Cover illustration by Patricia Mapili and Al Chris Varquez

Volume XV

The official literary folio

of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde

Editor in ChiefAssociate EditorCreative Director

Managing Editor

News EditorFeatures Editor

Sports EditorKultura EditorLiterary Editor

Art EditorPhoto Editor

Layout EditorWeb and Social Media Editor

HeadPublications Adviser

Secretary

Martin DiegorAcy de GuzmanPatmai de VeraJaneil Vino

Bernadette DaosKatrina PalenciaAngelo OyardoDempson MayugaMotzie DapulPatricia MapiliYla CorotanAl Chris VarquezCarl Graham

Ms. Dianne May E. TorresMs. Joanah Christine L. SayoMs. Rizalyn L. Manalili

STUDENT PUBLICATIONS OFFICE

BENILDEAN PRESS CORPS

Editor’s Note

SY 2012-2013Redefining mythology isn’t difficult. We do it

everyday. With every story we exaggerate, every moment we misremember, every time we imagine something new, we redefine myths.

Remember that gods come from people, in the same way that people were created by gods. All gods exist, all beginnings are true, and all ends shall happen.

That’s the way mythology works. As long as you believe in something, it is made true—somewhere, sometime, even if not here.

And while all you see are words on a page, it doesn’t mean that none of this is real.

Quoting the wise words of Neil Gaiman, a man who knows mythology intimately and who’s redefined it in more ways than one:

“What do I believe?” “Believe everything.”

Shades of Gray is the official literary folio of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde (DLS-CSB). No part of this folio may be reproduced whether by photocopying, scanning, or by any other means without written permission from the Student Publications Office (SPO). Copyright 2012. For inquiries, visit the SPO at 2F Br. Miguel Febres Cordero Bldg., DLS-CSB, 2544 Taft Avenue, Manila.

Motzie Dapul

Steffani YuManaging staff

Staff

Pat ArafolMarty Arnaldo

Gennina BalanaJemmarie Bocalbos

Raphael BulaongAnne Beatrice Cruel

Acy de GuzmanPatmai de Vera

Jimdrix DiazMartin Diegor

Camille EstanislaoPauline Hermoso

JC JamoralinKo Hwe-Jeong

Gianina MartinezDempson Mayuga

Angelo OyardoJan Sabado

Melanie Irene Tagama

Tonichi AcenasMarielle Almario

Eya ArceoAdrian AyuyaoAviana Baladad

Iris Trinidad

Writers

Contributors

Kathrina AgraanAlberto Cinco Jr.

Gabriel DaluzNiro Donato

Mariel EnriquezEvanberg GasgoniaMelissa Gatchalian

Tyron LucidoGerard Mangente

Sharon RamosKaye Tan

Layout Artists

Angelica AbayanGeorjanno AbenojaThea BathanMawee BorromeoVeronica ChuaMariel EmpitGerard LopezCassie MendiolaDorothea NapayAngelica RegalaAlyssum Teh

Illustrators

Chaos in the courtWritten by Eya Arceo

Illustrated by Mawee Borromeo

Driving lessonsWritten by Aviana BaladadIllustrated by Veronica Chua

Mirrors can rememberWritten by Camille Estanislao

Illustrated by Dorothea Napay

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Written by Angelo OyardoIllustrated by Veronica Chua

The creation of the Mamags

Imperfections

Written by Gennina BalanaIllustrated by Cassie Mendiola

Ang alamat ng mangga

How the Erotes gave me my first love

Written by Acy de GuzmanIllustrated by Thea Bathan

Written by Patmai de VeraIllustrated by Angelica Regala

PallasWritten by Marielle AlmarioIllustrated by Cassie Mendiola

How horses lost their legsWritten by Adrian Ayuyao

Illustrated by Mariel Empit

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Contents Europhoric euphemismsWritten by Motzie Dapul

