Unscene #12

Kaleidoscope

There was blood everywhere – on the walls, on the bed – the carpet had turned into a sick dark brown where it wasn’t creamy blue.  The boy lay down on his side, clutching a toy gun in his hand.  His mother slumped against the far wall, her bloody hair hanging limp down to her elbows.   The steely odour of all the blood filled Sarah’s head.

She took a step back towards the open window to get a breath of untainted air; her foot hit something that rolled away from her.  Sarah stooped to pick it up and saw that it was a kaleidoscope.  She put it to her eye and watched the patterns dance as she slowly spun the tube.  She had always wanted one when she was a child.  She put it down and walked towards the boy, squatting next to him to stare at the ashen six-year-old face.  Should she think him lucky for having had a kaleidoscope?

Sirens and flashing lights came from the window.  Soon enough Sarah heard footsteps running up the stairs.  She stood back and watched as the policemen rushed into the defiled room, checked the bodies for signs of life, and proceeded to start their investigation.  Of course, no one noticed Sarah as she calmly walked toward the window, threw herself out, and rose to glide away from the once-beautiful house.

Boat-rides

Boat-rides

I love the way he’d look at me

As though I was a pleasant surprise

Each and every time

His eyes would turn my way.

Our eyes would meet, he’d look away

Then find my gaze again.

What sublime secret

Language is this, spoken only

Between two people’s eyes and souls.

I’ve fallen for the way

He’d gently touch these

Silent undersea creatures –

The kindness and reverence

In his hands that I imagine

Could heal any hurt.

There he sits at the prow at ease,

Riding the waves of his home waters,

And speaking island song. 

I see him thus and feel unburdened.

I long for the sea salt-taste of his lips

On mine and his voice in my ear.

He has lived a short while yet, and yet

His wisdom is deep as the sea

That claims him.  I try to

Picture him in my mind and keep him

There away from the world.

But the world never stops pulling me

Back from this ocean I yearn to drown in.

I do not want to forget, but oh,

How quickly we forget

The things that never were.

Let me dive down deep

Into the memory of touch, sound, sight –

The only ocean in which

We two can meet.  

Winter in Japan

Winter in Japan

When I was

young, a sleeping god thought

long-dead came awake

in anger, fire, and

ash falling softly

from the sky.  I thought,

Snow.

Here I am old in a land where

a sleeping god lies

yet to wake and

snow falling gently

upon my face.  I think,

Ash.

(August 2012)

Note:  When I was a child, Mt. Pinatubo, a volcano long thought to be extinct, erupted in overwhelming violence.  The effects of having released massive amounts of volcanic ash into the atmosphere were seen all over the world.  When I was in my late twenties, I went to Japan and saw another sleeping volcano, covered in pristine white snow... 

UnScene #11

Slipper

The creature moved fast, but my heart was beating even faster.  I felt sure that the monster could hear the panicked muscle’s frantic pumping, that it could smell my fear and knew exactly where I was.  True enough, it turned around, ever so slowly, and peered into the shadowed corner exactly where I was trying to flatten myself against the wall.  It can see me!

“A weapon,” I thought.  “I need something, anything.” I had to move, I knew, but my knees were locked and I couldn't take my eyes off its horrible shape.

It moved, advancing toward me, seeming to grow bigger, and expanding its figure as it stalked.  Wings.  It’s going to fly!

Frantically I scanned the dimly lit room, but I couldn't see anything that would help, and nothing was within my reach.  I was trapped, immobile.  A scream built up my throat, ready to choke me.

The front door suddenly opened and my husband stepped in, a grocery bag in hand.  The startled creature launched itself straight at my face.  I let out a blood-curdling scream, “AAARGH!” crouching and ducking my head into my arms, trying to make myself as small as possible.

My husband took two great strides, brandishing a slipper, and with a great resounding “WHACK!” smashed the cockroach against the wall; a crunchy squish.  It fell dead on the floor  right next to me with a soft thud.  I stared in morbid fascination.  Yellow-green muck was oozing out of it.  I burst into tears, and my husband grabbed my arms and pulled me up from the floor.

