Man's Laughter

Bloodied axe upon me;
And all of them flee.
Before me, a bloodied sea;
I long not to see.
What's this? Heads on a tree?


Laughing softly they go;
For my blade does not know.
Red sweat struck upon their brow.
Freely now does blood flow.
With this arm, lives I shall mow.


Madness now taking over--
Need not to take cover.
Repeat I shall never;
Evil in me now and forever.
Darkness bind me now and forever.

Orion

Three stars upon thy belt;
Your presence is much felt.
Thine enemies before thee melt.
Those who don't, before thee knelt.


Orion, master hunter; stalker of the damned!
Orion, sword of might; kill all the mad!
Orion, fearless warrior; hunt them from their stand!
Orion, lord of the hunt; come down like firebrand!


Canis Major, Canis Minor--
Loyal servants to thee.
Canis Major, Canis Minor--
Before them, your prey flee.


Orion, master hunter; judgment day is here!
Orion, sword of might; strike with no fear!
Orion, fearless warrior; let no fool come near!
Orion, lord of the hunt; their blood upon you smear!


Your sword tied on thy waist;
Laid waste to insolence!
Impotence not a possibility;
Ability all rained upon you!


Orion, master hunter; deliver them death!
Orion, sword of might; yours is no empty threat!
Orion, fearless warrior; their end is set!
Orion, lord of the hunt; their death they've met!


ORION!

THE WEIRD AND PERVERSE THEATRE

Two: The Leading Man

I was born with a name Juan de Cruz in a sleepy farming town tucked away in a far corner of the country. Since I could walk, my father would take me to the fields, to help him till the soil. When I was a bit bigger, my father taught me to do the heavy farm work for him. Everyday, I did the same monotonous routine; with nothing more and nothing less to do in life. Each and every day, I would wake up as early as the rooster crowed, and I would eat a small portion of breakfast, grab my hat, and work in the fields with my father until the sun sets.

One day, I saw children almost my age returning home via the fields. They were wearing the same clothes and they were holding these strange pieces of paper bound together by some hard material. I asked my father who these children were and what the things they were holding were. He told me wearily that they were students and they were holding books.
“What do students do?” I asked my father enthusiastically.
“They learn new things,” Father answered bleakly.
“Do they go to fields too?” I asked some more.
“Some of them does, but most do not,” Father answered with the same lack of energy.
“Can I be a student too?” I asked father.
“No, you stay in the fields and help your poor father,” Father answered, emphasizing his negation on the idea.

Since that day, I waited for the children to pass by and I borrowed some of their books. I looked at them and they were filled with strange symbols—the likes of which aren’t found in the fields.
“What are these symbols?” I asked one student.
“They are letters and they are meant to be read,” explained one of them, trying to contain his laughter.
“Is there something funny?” I asked, ignorant that I was being ridiculed by the educated children.
“How old are you, boy?” asked the female student.
“I don’t know,” I truthfully replied, and they all burst in laughter, rejoicing at the fact that I was illiterate by that time. Laughing, they strode off to their pampered homes, forgetting that I still have their book with me. Thinking of vengeance in my little mind, I swore never to return this book and I will use it to teach myself how to read.
I pranced merrily home, barefoot, with the mud clinging on to my feet. I tucked the book inside my wide straw hat, fearful that father might scold me when he sees the book. When I came home, I saw that mother and father, together with my six brothers and two sisters, were eating supper with their bare hands.
“Juan, come and eat with us. We have fish for dinner!” mother invited me, but I told her I would eat later.
I sneaked to the back of our house, where the pigs and the chickens were kept. In the chickens’ coop, I found a white cloth and with it, I wrapped my little tome of knowledge and tucked it under the white hen’s nest.
“Keep the book safe and I would reward you,” I whispered to the chicken, and the animal looked at me blankly, wondering what a human could be doing this near to her face.
I soon followed the family to supper and had my tiny portion of fish and rice. With those morsels of food I had lived, and with those I do not wish to die. Being the eldest among the siblings, I tucked my brothers and sisters to sleep and put the gas lamp out. The night in our tiny village was silent, yet it would be filled with strange sounds from time to time, like the frogs croaking, owls hooting, rats scuttling, and the simultaneous groaning of mother and father. But I would just ignore these sounds and I would get to sleep shortly.
Since I kept that book, I started to have strange dreams of pale-skinned men from a distant land coming by our house and inviting me to join them. I don’t know why, but I seemed to follow them. All the nights afterwards were filled of these strangely disturbing dreams of the aliens in our doorstep, who were grinning, yet inside, they are licking their teeth with gusto.
Morning has come, and I went on my usual routine, but when I saw mother with the can of chicken fodder, I volunteered to do the work for her, for fear that my stash might be discovered. With this gesture, she was pleased with me, not knowing of my subliminal intentions. As I went to feed the chickens, I checked if my book was still there. Underneath the white hen, there lies my cherished book, undisturbed in the caresses of the white cloth.
“Juan,” I heard mother’s voice suddenly call out from behind my shoulder, and she saw my book. She looked really mad.
“Mother!” father’s voice called out from the house and he seems to be coming to where I am.


