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29 Responses to “ LitWit Challenge: What if you ran into yourself? (Update: We talk you through it.) ”

1. # 1 parlo lover Says:
   June 30th, 2013 at 23:39

        May nakadaklot na higanteng kamay sa ulo ni Gabriel. Tinakpan niya ng kanang braso ang mga mata para salagin ang pagsalakay ng liwanag, pero bumigay din siya nang magsimulang mamawis ang pagkiskis ng kanyang mabalahibong braso sa mga nakatiim na talukap. Dahan-dahan siyang umupo sa gilid ng kama, ingat na ingat na huwag kumilos nang mali na maaaring magbunga ng paghigpit ng pagkakadaklot ng higanteng kamay sa ulo.
       Habang hinanahap ng mga paa ang pares ng tsinelas sa sahig, sumilip sa mata ng isip ni Gabriel ang mga nangyari kagabi: pagkatapos malaman na tuluyan nang nasawata ang pagkakaroon ng unyon sa kanilang kompanya, dumating na rin ang positibong resulta sa pinag-aaplayan niyang trabaho sa Singapore, kaya nagkayayaan silang uminom ng kaibigang si Miguel.
   Papalubog pa lang ang araw nang lumapag ang unang tatlong bote ng beer pero ilang oras na lang ang natitira sa muling pagsikat nito nang maghiwalay silang dalawa. At ang unang tatlong bote’y nasundan pa ng apat na tatlo. Ang huling imaheng rumerehistro ay ang paniniwala niya sa pagsisinungaling ng drayber ng taxi. P130 ang basa niya sa metro pero ipinagpilitan nito ang halagang P160. Namimigat na ang kanyang mga mata at pumapalya na ang dila—hindi na mawawaan ng drayber ang kanyang pagpapaliwanag—kaya labag man sa kalooban, tinanggap na lamang ni Gabriel ang isinukling kulang ng drayber.
   Dumaplis sa kanyang ilong ang hanging may bitbit na bawang. Dahan-dahan siyang tumayo. Pinatay muna niya ang bentilador at hinugot ang pagkakasaksak ng kurdon bago lumabas ng kuwarto.
        Nasa harapan ng kalan ang kanyang lola. Naglalagay ito ng sinangag sa plastik na pinggan. Umupo si Gabriel sa kabisera. Nasa ibabaw na ng mesa ang plato ng pinritong hotdog at itlog. Basag ang pula ng itlog at humahalo ito sa mantikang may bahid ng pula na kumatas mula sa hotdog. Dinampot ni Gabriel ang nakapatong na kutsara’t tinidor sa gilid ng plato. 
       “Hindi mo na kinain ang ulam mo kagabi? Sayang, napanis,” sabi ng ng kanyang lola.
       “Madaling araw na ho ako nakauwi.”
       Inilapag ng matanda ang plato ng sinangag sa harapan ni Gabriel, pagkuwa’y muli itong lumapit sa kalan at bumalik na may bitbit na sariling pinggan na may sinangag.
       Tahimik silang kumain. Nakakamay lang kumain ang lola ni Gabriel kaya panay muna ang ihip nito sa sinangag bago ito daklutin at isubo. 
       “Yun nga palang bill ng PLDT, apo, dumating na. Yung cable, pinaabonohan ko muna sa Tita mo. Saka malapit nang mag-exam ulit sila Diego—”
       “Iaabot ko ho. Tatapusin ko lang ’to.”
   Habang pinapanood ang pagtitimpla ng matanda ng kape, bahagyang nagsisi si Gabriel sa biglaang pakikipag-inuman kagabi. Magastos talaga ang paglabas-labas. Pero hindi, kontra niya sa sarili, kinailangan naman talaga ang pagdiriwang kagabi. Ilang linggo rin naman siyang nagdusa sa mga parinig ng kasamahan sa trabaho. Nariyang tawagin siyang espiya, taksil, tuta at iba pang masasakit na salita dahil lamang pinili niyang sabihin sa pamunuan ng kompanya na may nagpaplanong bumuo ng unyon. May nag-iwan pa ng mga kunwa’y nakikiusap pero kung lilimiin ay nagbabantang mga sulat sa kanyang mesa. “Hindi mo matatakasan ang katarungan,” sabi ng mga sulat. 
   Pilit kasi nilang iniwasan ni Miguel ang direktang komprotasyon sa mga makukulit na katrabaho. Nag-teingang kawali na lamang siya at sapilitang tinatagan ang sikmura. Hindi lang naman ang matitigas ang ulo at walang utang na loob sa kompanya ang may karapatang manindigan. Hindi dapat sisihin ang kompanya at manghingi ng kung anu-ano pang karapatan, na kung tutuusin ay hindi naman mga karapatan kundi mga luho lamang. Kaya naman noong sisantehin kahapon ang mga natukoy ng kompanya na nagpasimuno ng pagtatatag ng unyon, lalo lamang tumatag ang paniniwala ni Gabriel na silang magkaibigan ang nasa katwiran: kanya-kanya lamang silang hila ng buntot. At kaya nga lilipad na siya pa-Singapore. Doon na siya makikipagsapalaran. Hindi dapat asahan ang kompanya para sa pag-unlad ng sariling buhay. 
   Ilang araw na lang, matatapos na rin ang kanyang pagtitiis. Saka na lang din niya sasabihin sa kanyang lola ang mabuting balita. Malamang sa hindi, hihiling rin kasi ito ng selebrasyon sampu ng kanyang mga kasama sa bahay. Gastos na naman. Hindi pa nga niya tapos hulugan ang laptop na binili gamit ang credit card.
       Matapos magkape, tumigil ang pagdaklot ng higanteng kamay sa ulo ni Gabriel. Pero kinukutingting naman ng isang daliri nito ang palibot ng kanyang kanang mata. Doon naiipon ang kirot.
       Lumingon siya sa nakasabit na orasan sa dingding na malapit sa ref na katapat ng kalan. Ilang minuto pa at magigising na ang iba pang tao sa bahay: ang kanyang mga magulang, dalawang tiyahin, dalawang pamangkin, at ang kanyang lolo. Ang isang tiyahin niya’y asawa ng kanyang tiyuhin na bunsong kapatid ng kanyang ama, at ang isa nama’y matandang dalaga na panganay na kapatid ng kanyang ama. Ang mga bata ay anak ng kanyang tiyuhin. 
       Pumunta siya sa sala. Binuksan niya ang telebisyon, agad na inapuhap ang remote control sa mga gilid-gilid ng impis nang kutson ng sofa nang biglang bulahawin ang bahay ng boses ng isang babaeng nagbabalita.
       “Baka magising ang Papa mo,” anang lola mula sa kusina. Nililigpit na nito ang maruruming pinggan at baso.
       Hininaan ni Gabriel ang telebisyon pero dinig na dinig niya ang balita.
       “…dalawang araw nang nakaparada sa parking lot. Hanggang ngayon ay wala pa ring nagke-claim sa mga ito. Sinubukan nang i-trace ng management ang mga nagmamay-ari ng mga sasakyan pero hanggang ngayon ay wala pa ring resulta. Ipapa-impound na raw ang mga sasakyang ito sa mga susunod na araw kapag wala pa ring pumunta dahil wala nang magamit na espasyo para sa iba pang mga sasakyan dito sa airport.”
       Sunod na ipinakita sa telebisyon ang tanawin na sa ibang araw at ibang sitwasyon ay maaaring ituring na ordinaryo: hile-hilera ng mga nakaparadang kotse sa parking lot ng airport. Makulay at organisado ang pagkakaparada ng mga sasakyan. Iba-iba ang kulay at laki ng kanilang nagkikintabang bubong. Tila sila mga matchbox na buong ingat na pinagtabi-tabi ng isang batang metikuloso sa kanyang mga laruan.
        Agad niyang dinampot ang cordless phone na nakapatong sa ibabaw ng lamesitang nasa gilid ng sofa. Lalong kumirot ang palibot ng kanyang kanang mata nang kumiriring ang kabilang linya.
       “Hello.”
       “Puwede ho kay Miguel?”
       “Natutulog pa siya. Sino ito?”
       “Si Gabriel ho. Puwede hong pakigising? Importante lang.”
       Kumalantog ang linya at narinig ni Gabriel ang pagkaskas ng tsinelas ng sumagot. Hindi niya masiguro kung nagdadabog ito at sadyang ipinaririnig ang paglakad sa kanya o kung sensitibo lang talaga ang teinga niya ngayong umaga. Hinilot niya ang palibot ng kanang mata. 
       Nagsasalita pa rin ang babae sa telebisyon pero hindi na ito maintindihan ni Gabriel. Narinig na niya ang mga boses ng dalawang pamangkin. Nagising na ang mga ito, at mukhang nag-aaway na naman.
       “Pare.” Garalgal pa ang boses ni Miguel.
       “Nanonood ka ba ng balita?”
       “Bakit?”
       “Puno ng kotse ang airport. Iniwan daw ng mga tao.”
       “O, tapos?”
       “Pare, ilang araw pa bago maalis lahat yon. Puno talaga.”
       “Asan daw yung mga may-ari?”
       “Wala. Hindi nga malaman kung nasaan. Basta iniwan lang yung mga kotse don.”
       “Talaga. Hindi yan. Makikita rin yan.”
       “Baka maapektuhan ang alis natin. Kailangan ko nang umalis, pare.”
       “Hindi yan. Cool ka lang diyan. O sige na, matutulog pa ako ulit. Masakit ang ulo ko. Ikaw din, matulog ka na ulit. Nerbiyoso ka masyado.”
       Ibinaba na ni Miguel ang telepono. Inilapag muli ni Gabriel ang cordless phone sa lamesita. Hindi pa rin nawawala ang pagkirot ng palibot ng kanyang kanang mata kaya naisipan niyang pumunta sa botika. Pinatay niya ang telebisyon, bumalik sa kuwarto para kumuha ng pera, at saka lumabas ng bahay. Hindi na siya nagpaalam sa kanyang lola, baka may ibilin pa ito kapag nalamang pupunta siya sa botika.
       Katapat lang ng bahay nila ang bahay nina Mang Ato. Mula sa kalsada, nasisilip ng mga dumaraan ang kabuuan ng maliit na bahay nila Mang Ato dahil parating nakabukas ang kanilang mga bintana. 
   Napansin ni Gabriel na bukas rin ang telebisyon nina Mang Ato. Tumawid siya para tingnan kung ano ang palabas. May isang babaeng nagsasalita. Parang iyon ding babaeng nakita niya sa balita kanina. Lumapit siya sa bintana ng kapitbahay at tumigil para makinig. Ilang salita lang ang nasagap niya: …dalawang araw nang nakaparada…nagke-claim…sinubukan nang i-trace…ipapa-impound na…airport. 
   Sinilip niya kung sino ang nanonood. Isang lalaki ang nakaupo sa sofa, may kausap sa isang cordless phone. Hindi niya makita ang mukha ng lalaki dahil hinihilot nito ang isang mata. Pagkatapos ibaba ang telepono, pinatay ng lalaki ang telebisyon at umalis sa sala.
   Dali-dali siyang bumalik sa loob ng bahay. Sinalubong siya ng kanyang lola, tinatanong kung saan siya nanggaling. Hindi niya sinagot ang matanda, sinenyasan lang ito na huwag mag-ingay. Muli niyang binuksan ang telebisyon para tingnan kung iyon pa rin ang palabas.
   At gayon nga, nandoon pa rin ang babaeng nagbabalita kanina. Gayon pa rin ang sinasabi: “…dalawang araw nang nakaparada sa parking lot. Hanggang ngayon ay wala pa ring nagke-claim sa mga ito. Sinubukan nang i-trace ng management ang mga nagmamay-ari ng mga sasakyan pero hanggang ngayon ay wala pa ring resulta. Ipapa-impound na raw ang mga sasakyang ito sa mga susunod na araw kapag wala pa ring pumunta dahil wala nang magamit na espasyo para sa iba pang mga sasakyan dito sa airport.”
   Nanghilakbot si Gabriel. Dinampot niya ang cordless phone para tawagan ulit si Miguel. Pero may dumaplis sa paningin niya: may nakasilip sa kanya sa bintana. Hindi na sila nagkahulihan ng tingin ng maninilip dahil dali-dali itong bumalik ng bahay nina Mang Ato. 
   Pinatay niyang muli ang telebisyon at lumabas ng bahay. Dumiretso na siya sa bintana ng bahay nina Mang Ato para silipin kung ang lalaking nakita nga niya ang sumilip sa bahay nila kanina. Nakita niyang muli nitong binuksan ang telebisyon at kasalukuyang dinadampot ang cordless phone sa gilid ng sala. Nang mapalingon ito sa bintana, biglang tumalilis si Gabriel at bumalik sa sariling bahay.
   Muli siyang sinalubong ng kanyang lola sa sala pero sinaway niya ito at sinenyasang huwag magsalita. Muli niyang binuksan ang telebisyon. Nang lumingon siya bintana, nakita nga niya ang inasahan: tumalilis ang lalaking muling naninilip. 
   Dahan-dahan siyang lumapit sa binata. Tinanaw niya ang bintana ng bahay nina Mang Ato. Nakasilip din ang lalaki. Kinapa ni Gabriel ang kanyang kanang mata. Hindi pa rin ito tumitigil sa pagkirot. Kinapa rin ng lalaki ang kanang mata. 
   Umalis si Gabriel sa bintana at muling binuksan ang telebisyon. Nandoon pa rin ang babae. Ganoon pa rin ang ibinabalita: “…dalawang araw nang nakaparada sa parking lot. Hanggang ngayon ay wala pa ring nagke-claim sa mga ito…” 
   Napaupo si Gabriel sa sofa. Nang tabihan siya ng kanyang lola at yakapin nang mahigpit, naalala niya ang mga sulat. Tahimik siyang napaiyak.

