You want some Banana Cue? By: Ikay

(“Grrr…) Naku po! Ayan na naman ang tiyan kong ‘di nagpapapigil. As usual, gutom na naman ako! Pa’no ba naman, nalalanghap ko na ang halimuyak ng nilulutong sikat na meryenda sa canteen. Nai-imagine ko pa ang pagkagat ko sa malambot na texture nito. Lalong-lalo na ‘pag naririnig ko ang crunchiness nito habang nginunguya. Hay naku! Gutom na nga ako! Kailangan ko na talaga pumunta sa canteen at baka maubusan pa ako! Pero teka…traffic na naman! Dinagsa na naman ng mga estudyante ang favorite meryenda ko (naku for sure kikita na naman si ‘Ganda’ o kaya naman ang karibal niyang si ‘Nanay Norma’). Ubusan na naman ng banana cue! Kailangan kong makisingit. Dahil sa halagang sampung piso, solve na solve na ang cravings ko. Pero ano nga ba ang hiwagang bumabalot sa patok na patok na banana cue na ‘to (bukod sa affordable), na tila’y humuli sa panlasa ni Juan at siyempre, ng mga estudyante? Ano nga ba ang banana cue?

Sa pagkakaalam ko (at malamang hindi pa ‘to alam ng iba), saging o banana ang pangunahing sangkap na ginagamit sa banana cue (aba hindi! Mansanas o mangga, baka ‘yon! Hiyang-hiya naman ako!) Nababalutan ito ng nilutong asukal at tinuhog sa stick. Sa pagluluto nito, kinakailangan lamang ng kawali, siyanse, kalan (siyempre), mantika, asukal at ang pinaka importanteng sangkap----ang saging.

Ayon sa kasama ni Nanay, sa pagluluto daw nito, inuuna munang iprito ang saging. Kapag ito’y mapula-pula na, saka ilalagay ang asukal. Payo niya ay ‘wag munang haluin, hayaan daw munang magcaramelize (naks English! Meganon?) ‘yung asukal at saka haluin gamit ang “mahiwagang” siyanse, para raw kumapit ang asukal sa saging. At siyempre, bago ito tawaging banana cue, kailangan munang itusok ito sa banana cue stick, at “tadah!”, meron ka nang masarap na banana cue!

Astig hindi ba?! Napakadali lang pala gumawa nito. Kaya naman naglibot-libot ako sa school para marinig ang ‘say’ ng kapwa ko mga estudyante tungkol sa sikat na meryendang ito. Naghanda rin ako ng mga katanungan para sa kanila.

POLL QUESTIONS (kasama na rin ang ‘say’ nila!)

1st question:

“Ano ang masasabi mo sa banana cue?”

• Neil Laggui (ACS I-A): “Masarap. Matamis…”

• Sherylou Baes (BSIT III): “Nakakauta na, tapos mahirap bumili kasi laging nauubusan…”

• Joray Tulabing (BSE III): “Masarap. Matamis. Minsan matigas, minsan malambot…”

• Daisy Baybay & friends (BSBA III): “Maraming asukal tapos tinutusok. May banga, may nakain kaming luma. Minsan malamig. Masarap ‘pag mainit. Mabango ang asukal…”

Tagaytay? Ano nga ba ang banana cue?

Sa pagkakaalam ko (at malamang hindi pa ‘to alam ng iba), saging o banana ang pangunahing sangkap na ginagamit sa banana cue (aba hindi! Mansanas o mangga, baka ‘yon! Hiyang-hiya naman ako!) Nababalutan ito ng nilutong asukal at tinuhog sa stick. Sa pagluluto nito, kinakailangan lamang ng kawali, siyanse, kalan (siyempre), mantika, asukal at ang pinaka importanteng sangkap----ang saging.

Ayon sa kasama ni Nanay, sa pagluluto daw nito, inuuna munang iprito ang saging. Kapag ito’y mapula-pula na, saka ilalagay ang asukal. Payo niya ay ‘wag munang haluin, hayaan daw munang magcaramelize (naks English! Meganon?) ‘yung asukal at saka haluin gamit ang “mahiwagang” siyanse, para raw kumapit ang asukal sa saging. At siyempre, bago ito tawaging banana cue, kailangan munang itusok ito sa banana cue stick, at “tadah!”, meron ka nang masarap na banana cue!