--The Stage Director

THE WEIRD AND PERVERSE THEATRE

One: Opening Act

I ran and ran some more. Through these damp and dark alleyways I run; running away from Satan's resident sadist. I don't know how long I was running; it must've been an hour already. At any given time, I could fall down, given the amount of blood leaking from my side, like a broken faucet spouting water uncontrollably. I also fear the possibility of infection, because I had been doused in this tub of putridity earlier. The scent of blood and the rancid trail I am leaving as I flee served as an indelible marking, which leads my pursuers' hounds to my faltering body.

I took one more step and a wave of mortality swept over me. I felt a portion of my soul escape my fragile body. But I mustn’t die like an insect under a heavy boot—and another wave, one of adrenaline, swept upon me and somehow, my senses were heightened. Because I paused for two golden seconds, my pursuers gained on me. I could hear their rabid dogs barking in a frenzied rage from a distance. Using all the remaining strength in me, I made a mad dash towards the end of the alleyway, where the happy sparkling city awaits, unwary of the cries of the oppressed.

“There’s the dog!” I heard the foreign devil shout in his native tongue.

I then heard the leashes dragged upon the damp alley as the dogs were ordered to run after me. I tried to pick up speed, hoping that the city lights would bring salvation upon me, to spare me of this hell.

Bark. Bark.

The dogs sprint, excited by the prospect of an easy prey.

Splash. Splash.

My heavy feet crashed on the little brown puddles on the alley floor as I near the warmth of the city lights.

Yelp. Splash.

I looked back as a dog yelped. One of the three dogs slipped on a puddle and splashed. He tried to regain footing, but the dog slipped again.

BANG.

“Stupid dog!” growled the foreigner as he shot the fallen dog, his loyal servant.

I was a few steps away from the light, and as my frail frame touched the light, I felt a searing sensation in my left calf, and I was pulled to the ground by powerful jaws of two Doberman dogs.

The city folk looked as they saw me being mauled by the dogs. I had a glimpse of their eyes, and they weren’t concerned about me; they were merely scared. Scared because the dogs might turn their attention to them or pieces of my tattered flesh might splatter all over their expensive clothing. Pfah, this city folk! They are worse than the dogs themselves! A high-pitched whistle rang through the chatter of the city night, and the dogs released me and sat upright. From the dark alleyway came their master, the foreigner with his brown shirt clinging to his pale skin because of sour-smelling sweat. The fat foreigner huffed and panted, because he wasn’t used to running for he had servants to do his bidding for him.

“You wretched rat!” the foreigner said in my native tongue, with his thick foreign accent painting the words with a heavy coat of bigotry.

The foreigner took a moment to catch his breath, and from his belt holster, he drew a pistol, cocked it and pointed it between my eyes. I was sweating cold, but I wasn’t afraid; I was going to die anyway.

“Ungrateful pig,” he muttered in his own language, unremorseful, as though he was about to kill a fly. As Jacques the foreigner slowly squeezed the trigger, I closed my eyes and I remembered how this nightmare began.


--The Stage Director.

PAIN

Pain is good; painful it would.
To hurt is human; to not is dumb.
Joys are unlimited; so tears should.
Love is eternal; to that I am not sure.

Death is not the end; nor is it a beginning.
Inducing death is a shame; never treat it a game.
Time is your enemy; also your friend.
Suff'ring only your measure; not your master.

Heed my word, friend; use it wise and well.
Pain is but a nuisance to your earthen existence.
Feel it well; a slave you are not.
For thou art no man if thou hadst no pain.

DARK GENESIS

The night sky swirls
The stars in their seats twirls
The grand plan unfurls
But it appears in curls!

Darkness becomes our cover
Into our hearts it shall slither
All your hopes shall wither
Temptation calls you--"Come hither!"

Hide under your sheets!
They are coming--Death's fleets!
Don't dare call it quits;
These drones are anything but twits!

Sleep well, my fair darling,
The creeping minions doth coming
For sure they are staying
Staying to break your time's string!

The Journey to Paradise

The stars are still;
Fade away we will.
Hell will fall
Heaven would call!
Salvation is at hand!
Brother, take your stand--
THIS IS OUR DAY!

On us the foundations were built;
You overflow with guilt.
In a train of white he'll come;
I'll wait and I'll have some.
All the suff'rings will be done;
Upon the rising of the sun!
COME BE AS ONE!