“What took you so long!?” I wailed into his chest as he held me. 

Author's Note:  I hate hate HATE cockroaches. 

Unscene #9

At the Book Store

Lena pulled a book out carelessly, dropping it to the floor.  The man next to her stooped to pick it up.  Lena flashed her most winning smile.  “Thank you.”

“The Essentials of Great Sex,” read the man, a smile in his voice.  “You’re welcome.”

Lena took the book and immediately stuffed it back in the shelf.  She turned sharply on her heel and huffed over to her sister who was browsing at the next shelf.

“What an asshole,” she whined. “I’m bored, Jay. Let’s go.”

Jay only smiled and shook her head.  She hadn’t meant to overhear, and was still trying her damndest not to laugh out loud at her sister’s little misadventure. She refocused her attention on the book she was reading.

“I’m sorry, but if I don’t do this now, I know I might never have another chance again,” said the man quite shyly, yet determined.  “I just have to ask if you’d have a coffee with me, maybe.”

Silence.  Jay could feel the man shuffling uncomfortably on his feet.  She sighed.  She was used to this.  It always happens to Lena.  Pretty Lena.  Irresistible Lena.

“Lena, don’t be petty.  Answer the man before he tears his heart out for you,” Jay scolded, turning to her sister.  Who was nowhere in sight.

“What... Lena?” Jay turned to the man standing there expectantly.

“Uhm...” Jay didn’t really know what to say to him.  “Sorry about that, my sister’s not usually this rude.  I’ll go find her for you.”

“Uh... sister?  No, no,” he said, smiling.  “I didn’t mean her.  I meant you.”

Unscene #8

UnScene #8: Two scenes written for a former student who wanted writing tips.

In the Jeepney

Tomas clenched his fists.  He must get to the hospital in time.  He feared he would never see his son alive again.

“How could traffic be so heavy at two in the afternoon?” he thought frantically.  He ran his hands over his face again; his sweat was slick and cold.  “Bwiset, bwiset.”

He wished the two high school girls at the end of the jeep would stop their high pitched giggling and chattering.

“Allan, Allan.  Wait for me, anak ko.”

“Bayad po,” called one of the giggling girls, her handful of coins right in front of Tomas.

He cupped his hand and some of the coins clattered to the floor as the girl’s hand brushed his.  As Tomas bent to pick up a peso, he heard the girl whisper to her friend.

“Kadiri!  His hand’s so greasy.  Do you have any alcogel?”

Notes:

Jeepney: Public transportation in the Philippines

Bwiset: Similar to "Damn!"

Anak ko: "My child"

Bayad po: What you say when you pay for the Jeepney fare

Kadiri: "Gross!" or "Yuck!" 

Alcogel: Hand-sanitizer; alcohol in gel form

At the Bus Stop

Shirley was on cloud nine.  At last, after the many all-but-obvious hints, Robert got the message.  This bouquet of fragrant red roses is the proof.  No amount of rain clouds or delayed buses could darken her day now.

She kept on smiling to herself quite happily, until it began to rain.  She hadn't even noticed it had started drizzling.  She fumbled for her umbrella, nearly dropping her precious armful of romance.

“Oh no, my new dress! My roses!” she groaned in frustration.

But just as she managed to pull the umbrella out, a motorcycle sped by, splashing muddy street water all over her and her roses.

“Aaaaahh!” Shirley shrieked. “Stupid son of a...”

Shirley kept on cursing, stomping her mud-splattered shoes and shaking her wilting roses, until the bus arrived, fifteen minutes later.

UnScene #7

UnScene #7:  I have insomnia sometimes.  I'd love to easily fall asleep.  What if there's a person who didn't want to fall asleep?

The Problem with Sleep

There’s this girl.

She has a problem with falling asleep.  Not in the usual way that people might think.  When we say she has a problem with falling asleep, we mean that she doesn’t want to fall asleep.  The main reason behind which is that she doesn’t want to wake up.

Let’s take the case of last Tuesday night.  Tuesday was a holiday.  Monday was terrible, and she fell asleep the moment she lay on the bed after dutifully brushing her teeth and brushing her hair.  She had looked forward to falling asleep the whole Monday long.  And then she woke up on Tuesday morning.

