Archive for the Fiction Category

The Only Thing

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , , , , on January 16, 2014 by rachelcipriano

  My parents have already arrived. It’s been months since I last saw them. The last year really is crucial. With all those requirements, clearances, thesis and not to mention the job applications I needed to accomplish, everything seems to have gone mad. Too busy. Too far away. Too distant.

  The last year really is crucial.

  They’re sitting on my lower bunk bed. It’s a good thing that Jason, my roommate, is not in our room this moment. I don’t not like him. We’re just so crowded here already. How do two people—most specifically my parents—be able to crowd my fairly spacious room so easily and annoyingly? Right. Because they are weeping. I just don’t get it this time. Maybe me graduating from highschool could have really been a touching moment for them because I am moving out for college. But it’s been four years since I technically lived in our, I mean, their house that me graduating from college and possibly getting a job nearer to home shouldn’t be a weeping moment anymore. Please.

  Then mom suddenly hugged me, “you know it’s still your home, right?”

  My mother. My mother. Whose gentleness is the only thing that can soften my father. My father. Whose sternness is the only thing that can break me to make me. My parents. Whose love for me is the only thing that can make me come home.

  “Of course, mom.”

  “C’mere, son.” dad hugged me then tapped my back and looked down after letting go.

  Then she smiled. How could a smile be so pacifying? She’s the only one who could make me be peaceful. And that is not so easy I should tell you. I don’t get easily comforted. But she makes comfort seem like a natural thing. No. That is not enough. She is naturally comfort itself. She walks, talks, sits lightly. Everything she does is feather against a strong wind. She hits lightly but always with effect and power. She’s the only one who can manage my mad life.

  The last year really is crucial.

  I would be graduating today but she would two years after me. I already have job offers and none of them is near here. I know technology makes it less harder to communicate. But long distance relationships? I really don’t know how it works. And I don’t want to find out how it doesn’t. Two years. And being the pessimist that I am, I know that life always happens. Two years. Life will happen. And I’m going crazy.

  It had been a mad semester for me. Everytime I was with her this semester is filled with comfort and longing already. She’s so light I know she’s so easy to slip away. No. That is not true. Out of all her lightness is a strong grasp. She lingers.

  This is crazy. I’m graduating. I know because I’m looking at myself in the mirror with my graduation robe and cap on.

  This is crazy. I don’t know if this is going to work out. I don’t know how things will be months from now. I don’t know.

    “What do you want to know now?” she whispered, her green eyes gripping mine. Her green eyes which can see what to tell me next. Because only those eyes know what I want and need. Those eyes. Always.

  This is crazy. But I’d rather be this crazy than lose her. And I have to at least try. And I have been really thinking about this.

  Not wanting to lose her makes sense to me. Suddenly, this does not seem so crazy at all. I grabbed something from my back pocket and got down on one knee.

  “If you want to marry me.” Whether my parents shouted or whispered or gasped or cried I honestly do not know because she is the only thing I can see.

  And she said the craziest thing she can say to a guy like me, “I do.”

After BC

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , , , on December 27, 2013 by rachelcipriano

Brandon.

“Hey! Good to see you, man,” I said while I hugged my brother tight for the first time in 2 years. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” while raising his eyebrows, but looking down. “actually, it’s too great.”

“Hey, what’s the matter?” I asked, sensing he’s become uncomfortable.

“Well,” he sounds a little too excited, “I’m engaged!”

“Then why do you sound so nervous? Isn’t this what you want?”

“I want her, bro. I really do. But marriage? Man, I’m not into dating a lot of women, and she’s the only woman I’ve ever been serious with. I mean, I love her, you know that. But who is prepared to get married?” I know the answer. I very well know. He sees my discomfort and started to apologize sincerely but I just said that it’s no big deal then immediately changed the subject.

“But I’m happy for you. Don’t screw it up, James.” And that was a sincere advice.

Cora.

Preparing for weddings are excruciating, I must say. Especially if it’s your own. People always forget this and seem to remember only the magical moment when two hearts have finally decided to be united by the long lasting vow… well that’s true. Until the divorce papers are coming up.