Astig hindi ba?! Napakadali lang pala gumawa nito. Kaya

2nd question:

“Bakit patuloy mong tinatangkilik ang banana cue?”

• Neil Laggui (ACS I-A): “Nakakabusog kasi…”

• Sherylou Baes (BSIT III): “No choice, pinakamura…”

• Joray Tulabing (BSE III): “Kasi maliban sa masarap, nakasanayan na din…”

• Daisy Baybay & friends (BSBA III): “Pangtawid gutom. No choice. Lamang tiyan din ‘yon. Lunch ko minsan. Abot kaya, healthy pa. nakakabusog, (kaso) madumi kasi inuulit ‘yung mantika. Ngayon wala na. kasi maruya na with margarine na binudbudan ng asukal”

3rd question:

“Sa tingin mo, ano ang canteen ‘pag walang banana cue?”

•Neil Laggui (ACS I-A): “Ok lang!”

• Sherylou Baes (BSIT III): “Canteen pa din.”

• Joray Tulabing (BSE III): “’Hindi naman siya kawalan, pero mas maigi naman na meron. In case of emergency (laughs)…”

• Daisy Baybay & friends (BSBA III): “Boring. Walang silbi kasi ‘yun lang ang afford. Hindi kumpleto ang canteen.”

Narinig na natin ang mga comments nila. May negative man, nasarapan din naman sila! Basta ang alam ko, masarap talaga ang banana cue. At lalo namang masarap sa pakiramdam ng nagtitinda ang makitang masaya at nasarapan ang nabentahan nila. Doon pa lamang, solve na solve na sila.

Ikaw.., nasarapan ka din naman sa banana cue ‘di ba? Hmmm… aminin!

P.S.

Wala na nga palang banana cue, maruya na ang bida sa canteen. Sayang (tsk!)

I Hate you By Mirza

                “We all need someone to hate. It is as good as needing someone to love. The need for an effigy is important to give color to the existence of a conviction. It contrast beliefs, it brings life to principle. It is to see that we are still in tact with what we believe in.”

                I remember the time when I said this, those were the times that I feel indignant about the world that failed me. Yes, I always say that hate, like love, sorrow, pain and any other positive and negative emotions are the most human of all attributes; this is perpetually true.

                There are a lot of people, living and dead, I loathe. From the not-so-comforting comfort zone of my community to the academic concrete, poisonous walls of my school, to the unjust society where I live, I do not run out of people and things to hate.

                Why do we hate anyway? First, we are done wrong. The very essence of injustice is being unfair; you were done wrong but you cannot reciprocate. It is true that justice is the most purge form of vengeance. Second, what we expect of others is not met. This attribute is the source of a failure of human emotion: altercation. Remember that conflict arises because we are trying to seek ourselves in other people; we want a part of us to be seen on others. We expect too much and when we do not see it, we are disappointed and disappointment presupposes hate. The third one, and a sickening one is we hate because we are told to hate. Anger in any form, purged of defiled, can be sawn like love. We adapt what other people tell us. If we are told how stupid someone is, we fall into the trap of feeling the same way without having the first-hand judgment.

                It is not wrong to hate; but only hate the wrong things. Anything you rendered negative, anything that compromises you or the people you love should be put in your blacklist. You hate sell-out because people who sell their conviction to quench someone else’s thirst make you throw up. But hate becomes something negative when, and only when, you wished for someone’e harm or death. This is never Nemesis anymore but pure clean MALICE.

            If we do the same filthy things, we become the effigy we are loathing, the image, the subjet of our scorn. Then, the eventuality is, we must, too, hate ourselves.

            Anger is never a poison if did not root; anger is never wrong if it is accompanied by a thirst for change. But anger becomes a double-edged sword if it starts to compromise.

