Brown beads for a jug of water.

Two earthen bowls for seeds.” (58) The clandestine trades in the night ration lines suggest the obfuscated, illusory claims of equality and justice (74): “…What is yours will be ours. Rejoice, rejoice! You are ours, you are part of Kingdom building.” The corrupted communism of this world justifies their excessive need that the de jure ration system could not have sufficed at all.

Nonetheless, these acts are overlooked in an ideal, pro-human government perspective as these, in any means, are not promoting the growth of the economy albeit it attempts to resolve any shortcomings of the Kingdoms in fulfilling the needs of every citizen. Therefore, the socioecological folly caused dearth in natural reserves, stored by the privileged and paranoid.

Merlinda Bobis ingeniously tackles the most globally sensationalized issues in a language a child could understand. For those who crossed and guarded the border for dear life, the border is existent within ourselves: We should emancipate both love and hate for us to foster a safe haven within our hearts.

—Simeon Dominico

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PHOTOGRPAH BY EGOR KAMELEV

Plague for Dear Life

Of Goth, Gore, and Oddity

“M

PHOTOGRPAH FROM MUSEUMS VICTORIA

y eyes and ears registered the submarine not far from shore: metal beast rising from the sea, water rushing from its sides, men bursting onto its deck from open hatches, shouting, training cannons of light at us.” (Riggs 36) In the aforementioned statement, Jacob Portman narrates their experience of being chased with bullets by a German submarine. With his collected potpourri of vernacular photographs, Ransom Riggs curates these “Edward Gorey-like Victorian” (Russo 2018) pictures of peculiar children and integrates them into a gothic fiction of alternate reality. In this sequel of “Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children”, they find Miss Wren who had flown to London to return Miss Peregrine’s human form back; they embark on a journey through the war-stricken London, infiltrated by wights during the World War II. In the doom-inflicted United Kingdom during the World War II, the eminent mayhem was not chiefly focused on the German holocaust but also on the havoc wreaked on the city of London due to the conflict between Britain and Germany.

In the second chapter of the novel, the wights have been infiltrating sides to their advantage as the peculiars became wary of their intervention with the Nazis.

Jacob narrates Enoch’s explanation regarding the zeppelins: “They’re submarine hunters… the best way to spot enemy subs is from the sky.” (24) Hugh then argues with Horace’s presumption: “…The wights are with the Germans. They’re on that German sub.” (24) Later, Millard notes the opportunistic quality of the wights in suiting their interests when it comes to taking sides: “The wights are allied with whomever it suits their interests to be allied with… there’s no reason to think they haven’t infiltrated organization on both sides of the war.” (24) The peculiars never wanted to take note of how the airships were behaving; Enoch points it out implicitly: “I don’t like the way they’re flying… They’re searching for the coastline, not the sea.”

Enoch’s explanation is an accurate description of the function of the airships in army and maritime reconnaissance during the World War II. As the war ensued, Germany, France, Britain, Italy, and Russia acquired airships for reconnaissance; however, Germany was the first to employ them as a strategic weapon. The Royal Naval Air Service successfully used airships for maritime surveillance and anti-

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submarine reconnaissance. (Dusch 2019) In the story, Britain has their hands on the aerial forces rather than Germany which Riggs may have done on purpose. Moreover, the intervention of the wights, as the peculiars noted, is a plausible factor on how the airships switched from surveilling the sea to the coastline. The wights may have used their influence on either side to their advantage as they try to search for the peculiar children in hiding. This connects to the accounts of Grandpa/ Abe Portman in the prologue of the prequel as Jacob notes his grandfather’s traumatic escapade from Poland before World War II ensued (Riggs 13-14) as it provides an interrelation with The Holocaust and how peculiars were persecuted at the time. Peculiars, Jews, and people of Jewish descent were treated with extreme hostility: Hitler was obsessed with racial purity and referred the Herrenvolk (pure German race) as Aryans, and the Aryan race had the duty to rule the world (Sahoboss 2011), thus Hitler proposing genocide a solution to the threatening problem; meanwhile, wights help hollowgasts transform into wights by hunting down peculiars for them to feed on. Nevertheless, Riggs’ historical background on the World War II takes a profound perspective of the psychological nuances of the peculiars and the Jews during the arising bloodbath.

On the eight chapter of the novel, Millard discovers they are at the St. Paul’s Cathedral as he consults the Tales of the Peculiar for the peculiar pigeons’ whereabouts. Bombs started raining down when they reach the cathedral.