Illustrated by Allysum Teh

Did you hear about...Written by Motzie DapulIllustrated by Dorothea Napay

(de)HumanizationWritten by Anne Beatrice CruelIllustrated by Cassie Mendiola

Charlotte and SarahWritten by Aviana Baladad

Illustrated by Mawee Borromeo

50Bathala the lonelyWritten by Motzie Dapul

Illustrated by Thea Bathan 54

So Odin walks into a barWritten by Ko Hwe-Jeong

Illustrated by Georjanno Abenoja

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If only the sun had shone earlier

The untold story of the goddess of the Underworld

Written by Pauline HermosoIllustrated by Mariel Empit

Written by Jemmarie BocalbosIllustrated byAngelica Regala

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MurphyWritten by Gianina Martinez

Illustrated by Dorothea Napay

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Morpheus’ shopWritten by Jan SabadoIllustrated by Veronica Chua

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All is fair in love and warWritten by Melanie Irene TagamaIllustrated by Dorothea Napay

72The villain songWritten by Motzie DapulIllustrated by Alyssum Teh

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Prisoner

God is dog, dog si God

Written by Tonichi AcenasIllustrated by Mawee Borromeo

Written by Marty ArnaldoIllustrated by Thea Bathan

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Old wives’ talesWritten by Iris Trinidad

Illustrated by Patricia Mapili 84

85Glass-eyed quests

Written by Aviana BaladadIllustrated by Cassie Mendiola

Issues of consentWritten by Motzie Dapul

Illustrated by Veronica Chua Ex-mythologyWritten by Raphael BulaongIllustrated by Mariel Empit

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Kuwentong kutseroWritten by Pat ArafolIllustrated by Gerard Lopez

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Buhay ko’y rainbow kapag kapiling ang berde

mong mukhaWritten by JC Jamoralin

Illustrated by Patmai de Vera

101On that certain trip during the nightWritten by Martin DiegorIllustrated by Mariel Empit

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The boatman

Green day

Written by Tonichi AcenasIllustrated by Georjanno Abenoja

Written by Dempson MayugaIllustrated by Gerard Lopez

104The planWritten by Angelo OyardoIllustrated by Dorothea Napay

109The afterlife mythWritten by Adrian AyuyaoIllustrated by Dorothea Napay

God. Some assembly requiredWritten by Marty ArnaldoIllustrated by Angelica Regala

89Ding, ang stone!

Written by Dempson MayugaIllustrated by Cassie Mendiola

Adventure down underWritten by Jimdrix Diaz

Illustrated by Alyssum Teh

by Angelo Oyardo

ImperfectionsIn the beginning, there was

existence. It happened at a time no one remembers, and gave form to what has always been. And with beginning came the things which, to this day, bear no name. These things that bear no name will always exist, but they are not remembered. What are remembered are the stories.

My, have you heard of creatures absurd who unlike us are imperfections?A grotesque objection to the grandest selection. “Like mud on our shoes!” Exactly—imperfections.So weak yet so proud; So rude and so loud; “We should chuck ‘em out!” Yes, off with the imperfections! What were we thinking when— “Yeah, what were we thinking?” Wait, let me finish. —where were we? “Uh— ‘what were we thinking when—’?” Yes, of course.

What were we thinking when we made these imperfections?

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IT ALL STARTED when a woman named Maya Mahina fell in love with a handsome man named Carlito

Makisig. Carlito Makisig was every woman’s dream. While Maya was pretty with the most expressive eyes anyone had ever seen, she was also extremely shy and had a bit of a weak character.

The creationof the Mamagsby Gennina Balana

Carlito fell in love with Maya because of her kind and caring nature; he loved her truly. No matter how beautiful the other girls were, he only had eyes for Maya. Maya, on the other hand, was afraid of being hurt and at first kept her distance; but after seeing the proof of Carlito’s passion and feeling his steadfast love, she slowly opened her heart and surrendered her whole being to him.