Ang Alamat ng payong

Mula sa pasmadong panulat ni Malice. Istoryang hango sa hiling ni Juan Carlos y Un Favor de la Torre para kay Cristina Villa Mefenamic Acid. J

Dear (Pangalan Itinago)

                Paano ko ba masisimulan ito? Ganito. Alam mo kasi matagal na akong may pagtingin sayo. Simula pa noong nasa unang taong tayo ng kolehito. Hindi ko lang masabi sapagkat natatakot akong masira ang pagkakaibigang naipundar ng ating samahan.

                Mahal kita at gusto ko sanang­ –

                Shet! Ambaduy!

                Nilamukos ko ang papel na sinulatan ko at itinapon ito sa kung saan mang sulok ng aking kwarto. Doon nakita ni pobreng sulat ang iba pang mga katulad niya. Ganito ba talaga kahirap magsulat ng love letter? Eh, mas madali pang magsulat ng research paper kesa sulat-pag-ibig!

                Sumandal ako sa aking monoblock chair at tiningnan ang bintanang papasira na. doon, nakamasid ang sanga ng gumamela na para bang nag-aasar pa.

                Oo na. torpe na kung  torpe.

                Naalala ko ung status ko sa facebook:

                Siya ang laman ng isip ko sa aking paggising at ang ilusyon ko sa aking pagtulog… sinasabi ng isip ko na sabihin mo na kahit na nilalaban ito ng aking damdamin. Eh, paano kung umoo siya, r di mapupuno ang notebook mo ng mga kathang tila ba mga awitin. Masaya. Eh, paano kung hindi, masasaktan ka na naman.

                Ang laking problema, ano? Ma-i-in love ko lang naman. Yun na! ano bang mahirap doon? Kaing dali lang naman yon ng pagsasabi ng ‘ tsong, ampanget mo!’ Eh, bakit hindi ko pa magawa.

               

Nasobrahan ako sa pakikinig ng Funeral for a Friendkanina pag-alis ko sa bahay kaya  medyo emo pa ang disposisyon ko.

                Ipapakonsulta ko ang aking love letter kay HB(heartbroken) at GD(great depression)– si Hb ay tropa kong lalake. Medyo hindi sila magkasundo ng inamorata niya kaya down; si GD naman ay totally heartbroken kaya talagang malungkot siya despite her cheery disposition. At anong reaksyon nila? Napakibit-balikat lang si HB while grabe namang makatawa si GD. Magkamali ako. Diagnosis lang talaga ng nakamamatay na sakit ang hinihingan ng second at third opinion, hindi mga ganong bagay.

                ‘Akina nga yan!’ Hinablot ko ang papel sabay lakad paalis.

                ‘Hoy, kuya! Teka!’ Hirit pa ni HB.

                Nag-horns up lang ako kahit na inis na. Grrr… makakapatay ka! I’m feeling malice right now.

                ‘Hoy! (Pangalan itinago).’– na-inspire ako doon sa pelikulang “Hello, Stranger” na hindi nila alam ang pangalan ng isa’t-isa kaya ganon din gagawin ko para may parehong effect– ‘Wala akong load kagabi kaya hindi kita na-reply-an. Saka si (Pangalan itinago) kasi at si (Pangalan itinago) inaway ako kagabi. Hindi na tuloy ako napapagload…’ At sisismulan na naman niya ang kaniyang kwento, bida ang mga taong wala akong idea kung sinu-sino.

                Ako naman nakinig lang. whoa! Ito na yung feeling ng tinatawag nilangso near yet so far. Nasa harapan mo lang ang taong gusto mo perop bestfriend lang ang tingin niya sayo. Haybohay!

                Pero, okay lang. tawa lang. ngiti lang. kahit hindi ako natatawa sa kwento niya, nakakatawa naman ang paraan niya ng pagkukuwento.

                Kapag namaos ka, pagtatawanan kita!

                ‘Ah, bago ko malimutan.’ May kinuha ako sa bag ko at pinukpok sa ulo niya: isang payong. ‘Inamag na sa bag ko.’

                ‘Hala, oo nga! Kaya pala hinahanap ko sa amin, di ko makita.’

                ‘Emo ka kasi kaya hindi mo makita,’ sabi ko.

