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7 Responses to “ The Weekly LitWit Challenge 5.3: Splitting you in two. ”

1. # 1 medy Says:
   March 23rd, 2011 at 10:01

   i remember this episode! & remembered this “unknown” actor when I later saw Bruce Willis in Moonlighting.

   another good bad movie -I think- is The Killing Of Satan aka Lumaban Ka Satanas!!! it is available in Amazn from 10 US suppliers, am not sure if its available in our local friendly neighborhood quiapo or mkati square.

   “Apparently, Paragon Video made the film available in the US for the viewing pleasure of Americans who think that it is best seen in the background during a wild drunken party.”http://www.cheezmiss.com/2011/02/ramon-bong-revilla-should-learn-from.html

2. # 2 gambala Says:
   March 23rd, 2011 at 11:01

   Hindi ko inaasahang magigising ako sa ganoong klaseng mga ungol. Hindi dahil kinse anyos pa lamang ako noon. Hindi rin dahil sa pinalaki akong matinong Kristyano ng aking ama.

   Nanggagaling sa labas, sa may taniman ng okra. Tanaw ko mula sa loob ng aking kwarto. Alas onse ng gabi. Setyembre 1972. Bawal lumabas.

   Inilabas ko ang aking ulo at sinipat ng maigi, madilim at hindi sapat ang ilaw mula sa poste ilang metro ang layo sa taniman.

   Mahinang tawa mula sa isang babae. Kilala ko ang boses na iyon. Kay Maria, dalagang anak ni Mang Saling na inuutangan ni Nanay ng asin at kape. Matagal ko na syang kilala. Tuwing umaga habang dinidiligan ko ang mga tanim naming okra ay madalas ko siyang matanaw sa loob ng kanyang kwarto. Bukas palagi ang kanyang bintana sa ikalawang palapag. Kitang-kita ko kung paano sya maglilip ng retaso, o magmasid ng ulap habang nakikinig sa radyo, o magpalit ng pang-ibaba.

   ‘Maria! Maria!’ Minsan akong magigising sa umaga sa sigaw ni Mang Saling sa kabilang bahay. Si Maria kasi ang namimli ng paninda sa tindahan nila sa ibaba. Hindi makapunta ng bayan si Mang Saling. Dahil siguro sa kutis niyang makinis at sa haba ng kanyang madulas na buhok, hindi siya sinisita ng mga sundalong naka-gwardya sa may sitio. Minsan nga, pati si tatay ay magpapabili sa kanya ng gin kapang maabutan niyang dumadaan si Maria sa harapan ng bahay.

   Hindi ako magkakamali, si Maria nga iyong nasa likod ng tanim naming okra. Lumabas ako ng kwarto at tumungo sa aming kusina. Mas maliwanag dito. Mas kita ko si Maria at ang makinis nyang balat. Morena. Hawig ni Nora Aunor. Madalas kong isipin na ako si Tirso Cruz. Magaling sa baril. Magaling sa babae. Mayaman.

   Hindi siguro ako nananaginip. Si Maria nga iyon. Paglapit ko sa bintana ng aming kusina, nakita ko si Maria.

   Hinahalikan ni Maria ang aking leeg. Nakita ko ang aking sarili sa may taniman ng okra. Nakita ko ang aking sariling hinahalikan ni Maria. Hubad ako. Hubad rin si Maria.

   Mahigpit na kumapit si Maria sa aking buhok.Ang isa niyang kamay ay nakakapit sa nakalawit na lubid ng duyan na nakasabit sa puno. Tinitingnan ko ang aking sariling nakapikit ang mata. Humahagod ng mabilis ang nakatalikod na katawan ni Maria. Pataas pababa. Parang kurtinang hinihipan ng hangin kapag tanghali. Parang posong mabilis na tinutungga.

   Nakikita ko ang aking sariling nakatingin sa mga suso ni Maria. Hindi nga ako nanaginip. Kung panaginip lamang ito, kanina pang alas-onse kong nakita ang buong katawan ni Maria. Ang kanyang mga susong araw-araw nakatago sa maluwag niyang t-shirt. Ang kanyang mga hitang ilang beses ko nang muntikang masilip habang nagpapalit siya papunta sa bayan.

   Bumibilis ang mga ungol, lumalakas. Parang tunog ng jeep na umaarangkada paakyat ng daanan. Mabagal at dahan-dahang bumibilis. Maya-maya ay wala nang pumipigil. Matulin. Masigasig.

   Isang malakas na ungol. Tapos, tahimik. Tahimik sa parteng into ng barangay. Mapayapa at madalang ang sundalo. Mainit sa tanghali at malamig sa gabi.