2. # 2 deckshoes Says:
   July 1st, 2013 at 03:20

   Another inspiration would be “Mirror Image,” an episode of Twilight Zone from 1960. Really creepy, this one.
   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-vQ7kqioGw&list=PL4F3E68281EBE874B

3. # 3 theradioman Says:
   July 2nd, 2013 at 13:55

   Quarter Past Three

   Darkness.

   “Oh God Bill! Wake up man!”

   It was a familiar voice. He tried to recognize who it was but his head was swimming. It was difficult to remember anything. He was cold lying there on what seemed to him a dirt road and he could feel the small rocks piercing his back. One, two, three, he counted and then he opened his eyes to a blinding light.

   It took a while for his eyes to adjust but he soon recognized it to be a lamp post with a swarm of moths flying around it. Bill attempted to get up and felt a searing pain from behind his head. He clawed on the dirt and for a while he thought he was going to pass out again but he didn’t. He remained awake. He stood up and looked around and found himself in an empty lot. Seeing tire impressions on the dirt he assumed that the empty lot functioned as a parking lot in the morning. But at night it was but a desolate place. There were a couple of obviously broken cars at the far side of the lot partly covered in ivy or so it seemed; he was never good at recognizing plants. But there was not a single functional car around.

   He wondered what he was doing in that place and why he was lying there. He was chilling and he didn’t have his coat on. He looked around for it hoping he just dropped it somewhere but there was no coat in sight. “Where the hell am I?” He was baffled by everything that was happening and he thought of calling Jake, his best friend. He searched for his phone but it was not in any of his pockets. He felt helpless. But he tried to calm himself down and think of what he should do next.

   Bill heard slow music from a distance. He followed it thinking that maybe there was someone out there who could help him or lend him a phone at the least. He found a diner. It seemed as desolate as the parking lot but he had to take chances. After all there was music playing and the lights were on; somebody could be around to help him. He peered through the glass window but he could not see who was in the counter from there. He walked to the entrance, knocked twice, and entered. A lady at the counter looked in his direction. She was wearing a dirty apron and her hair was disheveled presumably from being removed from a tight bun.

   “Uhm… good evening ma’am,” Bill greeted. The lady didn’t seem to hear anything. Her eyes were fixed at Bill. “C-can I use your phone ma’am?” Bill asked. “I just have to make an important call.” He almost offered paying for his request but he remembered he didn’t have his wallet with him. “Ma’am excuse me?” he asked again as the lady’s eyes left him and she went on with whatever she was doing behind the counter. “This lady’s nuts,” he said under his breath. For a moment, he argued with himself whether to approach the lady in the counter and try again or not. But he noticed his soiled arms and clothes and he decided to use the washroom first. He did not ask for the lady’s permission this time. He went straight to where the washroom sign was pointing to and did his business.

   Bill inspected himself in the mirror. He looked okay under the dim lights of the washroom. He has always looked cool but he wasn’t wearing anything cool looking that time. He was just in a soiled white undershirt and a pair of denims. Rare are the moments when he looked uncool. Girls would usually find him physically attractive. He washed his face, neck, and arms and used a lot of paper towels to dry himself. He fixed his hair afterwards.

   “Who’s there?” somebody asked from the closed door of the washroom. Bill was startled a bit before he realized it could be the lady at the counter earlier. “It’s me!” he answered. He accidentally knocked a vase at the edge of the lavatory and it broke on the floor. “Oh shit!” he said as he watched the broken pieces scatter on the floor. He heard the lady walked away seemingly in a hurry. “This bitch is weird,” he said while he attempted to gather the large pieces of the broken vase and put it in the bin. He washed his hands once again and left the washroom.

   He was about to go directly to the counter to ask the lady once more if he could use the phone when he noticed a customer sitting on one of the couches beside the display window. The man had his back turned towards Bill and the lady was serving him a cup of coffee and a plate of delicious looking cookies. Bill checked the time on the wall clock. “A customer at almost three in the morning? This lady’s customers must be equally nuts” he said.

   Bill observed the only customer of the diner. He was wearing a grey coat. Even from a distance, he could tell it was of a fine material. He was wearing a gold watch with leather straps around his left wrist. His hair appeared newly trimmed and Bill could tell that the man was well groomed without him turning around.

   “You’re playing music way older than my parents. You still using a phonograph or something?” the man asked quite derisively. The lady did not answer him. She simply smiled.

   Bill found the man’s deep voice a bit funny. He sounded just the same when he was suffering from a cold about a couple of days ago. He remembered singing songs in that voice which made his nephew laugh hysterically.

   “But I like what you’re playing. Is this playlist yours?” the man inquired to the lady.

   “It’s the manager’s,” the lady replied.

   “And where’s your manager?” the man asked. “Oh I sound like I’m about to create a scene now. You know what I mean?” he said followed by a short laugh. “Pardon me for that.”

   “That’s okay sir,” the lady replied. “If you need anything else, I’m just at the counter.” With that the lady carried the tray and walked past Bill to the counter where she had been going through the record of the day’s sales.