                Lunchbreak, ito yung pagkakataongg ayaw kong makita si (Pangalan itinago). Ewan! Dahil ba sa so-near-yet-so-far na feeling? Baka. Pero okay na rin na dito muna ako sa canteen, makikipagkwentuhan kina, (Pangalan itinago), (Pangalan itinago), (Pangalan itinago) at (Pangalan itinago).

                Pero, kahit na sila ang kasama ko, bumabalik ang sulat na yon sa utak ko.

                Ang sulat! Wala na akong maisip na way para ibigay sa kanya un. Un na lang. sana lang mapansin niya. Sana lang…

                Gaya nga ng sabi o, matagal ko nang kilala si (Pangalan itinago). Pers jir (First year) pa kami, talagnag kami na ang magkasundo. Lumakas na lang ang feeling pagsapit ng terd jir.

                Hindi naman siay kagandahan– para sa akin– pero maraming natutuwa sa kaniya. Marami siyang prenship. Pero kaming dalawa lagi ang magkasama.

                Ako? Ako ang author ng short story na maikling ito kaya ako ang magsasabi kung ipapakilala ko pa ang sarili ko.

                In lababo ako sa kaniya, un na yon.

                Tuwing uwian, madalas din kaming magkasabay. Sakay ng jeep, magkatabi, magkukulitan… at sari-sari pa. dahil doon, inasar kami sa isa’t-isa, hindi naman nila alam na totoo yon. Bwahahahahahahaha…

                Pero, iba ang hapon na yon. Palihim kong inilagay sa  (bagay itinago) ang love letter ko. Ayoko namang makita ang reaksyon niya habang binabasa yon kaya umeskapo ako.

                Oo na. Handa na ako sa cosequence. Basted na kung basted! Sawi na kung sawi. HB at GD na kung HB at GD. Basta na-try.

                Hindi nga ba ang sabi nila…

                Ahm…

                Ano nga ba yung kasabihang yon?

                Shoot! I forgetfulness na.

                Basta! Un na un!

                Ang dilim ng langit. Wala akong payong. Hindi na naman ako makakatakbo pabalik kapag bumuhos na ang ulan. Kapag minalas ka nga, magkakasakit pa.

                Tapos, wala pang dumaraang jeep.

                Ang swerte!

                Kulog!

                Kulog!

                Kulog!

                Saka pumatak ang pandagdag malas na ulan. Hindi na niyan halata ang luha at ihi ko.

                Pero, biglang tumigil ang ulan.

                Hindi! Hindi un tumigil. Naliligo pa rin ang kalye, eh.

                Yun pala, pinapayungan na ako ni… nino? Ni… alam mo namang hindi ko sasabihin, di ba?

                ‘Daya! Iniwan ba akong mag-isa? Tas wala ka pang payong.’

                ‘Sorry agad. Akala ko dehins uulan, eh.’

                ‘eh, umulan. Talo ka. Wala kang payong.’

                ‘Oo na. may payong ka na,. hiyang-hiya naman ako, ‘no?’

                ‘May extra pa nga, eh.’

                ‘Huh?’

                ‘Ang corny mo. Mais lang kaya ang corny…’

                Oh, my gushiness!

‘Susunod naman sa bag ko na dapat nakalagay yung sulat, ha. Wag sa payong. Muntik na kaya maputikan.’

                Tumahimik ako. Feeling ko cherry bomb ang mukha ko. Sasabog na!!! hay, nakupowses!!! Sana sumabog na ako s kinatatayuan ko.

                ‘So, anong tingin mo?’ Saan ko nakuha ang strength ko o talk?

                Ngumiti lang siya. Yung lang. hanggang sa…

                ‘Wag muna tayong sasakay,’ ang sabi niya. ‘Malaki naman ‘tong payong.’

WAKAS

Segunda manong Simpatya

                Babad na naman sa telebisyon si Marie, at tulad ng dati, balita na naman ang kaniyang pinagpipiyestahan. Ganito ang araw-araw niyang gawi. Uuwi galing sa trabaho nang pagod at bubuksan ang telebisyon upang makita kung ano nang nangyayari sa lipunang lumason sa kaniyang isip.