Jacob describes his distressing bombing experience as they proceed to the cathedral: “Then we came upon a scene of destruction so bizarre that I had to stop and gape at it… A bomb crater yawned across the whole width of the street like a monstrous mouth with broken pavement for teeth…”

(176) After being shocked by the event, Olive Elephanta yelled at the sky: “Nasty

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Hitler! Stop this horrible war and go right away altogether!” (176) This is a manifestation of what happened on Dec. 29, 1940, during the Battle of Britain, as the German Luftwaffe launched a heavy nighttime air raid in London. The dome of the cathedral was pierced by a Nazi bomb, leaving the high altar in ruin. (History.com 2010) Moreover, this has inspired the forces to further protect London at all costs.

Ransom Riggs illustrated the trauma that may have caused the inhabitants of London during the bombing and how the peculiars were helpless at the moment as they cannot change the past, thus exemplifying an aversion of the grandfather paradox. Bronwyn saving the baby would have a butterfly effect on the events in the future, thus changing everything in the present, thus making Millard’s initiative to prevent her from

altering the past a reasonable move to do.

(Grandfather Paradox n.d.)

Therefore, the intertwined events from the World War II was significant in the development in the characters as they conquer the war-stricken past with wights trying to lure them into their demise along the way, thus Riggs’ curation with the pictures an effective visualization of the alternate reality he created.

—Simeon Dominico

Works Cited Dusch, Charles. “Zeppelin (Airship).”

1914-1918-Online, International Encyclopedia of the First World War, 25 Jan. 2019, encyclopedia.19141918-online.net/article/zeppelin_ airship.

“Grandfather's Paradox.” Grandfather's Paradox, University of Oregon, abyss.uoregon.edu/~js/glossary/ grandfather_paradox.html.

Riggs, Ransom. Hollow City: The Second

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Novel Of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. Philadelphia, PA.: Quirk Books, 2014. Print.

Riggs, Ransom. Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. Philadelphia, PA.: Quirk Books, 2011. Print.

Russo, Maria. “Ransom Riggs Is Inspired by Vintage Snapshots.”

The New York Times, The New York Times, 19 Oct. 2018, www. nytimes.com/2013/12/31/books/ ransom-riggs-is-inspired-by-vintagesnapshots.html.

Sahoboss. “How Did the Nazis Construct an Aryan Identity?”

South African History Online, South African History Online, 22 Mar. 2011, www.sahistory.org.za/ article/human-rights-issues-duringand-after-world-war-ii-focus-nazigermany-grade-12-0.

“St. Paul's Cathedral Bombed.” History. com, A&E Television Networks, 4 Mar. 2010, www.history.com/thisday-in-history/st-pauls-cathedralbombed.

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PHOTOGRPAH FROM MUSEUMS VICTORIA

The Second World War was not a fairytale story; instead, it was a gothic horror story filled with grim epiphanies of pandemonium. Ransom Riggs, with his vernacular pictures, creates a dire yet surprisingly captivating fantasy from a fragment of miserable history. Nonetheless, being different from the ordinary is not a sin—it is a gift you must embrace for others to appreciate, not depreciate.

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All Along The Watchtower

By Bob Dylan

It is unique in a way that it doesn’t have a chorus (and that it was covered by one of the arguably best musicians in history, Jimi Hendrix). Reading the lyrics, even without hearing the music prior, feels like reading a well-crafted poem. The whole song tells a story, and a strange one at that. It opens to a conversation between a thief and a joker. The first two stanzas chronicles their conversation, and abruptly, the scene changes. There is some sort of discontinuity and incoherence, not just in structure, but also in the content.

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Nezuko Zero Two Levi Tomoe Yuki Sherlock Holmes Moriarty Father Keller Harry Potter Hermione Granger Ron Weasley

While the first two stanzas have been quatrains, the succeeding two were couplets. The first two stanzas details the joker and the thief ’s conversation, while the last two depicts a change in scenery.

There are a quite a few noteworthy things that I have noticed in the song.

First, the seeming discontinuity that has been already mentioned above.

Second, the language. It is rather sparse and prosaic, but manages to pull off a poetic effect. Third, the personas talking in the poem. One can’t help but ask, “Why them?” It is quite difficult to

think of an answer for that question.

However, during their conversation, they do mention things we know like businessman and plowmen, and the joker does not have a very kind opinion of them. Furthermore, there is the matter of the “quasi-medievalness” of the lyrics.

The last two couplets contain words like princes, women, and barefoot servants, suggesting a medieval scene or at least giving us a vignette of those times. But then again, where are the joker and the thief in all of these? If we continue down the medieval path, they do fit in nicely. The joker could be a court jester, someone kept for the entertainment they bring. And the thief, well, almost every

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town has them, so he isn’t really out of place from the big picture. Third, the conversation between the thief and the joker. The joker is confused and seemed weary. The thief, on the other hand, seemed to have much more experience and admonishes him. Then that conversation was cut abruptly and the scene changes.