   Tumayo si Maria at nagbihis. Gusto ko sanang lapitan si Maria. Gusto kong makita. Pero bawal lumabas. Kinse pa lamang ako noon, at masyado nang malalim ang gabi.

   Kinabukasan, maaga akong nagising. Nagdilig ako ng tanim naming okra at tumingala sa kwarto ni Maria.

3. # 3 rice_cooker Says:
   March 24th, 2011 at 15:31

   I was rummaging my purse for the Chapstick, searching around my keys, wallet and crumples of tissue paper I hoard from fast food joints when finally — aha — there you are — only to stare at the mirror and find my reflection gone. A displacement of air on my left side and then the slam of the restroom door. The hair on my forearms stood at end. My lips were still chapped though so I applied the strawberry balm. There — better.

   An invidious relationship with one’s boss does not excuse subpar performance in work. But when Ms. Tapia shouts every day at your financial statements, gossips every lunch time about your missed deadlines with your supervisor and seniors, snipes at your polite queries — certain inexcusable behavior such as hiding in the company restroom becomes habit.

   “I don’t think I can face them,” I say to myself. I look in the mirror and stare at the blank surface. Is this a sign of dementia? Has my boss finally pushed me off the edge of sanity? I shook my head and went back to my cubicle only to halt as if I slammed into a wall.

   The shock of seeing myself standing and chitchatting with Marie — my only ally in this political wasteland of an office — sent me reeling. As always, in fight or flight situations, I opted to run. This time I passed the restrooms and went straight to the elevator.

   I have never been the sharpest tool in the box, so while I paced around in my flat for hours like a headless chicken, my mind remained blank-white. I could feel the germ of a question hanging around the edges of my brain — what now? But beyond the panic, nothing else could seep through and make me coherent.

   I decided to visit my boyfriend — he’s a writer of considerable intellect. He loves thrillers and detective novels so perhaps he can pose an ideal solution to the problem. Grabbing the keys to his condo, I hailed a taxi and tried to compose a believable story from the situation at hand.

   He always writes in his bedroom so I headed straight to his door, turned the knob and —

   RAGE RAGE RAGE KILL KILL KILL KILL

   I grabbed the Ming vase from the nightstand and smashed it onto the other I who was naked and moaning around Michael’s waist. Michael turned stunned eyes at me. My mouth opened though my mind was at a complete stop — how to even begin — but the sensation of cut flesh jolted me from my reverie. I lifted a hand to my forehead and felt something sticky. Blood stained my fingers — I too bled from the she-devil’s wound. A thought finally penetrated my brain — how divided would my funeral be?

4. # 4 Cacs Says:
   March 25th, 2011 at 19:08

   Two Fifty G’s

   Our hands were clammy, as expected. It would be a 1,250 feet fall from the most iconic skyscraper in the world. There was not enough time to even make the sign of the cross. In fact, we thought, “Why even make the sign of the cross? Didn’t our Catholic elders remind us since childhood that suicide is the quickest path to hell? Or was it Purgatory?” We couldn’t remember. And there was no time for ruminations of that sort.

   The police were almost there. “Jump, goddammit!” And so we did.

   The moment we jumped, the first thing we felt was a sense of freedom we never felt before in our entire lives. We finally understood why bungee jumping, something we were too chicken to try before that day, “totally rocked”, as long-haired, tattooed, extreme athletes were so used to describing it.

   But then, elation and wonderment soon gave way to terror. We were going to die in less than 30 seconds.

   Thirty seconds might’ve seemed fleeting but as everyone would know, in that limbo between life and certain death, thirty seconds would stretch to forever.

   Did our entire lives flash before our eyes? It did. But not in a way most people would imagine. A person about to die would only get a glimpse of the warmest moments. We may be the sum of our memories, but it turned out our minds are wired to store only the happy ones and trash the ugly, the painful and the embarrassing.

   One could probably guess it was the surge of serotonin and adrenalin in a dying person’s body that practically deleted all the bad stuff lurking in our minds. Maybe. But somehow the cheery vignettes whizzing by in our soon to be squished brains provided some measure of Zen.

   Maybe it was only the geek in us, but in those few remaining seconds before our deaths, we were mentally calculating the force our bodies would absorb at the point of impact. Easily 250 G’s? That would hurt. But would the sheer G-forces involved negate the pain we would feel since a fall at that height meant instant death?

   Or was there really such a thing as instant death? We have millions of pain receptors all over our bodies and from the way our limbs and arms—untrained in the art of the freefall, were twirling in the air—we figured we would pretty much land on our heads.

   And then it hit us. “Wait! Good that we would land on our heads! The brain doesn’t have pain receptors!” However horrific our deaths would be, it would be painless. And we were to find out.

   In five, four, three, two—

   The two had an idea. What if they become the only persons in history to go through the actual experience death and live to talk about it? Not near death. Actual death.