                Isang lolo ang humalay sa apat na taon niyang apo…

                Isang negosyante ang kinasuhan ng syndicated estafe ng isang…

                Isang pulitiko ang sinampahan ng impeachment  complaint…

                Isang pinaghihinalaang holdaper ang nakitang patay sa isang bakanteng lote…

                 Isang pusa ang iniligtas ng mga bumbero mula sa…

                S bawat balita sa telebisyon, hindi niya nakikitang apektado siya nito. Matatawa siya sa isang repoter na tumutula, magagalit siya sa pulitikong inakusahan ng pagdarambong nang walang kaukulang ebidensiya, kakaawaan niya ang isang dalagitang ginahasa at binasag ang bungo., makikisimpatya siya sa mga magsasakang nagmartsa sa kainitan ng araw upang ipagtanggol ang karapatan nila sa lupa. Para siyang luwad na namomolde ayon sa emosyong kaniyang nasasaksihan.

                Ngunit, pagkatapos ng balita, pagpatak ng primetime at oras na para magpalabas ng mga telenobela at teleseryeng tila hindi niya pagsasawaan, at pagpatak ng oras para panoorin na ang mga paborito niyang taumbahay na pagkuwentuhan ang mga kapwa nila taumbahay na nag-aaway dahil sa tinapay, hapunan at kung anu-ano pang kababawan, mawawala na ang simpatya, ang lungkot, ang galit at ang mga pangambang napanood na niya sa mga balita. Para sa kaniya, entertainment lang ang paghihirap ng ibang tao.

                Pagpatak ng alas-dos ng madaling araw, himbing na siya sa pagtulog. Mananaginip ng maganda… depende sa napanood niya. Depende kung gaano siya naapektuhan ng ibang tao.

                “Ui, Mars!” banat ng bestfreind ni Marie, ”napanood mo ba sa balita yung bida sa Hanggang sa Dulo ng Walang Paalam? Kaloka. Siya pala yung daddy ng anak nung sa channel six!”

                “Ay, oo. P.I. siya. Pero, mas grabe yung batang pinatay nung kalaro. Mga magulang kasi ayaw mag-ingat.”

                “Ha? Hindi ko knowing yon. Nailipat ko ‘ata sa One Time Big Time.”

                “Baduy! Hilig mo sa ganon, girl!”

                “Pake-bells ba?”

                “Mga Mars,” isa pa sa mga kaibigan nila ang sisingit sa usapan. “Sino’ng nominated kagabi sa PPB?”

                Ito ang buhay para kay Marie, aagos kung saan man dalhin ng daloy ng emosyon ng ibang tao. Kinagabihan, nasa harap na naman siya ng aparato, alipin nito. Ganoon uli  ang gagawin niya: manghihimasok sa buhay ng iba. Makikialam. May pakialam. Nasa pinakaligtas na lugar sa mundo, sa harap ng telebisyon.

                Muli siyang huhubugin ng mga emosyon. Panaka-nakang sisilip sa cellphone at ite-text sa mga kumare niya kung napanood ba nila ito o ganyan o anong oras ba ang paborito nilang palabas at saang channel ba ito.

                Para sa kaniya, masayang mabuhay sa emosyon at paghihirap ng iba. Doon siya nakukuntento… at nagiging brutal. Para saan ba ang pagsama sa mga rally papuntang Malakanyang kung nakikiisa na siya sa panonood.

               

                “’Te, alis na kami. Ikaw ba?” tanong ng kaniyang katrabaho.

                Overtime siya ngayong gabi. Naisip lang niya. Maiba naman.

                “’Key! Mauna na kayo. See you tomorrow na lang ang drama,” tugon niya.

                Naiwan siyang mag-isa sa tahimik na opisina, sa kaniyang cubicle. Makakapag-concentrate na siya.

                At kagaya nga ng inaasahan, wala na siyang masakyan. Tahimik na sa daan. Ang kalyeng tila piyesta kapag tirik ang araw ay ghost town na kapag buwan na ang naghari.

                Kabado man, nilakad niya ang kalye. Marami na siyang narinig sa kalsadang itong tinuturing nilang ang ‘tunay na Balite Drive’. Ngayon, siya naman ang bida.