Why had I even said yes? Right, because I’m not getting any younger and besides we’re comfortable with each other. He loves me. Takes good care of me. His family adores me. And my family adores him. He’s a great guy. He’s my only salvation. And I…

I’m awakened from my daydreaming again by my ever supportive best friend’s fingers snapping right in front of my face, “Where are you this time? Black hole?”

“No. I’m right here,” answering a little too defensively.

“Jeez, Cor. You’re becoming absent-minded a little too often lately. Stop stressing yourself, okay? It’s just wedding jitters. It’ll pass.” she sounds really worried.

“I’m fine.” Who am I kidding?

She stands right in front of me looking straight into my eyes, “he’s not like that douche who left you eight months after you said yes.” She didn’t have to remind me it was two days before the wedding—the day he just vanished into thin air. She knows how much I’ve been thru already. “Believe, okay? Everything is gonna turn out fine. Jon is so much better than that loser.”

“Hey, stop insulting him already. I don’t care about him anymore.”

“Hey, stop defending him,” she said mimicking my tone.

Continue reading

Kiss

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , on December 20, 2013 by rachelcipriano

I am dancing with a man I barely know. Not that I don’t really know him.. I mean, he’s in my class. But he’s just a boy from my class. Apparently an overly kind boy from my class ready to take me to prom despite my reputation. Prom. Every teenage girl’s dream. I try to be satisfied with my predicament given that I am the one who put myself in this. I didn’t literally design this scenario but my actions deserve this consequence. And now I feel guilty of thinking this way. After all, I should be content. Happy even. That a decent guy wants to be with me in this literally sparkly night. That I am at prom and not with a douche which I truthfully deserve. I should be satisfied if not gleeful.

I just couldn’t shake off the regret that keeps knocking me off the present. And… I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy that keeps my focus from my date. The guy who was once mine. Twice. Countless of times mine. The guy who is with a girl clinging to him like he’s gonna dart out of the room at a brief second she takes her eyes off him—not that she would really take her eyes off him. No girl can. He is every girl’s dream. But more than that he was my reality. And my history.

Great. Now it’s like the insane lights in this place had finally found a way to burn the back of my eyeballs. I wait for the fire to come. The sizzle that should be eating my eyes out. But only, it’s water that eats my mascara out. Okay… I might have been exaggerating. Maybe it’s my guilt that is threatening me to burn my eyes. I don’t deserve the satisfaction of the sight of him, I think. And I unwillingly break my stare from him and will myself to look at this boy who is very worried of me, and quite frankly, is nuts about me and I honestly don’t know why. I barely noticed that he had locked my hip in his arms like I’m gonna storm out. I try to ease his grip by sliding my hands gently to his forearms then, just because I’m so lonely and it’s been a long time since I have been looked at the same way he does to me now, I didn’t even stop to tell myself that it is selfish—right, I never do that—I kissed him. I close my eyes trying to tune out the faces of the man only two yards away from me and of the boy whose heart I am going to break too. I am so selfish. I need to stop, I think. But I don’t. This kiss is something new. Like a dewdrop. And surprisingly, I started to enjoy it myself. Just as I was about to wrap my arms around his neck, he disappeared.

Not really disappeared, he’s on the floor. What the hell is he doing on the floor? Then the kiss resumes. How did he get up so fast that a split second ago he was on the floor and now he’s on foot and kissing me under these insane lights? I can feel my face is locked in his hands. And then I realized, in a so foolishly long time, that the kiss is familiar. Like my own home. The only kiss that I enjoy even before it happens and the one that I can always run to when things get bad. The kiss that I had been having for over a year. The kiss that I have been missing for almost two months now. The kiss. That kiss that I had and then lost. And that stops me because I realize how horrible a person I am. Then I whispered a name, not his, definitely not mine or my date’s, “Lois.” Then he looks beyond me shifting his eyes to where his date is standing like a statue. And I can see her, like a statue hit by a sledgehammer, broken. The same look he had the moment he caught me cheating on him.

Something Blue

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , , , on June 2, 2013 by rachelcipriano

1901–

Hermina’s scent is excruciating for me–it was lovely. Her scent was more than a perfume to me. But it intoxifies me now. The wind strongly blowing to my direction, brings forth her fragrance.