Meanwhile, in another realm, Anitun Tabu, the goddess of wind and rain, was growing very bored with her life. Because of her beauty, everything was always given to her without much effort on her part. One day, she looked down at the mortal realm and saw Carlito working. Bewitched by his looks and captivated by his strength, Anitun decided that she wanted him for herself. She followed him down to his workplace and told him to come with her. Without hesitation, Carlito refused. Anitun Tabu offered to grant him anything his heart desired if he would come away with her but Carlito simply said that he desired nothing more than his beautiful Maya.

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How horses lost their legsby Adrian Ayuyao

A LONG, LONG TIME AGO, there were horses. Boon of the gods, they were noble steeds that

reigned supreme over the land. They were not beasts of burden. They were horses and they held their heads high.

Angered by the rejection of a mere mortal, Anitun unleashed a strong typhoon in Carlito’s region. There were a lot of casualties, Carlito included.

Maya, consumed with grief from the death of her lover, withdrew from society completely. She was inconsolable. She prayed to Bathala to send Carlito back to her, but it was impossible. She then decided if that if he couldn’t come back to her, then she would join him in the afterlife.

Dumakulem, the guardian of the mountain and the brother of Anitun, heard of what his fickle-minded sister had done to the couple. He pitied them and their unfortunate demise. He knew that if Anitun had not intervened, they would have lived a long and prosperous life. He decided to give the couple a new life.

However, he didn’t have the power to restore the dead; he could only reincarnate them as creatures in his mountain. He created two small creatures with big, expressive eyes, long ankle bones, and long tails. These creatures were said to be shy and a bit suicidal when lonely. The happily reunited couple kept to themselves and basked in each other’s love until death took them again. Their offsprings were later given the name “tarsiers”.

Angered by the rejection of a mere mortal, Anitun unleashed a strong typhoon in Carlito’s region.

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And then there was Man, bane of the gods, who loved the horses. Man gave horses shelter and attention and the horses gave Man travel. With travel, Man saw the world. He traded, learned and fought because of the horse. Man’s relationship with the beast was fruitful for many years.

That is, until Man stayed home. After Man saw the world, he went home to

live with his conveniences. When Man no longer needed to travel the world on the backs of horses, he was content to leave the horse unsheltered and unattended, which made many horses very unhappy.

Then came Mr. Fulton, a Man who loved the horses’ nobility. He came forward and said, “I can make you strong and hardy! To help you help Man see the rest of the world and to always need to be attended! All I need are your brave hearts!”

There were horses that said, “No, we must be whole to be horses.” But there were horses that grew excited and trampled at the opportunity. Those horses were torn asunder. They became hippocampi and the Man that rode them became Argonauts. With the hippocampi’s now-immortal hearts kept in steel bodies, Man crossed oceans and Man was happy for the change. But not all horses were.

Then came the Brothers Wright, two Men who loved the horses’ need for endless travel. They came forward and said, “We can make you fly! To see the World from the sky! All we need are your tireless spirits!”

And again there were horses that said, “No, we must be whole to be hors —,” but their voices were

silenced by the gasping and the whinnying of the other, more excited horses. Those horses became Pegusi and the Man that rode them became Bellerophons. With the Pegasi’s lightweight bodies and smooth wings, Man crossed mountains and Man was happy for the change. But not all horses were.

Then came Mr. Ford, a Man who loved the horse. He came forward and said, “I can make you horses once more. All I need are your legs.”

There were horses that were reluctant but none said, “We must be whole to be horses.” The rest of the horses became as horses, but steel, and Man that rode them remained Man. Their steel bodies helped Man trade, learn and fight over greater distances, but were shinier and more costly to handle. And yet, Man was happier for the change. But we don’t know if the horses were.

With all the horses changed, they kept silent. No longer were they the noble steeds that reigned supreme. No more were there horses that galloped and whinnied or said, “We must be whole to be horses.” There were just the lifeless, soundless mechanical beasts of burden that we shelter and pay attention to. There will be beasts that we’d care about, horses that would whinny as the occasional jalopy did or the horse that would act up as the Titanic or as the Concordes did.