The waters of Eden
Flowing like wounds a-bleedin'
Can't you hear the call?
Or you feel the grim pall?
Evil one stogether we will perish
Benevolence we shall nourish
IT IS NOW!

I bathe in a river of light
Hidden away from common sight
Won't you join me now?
You ask me how?
Release all the darkness
Today you'll see the brightness
WE BECOME ONE!

CEMETERY ROMANCE

It has been a month and two since our family moved in to this little and silent subdivision in a silent corner of Muntinlupa. It’s freaky, though, why the folks chose this subdivision, which is very near to this well-known memorial park. I admit, I’m a scaredy-cat, so every time I pass by this memorial park on my way home, I swear I’d hear freaky things and I’d go bananas and bolt all the way to our whitewashed bungalow surrounded by santan shrubs.

But I’m not your average loser kid. You see, since I turned sixteen, they had an article written about me published on a magazine. You never have heard of this magazine, because it’s so well away from the mainstream. So yeah, I am kind of a loser. But hey, at least I’m not being bullied by jocks, partly because those are scenes that only happen in American teen movies, and largely because they just don’t care about a short brown guy with unkempt hair and high-graded glasses. Plus, I think I scare them off.

But then, three weeks after we moved in, the house next door had a new occupant. They were a family of three—a mom, a dad, and a cute daughter just about my age. As soon as their lipat-bahay truck moved in, Ma and Pa immediately made an attempt to socialize with the new neighbors. From their short conversation, I’ve heard that they are the Sison family—the mom being Esther, the dad Rudy and the pretty dark-haired daughter who will definitely never notice me is Erica.

What surprised me about Erica was that she was holding a copy of that magazine where the article about me was published! To my bigger surprise, my mom noted that Erica was actually reading that article. The girl smiled a bit, maybe because she was interested in the subject of that article, and not about me. Her parents just smiled and took the copy away from their daughter’s silky hands. Yeah, cute girls should stay away from those publications. It messes their minds up.

Weeks passed and I could do nothing except to stare at Erica’s window, hoping she’d take a peek too. Sometimes, she would, but most of the time, she wouldn’t. Thank God for that one very lucky day when one of her handkerchiefs were flown away from their clothesline to our side of the fence.

She peeked from their fence, looking for her green handkerchief, still wet and not yet fully sun-dried. Within seconds, she found the handkerchief but she never saw me, sitting and observing her. I looked at her, and saw the rosy cheeks and long black hair illuminated by the afternoon sun. She bit her lip—her thin yet rich red lips—because she didn’t know how to get her hanky back. No, she wasn’t dumb, but she was too shy to ask for help. She could’ve called her parents; but they were away. She could’ve called my parents; but she was too timid for that.

I took the initiative, picked up the hanky from the ground and handed it to her, who was shocked (really) to see me. Thankfully, she wasn’t one of those girls who’d shriek in a very shrill voice when afraid.
“Th-thank you,” she stuttered.
“Y-y-your welcome,” I stuttered back.

She forced a smile as she slowly backed away into her house. Just as their door slammed shut, I heard ours swing open. It was my mom and she was shaking her head, saying, “Carlo, ano na naman ang ginawa mo?” I just smiled back and disappeared into my room :)

One October day, Erica knocked on our door and I let my younger brother Raul answer it for me. She was holding a copy of that magazine where the article about me was printed and she looked rather excited.

"But why?" I asked.

As it turned out, the magazine published two of my photographs. Wow, what could they possibly get from me?

“Woah, look at Carlo!” Raul said, handing the copy over to my mom, who just came from the kitchen. Like any normal person’s reaction, my mom was shocked upon seeing my pic on a magazine, but Erica was never shaken. Rather, she looked pretty excited and had wanted to contact me, but mom disapproved, citing that it would be a violation of the family’s privacy. The poor girl just turned and left, crestfallen, and I couldn’t make a move.

Days after that incident, I never saw Erica by her window or by their front yard. She must’ve disappeared somehow. More days passed and there was no trace of her, until one day, I heard her mom shout, “Wake up, young lady! Look what time it is and you're still asleep? Wake up!" So, she was staying up late.

But for what?

That night, I decided to stay a little bit late to wait for her. At about 11 pm, her room’s lights came to life, signaling she was awake, and then the lights were turned off again. Perhaps she left the room. After a minute or so, my assumption was confirmed as she went out of their house, clutching a flashlight on her left hand and a notebook with a pencil stuffed inside on her right.

She was going somewhere, and I had to follow her. Luckily for me, getting unnoticed is a natural skill of mine and I followed her from their house, out of the subdivision and through the… the MEMORIAL PARK?! Whoa, there’s something definitely fishy around here.

She was able to get thorough the memorial park’s guards by telling them she was doing a research and by bribing them with two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. No, I think those were three boxes.