   Bill looked at the lady bewildered and he wondered if she was purposely ignoring him but he could not read it on her face. For a few seconds he stood there at the center aisle of the diner looking at the lady and thinking of how strange things have been going since he woke up in the parking lot. He felt stupid after a while. He then slowly shook his head and grinned at his silliness. “That’s crazy Bill,” he muttered. He dismissed the thought he was having and instead thought about asking the man if he could use his mobile phone.

   A click and a new song began to play. Bill stopped and listened. He knew that song’s intro very well. His copy came from the only lady who dumped him. She was a pianist. He then looked up and fixed his eyes on the nearest speaker on top of a display cabinet at a corner.

   “Hello? Yeah I’m here at the diner you suggested last Saturday,” the man on the couch started speaking with someone over the phone. That stole Bill’s attention and he looked at the man’s direction. “Open 24 hours like what you said. Strangely cozy for a diner in this area. What? No, I didn’t get to catch the show at the fairgrounds. I came here just around twenty minutes ago. Have you taken your dinner? You can join me here.” There was quite a long pause. “Okay. I could drive you home. So you’re near here now? Okay. Meet me at the parking lot then.” He put down the phone and took his last bite on a cookie.

   The man got up and cleaned his coat of cookie crumbs. “Your Good Thing by Mable John huh? That song, I like that,” he said aloud so that the lady at the counter would hear him. He was pulling something out of his pocket. “I wonder where your manager got a copy of that,” he added.

   “I have no idea sir,” the lady answered without turning her head. Bill then turned to look at her. “He’s pretty much into anything fancy,” she added. “He came here one day with a copy of that song. Played it for like a thousand times until the customers got real annoyed.”

   “I see. I got mine from some bitch of a girlfriend” the man said rather harshly. Bill was took aback by what he said. “I’ll be leaving now missy. I liked the coffee and the cookies.”

   Bill turned to look at the man’s face and what he saw shocked him. A pair of denims. White undershirt partly concealed in a grey coat. An iPhone on the right hand and car keys on the left. A gold watch on the left wrist. Brown eyes with rather bushy eyebrows. Short hair. The man looked exactly like him.

   He stood there frozen as the man walked past him to the exit. He could not believe what he just saw. Slowly, he turned towards the counter. “Did you just see that?” he asked the lady. But the lady did not even bother looking his way. “Are you some kind of idiot?” he screamed out of frustration. The lady looked at him with frightened eyes.

   Bill found everything very unsettling. He could not understand what was happening. He then wanted to be as far from that place as possible. From one slow step after another he gained speed. He wanted to run from that place that has turned from an ordinary diner to what seemed like a nightmare. He burst out of the exit running. He almost stumbled at the uneven surface in front of the door but he went on. He knew that was what he must do. If he could not wake up from the nightmare, maybe he could run some place where he could remain sane. Perhaps there was a part of his brain that could give him that.

   “Oh shit! Stop!” somebody screamed in a familiar voice. Bill stopped. His heart was pounding. He just wanted to leave but something about the scream made him want to turn and look in its direction. “Fuck you all!” he heard. A loud thud and there was silence.

   What he saw when he finally turned around made everything clear to him. He watched as a bunch of men robbed him of his belongings and took his car. One of them carried a baseball bat that hit his head. The dirt became soaked with blood gushing from his broken skull. Bill went numb as he watched his body lay on the dirt. His car almost crushed his arms as the robbers backed the car before speeding away.

   One after another, the lamp posts died. The searing pain at the back of Bill’s head came back and it was more intense. He felt something soft when he reached for it. The thought that it was his brain made him terribly sick. Everything turned black.

   It was a quarter past three in the morning. Darkness. Jake came running.

   “Oh God Bill! Wake up man!”

   It was a familiar voice. He tried to recognize who it was but his head was swimming. It was difficult to remember anything. He was cold lying there on what seemed to him a dirt road and he could feel the small rocks piercing his back. One, two, three, he counted and then he opened his eyes to a blinding light.

4. # 4 jessicazafra Says:
   July 3rd, 2013 at 00:19

   theradioman: This doesn’t really work as a short story. It might do as a script for a graphic novel, if your illustrator is on the slow side. The descriptions are crushingly obvious and overstated: “He wondered what he was doing in that place and why he was lying there. He was chilling and he didn’t have his coat on.” Yeah, we got that in the first paragraph, there’s no need to hammer the reader with it. Do pay attention to usage—”He was chilling” means he was relaxing. You mean “He felt chilly” or “He was chilled to the bone.” When in doubt, the spelling and grammar check on your word processing program is your friend. On second thought, doubt is your friend. “Bill found everything very unsettling.” Really?? We would never have guessed. If your protagonist is not particularly perceptive, there is no need to state every thought that occurs to him. Life is short.

5. # 5 theradioman Says:
   July 3rd, 2013 at 09:42

   Haha, I’ve somehow expected that. I started with a version a few lines (paragraphs?) shorter but I was like “Okay na kaya ‘to? O nagmamadali na naman ako? Gets na ‘yan noh! No need to explain. Oo naman! Pero… ilagay na lang din naten?”

   I should’ve asked someone to read it first. Wala nga lang akong maasahan. I was crushed but thanks a lot. (:

6. # 6 jessicazafra Says:
   July 3rd, 2013 at 12:55

   theradioman: Well you’re not hyper-sensitive, which is a good thing if you intend to write for an audience.

   Alam mo naman pala kung ano’ng mangyayari, ginawa mo pa rin. You need a first reader, ideally a friend of yours. If you do not have one, maybe we could ask for volunteers who need first readers themselves. Trade.

7. # 7 Aida Says:
   July 4th, 2013 at 11:49

   On a train we are introduced to Sarah, a young woman on the run. She gets off the train, and while waiting for the next one, she notices a woman pacing on the platform. She can’t see the woman’s face, but the woman is clearly in an agitated state. As the train arrives, the woman leaps into its path. Sarah approaches the body and realizes that the woman looks exactly like her. They could be twins.

   In 500 words or more, write us a story in which the protagonist meets a total stranger who looks exactly like her/him. How did that happen? Who is that “twin”? What happens next?

   Sarah was catapulted into a time-space warp which is frequently happening around the world because of global warming. Why global warming can cause a time-space warp to happen, I have no idea. Will have to check Tipler’s Physics or some such stuff to see if it’s even possible.

   Anyway, Sarah saw a parallel version of herself. Not an original idea, they did this in “Fringe”. She can talk to this “Sarah” but 5 minutes into the conversation, Sarah realized how insufferable “Sarah” is so she she killed her by pushing her into the train platform.

   – the end (sorry it’s less than 500 words but I had to try)

8. # 8 Aida Says:
   July 4th, 2013 at 12:13

   Sarah Prinsesa is a 12 year old dyslexic who is being pressured by her mom Frances to write a book report that will give her an Outstanding grade from her teacher Mrs. Tapia. Sarah hates writing, she hates words, she hates anything that she cannot understand. She loves her mom though.

   One day, Frances took Sarah to Divisoria to buy fake Gucci bags at 168 Mall.

   Sarah was looking forward to this outing for weeks. She loves Divisoria, the energy, the rancid fragrance of fishballs cooking in aluminum pans, the sweaty heady aroma of fruits rotting on the sidewalk. And she loves her mom. She knows that her mom expects her to help in carrying the stuff they would eventually sell in their tiangge.

   They rode the LRT2, boarded in Cubao and went down in Recto Station.

   People, people everywhere! Must be because of the Feast of the Black Nazarene.

   Her mom suddenly disappeared! There between the stall of Hongkong fried noodles and Zagu, her mom seemed to evaporate right before her very eyes!

   Then a strange thing happened: Sarah saw an exact replica of herself.

   “Hi Sarah,” the other Sarah said.

   She knows me? Sarah wondered.

   “I am you in a parallel universe.”

   Oh so that’s it, Sarah thought. Must be because of global warming, all these black holes and time space warps are popping up everywhere. In LRT, of all places.

   “So what can you tell me about yourself?” She was curious about this Sarah.

   “I love books, I love to write and I want to be a writer someday.”

   Sarah saw red. And she pushed the other Sarah into the train tracks where she was crushed and was never heard from again.

   (285 words. Oh well, real life has to make me end this earlier than I would like …)

9. # 9 Aida Says:
   July 5th, 2013 at 08:14

   Sarah Prinsesa’s Amazing Day at Recto LRT Station (a continuation of previous entries written in Tagalog, I dare not call it Filipino)

   Sarah is being pressured by her mom Frances to write a book report that will give her an Outstanding grade from her teacher Mrs. Tapia. Frances believes that an Outstanding from Mrs. Tapia will enable Sarah to finally graduate from grade four where she has been for the past 3 years.

   Sarah hates writing, she hates words, she hates anything that she cannot understand. She loves her mom though.

   One day, Frances took Sarah to Divisoria to buy fake Gucci bags at 168 Mall.

   Sarah was looking forward to this outing for weeks. She loves Divisoria, the energy, the rancid fragrance of fishballs cooking in aluminum pans, the sweaty heady aroma of fruits rotting on the sidewalk. And she loves her mom. She knows that her mom expects her to help in carrying the stuff they would eventually sell in their tiangge.

   They rode the LRT2, boarded in Cubao and went down on Recto Station.