But that’s how horses lost their legs and how Man lost horses.

The rest of the horses became as horses, but steel, and Man that rode them remained Man.

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Sa ilalim ng puno ng mangga,Nagsimula siyang bumanat ng corny jokes niya.Kunwari ay kaswal lang ang kanyang pagsama-samaPero halatang ang mga tingin niya’y malagkit pa sa dagta.

Sa ilalim ng puno ng mangga,Nagsimula kaming magsalo sa earphones kong luma na.Sound trip ang drama kahit wala namang musika.Ay meron pala, ‘yun nga lang, naririnig lang sa isang tenga.

ni Acy de Guzman

Ang alamat ng manggaSa ilalim ng puno ng mangga,Nagsimula kang magpatulong sa paggawa ng project moSinamahan pa kitang bumili ng G-Tech para sa ‘yong guro.Kahit palakol na grade ay ayos na sa ‘yo.

Unti-unti nang nalalaglag ang mga bunga ng mangga.Ngunit tawanan at kuwentuhan ay tuluy-tuloy pa.Pinagbalat mo pa ako ng isang nahulog na bunga.Epic fail nga lang, kasi inuuod pala.

Tuluyan nang nahulog ang lahat ng mangga—May mga nahulog na bulok, may’ron ding hinog paKasabay nga lang ng mga nahulog na bungang itoAy ang pagkahulog ng loob ko sa ‘yo.Mula nu’n ay hindi na tayo bumalik sa puno ng mangga.Mga mukha natin ay nailang sa isa’t-isa.Kumusta na ang punong iyon? Namumunga pa ba?Wala na akong balita buhat nang mawala ka.

Matanda na ngayon ang puno ng mangga. Earphones ko’y sira na, project mo’y naipasa na.Kaya isusulat ko na lang gamit ang papel at pluma, Ang tungkol sa punong puno ng alaala.

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How the Erotes gave me my first loveby Patmai de Vera

Unreciprocated.Pothos hath touched meStirred my dreams muchI felt his touch.Ever so gently

I gasped,Awakened to the real.In my head, he’s my darling.In my life, he’s but nothing.Unsure of what to feel.

Sweat.Drenches me to the bone.Hedylogos, kindly assistThat my words not missTo not be left alone.

Tactile from lips,Warmth blessed by ErosEyes meet.Indiscreet.Seediferous.

Unorthodox,Anteros strangely was last,With sweet moments,Skin commitmentsTo each other cast

Intruders,Suddenly Algea, swift distressBetraying whispers,Quick disperse.Promptly unblessed.

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by Marielle Almario

Pallas

PALLAS WANDERED back to Asphodel Meadows with Persephone. In the distance, Hades

attended to the souls in the Elysian Fields.“Pallas?” Pallas paused in retelling the tale of

Athena to Persephone.“Yes. Athena and I were inseparable. We did

everything together. She was a great friend and—” Pallas paused, suddenly feeling a tightness in his chest. “And one day, we had an argument. It... It was a petty thing; silly, actually, so much that I have now forgotten what it was.” Pallas’ lips ghosted into a

From these stories came gods, the old and the new, the

named and unnamed. No one knew how these gods came to be, but they were remembered in the stories that were made. And they had their beginnings, their middles, and their ends.

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smile. It was a really unimportant matter which they fought over, she thought.

“Oh, how horrible!” Pallas merely shrugged off Persephone’s words.

“I was mortal and weak, Athena was strong.” Her voice cracked and weakened. “You see, Persephone, Athena and I... We had loved so much. I was her beloved. We loved hard and deeply...and we fought like wild beasts.” Pallas gave a weak smile to the Underworld’s queen.