Recalling the first time I layed eyes on her and her scent filling each space surrounding us when her light blue dress was following the wind’s direction and the wind was all but gentle, but the scent it transported so ravishing and her scent–the scent–strong as ever, was a reminder that she is around.

She was so painfully beautiful–a different kind of beauty. She doesn’t turn heads around, but she has the unconscious capacity to turn hearts. Nothing extravagant, but she was extraordinary.

I vividly remember the time I saw her walk down the aisle as I waited for her then raised her veil, the times I saw her walk the corridors of this little house, and the moments I watched her as she puts to sleep our little child. I distinctly remember how I thought everytime she stands alone in a crowd, she stood out like she was wearing a crown. She was all over me.

Her scent brings forth the memories of how it used to fuel me but now desiccates me.

I sit here across her, looking at the ages that passed on her face. The indicators of how she smiled, how she frowned, how her face stormed this life. She is excruciatingly beautiful. And her scent is still over this home she built but is soon leaving. And her form, almost didn’t change through the lifetime. How tragic that my perfect memory of her in her light blue dress–the day when she had taken hold of my heart–shall be stained.

I first saw her in it, and I will see her for the last time in it. And I kissed my love a good-bye and painfully enjoyed her fragrance for the last time.

What else can we do?

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , on May 10, 2013 by rachelcipriano

I got up. It’s just another day. I checked the clock. It’s past 11 A.M. but I still want to go back to bed. I feel so sleepy. Do I? Or is it just me wanting to sleep? I think that’s basically two different things—like sleeping and wanting to be sleepy.

I got up. It’s almost 12nn. I’m still not feeling any hunger—except the hunger for sleep. Can you blame me? When I feel like everything just feels so better when you’re not awake. I thought that this way of thinking was only for hopeless people. But is it not what I am right now?—A hopeless.

I got up to wash my face. I need some refreshing. I never thought that I would have enough drama in me to really think this way. I guess I know enough now. I know better now than to judge people who suffers this way.

I got up. I checked if there is any food left though I’m not really hungry. I got up to wash my face. I got up. I can get up, right? I got up and saw his face. I feel so angry—but not at him. How could I be angry with him? He has made himself clear and I think he has good reasons for staying away.

It was never his fault. He never knew. I always felt. It was my fault.

What if I just stayed away?

What if I just kept quiet?

What if I just never said anything?

What if I just focused on God? What if I just didn’t fall?

What if he just never made friends with me? Could I bear that?—not knowing him at all?

What if he was never there when I needed him?

There are so many what ifs. I kept asking myself the questions that wouldn’t change anything at all even if I know the answers.

I always have a lot of questions. I’d even ask about the littlest things. So how could I not think of more questions right now when it meant us? Is it really us? Or is it just him and me?—meant to be apart. Separated by an “and”—separated by the end.

Is he thinking the same things too? Or is it just me? Knowing him, he’s the most resolute man I know. When he says he’s moving forward, he is. I love it about him. But that also breaks my heart right now. Because I know he will really keep his word. He is moving forward.

“Let’s just forget about this and move forward. Maybe we could be friends someday again,” those were his exact words.

When he’s the one and not just my friends who’s telling me to let go, what else can I do?
———————————————————————————————————————-
Lying on my bed, I can still remember when I said it. And of course, I meant it. And I did it. Well, most of it. I never forgot. But I did move forward. I just hate to know that I didn’t keep all that I said. It hurts me to say something and not being able to do them. But I know that there is a reason why I chose not to keep all that I said. I chose the easy way because I’m a coward. I know that forgetting her will be harder than staying true to my promise. So I just chose the easier way—like I always do.

What if I just took the risk? What if I just told her to wait? No—that would have been too selfish; too ungentle–manly.

Or what if I never said those words? She’s too obedient. Always was. I’d never forget every time I see those pained eyes on her still smiling face whenever she is asked to do something she does not want to do. But she remains compliant. Why? I love it about her. But that is the same thing that hurts me now—though I don’t have the right to blame her for being like that when it’s just me who never fought with her—she obeyed me so easily.