   Thanks to the WiFi-ish neural connection the two shared, they figured the experience—to be filmed and uploaded on YouTube—would make them the biggest sensations since Jesus.

   Only a flip of the coin would decide who would be the jumper and who would live to carry on their ego’s desires.

   Alas, they failed to take into account phantom pain. It may have been painless for his doppelganger but it wasn’t for Marc. Whatever pain that was negated in his doppelganger’s dead body continued on to Marc’s still very much alive body.

   Needless to say it was sheer hell. Marc had to jump too.

5. # 5 winnerific Says:
   March 25th, 2011 at 19:18

   Apo,

   I wish I could tell you myself. But this would have to do. Take this key and go to the eastern room. Don’t be afraid. Promise me that whatever happens, you won’t run away. Remember that I love you. More than anything.

   Lolo

   Here I am on my way to the province when I could do something more pressing. Like finding a way to go to the States earlier than next month. This could help though. After all it is Lolo’s request and he is the reason why I want to go there. And even though I fear it, that room reminds me most of him than any other part of the house. I wonder why he wants me to visit it.

   He knows how I feel about it. I truly believe that that room is haunted. I grew up with Lolo and some aunts in that old house. I never went looking for a father figure because he was it for me. His parents died when he was even younger than when I was orphaned and he says that that thing is our special bond. Something we exclusively share. We’re special, he says.

   My fear of that room brought me closer to him. I come to him every time I feel something from that room, whenever I hear anything from there. Whispers, someone crying, shoes scuttling, all of it, I tell only him. He would wipe my tears and tell me he would make it go away, those things. He would go inside the room and it would stop.

   It would have been tolerable, to some point, if it was just the noises. But I also see people come out of that room. Once I tried to brave it and go there but it was locked. When I turned and walked away, the door opened and a kid ran, bumping me on the way out. He stopped and looked at me before continuing his escape. I wasn’t able to sleep alone by myself for a month after that.

   The most disturbing ones are dead relatives that certainly don’t look dead when they scan the area before bolting out of the house. Most of them I’ve only seen in pictures. Then there are those that vaguely feel like someone you know. My most vivid one is of a man I saw very early in the morning. He came out of the room crying. He went straight to Lolo’s room without even looking at me. He walked towards Lolo, hugged him, and then he bawled! I’ve only heard people cry like that during funerals. He was like a helpless child that needed comforting. “I didn’t make it! I didn’t even get to see …….! Lolo ushered him to the haunted room but it took a long time before he came out.
   __________________

   Could it come any sooner? I was still at the gate when I saw Lolo was right there at balcony, as if waiting for me. How am I supposed to enter that room when the first thing that welcomes me here is a thing of my greatest fear?

   He went inside the house and then he was gone. I went upstairs, stopped by the door, and already, I hear a clear whimper. The same cry that I use to hear when I was young. How do I do this?

   The room was full of boxes, towering, and clothes still on hangers, piled the walls. I saw a boy sobbing by the window. I can do this, I told myself. I tried to walk towards the boy but I just couldn’t. It was the same boy who bumped me before! I couldn’t even scream. I couldn’t go out either because a man barred door. He turned towards me and this time I really did scream. It was me! An exact replica, I’m sure it was. It was really me! I didn’t know what to do. I just slumped there trying to hide my head between my legs, screaming for help.
   ________________

   “Will you just shut up! You’ll alert the maids, not that they would come here. Haha I never thought I looked that funny.”

   “Who are you?! Don’t come near me, I’ll call the police!”

   “Put that away! As if you know the police hotline.”

   “Wha..What are you?!”

   “Well, I’m you. At least, in the next two weeks or so.”

   “What are you saying, you’re me? That’s impossible!”

   “Well.. Uhmm. How do I say this? Just like Lolo said, I guess we really are special. The oldest living male in the family, that is.”

   “What?!”

   “Yup. The others told me all about it and now I’m telling you. Believe me. This is way better than having a dead uncle tell it to you.”

   “What others?”

   “Oh, the others! Guys, it’s ok! You can leave now!”

   At least 10 men came out of their hiding places. Some smiled before going out.

   “We can return to this room anytime in our life. It takes some time to control it. Our first time was really wonky. Totally caught us off-guard.”

   “That’s impossible! Just…”

   “Well then take a look at that kid. Always crying. It must be really crazy for him. That’s Lolo.”

   “Wait, you mean that’s him when he was young? Wait! He vanished! He’s gone!”

   “Good. He returned. It must be hard for him to control it. I didn’t realize until recently that he was really young when it happened to him. And there was no grandfather for him, unlike us.”

   “Wait! What’s happening to you? What the!”