“She was too wise and I was too impetuous for her.” There was a subtle shake from Pallas’ head. “So soon, when I died, Hades took me in with open arms. The lord of the Underworld took pity on me. But we’re friends now.”

Persephone took on a critical look as she eyed Pallas. “When you say ‘lord’...”

“It is a slur.” Pallas clarifies. Persephone shook her head, smiled, and took

Pallas’ hand.“Since Hades is a friend, I too, hope that we can

become friends, Pallas. You are an amazing woman.” The warmth in Persephone’s eyes could almost be magnified by the darkness of the Underworld.

“We will,” Pallas said as she chuckled lightly. “Of course, we will! Now, let us go and keep my

husband company.” And Persephone cast her gaze towards Hades as they walked towards the fields.

We had loved so much. I was her beloved. We loved hard and deeply... and we fought like wild beasts.

by Motzie Dapul

Euphoric euphemisms

I love the innuendo,the lively love fandango,the horizontal tango,that comes with stories told.

Heracles or Hercules;For him there were some maybes.Iolaus on his knees? His nephew? I’m too bold;

I’ll tell you that that boy,Iolaus, with sidekick and joy,Could be a little coy.As lover, t’was his right.

And Loki, god of fireand mischief, earned some ire,through Odin’s grand desire,with horse, he lost a fight.

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The tricks were godly thingsFor which the poet sings.And know each scandal ringsToo true to the old myths.

Try not to be a prudeAnd I’ll not be too rudeWhile saying these ensued;These myths are our gifts.

There is no use to censorIn flimsy old defense, orThe stories myths dispense orThe fact that copulation

Was part in parcel then.Know that these stories canRestore the lives of menTo rightful exultation.

Don’t fear these words, they’re hist’ryMythology, less myst’ry,T’was different then, and this wemust know about today.

‘Cause old things hold their teaching.Let your mind take the preaching.Forget not as you’re reachingThe lessons they portray.

(By fight, I do mean cherry)For months along did tarryLoki, just to carry,Sleipnir, whom he birthed.

And what of GanymedeReceiver of the seed?The seed of Zeus indeed.(That joke had little worth).

And Set and Horus, why,they had no shame, no lie,Insemination, by the byWas Set’s own claim to rule.

But Horus was so cleverAnd while they “danced”, he neverLet the seed inside; he severedthe hand that caught the pool.

So when they called the godsTo check each of their oddsAnd Horus got the nodfor his seed in Set’s gut.

(Well that was Horus’ play)(Set’s salad was the way)(That he kept Set at bay)(With seed as dressing, but)

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I held the reinsIn my shaking handsI held my dreamsSo close to taking flight.

The proud stallion at my sideWhiter than the shiningShining starsOf the Milky WayTossed his headIndignantly, it seemedImpatiently.

Dare we not go?All those driving lessonsShall be for naughtIf I cannot get my feetOff the ground.

He spread his wingsAnd took flight—Better than aBrand new carFaster than the speed of light.

Driving lessonsby Aviana Baladad

Chaos in the courtby Eya Arceo

WHEN THE MIGHTIEST OF GODS congregate, every other being should be wary—for when the gods gather

on Olympus, a terrible fate may be bestowed on another.

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She entered the court with a serene smile on her lips. She did not show fear in her expression, despite the fact that she was to be judged by gods. Instead, she looked as if she were enjoying a stroll along the park, picking flowers in the garden or singing to the birds.

“My lord Zeus,” she bowed to the Lord of the Sky. “And the mighty Olympians,” she said as she turned to address the rest of her audience. “You summoned me?”

“Don’t pretend that you were summoned! You had gone into hiding and have only resurfaced now,” Zeus bellowed, unable to contain his rage. “Your actions led to a war and the death of countless victims. Yet you act as if you know nothing? Stand and prepare to receive the judgement of this council!”

The young lady’s eyes shone with tears waiting to cascade down her angelic face. She took a step back from the gods and clutched her chest.