“Thank you, manong!” she thanked, as the gates swung open for her.
“You're welcome,” replied one of the guards.

I didn’t have a box of Krispy Kreme donuts with me, so the only way for me to get in was to sneak in—something I’m very adept at. I followed her as she pointed her light on the gravestones, as if she was looking for someone—or something. After five minutes, she stopped where I prayed she wouldn’t, opened her notebook and took down notes. As she opened her notebook, the page from the magazine where I was featured fell. She was researching about me all this time!

She likes me… kinda. I could tell! So I never hesitated and crept up to her, trying so hard not to get noticed but trying harder not to scare her. But she noticed me as I was about ten inches away from her. She was obviously chilly and was shaking.

“Erica,” I called her. She turned around and saw me. There was an awkward moment of silence, and then she fainted. After a minute, she awoke, and much to her chagrin, I was still there.

“So you found me,” I told her, pointing at the gravestone.

“Y-y-yeah,” she stuttered, “Carlo Flores, the 16 year old boy who died exactly during his 16th birthday,”

“Yup,” I confirmed. “I was featured at Nginiig magazine, right?”

“Here, there are pics showing your ectoplasm in their Halloween issue,” she told me.

“Wow,” I told her. “So you wrote this article,”

“Th-thank you,” she said, apparently blushing.

For three weeks, we met in my gravestone night after night, and the stars did just the right effect everytime to illuminate her sweet face as she talked to me about her encounters with people like me. She told me she had even encountered a headless woman in this park, with whom I told her to stay away from, because she’s dangerously in need of a new head.

“Carlo,” she told me one night, “I was your schoolmate when we were just first year high school,”

“Really?” I asked, very surprised. “That's why you really followed my story,”

“Yep,” she looked away from me, “Remember that girl whom you unknowingly paid for in the trike last September? That was me!”

“Haha,” I reminisced. “So you're like a stalker, eh?"

"Haha," she laughed back. "Not much. Just a little bit,"

Then our conversations were cut short by a bloodcurdling wail of a woman. It seemed to have come from far away, but it felt like she was very close.

“Quick!” I told Erica. “Get out of here! I'll handle this!”

I had to protect her from Mrs. Perez—the headless screaming lady. Nothing should happen to her, especially not before I would tell her how I feel about her. For a second, I looked at Erica making her way towards the gates, then for another second, I realized how stupid I was to let her run in the dark, with Mrs. Perez around.

I then ran as fast as I could towards her, calling her back with a voice slowly faltering. I was just a few paces from her when I was put into an abrupt halt. I seemed to have lost the ability to move. I then looked down, and saw that bloodied and bruised hands sprouted from the ground and were pulling me down, inviting me to their home in Hell. At the same time, Mrs. Perez was closing in on me, with her gloating head cradled in her patched-up arms, calling my name and murmuring other God-knows-what-morbidities.

I wasn’t paying much attention to them; instead, I was looking at Erica, who was then nearing the gates. She was calling for the guards, but nobody seemed to respond. Perhaps the guards were already fast asleep, thanks to Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. I was relieved to see that she was away from these infernal creatures now huddling around me.

But in a snap, my fears were reborn as a dark winged figure closed in on her, with sharp talons about to grab her. She was obviously aware of her assailant, for those huge wings made a sound that nobody could ever miss. All my hope was lost when I saw her lose her footing over a protruding gravestone, which brought her closer to the winged spectre’s ghastly claws. Thank the heavens, she instinctively lit her flashlight on the shadowling; stunning the spectre just enough for her to get out through the well-lit gate.

Upon seeing Erica leave the premises, Mrs. Perez screamed in frustration, then throwing her head to the ground, she and her companions vanished, leaving only a brown and decaying skull on the ground. I then went out of the gate to check her, but the only thing I saw was a motionless Honda Vios. I presumed that she was back in her home, but by morning, I was proved wrong.

I was startled by the presence of people in black in their house, as if they were mourning the death of someone. My heart pounded faster as I went in and checked who the deceased one was—a drop of tear fell from my right eye. How could she?

I discovered that mom and dad were there, too, sharing their condolences for the family. As it turned out, Erica was saved from the creatures of the night, but she wasn’t able to dodge a car which zoomed past the memorial park, leading to her untimely demise. As mom and dad were about to leave, Mrs. Sison handed my mom a note—a note written by Erica which has my name on top, and the words I LOVE YOU at the bottom.

“I saw that in her room,” said Mrs. Sison to my mom.

I was dumbstruck by that note—she did really like me a LOT. Dumber thing we didn’t have the chance to tell each other about that. That fact alone made tears stream from my ethereal eyes.

But then, something touched my hand and hugged me from behind.

“I love you,” whispered a familiar voice to my right ear.