“No,” she groaned. 

“No, I don’t want to wake up, it’s so horrible to be awake,” she thought.

She spent her Tuesday holiday slowly, taking her time.  She didn’t bother to change out of her pyjamas until she felt she really needed to shower, around noontime.  She made herself a nicely heavy late lunch which she thought was enough for three people to eat.  She spent the rest of the afternoon eating all of it; some while watching TV, some while aimlessly surfing the internet, and some while dutifully working on the preparations for work the next day.  She alternately brewed tea and coffee and sipped them while watching rented videos – all romantic comedies.  When the last of the videos’ credits were rolling, she looked up at the clock and saw that it was 1:30 a.m. and she felt a bit sleepy.

And that’s the problem.  She didn’t want to sleep.

“No,” she moaned, “I don’t want to wake up again.”

But she turned off the TV and got off the couch anyway and dutifully did the dishes, brushed her teeth and her hair, put on her pyjamas, switched off the lights, and went to bed. 

And cried, silently.  And fell asleep.

Unscene #6

 

Unscene #6:  A dreamful young person asked me, "What's a kiss like?"  I laughed.

“The Kiss” (a sudden poem) 

I could tell you

love me because

I could taste

the Juicy Fruit

on your tongue. 

Though I could

slightly tell you

enjoyed tinapang bangus

for lunch. 

I don’t mind

if you don’t mind

the bitter

coffee on my lips.

Notes:  Juicy Fruit is a chewing gum; very sweet. 
Tinapang Bangus is fish preserved by salting; very salty and fishy.

UnScene #5

UnScene #5: Teachers encounter blackboard erasers every day. 

Blackboard Eraser

Patty liked going to school.  She’s naturally curious and liked learning new things.  But she didn’t like going to school all the time.  That’s because her greatest fear was to stand alone in front of class and speak. 

When she was six years old, the teacher made everyone memorize a poem about flowers.  She got the poem down alright, but when she finally stood in front of the class and felt the chilling fear of having many eyes aimed at her, IT happened.

“Haha! She’s peeing!” Greggie began to laugh.  The whole class followed suit.

“Patty-pee-panty!” chanted Greggie.  The whole class followed suit.

Patty started crying, and then ran out of the room and all the way home, where her mom gave her a spanking for ruining her almost-new skirt. 

Since then, whenever the teacher made them memorize anything, Patty would be predictably absent the next day.  To her surprise, her mom actually let her, and even conspired with her to come up with excuses (sometimes it’s a toothache, other times a stomach-ache, etc.).  She didn't seem to mind Patty getting a zero for a grade.

Also since then, Patty was known as “Patty-pee-panty,” thanks to Greggie.  That was three years ago.  Things hadn’t changed much in spite of all that time.  

Nevertheless, Patty mostly still liked school.  Some of the other girls were quite nice to her.  And besides, she was good at other things, like Math.  The teacher didn’t tell them to stand in front of the class and recite anything during Math time.

Until one day, when the teacher wrote some Math problems on the board and began calling on students one by one to come forward and answer them.  Patty froze in her seat; cold sweat suddenly broke out her forehead.  She prayed not to be called.

“Okay, last one,” the teacher said.  “Patricia.”

“I know the answer,” she told herself.  “I don’t need to say anything, or look at them.  Just write the answer.”

Patty stood up.  She walked quickly to the blackboard.  When she was about to reach for a piece of chalk, she heard a familiar voice.

“Patty-pee-panty,” stage-whispered Greggie.  The rest of the class sniggered viciously.

And then IT happened.  Patty reached for the blackboard eraser, fully ripe and quivering with chalk-dust, turned to face the sniggering faces, and zeroed in on one.  She threw with all her might.

Her aim proved true.  The eraser hit Greggie right between the eyes with a gratifying “BOMF!” covering his entire face with snowy chalk-dust. 

Patty let out a loud whoop and began to laugh.  The whole class followed suit.

UnScene #4

UnScene#4: I had a dog named Axel.  He died in 2005.  I still think about him a lot.