“W-what? I don’t understand…” she said as her eyes moved from one god to another pleadingly. “You’re blaming me? How can you accuse me of such a thing? I–I didn’t do anything wrong…”

She dropped to her knees and hid her face in her hands. Her slight figure shook as she cried. Her sobs echoed throughout the pristine hall. The gods stared at her with cold expressions. They knew not to be fooled.

True enough, a moment later, her sobs turned into something more sinister. No longer were the woman’s shoulders shaking from her tears but from her snickers. Soon, her laughter turned into a malevolent cackle. No other sound could have been more ominous, more foreboding.

The woman lifted her face and stared at those in front of her. “I never did like playing the damsel in distress.”

She smiled, and when she did, it was no longer a serene, calming smile, but one filled with malice. She seemed like an entirely different person.

“Enough with your games, Eris!” Queen Hera demanded. “You will learn to know your place!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the goddess of discord replied sarcastically.

“ERIS!” Zeus shouted. “Be silent and hear me speak!”

Any other being, mortal or not, would have been frozen in place with fear. They would have followed the command of the lord of the gods. But not Eris. She seemed not to hear. Instead, she noticed the ghost of a handsome young man standing alongside the gods, staring at her with pure hatred and disgust.

“Paris,” Eris greeted. “How are you, my darling? Did you have a good time with Helen?”

The young man’s expression darkened even more. He took a small step forward. “I pray that you will be judged harshly, Eris. You caused the destruction of Troy. You will pay.”

“Oh, and here I thought it was you who did that.” Eris smiled wickedly. “What was that song the mortals listen to?” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Ah, there we go. That’s what you get when you let your heart win,” Eris sang. “Oh wait. For you, it’s ‘That’s what you get when you let your lust win,” she laughed mischievously.

Without me, without chaos, how will you even begin to describe peace?

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A lightning bolt struck the floor a few inches from where Eris stood, causing her to step back and turn her attention to Zeus.

“Silence! I will hear no more of your insults! Speak again and I will destroy you!”

“Destroy me?” Eris scoffed. The same sinister laughter escaped from her lips. She stared at Zeus intently. “Do you really think that’s wise...? If you destroy me, what will happen to peace? Without me, without chaos, how will you even begin to describe peace?”

The council stood silent, too stunned to speak.“Everyone knows that peace is the opposite of

chaos. If I didn’t come to play, no one would even appreciate Harmonia.”

“Can’t you see?” Eris taunted. “I bring balance to this world! You NEED me!” She spread her arms wide and let out a cackle of sadistic glee.

“You’re mad...,” Paris murmured after a while.“Mad? I’m not mad,” she replied. “But I am what

I am.”No one knew what to say. This was not how this

congregation was supposed to go.“Well, I really must go,” the goddess of discord

sighed. “I have places to be, things to destroy...” She began to take a couple of steps back, and the mightiest of gods could do nothing to stop her.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

And with a little wink, she vanished.

Did you hear about...by Motzie Dapul

Did you hear about Horace?No, seriously, listen.Horace O.? You know?The kid with the little nose?Yeah, that’s the one.He slept with his uncle.His uncle.To be fair, they’re like,almost the same age, you know?Well, almost.He’s like, fifteen.His dad’s little brother is a college freshman.Nineteen, I think.I know, right? But yeah,

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I don’t think they were close.I hear they hate each other.Seth and Horace.Something about Horace’s dad,Seth’s brother.They’ve got this whole history.I dunno. It’s none of my business.They always fight, though.Like some kinda (can I say kinky?) D/s thing.No one would’ve guessed they were getting freaky.Well, okay, maybe.I mean, you couldn’t hate someone that much if...Never mind.What? Whaaaat?Come on.… Fine.I mean, you couldn’t hate someone that much if you didn’t care.If you didn’t... didn’t love.Right?Right?What do you mean—Well yeah, but...No, no, noI don’t think they’ll ever stop.But I dunno.It’s none of my business.

