When Should A First Time Be The Last Time?

while she was nursing my old wounds, somebody gave me a gun and asked me to shoot her. Without hesitations, I pointed it at her head. She heard a clicking sound.

A stare. She didn't look scared or nervous or as if she's about to beg for mercy. The alcohol bottle was left uncapped so its sweet, irritating scent dispersed in the air and hit my nostrils. They didn't enjoy the treat.

"Put on the cap" I said.

"Shoot me first... do it. Make sure you got enough rounds there to finish me off immediately" The matter-of-factly way she stated that order made me tighten my grip on the gun.

"I can do that... " I smiled.

She smirked, and went back to wiping off the blood that trickled down from my chest.

"go ahead, you cripple... Make sure your ego goes on living a normal life again once you pulled the trigger. You insecure son of a bithch... why can't you understand that this is just how fools act in a decent world. We need to hide a part of ourselves that make us complete and just show what actually pleases other people? He owns me. He holds my hand. We become one at times. But after that, I am alone again, a lost soul. And this! This has become my home!"

Darkness and silence go well together, don't they?

"...I don't need you anymore." A lie.

"you are bleeding"
"you've caused this..."
"I know, that's why I am here..."
"Why can't you just pull out the dagger?"

She laughed... a long, hard laugh. I think she finds it really funny because her hand is touching her tummy.

she finally said, "you know we both enjoy being here and doing this..."

Our eyes met. We smiled at first... then a gush of realizations flooded my mind. That's the time we both laughed together, hands on our tummies.

My Morrie is Mrs. Reyes Part 1

Tuesdays With Morrie has made its way to the hearts of countless hopefuls praying for a teacher who carries a magic wand that can turn a senseless life to a journey worth the burdensome traversing. The moving lines uttered by Morrie are like sounds that continue to resonate even in my deepest slumbers. However, that sweet haunting lasted for only a couple of weeks. Now, I can not seem to recall even just a single sentence from the book that used to make me shiver amidst the remorseless heat of the sun. I must admit, I have a poor memory and the fact that I just borrowed the book from a friend didn't help at all. There is no way I could restock the enlightening messages in my brain. I swear, they managed to reach my heart but they couldn't leave a mark on that organ that is as black as the stormy night of the arrival of the seven plagues.

I forgot the lines maybe because I am a born follower of whatever is deemed disgusting and wrong. Or maybe, I never believed that a person like that can ever exist in reality. Whether Morrie is Mitch Albom's figment of mind or a real-life character, I don't really care. Morrie is the author's winning lottery ticket -- someone that means a lot, but, too bad, a person who will least likely come my way. Well, life has its way of effectively rebutting my arguments. Shame, shame, I heard, when Mrs. Reyes walked into my life.

Mrs. Dolores Reyes was my teacher in International Relations, American Government, and Modern Political Theories. I wish she was a bit younger when she served as our professor. At age 74, her ears are not in perfect condition anymore, thus, we needed to repeat whatever it is that we have said with a voice loud enough but still respectful. While most of my classmates were running after good grades to score a Latin honor at the end our senior years in college by reading voluminous books like the penal codes, I preferred taking a seat beside Mrs. Reyes to listen and learn from her stories.

...to be continued. antok na ko eh...

zzzZZ...