                May kaluskos siyang narinig sa halamanan. Bigla siyang natigilan at tinapunan ng tingin ang paretng yon ng kadiliman. Walng anu-ano ay may sumulpot mula sa talahiban.

                At ang hangin ay napuno ng tili…

                Babad na naman sa telebisyon si Jamie, at tulad ng dati, balita na naman ang kaniyang pinagpipiyestahan. Ganito ang araw-araw niyang gawi. Uuwi galing sa trabaho nang pagod at bubuksan ang telebisyon upang makita kung ano nang nangyayari sa lipunang lumason sa kaniyang isip.

Isang lolo ang humalay sa apat na taon niyang apo…

                Isang negosyante ang kinasuhan ng syndicated estafe ng isang…

                Isang babaeng pinaghihinalang hinalay ang nakitang patay sa tinaguriang ‘tunay na Balite Drive’.

                

Iconoclast part one ( Wake up Call)

                

            We stood up against all odds to protect the welfare of our people, even if it means bashing the face of those who mercilessly arrogate. There is rotten in everything in the foundation of reality. We can find shortcomings in religion, politics, even in the most minute of notions. We are infested by a reality that either agrees with us or otherwise. So, what do we do? We stand up for what we think is right.

            If your bishops profit from the sinning proletariat, can you be so silent about it? If a clandestine putrefaction of a governing body is unravelled right before your eyes, can you still be the taciturn and let them get away with it?

            Times like these, we need to wake up the iconoclast in all of us, even if it means turning ourselves into an anarchist (which is what I am) and wishing no government shall stand overhead us. There is a calling to straighten the fabrics of imperfection, to call the bluffs of those of those who thirst for power of superiority.

            What? You are afraid to stand lest you would be labeled a transgressor? Remember this, we are born in a society that inculcates to us that all transgression is a negative idea. This is not true!!! They only came up with this notion, subtly embedded in your mind, to stop you from standing up.

            Silence is nowadays a disease. It may not corrupt the mind, it may not blot the spirit, it may not deprive an innocent child of life if deserves but it retains the sickness. Cowardice, indifference, and any form of silence are a catalyst for the destruction of the foundations our fathers, the heroic and immortal, tried to build. Yes, bashing the system may not solve the problem, it is more likely to add up to the heap to be burned, but at least we can wake up the sleeping potentials to make a change.

            Iconoclasm is a wake up call to pin point the tainted. To be blind, another form of embracing silence, is to let the evil ones carry on with their diabolic deeds. If we let them go on, what will become of us?

            Then, wake up, iconoclasts! WAKE UP!!!

            

Angels of Black Heaven: Chapter One

Craighan stood before the window. He had a jacket on, its hood virtually covering his face. That time of the day, which was considered to be earl for a student like him to be at, the school was a refuse, a silent fortress. Silence was a companion, it made him think. And at theat time, there were images kept on appearing in his mind. A band of grim reaper surrounded him, all  chanting an incantation. He knew deep inside him that was the prelude to everything.

                Selina Svenningson found the door to their classroom was ajar so she ventured to come in. she saw someone and eventually recognized it. Craighan  was just standing there, the hair gave him away. “Oh! Ah! Good moring, Matt.” She forced a tensed smile across her beautiful face.

                The intrusion woke him up from his shallow reverie. He turned to the lady and wore a smile. He tried to make it as genuine as possible, almost having his art of deception perfectled. “Good morning, Svenningson,” he said under a cold breath. 

            “You the first one to arrive?” she asked, there was a fondness in her voice though she tried to hide it lest she would give herself away.

            He nodded. A man of few words.

            “That’s good. I-I came in rather early, too.” She felt stupid for giving such a reply. “Ah! I mean, I always come early but–“

            There was reluctance in her voice; that he noticed. “Cut the formality. I’m a fellow student, not a professor,” he joked.

            If the young man’s smile was fire, she would have considered herself a wax, melting under his stare. “Ah! Y-yeah. Right. Just like what I’m supposed to say myself.”