Axel

Gemma hadn’t gone home in a month.  It was a day before the end of the semester.  Nearly all the students were frantic about deadlines, oral defences, exams, and the like.  Gemma decided to put off taking the long trip home until the semester was over and done with.  Besides, she’d be able to get more study and work done with her classmates and dorm-mates at hand to help her.

“Tomorrow,” she told herself.  “I’ll be home by tomorrow night.”

But how she missed home!  She was sick of looking at the same dormitory food, sick of professors and group leaders breathing down her neck.  She missed the TV at home, her books and video games, the laughter around the dinner table. Most of all, she missed her dog, Axel.

For twelve years, she had always been the one in charge of taking care of Axel.  She did everything gladly – feeding, washing, picking up his poop, chasing him down whenever he ran out onto the street to chase some cat or other.  He was Gemma’s best friend.  They were nearly inseparable.  And then she got into the big university.  Her parents sent her off proudly.

Her mom told her not to worry; Axel will be well taken care of.  But of course she did worry.  Axel was an old dog, after all.  So Gemma made sure to come back home every weekend, refusing invitations to go out with her friends, passing up on weekend getaways.  But she didn’t mind missing any of those things. 

The day seemed to pass quickly enough.  Soon Gemma was stepping off the bus, slinging her large duffel bag over her shoulder.  It was a fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop to their house.  Suddenly she was nervous.  This was the first time she came home so late, and she had to pass by a rather shady street on her way to their house.  It was safe enough in the daytime, but at night...  She picked up her pace.

She managed to walk down the dodgy street without incident, without looking any one of the loiterers in the eye.  She was almost through the worst; in the distance she could almost see the gate of their house, when someone grabbed the strap of her bag from behind.  She nearly fell over.  Someone laughed. 

“Just grab the bag!” said one voice.  “Let’s split!”

Without looking, Gemma kicked hard at the person behind her.  Her blind aim connected and there was a piercing yelp as her foot hit something tender.  She screamed at the top of her voice, snatched back her bag and escaped.

She ran toward home, gasping; the sound of her attackers’ pursuit loud in her ears.  And then she saw it – Axel running out of their gate toward her, fur bristling, fangs bared; Gemma heard him growling furiously.  The dog ran past her, straight into her pursuers.  She dropped her bag and ran faster as she heard voices scream, feral growling, fabric tearing, feet running away.  The sounds faded as she ran faster, closer to home. 

She came abreast of the gate, panting, pounding the iron with her fists, kicking with her feet.  Why was it locked?  Didn’t Axel just run out?  She took a deep breath and yelled for her parents.  Soon they came through the front door running.

“O my god, Gemma!  What happened to you?”  her mom rushed to open the gate.

“Mama!  Pa!  Axel... those men...” she gasped, out of breath, through her tears.  “Get Axel back, Papa!  They’ll hurt him!”

“Axel?  What are you talking about?  What men?” demanded Papa.  “Did someone attack you?!” 

He grabbed the nearest thing to a weapon at hand, a garden hoe, and rushed out of the gate into the dark streets.

Gemma could only collapse to the ground, sobbing.  Her mom kept asking her what happened.  Soon enough, her dad came back, bringing her duffel bag with him. 

“What happened, Gemma?” he demanded.  “I found a lot of blood around where you dropped this.”

She told them everything.  But their faces didn’t show they believed her.

“Papa, didn’t you see Axel? We gotta get him back!” Gemma cried.  “He saved me.”

Her dad remained silent.  He exchanged a meaningful look with his wife.

“Gemma,” Mama said carefully.  “It couldn’t have been Axel.  It must have been some other dog.  It’s dark, you didn’t see clearly.”

“No, Mama, it was Axel.  I saw him run out of our gate.  We have to find him!”

“No, Gemma,” her mom hesitated.  “I’m very sorry, dear, but Axel died this morning.  We wrapped him in his favourite blanket.  We were just waiting for you to come home so we could bury him together.  I’m so sorry.”

Gemma couldn’t say anything.  She could only let her disbelieving tears fall silently down her cheeks.