I have so many questions. Like how could I just leave her like that? Fear crept into me when I asked that to myself. Almost all possible sensible questions to ask, she had asked. Had she asked that to herself? Had she asked how I could leave her like that? I know that she had every right and anger enough towards me for her to ask that to herself. Or even to me.

But still… The answers to the “what ifs” could have made a lot of difference if it were just yesterday when I said those words. Couldn’t it? Maybe it’s really too foolish of me to think that she would have forgiven me for what I said if I had just said “sorry” the next day but my wishful thinking tells me that the “next day” would have fared better than the “next 5 years”.

When she’s just being too good to follow what I said, what else can I do?

The Man Who Will be Moved

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , on May 10, 2013 by rachelcipriano

“Cab’s here!”
I stopped what I was doing and said, “I know. I can hear it.” Duh.

I stopped what I was doing–listening to The Script’s “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved”. I just can’t keep myself from listening to it. Maybe it’s true what they say. When you’re at your breaking point, you would have that one song which will make you think it was made for you.

I grabbed all my things and kissed her on the cheek smoothly and hugged her tight. I’m totally gonna miss my sweet, erratic mom. I know that this isn’t the best thing to do since it will never make things change into the way I want it to be–the way I still want it to be. The only consolation I have in leaving my mom in this town is that she’s never gonna see me in this kind of situation for another minute anymore.

I got in the cab. The long drive was just so dragging I didn’t even mind checking on the outside where we are already. It felt like I just got to the airport by sitting around on an uncomfortable couch.

After all this chaos in my mind, and all this…pain in my…whatever organ or hormone you hold responsible for feeling things, I still have a sound mind to know that buying a ticket for and actually boarding the plane that will take me to where I’m going is not a sensible idea. Well, I didn’t really buy the tickets. She did. Two tickets. Two. How come only one is used now?

Yea. Maybe this is for my own good that it’s just me going there. After all, I would never want to be branded as the Man Who Can’t be Moved. Listening to that song makes it clearer how pitiful I would become if I chose the same decision he did.

“Going back to the corner where I first saw you…” Yes. That is where I am going. Not because I will be waiting for her to come. But because there’s just nowhere else I could go. I thought of healing at the most painful setting I could be is where I could build the strongest resistance.

“…If she changes her mind this is the first place she will go.” Yes that will really be the place she will go if she changes her mind. But that’s the deal. IF. IF HER MIND EVER CHANGES. Which won’t.

“People talk about the guy. Who’s waiting on a girl. There are no holes in his shoes. But a big hole in his world…Maybe I’ll get famous as the man who can’t be moved. And maybe you won’t mean to but you’ll see me on the news. And you’ll come running to the corner ’cause you’ll know it’s just for you.”
She would always know it is for her. Whether I stay or leave, move or not, it will always be about her.

“But if one day you wake up and find that you’re missing me
And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be
Thinking maybe you’ll come back here to the place that we’d meet
And you see me waiting for you on the corner of the street.”

But I’ll be moving. Yes, I’ll be moving. Not because I am any better than the guy in that song but because there is nothing here that could make me stay.

Ambulansya

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , , , on November 9, 2012 by rachelcipriano

Tumingin lang ako sa kanya, at pinilit na mahawakan ang titig nya na alam kong malapit nang maglaho. Kung kaya ko lang ibigay ang hininga ko ng isang oras para lang mapatagal ang sandaling ito at mabuhay pa kami, gagawin ko. Pero dahil alam kong hindi ganoon ang takbo ng mundo, pipilitin ko na lang huminga hanggang dulo ng aking buhay kahit pa hindi na siya kabilang nito. Nakakatawa minsan, na kaya mong ubusin ang hangin mo para sa taong hindi humihinga.

Sana mahuli ng dating ang ambulansya at maubusan na rin ako ng dugo. Hindi ko na kayang makita ang wasak niyang katawan, dilat na mata, at walang hiningang labi, habang nakahawak ako sa dibdib nyang hindi na tumitibok para sa akin at para sa kanyang sariling buhay.