All that being said, we may still be left in confusion of what was all that about. After all, there had been no resolution presented. The conversation between the joker and the thief provided some tension, while the scene depicted in the two couplets seemed to be a starting point of action, not its resolution. We are left in the edge of our seats, frustrated. It seems Bob Dylan had left us to imagine and ponder the inevitable consequence for ourselves.

ARTWORK BY SIMEON DOMINICO

—Eli Gonzales

Pride

By U2

Unlike Bob Dylan's "All Along The Watchtower", this one seemed more like a “proper” song, complete with a chorus and the repetition of some lines. But for me, that removes a part of what makes a song poetic. Pride is quite prosaic, it also tells a story, albeit in stilted manner.

The song seem to talk of martyrdom, for indeed, one more (sacrifice) in the name of love. But specifically, what love?

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The answer is implied in the lines “Early morning, April 4/ Shot rings out in the Memphis sky/Free at last, they took your life/ They could not take your pride”.

These lines reference the assassination of the civil rights activist Martin Luther King Jr., who rallied for equal rights of the black in the United States of America.

There are also interesting imagery from other lines in the song. “One man caught on a barbed wire fence” brings images of a World War I soldier fighting other people’s war in some muddy trench

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1 AUGUST 2020

somewhere in the south of France. “One man betrayed with a kiss” was Jesus Christ, betrayed by Judas Iscariot for thirty pieces of silver.

All that being said, it is quite a stirring tribute to martyrdom if one listens to the music. But lyric-wise, it is quite mediocre for me. When describing and giving tribute to martyrdom, I think The Mountain Goat’s "Heretic Pride" did a better job.

—Eli Gonzales

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Money

By Barrett Strong Honestly, when I first read the lyrics (it was credited to The Beatles and not to Strong), I laughed because The Beatles have a song called “Can’t Buy Me Love” and has the phrase “I don’t care too much for money, money can’t buy me love.” I love some irony, but to my dismay, it wasn’t penned by Lennon and McCartney. The above lines are the complete antithesis of the lyrics from Money. “Your lovin' give me a thrill/ But your lovin' don't pay my bills”, these lines summarize the song. It’s gleefully materialistic, and can come off as abrasive to our sensibilities. For me, the persona

is just being practical and ruthlessly pragmatic. Yes, the persona admits that he does indeed derive some satisfaction from love, but in the end, it’s money that he or she needs. There’s no sustained narrative, it’s just some sort of declaration of being materialistic. Structure-wise, it is very prosaic. Furthermore, historically speaking, it was the Boomer generation, with almost everyone being well-off and comfortable and very, very consumerist.

I suppose the sensibilities of the era influenced the songwriting. Or perhaps it is satire, calling out the materialism and blatant consumerism of the generation by exaggerating it, and implying that the generation values money more than it values social relationships.

—Eli Gonzales

If Love is a Red Dress

By Maria McKee

I remember this song being in the soundtrack of the film Pulp Fiction.

This song is very poetic structurewise. For some reason, it reminds me of Hemingway’s Hills Like White Elephants. The persona does not want love anymore, as evidenced by the lines “If love is shelter,/ I'm gonna walk in the rain.” and “If love is a red dress,/ Well, hang me in rags”. But it isn’t really disclosed if the persona has given up love in general or just gave up the love she has now because she cannot take anymore of it. The song speaks of a love that turned sour, one that has been broken, not lost.

—Eli Gonzales I think all of these songs can be under the modern temper. What marks this epoch is the experimentation and the rejection of traditionally used forms (Matteo 2018). This is evident in all the four songs, they don’t conform to the old-timey traditional ideas of poetry.

Another feature of modernist writing is the intertextuality, the relation between texts. It can be achieved by mentioning, quoting, or parodying other texts (Matteo 2018). This is very evident on the first and second songs, where allusions were present. Another feature is its attitude of rejection towards aspects of modernity. This is evident on the third song, if the reading is satirical. Finally, the modern temper values interiority over exteriority, regarding the inner self as a landscape of its own, present in all of the four songs.

—Eli Gonzales

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Works Cited Matteo, Virginia. 2018. “What's the Difference Between Modernism and Postmodernism in Literature?”.

Owlcation. May 28. Accessed December 12, 2019. https:// owlcation.com/humanities/ Whats-The-Difference-BetweenModernism-and-Postmodernism

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