   People, people everywhere! Must be because of the Feast of the Black Nazarene. Why people would fling themselves to such an ugly monstrosity as the image of Christ on the Cross is a mystery to Sarah but hey, everyone has his or her own reading disorder.

   Her mom suddenly disappeared! There between the stall of Hongkong fried noodles and Zagu, her mom seemed to evaporate right before her very eyes!

   Then a strange thing happened: Sarah saw an exact replica of herself.

   “Hi Sarah,” the other Sarah said.

   She knows me? Sarah wondered.

   “I am you in a parallel universe.”

   Oh so that’s it, Sarah thought. Must be because of global warming, all these black holes and time space warps are popping up everywhere. In LRT, of all places!

   ‘Time space warp sometimes refer to Einstein’s theory that time and space form a continuum which bends, folds or warps from the observer’s point of view, relative to such factors as movement or gravitation, but are also used in reference to more fantastic notions of discontinuities or other irregularities in spacetime not based on real-world science.’ (insert footnote here: from Wikipedia which I am using in this story so as to satisfy the 500-word count)

   “So what can you tell me about yourself?” She was curious about this Sarah.

   “I love books, I love to write and I want to be a writer someday.” The “Sarah” from the parallel universe looked so earnest, nice and just plain curious about her, Sarah the dyslexic.

   But Sarah saw red. That’s enough, I don’t want to be patronized anymore! Down with you whose happiness in life is to impose word counts on people!!! Down with Mrs Tapia! Down with Frances, Norman Bates’ mother, although she doesn’t know it yet! Down with “Mga Unang Hakbang sa Pagbasa” and “Reading Readiness”!

   Tears were streaming from Sarah’s eyes. The other “Sarah” extends her hand probably thinking to console her.

   But she is beyond redemption.

   She pushed the other Sarah into the train tracks where she was crushed and was never heard from again.

   — 501 word count!! Yipee! And that doesn’t include the Tagalog Introduction. Writers must feel like Gods :)

10. # 10 miss_o Says:
    July 5th, 2013 at 11:19

    I’d love to get the books and the chance to go to the writing workshop. So here it goes…

    Mike stepped out of the limo looking sharp in his in his black suit. He went to the back of the car to open the door for senator Morrey and his wife. The old couple were already at their 60’s but they seem more pale and fragile tonight. Mrs Morrey looked nervous, while the senator had the worried look in his face. And although it was a summer night, Mrs Morrey chose to wear a big furry coat over her bulky glittery dress. The senator himself looked liked he gained a couple of pounds.

    “Are you alright senator?”, asked Mike to his boss who nervously wiped the sweat on his forehead and temple that it almost took off his hearing aid. The senator tapped Mike’s shoulder and said that everything’s good, with a fake smile in his face.

    They all went inside the ballroom. Mike have them seated at the VIP table as he took his post on the right side of the hall. After a few minutes the program started.

    Surveying the hall, Mike has been trained to look for potential sources of problem for the person he’s tasked to protect. This time he has to do it in the sea of high ranking military officials and their wives, as it is the annual fund raising event to help the military families. Having this much of powerful people in one room can be intimidating but this is a perfect occasion for terrorists to make their presence known.

    As he tried to look for potential trouble makers, Mike noticed this bodyguard that looked familiar. He tried to look closer to the person across the hall but then the strange person looked straight back at him. Mike does not easily get startled but when he realized whose face he was looking at, it raised all the hairs at the back of his neck. It felt like a full minute that Mike and his doppelganger stared at each other, until the person across the hall started walking towards the bathroom. Fixated with knowing more about this guy who looks exactly like him, he followed him into the bathroom.
    When he opened the door, the guy was already washing his hands. He tapped the guys back and grabbed his neck shouting, “Who are you? What kind of a sick joke is this?” His doppelganger hit him hard in the face, punched and kicked him several times, then went out like nothing happened. When he finally had the chance to get up from the floor, he noticed the face in front of the mirror. It wasn’t his.

    This second surprise scared him more, as he touched his face just to confirm what his looking at is real. With more questions in his mind, he then went out and tried to look for the man that took his body and seemingly replaced it with what he has right now. He was able to locate the body snatcher at the right side of the hall talking to his communication device on his wrist. He saw him looking at the senator.

    The senator, who looked scared than nervous, asked his wife to dance and they went to the center of the dance floor. They stood next to the secretary general and his wife and then held each other like it was the last time they would be able to do so.

    Mike went running towards the body snatcher. He grabbed the other guy’s shoulder and went saw what looked like a trigger for a bomb on the snatcher’s hand. Looking at the face he knew was his, he heard a loud explosion at the center of the hall.
    ____________________________________________________________

    Mike woke up with breathing hard and sweating all over his hospital dress. A voice then said, “Mike, are you ok? Can you tell us what you found out?” He then looked at the bed on his left side and saw the body of the man he was occupying in his dream. “I need water”, was all that Mike said in response to the voice’s questions. A nurse went into the room and took the apparatus in his head. She helped him out of the bed, gave him a cup of water and said, “You’re doing great Mike”. “Who’s the guy on the other bed?”, asked Mike. “Dr. Sutcliffe will explain everything to you on the other room”, the nurse responded.

    She escorted Mike to a room at the end of the hall. It was a spacious room with light shining through the wide windows. There was a big couch at the center of the room. The nurse asked him to sit there and wait for the doctor. As she opened the door, a man at the hall said “Thanks Wendy. I’ll take it from here”.

    The tall young doctor said hello and asked how he was. “I’m ok, I think,” Mike responded. “I know you’re still confused right now” , then the doctor sat at the chair across the sofa and started explaining things. The doctor said that there was a terrorist attack that had happened three days ago and he survived it. He had lost his memory of that day because of trauma. The unconscious man on the other bed is the prime suspect and he was helping the FBI to find out how the man was able to pull off the bombing. The doctor explained that there has been a breakthrough in neuropsychology where one can tap into the someone’s short term memory. It was explained to him that he was the perfect candidate to go into the suspect’s brain. The suspect is still unconscious from the injury he acquired from the blast.

11. # 11 jaime Says:
    July 5th, 2013 at 14:38

    Anti

    David put on a black hooded jacket which proudly displayed the initials of his Alma Mater in gold print. He liked wearing that jacket more for the superior feeling it gave him than its fashion credentials, which he thinks is none. “I’ll b in Andrea’s,” he yelled throught he door to his roommate, who was taking a shower. With that he left and proceeded to the elevator. When the doors slid open to let him out on the ground floor, he passed by a man who was vaguely familiar. For a moment, he tried to recall where they had met.

    ***

    Eric opened the door of the apartment to find a stranger in a gray baseball cap and a shirt featuring Albert Einstein with neat hair. “Andrew?”

    “Eric?”

    The two of them froze. Each studied the other’s face. Eric was slightly taller than Andrew. Aside from that they looked exactly like each other. After a few minutes, when the shock had worn off, Eric let Andrew in. Andrew did and sat on the couch. “This is weird. I can’t do it.”

    “Weird how?” Eric asked.

    “We look exactly like each other. I don’t think we should do it.”

    “Exactly why we should do it. Haven’t you ever wondered how doing it with yourself would feel like?”

    “Never.”

    “It’s a common fantasy. It’s the height of narcissism.”

    Andrew didn’t follow. He couldn’t follow. His limited education meant that his vocabulary was a lot less wide than Eric’s, who had a degree in Philosophy. Eric saw the confusion in Andrew’s face, and took it to mean that he was considering the deed for the first time.

    “This is too weird for me,” said Andrew.

    “It won’t feel weird. Trust me.”

    Andrew considered it for a moment. “I can’t. Sorry.”

    Eric looked at Andrew. His exact replica. In his living room. At that moment, where he came from or who he was, was not as important to Eric as convincing him to do the job he was hired to do. Just the thought of it gave him goosebumps. He bent down to kiss Andrew.

    “No kissing.”

    Eric stood straight and considered Andrew’s words for a moment. Could he finally be agreeing to it?

    He took off his shirt. He stepped closer to take off Andrew’s.

    “No,” Andrew protested.

    “I’ll increase your fee.”

    Andrew felt offended. He felt like he did on his first job, when he took the wad of cash and was told to leave immediately. Since then he had learned to tell himself that it was just another job. He was good at that service, and getting money for a job well done was nothing out of the ordinary. He had also learned not to accept any thanks. It was a service, and services are paid with money, not gratitude. Now his mirror was offering him more money. His other self was telling him how much of a whore he was. He didn’t know if he felt offended enough. He took a long look at Eric.

    “How are we like each other?” he asked Eric. “Have you never thought about what this could mean? What if we’re twins? Wouldn’t you be disgusted?”

    “We’re not twins. Even if we were, we’re strangers. I’m sure your name’s not even Andrew.”

    “Michael.”

    “I didn’t ask for your name.”

    ***

    David looked up from the laptop to see his girlfriend come out of the bath with just a towel on. He had been reading an article on antimatter and the possibility that they are on a parallel plane of existence. It proposes that all the antimatter is not in this universe because it is in a parallel one. In another dimension exists a copy of each of us, made of positrons and antiprotons. And, theoretically, when matter and antimatter meet, they cancel each other in an explosion.

    Andrea had just started to slowly take off her towel for David’s enjoyment when the mushroom cloud rose from David and Eric’s apartment building.