           

            Tara Lamoreaux stood before the grandeur of the city; she was in a building under construction. Her long black hair was swept by the wind, her eyes strong and impregnable. The shape of her her face a beautiful triangular frame accented with a nose lifted right and cheekbones announcing their reign on her face.

            “Do you think he’s here?” A voice behind the young lady asked. “I’m getting sick of this whole hide-and-seek shit.”

            “Patience, Christophe. Mortals can’t escape death as death can’t escape us.”

            The man smiled wryly. His strong yet handsome face turned away. He combed his black hair with his finger and remarked, “so much for living forever”. Christophe chuckled.

            She just smiled. If there was something the lady had the man did not possess, it was patience. She looked at the city, seemingly spellbound. However, beyond the trance-like state she was in, she knew that the search for Death started from that point on.

            Immortality was a price Althea had to pay for wanting to be someone else’s salvation. Heaven did not choose her for that one purpose, she opted it herself. She relinquished her place as one of the seven angels on the book of Revelation to fulfill her mission: to save one. And to save one meant to save all. She was in constant quest to complete her destiny– to give life to death.

            As she knelt before the image of the crucified Christ, she wove a prayer to ask for something more than guidance. Until a force compelled her to open her eyes. She stood up and looked around. something was wrong. Something was bound to happen. Beneath the layers of consecrated silence laid a sense of danger, though anticipated, still shocked her.

            She faced the altar and looked up at the stained glass.

“So, it was time,” her voice echoed in the church.

Angels of Black Heaven: Prologue

The cool mid-august air blanketed the city. The lure of it bright lights seemed to possess a concept of advertisement.

            Althea Stainthrope walked towards  the large window of her hotel room to see the nocturnal stagnance cladding the city. All was well and quiet. The hotel where she was was never short of accommodating. She opened the window. The virtually icy wind caressed her face. Her beautiful long silky hair flew.

 She must fulfill her mission her mission. That urge gave her a sheer sense of purpose.

            It was all she looked for.

 It was one of those peaceful nights that the young man with long curly hair got used to. Standing on the edge of a towering skyscraper, he looked at the loming moon. He was veiled in black, mysterious and melancholy. His eyes were sharp but lonely. He possessed a beautiful crafted face, a face of an angel. Yes! An angel… of death.

            He had been in the realm of mortals for quite a while now, since Adam and Eve devoured the forbidden fruit. It was when he was conceived. He was a born of a mistake, the consequence of the first sin man committed, a child of temptation.

            Peace rode on the wings of the nocturnal air. It was time to move, to feed his scythe.

The cound of the alarm clock floode Matt’s room. He a woke from a trance, from a black dream. Escape was all he wanted . it s something he would never have. Well, at least for now.

            He rose and let the first thread of daylight touch his face. But some of his long wavy hair prevented its rays from reaching his delocate white skin.

            Another day to waste on his professors and classmates. Another day to be hypocritical!

            He let his half-naked body fallon his bed. Half-asleep, he tried to reach for the noisy alarm clock, subsequently turning it off. Five minutes more, he would seep for five more minutes.

 Matthew Craighan, also known as Matt, was one of the most attractive young man one would ever see. He had a long black wavy hair with a tinge of hazelnut tint, his crowning glory. The pair of gray eyes wer set to be sharp– could cut through one’s soul– and mysterious. There was an air of enigma surrounding the young man. His complexion was white with reddish cheeks and an almost feminine facial feature. It was mild an soft a texture but the deep-set sharp eyes conveyed enough masculinity to drive away any notion that he was not man enough.

 He stood almost five nine, with a built close to being skinny…. But not quite. He did not want to gain any more weight, as though he were destined to be of that physique.

            Many a people described him as someone quiet, but there was something in him that did not necessarily need to beg for respect. He was feaerd, respected and admired. The guy was smart. Dead smart. He could outwit almost anyone without even shedding a sweat. Girls fell for her as though he were a concealed trap. But he was not interested in them. He liked to be alone, but extended a helping hand to those who needed it. He was simply a charism incarnate, giving orders without even opening his mouth. A force to be reckoned with. A superhuman.

            But he had a secret, one that was way beyond human conprehension. His life was a secret itself.

            He opened his eyes and sighed, “that dream again.”