Mirrors can rememberby Camille Estanislao

DO YOU KNOW what mirrors are capable of? Mirrors remember.

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Once, in Narcissus’ woods, I met a wandering nymph who nursed a great admiration for the drowned youth. Her hair was long, her footsteps light, and her eyes were wild, but she was kind enough to talk to a weary rambler, and do me no harm. She wore wild daffodils in her hair. Indeed, she was very beautiful. But she insisted that her looks were nothing compared to Narcissus’.

“But how do you know?” I asked her. “Narcissus was before your time.”

“Oh, but the lake remembers his face,” she told me. “His face sometimes glimmers out of it, an image of perfection—perhaps to remind me of my own vanity,” she added honestly, coquettishly.

It was a beautiful lake not overwhelmingly large, but large enough; perfect for a day of meditation—perfect for reflection. Away from these cold forests, what a turbulent world awaits me!

Some years later, I walked into an old shut-down restaurant in Paris. It used to be an artist’s studio, which used to be a ballet studio, which used to be a coffee shop, which used to be a teashop, which used to be a bookshop. The mirror had always been there, fixed beautifully on the wall, old as old can be.

Looking closely, it was just possible to discern stockinged-legs flashing up and down in the mirror’s memories. If you looked long enough, you might see bookshelves behind you, too. But I didn’t stay long in that empty place.

But you can’t deny that sometimes, reflections are what make things exist.

Back in Narcissus’ woods, I told my friend the nymph that there wasn’t much use in investigating mirrors’ memories anyway. And, I said, wasn’t a reflection a mere bounce-back of light under the right conditions?

“Well, yes,” she replied, after a moment, “but you can’t deny that sometimes, reflections are what make things exist. A bounce-back of light… how much light do you have in you, that a mirror will not forget your face in a hurry?”

I was pleasantly surprised to find that it is rather enjoyable to sit at the bank of Narcissus’ lake, feet swirling in the water, surrounded by perfect white flowers. Was all of this just a reflection of something else? Night fell and the lake became a dark pool of glitter.

The nymph pointed to the moon. “The moon is mirror of the sun,” she declared, “and the lake is a mirror of the moon tonight.”

A pair of eyes glimmered from the ripples I was making with my feet. Such beautiful, gray eyes…

“As the ocean is mirror to the sky, and such transient things they are!” The lake itself is vain, I thought. The darkening forest seemed to smile.

“And his eyes,” the nymph smiled at where the gray glimmer had appeared, “are a reflection of his spirit, and it is reflected in the lake. You will not gain much from seeing it—he was quite as shallow as the lake is deep, apparently.”

After that last visit to Narcissus’ wood, I could no longer see the memories of mirrors. Something in those

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gray and coldly beautiful eyes had taken that away from me. I could only see my own reflection, and wonder what else the mirror remembered. But no matter; there were other things to do. How much light do you have in you, that the world will not forget you in a hurry? Between the ocean and the moon I felt conspired against, yet blessed.

Meanwhile, I had taken to staring into the greatest mirror’s—the ocean’s—surface, hoping that the depths would crack away the vain shallowness of Narcissus’ eyes. Farewell to the shores of Europe! Truly, a sense of clarity is building up in me as tropical winds draw nearer. And anyway, I might meet a siren, and who knows what the mermaids will be able to show me?

J.P.R., July 1887. En route to the Philippines.“Greetings from the Strait of Malacca in a sea as

tranquil as a mirror...” wrote Jose P. Rizal in a postcard dated July 26,1887, as he was on the way back from Marseilles. About a week later, much closer to home, he slept on deck for a whole night, in the light of the moon.

His written anecdote about Narcissus’ lake was never found, but mirrors found their way into El Filibusterismo.

(de)Humanizationby Anne Beatrice Cruel

GREEN EYES CAREFULLY scan the raindrops sliding down from the glass window that

separates them from their spectator.