12. # 12 the boomerang kid Says:
    July 5th, 2013 at 14:44

    The first time it happened, I was secretly pleased. I was out with friends till way past my curfew. Everyone was asleep; only Manang Rose woke up to open the door for me. She looked a bit confused when she saw me. “I thought you’d been home hours ago,” she asked, rubbing her eyes awake. I softly apologized for waking her up before going up to my room, carefully navigating the stairs to avoid making noise that would wake Mama up. In the morning it was a quiet breakfast. Not a single question regarding the time that I got home. Mama asked about how I liked my new school. I said I couldn’t think of going anywhere else. She nodded while reading the morning paper. Manang Rose hovered silently.

    When it happened again, I was thankful and relieved. I was too hung-over to go to school that morning and as I was retching into the toilet I remembered my final exam. In Calculus. The one subject I was close to dropping because of my poor grades during prelim and midterm. Missing the final exams would surely put me in a dangerous position. Failure would mean I wouldn’t be able to enroll in the second semester, which would set me back another year. That afternoon I went to my professor to ask for consideration. My innards were in a tight knot. But she was all smiles when she let me in her office. It was as if she was expecting me. “I’d like to commend you for your efforts, Mr. De Guia,” she began. “I have checked most of the tests of your class and so far you have the highest score. See what happens when you put your mind to something? I’m glad we’re not having the talk that we had weeks before.” I couldn’t say anything. “Now,” she asked, “why did you want to see me?” When I told Manang Rose, her face was inscrutable.

    On the third time, I felt bothered—but only slightly. My school friends had been complaining that I was avoiding them. A not entirely un-true sentiment, but something I didn’t have the guts to say straight to their boring faces. All they wanted to do was study and when we’re not studying, we’d do things that would presumably make studying fun and easy. I liked my new friends better: they’re not afraid to do what they wanted, even if it other people didn’t like it. And because I’d been spending a lot of time with my new friends, I didn’t see my school friends except during class. When the new semester started, I was surprised by their cold treatment when I showed up at our usual hang-out. After a few attempts at conversation I gave up. I wanted to ask them why they were treating me that way but I didn’t. Why bother, I thought. As I made my way out of the campus one of my classmates mockingly said, “You got some nerve for going to them after what happened!” He looked ready to either give me a hug or hit me. “What are you talking about,” I asked him. He appeared amused at my apparent but false modesty. “You gave them a nasty and very public telling off during enrollment! Have you forgotten? Are you high or something?” Manang Rose looked at me with alarm when she learned this. “Try to do the right thing all the time,” she said.

    A week ago, Emily called me and said she was delayed. I thought she was behind her tuition payment or something. I almost laughed when she explained it to me. I was glad I didn’t because she was almost crying. It left me wondering, though. “What are we going to do,” she asked me.

    “What do you mean,” I asked back. “And why are you telling me this?”

    “If I’m pregnant, this baby is yours!”

    “Are you serious? I never touched you! At least, I haven’t!”

    She began to sound angry. “Are you drunk? We’ve been doing it since the Christmas break! How many nights have you spent here?”

    “Maybe you’re drunk too! Are you sure it was me?”

    She hung up on me. What the heck was wrong with her? I haven’t even gone to second base with her and yet she’d spring that news on me? Manang Rose told me not to get too upset. “There’s probably a good explanation why Emily said what she said.” I was upset because if that information reached Mama, then I’ll be truly screwed. Manang Rose looked more troubled than I did. She’d always been very kind to me.

    Last night I had the weirdest dream. I woke up very thirsty. So I got out of bed, out of my room and went down the stairs. When I opened the wing doors to the kitchen I saw that someone beat me to the refrigerator. It was open and someone leaned into it, appeared to be looking for something inside. I heard bottles being moved. The guy’s back was to me but I noticed he was wearing one of my shirts. And my pants as well. I heard a soft exclamation, like something I’d do when I found something I really liked. When he turned it was like I was looking in a mirror. He had my face! Shit, we could be twins, if not for his exaggerated macho stance—feet wide apart, hips thrust forward. And that un-settling smirk.

    “Who are you,” I asked. The question came out of me less forcefully than I intended.

    “Who else do you think,” he asked me in return, his tone challenging.
    Before I could answer he leapt from the floor, like some overgrown frog, towards me.

    Then I woke up.

    “Can I ask you something,” Manang Rose turned to me.

    “What is it?”

    “Do you still pray? I mean, like every night before you sleep?”

    “I can’t say that I do. I mean, when I remember, sure…”

    “Don’t forget to pray.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “When you were a young boy, I taught you to pray for all the people you love, including yourself, right?”

    I nodded.

    “You should start praying for protection.”

    “But why?”
    “Someone—or something— is after you!” She spoke firmly but softly, as if she was afraid others would hear; when we were alone in my room. “It wants you. Or rather, your life. It’s been doing things for you in the past. Covering for you. Don’t you remember?”

    “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about…”

    “It’s been after you for a long time! You were born premature. And because of your weak lungs, you seldom cried. When you were a baby, I would sometimes see you in the living room when I was sure you were in the nursery. And when I’d check, I’d find you in your crib, and almost always you needed to be fed.”

    I didn’t say anything.

    “It stopped when you turned five. That was when the doctors finally gave you a clean bill of health. Your parents were so happy. I was so happy. But it has started again. You should be careful!”

    To this I almost laughed. But I didn’t. Instead I said, “Okay, Manang Rose, I will be careful. Whatever that is you’re talking about, it won’t let it get me. Promise.”

    She was somehow comforted by my words, and eventually left my room. I wonder what she’ll do when she learnes the truth. If I had my way, I would’ve taunted her with my comings and goings till the day she died but I don’t need to do that now. Not anymore. Not from where I am.

13. # 13 cookie Says:
    July 5th, 2013 at 19:39

    I sat waiting for my turn to interview. I hated interviews. All the past jobs I got through friends and friends of friends and friends of friends of friends. In an era where you “know” 600 friends casually, it just takes somebody willing to vouch for your credentials to really get somewhere. My mind wanders back to why I was, then, sitting there waiting. I’d gotten a call from one of those headhunters I keep getting spam emails from when I stupidly put up a resume a dozen years ago. “Dear T – , we’ve been searching for the perfect person to fill this role… your qualifications make our client very interested … will you come in for…?”

    I hated interviews. But I’m stuck in a rut at work and I’m beginning to snap everyone’s head off for the tiniest thing. I get bitchy when bored and feel like nobody thinks anymore and why do I have to do the thinking and why are things so damned stupid.

    The dragon at the doorway tilts her head and seems to hear some far away noise. Okay, my boredom made me invent the dragon bit. It’s just a lady guarding the door to the interview lair. Do I want to wait a few more minutes, I start thinking about whether it’s worth the hassle. Indecisiveness has always been my friend. God, I’ve become so mediocre, I need this motivation. Maybe I’ll stay and just get this over with.

    As I lean back against the chair, someone else takes the loveseat across from me. She sits down neatly, her knees together, putting her purse beside her and digging through it, for her phone, probably. It’s a nervous gesture if I’ve ever seen one, pretending you’re doing something else besides waiting.
    There’s an itchy, prickly feeling at the back of my neck, something I can’t quite get past with this somebody.

    I’d never seen someone I resemble so closely – well, except for the neat hair pulled back from her face (mine was loose; I’d just learned hair product – there’s good days and bad days). She looks up from her phone and catches me staring –
    Her gaze quickly drops down, but it travels slowly back up again to meet my wide-eyed one.

    It’s ten million years, it’s a split second. I’m dizzy from the thoughts not making sense in my head. In that space, I think – Damn, we look like mirrors with the wide-eyes, open-mouths – except for the hair. I recover and all I can think of is, I want to know everything about you. Hi, I say, my brain desperately flipping through the words to introduce myself, to get to know her, to find out HOW THE HELL COULD THIS BE POSSIBLE.

    She looked shell-shocked, still, and the lady suddenly calls us to the room behind her. It was a good thing, I think this other girl was beginning to get that deer-caught-in-a-headlight look, while I’m wondering why I’m not exactly panicking at this idea of having someone else look exactly like me, and would anybody even notice?

    Hello T – and T –, the gasp is audible from myself-who-is-not-myself, would you both take seats here please? Alright, maybe I’m not gasping because I’m hardly breathing. This woman, this elegant woman, LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE THE TWO OF US EXCEPT SHE’S TWENTY YEARS OLDER, maybe.

    I rub the other’s back as the older woman hands me a glass of liquid, gesturing for me to give it to the other girl. Take your time, don’t be scared, it’s okay. It’s like a mantra she keeps saying over and over and over. Take a sip and a deep breath. And let me tell you why you’re here.

14. # 14 dindin Says:
    July 5th, 2013 at 21:20

    CCTV

    Uno. Saturday, 920AM.

    The sting on her cheek was the first thing Jade felt as she struggled to open her eyes. Three sharp lines of hapdi, just below her left eye, reminding her of where Ann Marie’s nails – no, claws – had stayed for five painful seconds. The recollection causes her to abandon the fight between sleep and wakefulness, and Jade closes her eyes again. “Was it just yesterday? Should I resign?” she asks herself. And playing in her head, over and over, the crazed look on Ann Marie’s face as she lunged forward, toward her, red claws leading the way.

    Jade had just come from the pantry, drinking warm water from a plastic cup while walking back to her cubicle. There was no time to sidestep a charging Ann Marie, and they both went down when they collided. Comprehension came only when warm wetness made its way from the cup and up her nose. Before that, a disbelief – nay, a refusal to believe – what was happening. As if in slow motion, she felt claws on her face, and a painful tangled tugging at her hair. Despite the ferocity and unexpectedness of the attack, her natural meekness dictated her reactions. All she could manage was to place her fingers in front of her eyes, and a whimper. After that, it was over.