   “I’m returning! No! I still want to tell you a lot more. Wait, remember! This is just my third time! Make more of our second, ok! Try to….”
   _______________
   ………………………
   ………………………
   ……………………..
   I need to get an earlier flight.

6. # 6 ouroboros Says:
   March 27th, 2011 at 10:44

   Mondays. She struggles to get ready for work. She longs for the weekend, for Sunday to be more precise, which was just yesterday but is six dragging days away. At the office, the weekly flag ceremony is staged. Then the weekly updates from each unit. She speaks for her department, being the assistant to the head financial analyst. She just usually announces which part of the work and financial plan they are supposed to be in and reminds everybody to submit the necessary requirements to avoid delay of check disbursements. The rest of the day is spent reviewing budget amendments.

   Tuesdays – Fridays. She goes over the documents that her boss asked her to work on. One look and she knows if there are missing attachments. She has been doing this for three years. It does not need mental analysis and does not spark any excitement. There are times when the routine is disturbed like when she is asked to buy something or when she is invited for a free snack because a co-worker is celebrating her birthday.

   Every night, she goes home to her husband who, at his best, doesn’t talk to her and at his worst, verbally abuse her about her affairs she does not have. They have no children. She does not dream or at least she does not remember them but when she does, it is about a woman that has her face and body. She wants to talk to this woman, she always runs after her screaming, begging for even just a minute. But no matter how hard she tries, she never catches up. This other woman is way faster than her. And always, before she bolts out of the dream, she hears the woman’s disdainful laugh. They have the same voice, but hers has more confidence as if her victory over her is more than just winning their foot race.

   Saturdays. She does the laundry, the grocery shopping, the house cleaning. Sometimes she visits her parents for she has no one to talk to. But even her parents tell her she visits too often. She has people who are polite to her but she has no friends. The strangest thing in her life is when she gets calls from men inviting her over to their place, sometimes to a hotel room. She does not know most of them. The ones she knows are some of her co-workers and her husband’s friends. These are the times when she felt the worst. Why on earth do they think she wants to sleep with them! But there are moments when she was tempted to say yes. To have sex with all of them all in one day. Just to see how it feels, to see if that will bring life to her life. But she never did that and she knows she never will. She wants to leave her husband but she has no money. She had savings but she lost it. Her account was closed. The bank manager told her it was her who processed it. And when she saw the papers, it was indeed signed by her. She has no one to suspect on who staged such a scheme, to have someone to impersonate her, but her husband. She confronted him about it but it only led to an ugly fight. They are still together despite everything and even she is wondering why.

   Sundays. She looks forward to Sundays when she runs early in the morning. When she’s running she forgets her life. She always stops to rest under the big tree on the side of the trail. Hoping that a miracle will happen. For the past two years, since her life started to a downward spiral she foolishly believed that I will make that miracle happen. That I will show myself to her, just as she showed herself to me three years ago. Her life was mine for 25 years, it was mine since day one until that day when I was taking my Sunday run. I was under that exact same tree, doing my stretches when I suddenly felt another person was there. When I looked up there she was, or there I was. She said there it was time for me to leave. At first, I didn’t understand. She explained “our little situation.” I got nauseated, my knees went weak suddenly I understood why I did stupid things I don’t remember doing and been accused of offences I never committed. She killed me in one blow. The next thing I know I was a ghost. I see her living my life. She didn’t do anything drastic with it. I was rather surprised she continued the way I was doing it. Maybe she got tired of messing up my, our life that she wanted something normal. But that was my life, she took it and I will make her pay one way or another. She is supposed to be the stronger one but she is not able to escape the life she fought to possess. She is supposed to be smarter but she did not know that this world is not as exciting as when you do visits to mess up the life of your double. She didn’t know that when her kind eliminates my kind, we do not die we switch places. So now, I do the visits, all the fun of being bad and having her suffer the consequences. There is no sweeter revenge than that. And for the rest of her life, she will wait for me for me to appear and take my life back from her. And for the rest of her life, she will wait in vain. All she has is the hope to be able to catch me in her dreams, she does not know that she is in my dream where I always win.

7. # 7 ouroboros Says:
   March 27th, 2011 at 11:15

   The first ever Twilight Zone episode I saw is about doppelganger. And. It. Scared. The. Eff. Out. Of. Me. Watching it again, I realized it was just scary, not effing scary. But then again, umaga kasi hehe. Takot ako’ng panoorin siya kagabi. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-oRpxpFuO8

   Side note: Puzzling movie (for me kasi hard as I try, hindi ko talaga ma-gets) about doppelgangers is The Double Life of Veronique, which isn’t scary at all but left me scratching my head when it ended. Buti na lang, or dahil (in which case, that explains why I don’t get it), mababaw ako, natuwa ako sa napakagandang si Irene Jacob.