    She was still on her back when she saw Michael and Andrew holding back a hysterical Ann Marie. The words kerengkeng, boyfriend and puta were reverberating in the low-ceilinged space they called their office, but they sounded hollow, like she had an auditory force field and the insults were just bouncing off a semi-permeable surface. After a few minutes, blessed silence, as Ann Marie was taken to HR.

    The next thing she felt was a hand on her arm, some sort of support to help her get up. The hand belonged to her boss, a kind-hearted, 46-year old slightly balding editor who asked if she was alright. Jade nodded yes, stood up and walked to the bathroom unassisted. What she saw in the mirror was a slight girl with fair skin, dishevelled hair, a small mouth, unremarkable nose, and three streaks of red just below her left eye.

    Jade takes a deep breath, inhales the smell of her freshly laundered sheets and runs her fingers over the softness of her comforter. She needs coffee, and maybe cream cheese on double toasted bread. So she gets up, walks barefoot to the kitchen and turns on the hot water switch. She gets a plate, two saucers, a fork, a knife and a mug, and arranges them thoughtlessly on her small, creaky wooden dining table.

    Five minutes later, as she stirs her coffee, Jade rifles through an old newspaper. Andrew probably left it here, she thinks. When the coffee had cooled enough to be outside tongue-scalding territory, Jade takes a sip and reads a story about how happy MMDA Chairman Tolentino is with the resolution upgrade of Metro Manila CCTV cameras. She takes another sip of her warm, unsweetened brew, sighs, and says a silent prayer of thanks for the peace that living alone brings.
    ?
    Dos. Saturday, 10AM.

    Nikki adjusts the straps of her too-tight body con dress, and checks her reflection on the newly opened glass doors leading to the entrails of retail heaven. Her eyes are red at the rims, but they are poor rivals to the bright red lipstick she put on the cab ride going here. The heels of her nude platform pumps makes her look classy, she thinks, and the equally subdued taupe of her Birkin – borrowed from a friend – would give anyone little to suspect her presence in an upscale mall.

    The airconditioning blasts away the threat of sweat on her armpits, and Nikki slows her gait a little to unfasten the clasp of her handbag and fish for a small wallet inside. The platinum credit card sits there, “no alarms yet”, her handler assured her earlier, “but you have to do it this morning”. And so there she was, at the doors of the most exclusive boutique in the country.

    She flashes a dismissive smile to the immaculately coiffed sales representative, who responds with a patronizing look of deference. It must be the bag, Nikki thinks, and she proceeds to the shelves displaying exotic skins with an impatient tap-tap of her heels.

    Another attendant makes an appearance by her side, and Nikki selects three expensive models to scrutinize. Ten minutes later, with an air of unaffected nonchalance that took three weeks of practice in front of a mirror, Nikki says “I’ll take them all”.

    Another ten minutes, and Nikki walks out of the boutique with three shopping bags. Her handler meets her at the basement, where she hands him the bags and exchanges her now painful platforms for a more sensible pair of flats.

    Tres. Saturday, 9PM.

    Ann Marie is nearly drunk. Getting there, but not quite. Andrew had left after gathering most of his stuff this morning, and she could only whimper an apology to the back of his head just before he slammed the door. The bottle of wine sits nearly empty on her bedside. The television blares the news for the day, but most of it does little to dull the “you’re fired, you’re fired, you’re fired” thumping in her head.

    Ann Marie stares through the tv. Oil price hikes and another violent demolition zip by with nary a dent to her consciousness. But when the news anchor describes an upscale boutique becoming the victim to credit card fraud, she tilts her head slightly and sees on screen, the face of the girl who ruined her perfect world.

    Suddenly sobered by a feeling of self-righteous indignation, Ann Marie goes online and afterwards, reaches for her phone.

    Quatro. Tuesday, 9PM.

    Nikki lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag. That last job wasn’t so bad, and she could lie low for a couple of months before the next hit. She looks around her neat, one-bedroom condo unit and smiles contentedly. “it’s just a job and I’m good at it” she says aloud.

    With the dishes cleared and nothing else to do, Nikki turns on the tv to watch the news. And what she sees is a slight, bewildered looking girl with fair skin, dishevelled hair, a small mouth, unremarkable nose, and three streaks of red just below her left eye, being presented to the media as the main suspect in a series of credit card scams targetting upscale retail stores. “Cases closed”, say the police, “because of the irrefutable evidence provided by CCTV footage. Although we also have witnesses, ultimately you can’t argue with video. A face is as unique as a fingerprint.”

    Nikki flicks a good amount of ash on the sink and calls her handler. “Hey”, she says, “time for another visit to Doc. I’ll be needing a new face.”

    *end*

    ps: this is one of the scariest things i have done in my life!
    pps: i wouldn’t know i looked like somebody if i bumped into my (other) self. case in point: i fancy myself as looking like angelina jolie but my friends think i look like jaya. true story.

15. # 15 murakamibaby Says:
    July 5th, 2013 at 21:45

    ALMA

    If you don’t shine you are darkness
    The future is merciless

    – Tomorrow, Charles Wright

    Muling binuksan ni Alma ang nakatiklop na papel na nabasa na ng pawis at halos nanikit na sa kanyang kamay. PIER 45, MS MAHARLIKA pa rin ang nakasulat dito, at tila inihabol ng kung sino mang nagsulat ang salitang ALAS-OTSO. Labinglimang minuto bago ang sabi sa kanya ng higanteng relong nasa gitna mismo ng pantalan, kaya humanap muna siya ng mauupuan.

    Maraming tao, pero wala ni isang bagay na magulo o tila hindi ordinaryo. Maraming mga haka-haka ang mga taga-Ahensya kung ano’ng nangyayari dito – kesyo maraming taong nagkakantahan, laging may gulo, maya’t maya’y may hinahabol ang mga sundalo at kapag nahuli’y babarilin sa sentido – ngunit walang kasing-payapa ang umagang ito. Haka-haka nga, bulong ni Alma sa sarili; wala namang ni isa sa kanila ang umabot dito at nakabalik para magkwento.

    Natatanaw na niya ang barko. Mula sa malayo’y tila hindi ito umuusad, pero alam niyang darating ito sa takdang oras. Hindi kailanman nahuhuli ang barko. Alam niya dahil siya man ay minsan nang sumakay sa MS MAHARLIKA at dumaong sa pantalang ito. Bahagya siyang nangiti sa alaala ng kanyang pagdating, kung paanong ang pantalan, ang hanging dumadampi sa kanyang braso, ang buong mundo’y bago. Kung paanong walang pinagiba ang hitsura niya noon sa ngayon. Parehong kamisetang puti at paldang itim, parehong maleta na naglalaman ng limang pares pa ng parehong damit. Nadagdag lang ang nakakwadrong larawan ni Rosalie.

    Bugnuting bata si Rosalie, kaya siguro nagpasya ang magulang nito na lumapit sa Ahensya. Sakitin pa. Sa kanyang pagdating agad siyang isinailalim ng Ahensya sa Proseso upang maging angkop na tagapag-alaga ng bugnutin at sakiting bata. Sa Ahensya rin lumalapit ang mga magulang ng mga batang may kapansanan, mga anak ng importanteng tao, o kahit sinong magulang na kayang magbayad sa Ahensya. At parati, naibibigay ng Ahensya ang tagapag-alaga na tunay na naaangkop sa mga anak nila.

    Ipinagbabawal ng Ahensya, subalit labis na minahal ni Alma si Rosalie. Nang mawala ang pagkabugnutin nito’y lumabas ang labis na pagka-bibo. Mahilig umawit, sumayaw. Higit sa lahat ang malakas na tawa nito, ang malalalim na biloy sa pisngi. Walang ibang nakakapagpasaya kay Alma bukod kay Rosalie, at alam niyang wala ring ibang kailangan ang bata sa buong mundo kung hindi siya. Hindi ang mga magulang nito, hindi ang mga doktor, hindi ang mga kalaro, kung hindi si Alma. Sinisiguro iyon ng Ahensya.

    Hanggang dumating ang araw na hindi na siya kailangan.

    Nakadaong na ang barko at naglapitan dito ang may isandaang mga Alma. Mga babae, dalawampung taong gulang, suot ang parehong damit at iisa ang hulma ng mukha kay Alma. Sinasalubong nila ang bumababang isandaang bagong Alma na papalit sa kanila. Halos walang ipinag-iba ang mga ito sa mga Almang aakyat ng barko, mas malinis lang siguro ng kaunti ang puting kamiseta, mas matingkad ang itim ng mga palda. Dadaan mismo sa harap ni Alma ang isang bagong salta, pinagbiyak silang bunga, bukod sa kanilang mata. Sa mga mata ng bagong Alma, ang mundo’y bago. Nginitian siya nito.

    Tumunog ang sirena, isa-isa nang nag-akyatan ang mga kagaya niyang paalis sa barko. Walang nakakaalam kung saan sila dadalhin nito. May nagsimulang umiyak sa dulo ng pila, may nagtangkang tumakbo. Umalingawngaw ang isang putok. Sa gitna ng kaguluhan, hindi na makuha ni Alma ang lumingon; ipinikit na lamang niya ang kanyang mga mata, muling inalala ang maamo at masayahing mukha ni Rosalie, at bumuntong-hininga.

    Saka humakbang si Alma ng kanyang unang hakbang paakyat ng barko.

16. # 16 noelz Says:
    July 5th, 2013 at 23:30

    You know how, in those movies, something horrible happens to the lead characters — say, an EMP takes out all power for weeks in a major city and all life as you know it is disrupted and everybody ends up starving and turning into cannibals? Or a zombie apocalypse forces a band of survivors to hole up in a deserted mansion or something like that— and everybody Just. Loses. Their. Shit. It is in people’s nature to get paranoid and start throwing accusations against each other: “I saw him sneak into the tent and steal the last two cans of sardines.” Whatever. And everybody just starts killing everybody else. And while you’re watching the events unfold you’re going, “Fuck, this is too unrealistic. The screenwriters just put in all these mentally unstable character types to ratchet up the tension. Come on guys. Have a timeout. Freaking out’s never led to anything good in these types of tales. Everybody knows that.” And that’s when somebody snaps and takes out a gun or hunting knife or something and everybody but the lead guy and girl gets slaughtered? Well, something a bit like that happened to me six months ago and apparently, well, you can’t help but freak out. I am ashamed to admit it, but in the heat of the moment, I might have killed a bit. I might’ve tortured a bit. When times got tough and you’re surrounded by people who’ve gotten as paranoid as you have, one has a tendency to murder. Who knew?

    It was the fourth of July and I was at this fourth of July Barbecue event in Makati. (Okay, I know it’s weird but there is a reason why there was even a fourth of July party that night. See, there’s this, WAS, this American filmmaker, a popular music video director, who had been flown here to conduct this workshop and I guess, so that he wouldn’t feel homesick or something, the organizers turned the event into a barbecue.

    I was with a couple other filmmaker friends, Dan and Josel, and I had about six or seven beers that night. For the first hour or so, me and Josel were just having our beers and being all wallflower-ey as we tried to work up the nerve to go mingle. I remember there was this girl in a short white dress with a beautiful tan who walked into the room and started taking pictures of the people. As soon as she walked in, I remember audibly gasping.

    I turned to look at Josel who at that point was currently having a bite of bagnet. “Hey, you’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?” He nodded. (about an hour later, I would ask Josel, “so you WERE thinking what I was thinking at that point, right? Oh my god, she was gorgeous. I wasn’t even looking directly at her but it was like, she warps space and time and walks into a room and you just don’t have a choice but just stare at her, you know.” “Oh, so that’s what you were referring to?” Josel said. “I thought you meant the bagnet I was biting into was so crunchy and you heard it and everybody else heard it and I was worried you guys around me were getting bothered.”)

    Later on, the six or seven beers had the effect of getting me drunk and I started to do some mingling. My memory of the events afterwards are still hazy. I remember having a conversation with Gordon, the American director, about the animation techniques he uses in his music videos. I remember talking with his girlfriend, Meila, a Filipina, about the film production company she works for. I don’t remember talking with the girl in white, but apparently I had chatted her up as well that night. Her name was Maria.

    All-in-all, I thought I did a fair bit of drunken mingling. At some point, after the workshop and barbecue, I found myself alone, still with a can of beer and stumbling across a hallway, getting on the elevator and heading to the parking lot. There, I found out Dan and Josel had gone ahead and left without me. Fuck it. I stumbled out of the building, walked all the way to Ayala Avenue and got on a bus.

    Still a bit drunk, I slipped on a puddle of blood on the floor of my condo, hurting my ankle a bit. And then I saw him, washing his hands on the sink, trying to get all the blood off. He turned around and saw me and I couldn’t tell who was more freaked out among us. He looked just like me, wore the same clothes I did, nearly everything was the same except he had a lot more red on his clothes. “This… this can’t be real. I’m dreaming. I think I’m just drugged out of my mind and you’re a figment of my imagination.” he said.

    Here’s another thing, you know how in zombie movies people don’t usually say the word “zombie”? And zombie movies would usually invent all these words to refer to zombies? Like Walkers or Geeks or Abominations or some would even just go by the phrase “the living dead” or some ominous pronoun like THEM or something like that? Well, I wasn’t going to have any of that. I see something, I call it what it is, I’m just that kind of person. “Doppelganger!” I shouted.

    “What? I’m not a doppelganger! YOU’RE the doppelganger” he said.

    “What? I’m not a doppelganger. I’m Rick, alright? I live here. This is my condo.” I said.

    “No, this is MY condo. I’m the real Rick, okay? And you’re my doppelganger. Maybe you’re not supposed to admit it because that’s how you supernatural-types mess with people’s minds but I AM RICK.” he said.

    I would’ve liked to say the cliche “I’m not the doppelganger, you are” conversation didn’t go on for about another two minutes, but it did. And neither of us wanted to budge from our respective beliefs. We asked each other questions. Who was the real Rick’s first crush, what was our deepest darkest secret, favorite color, those kinds of things. After that game of twenty questions, we knew we had the absolute same memories.

    After a while, as the reality of the situation sank in, I tried a different tack. I sat on the plastic monobloc chair in front of my computer. He didn’t want to sit on the sofa on account of the blood on his clothes so he remained there, standing, leaned against the wall. “And why do you have all that blood on you? Were you just born or spawned or gestated or something? And more importantly… are you going to kill me?” I asked him.

    “I’m NOT going to kill you. I don’t even know WHAT you are. And this blood… it’s not mine. It’s… there was an accident, okay? I went home with this girl I met at this party and she—-,” he pointed at the blood on his shirt. “This is hers. I didn’t mean to but something weird happened. We split a bit of ecstasy and—-”

    “The pill?” I asked.

    “No, we split a bit of ecstasy, the emotion. Fuck, of course the pill!”

    “There you have it,” I said. “You’re the doppelganger. I DON’T do drugs. That’s not in my character. I drink. I smoke. And okay, I’ve done some weed on occasion. But not ecstasy. That’s something totally alien and out of character for me so YOU’RE clearly the fake and I’m the real one.”

    “You don’t– I don’t– you’ve never done ecstasy not because of some amazing moral compass you possess but because you’ve never been offered any. But if a really gorgeous girl offered to share one with you, you’d take it because you’d—- I’d do it because there’s a pretty good chance of getting laid.” Okay, he had me there. This man’s logic was unassailable.”

    “What happened?”

    “We got high. We had sex. I think. I don’t know. And I fell asleep. I woke up alone in her bedroom I was really thirsty and I tried to find the kitchen, and then I saw her lying there. She slit her throat, I think. And I tried to help her but she was already gone. Fuck. That’s it. You’re a figment of my imagination. I’m having a nervous breakdown because of all that shit.”

    “I’m not anybody’s nervous breakdown, man. And you and your imaginary girl are the ones who aren’t real.” So then it dawned on me. The beautiful girl in white. “Where exactly did you meet this girl?” I asked myself.

    “At this barbecue in Makati. The one Dan invited me to. I almost didn’t go. I wish I didn’t. But I saw her there, she was so beautiful and I had to talk to her right away.”

    “No. You’re lying. I was there. There was no way we were both there.”

    And then the conversation was interrupted when the door suddenly swung open. In I walked, wearing the same shirt and jeans I was wearing, right in the middle of me having a conversation with myself. This one, this “me” had gone on a joyride with Dan and Josel and a couple of other new friends right after the barbecue.

    Ten minutes later, I walked in again, perfectly fine but a lot more drunk than I’d been, stumbling against the edge of the sofa right before noticing the three of us in the room. This one went to have a couple more drinks at a nearby bar before heading home.

    On and on, I kept on arriving until about six in the morning when we had a total of seventeen Ricks. A bunch of my selves got really freaked out. Some tried to run back down the hallway but me and the rest of the Mes managed to grab ahold of them before they could get away or call for help. In truth, by three a.m., me and the rest of my other selves had developed a system already. Have a couple of us standing by the stairs and waiting to see how the new arrival would act, see if he would freak out or just take it in stride. The various levels of alcohol in our blood seemed to affect how well we would accept the night’s turn of events, I thought. Two of my selves vomitted on the floor but the rest of the latecomers took it well, relatively.

    Some of us managed to sleep during the night. Some of us had showers, had a change of clothes. Some heated up a couple of cans of soup and had meals. At eight in the morning, we all decided one of us should call in sick. And then, we had the meeting.

    We told each other about how each of our nights went. And so, we’d all gotten drunk. We’d all mingled. This me went home with that person. This me hung out with that group. This me got the director’s email and promised to collaborate on a project. This me went on a ride with Dan and Josel. The theory we came up with involved possibilities and some Schrodinger’s cat type of explanation.

    We then came up with a strategy. Who would go to work? Who would stay at home? How would we prevent other people from finding out what happened? An hour in, we realized it wasn’t that bad. It could even be to our advantage. Yes, food would be a problem. We’ve got sixteen extra mouths to feed and we only had one job that didn’t pay nearly enough but we could have a fix for that. (By the way, we were surprised to find out nearly all of us had a wallet with about two thousand three hundred pesos each).

    The scenario opened up a whole lot of possibilities, didn’t it? Working together, we could each stay at home and specialize on something. Some of us would get new jobs and if we pulled our resources together, we’d probably end up richer than we’d ever been. We could finally write that novel we always wanted. Some of us would learn Spanish or French. Maybe in a couple of years, some of us would like to split up from the rest of the pack and travel abroad? The potential at that time seemed limitless.

    Truly, I think things could have worked out. But as I said at the beginning, if you somehow get yourself into one of these events, you can’t help but freak out. I wish I didn’t raise my hand then to share to the rest of the group something I’d noticed. We each told our tales, but at least one of us didn’t tell the rest of the group what really happened to him the previous night. I wish I’d taken note of which one he was. But maybe I was just too drunk or shocked and we all looked exactly alike anyways so I doubt I’d even remember if I had tried to. Which one of us had gone home with the girl in white?

17. # 17 Aida Says:
    July 6th, 2013 at 11:09

    Emily is currently working in Abu Dhabi as a domestic helper to a couple of smelly Arabs. She does nothing all day but cook lamb biryani which she hates because all those spices seem to stick on her hair. At the end of the day, her short bob is redolent of ginger and cardamon.

    What she loves about her job is taking care of the couple’s cat, Kooki. The cat is not named Kooki, the Arabs calls it something else, un-pronounce-able for Emily. So Emily calls it Kooki after her sister.

    One night, Kooki was yowling so loud that Emily had to reluctantly get up from her sofa-bed. The darned cat must be hungry again. The problem with Kooki is she’s always hungry.

    Emily went to the kitchen and, lo and behold, Kooki is not alone!

    There is a woman in a red dress beside the feline. The woman was stroking Kooki’s fur.

    Emily wonders if her Arab employer brought his mistress home again. But no! The woman stood up and there in the dim kitchen light stood another Emily!

    “Who are you?” was all Emily could say.

    The woman just stood there, unmoving and silent.

    “Are you a ghost?”

    No response.

    “Are you a white lady?”

    Silence.

    “A manananggal?” She was scraping the bottom of the barrel here. She very well knew that manananggals don’t appear in red dresses and high heels, looking like someone straight from the pages of Vogue .

    “Utang na loob sirit na,” Emily resorts to Tagalog when she’s frustrated.
    “What are you ba?”

    The woman seemed to reach out into her mind. Emily felt like she was going to faint.

    I am Charlotte, don’t you remember me? You killed me years ago, dismembered me and left me to rot in the Pasig River. You are beyond redemption Emily. You are nothing but a second rate trying hard copycat. You will never amount to anything even if you try and try and try and try. Because you are a murderer and murderers should be killed and maimed and tortured and thrown into deep dark pits filled with feces. You thought you are so good, so clever, so smart. You thought you could evade me. But you will never be free of me. You will rot in hell the way I have. You will stink to high heavens while your corpse is being eaten slowly my maggots. And you will bleed in orifices you never knew you had. You will hate me. And you do hate me. But what can you do? Nothing! Bwahahahaha!!!!

    Emily felt numb, she couldn’t speak. Her throat was being strangled by this monster.

    Because Charlotte was her. Charlotte was Emily.

    10 years ago.

    (the end. 452 words, darn it!)

18. # 18 Aida Says:
    July 6th, 2013 at 11:31

    (an alternative ending)

    Emily rushed to get her celphone. She called her bestfriend in Manila, Jeffrey.

    “Jeff, you wouldn’t believe it.”

    Jeffrey’s words were muffled, “Goddamn it Em, why must you call me while I’m in the middle of something?”

    “Ooops sorry.”

    “It’s alright, these lamb chops can wait. Yes? You were saying?”

    “I saw her. I saw me. Right here in Abu Dhabi. Charlotte, she’s in the kitchen.”

    Jeffrey, who knew her life’s history, gasped. “Charlotte? But, ‘day, I thought Charlotte was …”

    “Yes, I know. All my fault. I’m a bad person, yada, yada. Jeff, what am I going to do?”

    “Perform an exorcism?”

    Of all her friends, Jeff was easily the most clever and the most dependable. She loves him.

    “Oh Jeff. I love you. Thank you.”

    “Anytime ‘day. Now go back to that bitch and give her … whatever it is you want to give her.”

    Emily rushed to her bedroom, found the balisong she brought with her 5 years ago. She never thought she’s ever use it.

    Charlotte suddenly appeared in front of her. And she showed Emily something that she has never seen for 10 years.

    Emily screamed.

    (still have to google about that “something”, but yehey! this will make > 500 words!!!)

19. # 19 Aida Says:
    July 6th, 2013 at 11:42

    Erratum:

    Emily rushed to her bedroom, found the balisong she brought with her 5 years ago. She never thought she’d ever use it.

20. # 20 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 00:55

    parlo lover: The confidence of your prose leads us to believe that you are a professional. Scriptwriter, maybe? We like the way you build tension through repetition. You start with the mundane details of the protagonist’s life—his hangover, his present situation, the geography of his living arrangements—but you have that giant hand to give the reader an inkling that something bizarre is going to happen. And you get the primary requirement of stories about doubles: the encounter must be creepy and disconcerting.

    We don’t get what ratting out the union and the cars left at the airport have to do with anything, but we’ll assume they’re connected to the bad decisions that broke Gabriel in half.

21. # 21 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 01:20

    Aida: You posted several entries. Some are too short. Some were submitted past deadline. Some are corrections. Of course exceptions must be made for brilliance. None of these entries can be accused of that. These are not even proper entries—they are attempts you have not bothered to think through. We are left with an impression of someone who wants attention very badly.

    Although this is a small contest and the prizes are tokens of appreciation rather than actual rewards, our contestants put real effort and thought into their work. Sending in these haphazard non-entries with cute little exclamations underscoring your lack of seriousness is disrespectful to say the least.

    If you have nothing to say, try silence.

22. # 22 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 02:00

    miss_o: For a terrifying moment we thought your story was a version of Face-Off, that ridiculous (and admittedly enjoyable) movie that would have us believe John Travolta and Nicolas Cage could swap faces while flocks of pigeons flew around them for no apparent reason. It turns out that the plot is a fusion of Inception and Source Code. Not bad. Unfortunately the construction kept us from enjoying the plot. You’ve got subjects and verbs in open disagreement, prepositions in confusion, and assorted irritants that would’ve been avoided if you had used the spelling and grammar check.

    People, you have to be honest with yourselves. Be aware of your weak points and make the necessary adjustments. If you know your grammar is faulty, then consult the spelling and grammar check on Word or whatever program you’re using. A minute or so will save readers so much aggravation. If that is too much trouble, then write in your first language or the language you are most comfortable in.

    We like your explanation for the double phenomenon, but you rush through the big reveal and spoil your own story. Couldn’t we have heard the doctor’s words instead of the narrator saying “the doctor…started explaining things”? That would allow the reader to see Mike’s reaction.

23. # 23 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 02:14

    jaime: Were you watching Big Bang Theory when you wrote this? It’s cute, but the timing is off. Try putting the faux physics explanation near the start so it doesn’t sound like an afterthought.

    There is a covenant between readers and writers: “We’ll read you, but you can’t just pull the chair out from under us. Hints, please.” All A-ha! moments require foreshadowing; otherwise you’re cheating.

    Consider the scene in Game of Thrones where Daenerys walks into her husband’s funeral pyre. The inattentive viewer thinks she’s going to die, but the attentive viewer has seen the clues. She stepped into a bath that was too hot, she took a dragon egg out of the fire and didn’t get burned. That’s foreshadowing. So when she walks out of the fire with newly-hatched dragons, it’s wonderful but not entirely unexpected.

24. # 24 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 02:29

    the boomerang kid: Good try. We like how you let the weirdness play out instead of trying to explain it. And adolescence is the most confusing time in a person’s life, so this stuff seems almost “normal”.

    In Philippine mythology there’s a creature similar to a changeling–is it called hunyango? You throw out the option, but leave it in doubt. That takes confidence.

25. # 25 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 02:38

    cookie: Intriguing, the protagonist comes across as a real person instead of a plot device, and the encounter between the doubles and multiples is properly disorienting. But having done all the work, why would you toss in that lazy “deer in the headlights” cliche?

    If you ever finish this story we’d like to read it.

26. # 26 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 03:01

    dindin: Thanks for the entertainment; this could be an episode on a cop show. The Jade and Ann-Marie sections are well-written and credible; the Nikki sections inauthentic and unconvincing. Have you taken a good look at the people who shop at high-end luxury stores these days? They are not what one might expect. Consider two Pinays overheard at an Hermes store in HK: “Ang galing naman ng Hermes, nakarating na sila sa Hong Kong!” You’re working on dated assumptions.

    Your credit card scam is on the obvious side. It’s also kind of stupid: the criminal syndicate is putting in too much effort (inc. plastic surgery) for too-small returns. If their plastic surgery skills were that impressive, they wouldn’t settle for petty larceny.

27. # 27 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 03:15

    murakamibaby: Excellent. The matter-of-fact tone of the piece makes it heart-rending. You have taken a contemporary phenomenon—the Filipino yaya—and made it the stuff of science-fiction. We want to read more.

28. # 28 jessicazafra Says:
    July 8th, 2013 at 03:22

    noelz: Hilarious and clever! We like how you keep the gag going on and on to absurd levels. Wait, is this Multiplicity? We want to see what happens next.

29. # 29 cookie Says:
    July 9th, 2013 at 00:22

    Hi jessica (do people call u jessica here? What is the proper term for the ruler of the universe?) i was writing the story at 2 am and i just ran out of steam. I cleaned it up next day when i had the chance and sent it in. But i still have no idea what happens next, hence the cliche. Sorry.

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