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Along with a heavy sigh that escaped from very thin lips, thick black curtains suddenly obscure the dreary scene.

“It’s a surprise seeing you here, Loki. I didn’t think this café suited your tastes.” A ghostly smile makes its way over the impish, effeminate face.

“I am the god of mischief after all. Unpredictability should be expected from me, my dear god of the dead.” The newcomer resists making a laugh before he sits on the person’s right.

“I knew that we would meet again but I did not expect for us to meet as teacher and student.” Smoky grays turn to their youthful green counterparts. “And if I may ask why, why a female form, Loki?”

“I would rather be myself than force myself to be who I’m not, and besides, it’s just temporary.” The trickster shrugs. “And really, Hades, an Economics teacher?”

“My Roman counterpart is the god of riches as well as of the dead. You can say that I’m getting in touch with my inner Roman.”

While he hides his chuckles, his loose clothing change into fitting black leather and his black locks turn a vibrant red. “If we are going to talk as gods, I suppose it’s better if we look as gods as well, don’t you think?”

“Very well,” says the elder god. Shadows rush from the room’s corners and engulfs them whole.

...overlooking the fact that everyone—and I mean everyone—has the capability to do better and worse.

The ominous things soon wrap themselves around the elder god like a fitting cloak. His young face is soon etched with lines and wrinkles as it pales with every passing second. The only thing that does not change is his unwavering smile.

“Is this to your liking, young god?” he asks mirthfully, but his disposition changes when he notices the trickster’s sobriety. “Is anything bothering you?”

“Does it not pain you when people assume that you’re evil just because you associate yourself with the dead and darkness?”

“I never would have taken you for someone who cares about the opinions of others.”

“What are we really, Hades?” The Norse god asks solemnly. “Are we really gods or are we just creatures born from paper and ink with lives and wills not of our own?”

“Isn’t that a bit too philosophical for you?”“I just do not want… to be the monster those tales

want me to be.” The trickster sighs. “I do not want to be remembered by those monstrous deeds. I’m sure you understand what I’m trying to convey.”

Hades’ very pale eyes gaze at the defeated stance the trickster is showing. He gives way to a heavy breath before he starts to explain.

“The people have always feared things they do not comprehend, not knowing that they fear an entirely different matter. Sometimes, out of fear, people twist those mysterious, incomprehensible things, as if they are things to be afraid of, when in reality, they should be accepted with opened arms.

“You can say that everyone will always look for a

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handful of villains from their viewpoint, overlooking the fact that everyone—and I mean everyone—has the capability to do better and worse.”

“Such wise words for an old man,” the Norse god jests, hinting the return of his playful nature.

“You still have a lot to learn, child,” the Greek quips.With that, the trickster’s smirk disappears.“Can you please take care of her? Of Hel, I mean

since she is....”“There is no need to ask, Loki,” he kindly interrupts.

“I have been watching over her ever since she came into her own. Besides, we death gods must look after one another.”

“Thank you, Hades. I am forever in your debt.”“There is no need for you to say that. Besides,

honesty is not in your character.”Vibrant red hair unexpectedly returns to its

former dark glory as the black clothes transform into loose casual wear. The darkness ripples away until the economical atmosphere of the café resurfaces once again.

Green eyes look at the window for a final time and notice the bright linings of the sky. “The rain must have stopped pouring while we were talking. I guess I better go then. See you around, Des– I mean Sir Desmarinas.” The student wonders about her strange slip as she leaves.

“See you in class, Miss Kilos.” The death god’s teacher persona speaks for him. Once his student disappears from sight, he looks skyward with the younger god’s unanswered question lingering in his mind.

by Aviana Baladad

Charlotte and Sarah

*Based on the story of Charybdis and Scylla

They were beautiful, yes.Two sisters everyone seemed to love.They had it all—the looks,The charm, the confidence.They flirted and crushedThose young men who,ValiantlyTried to conquer them.Those young heroes—Nothing but playthings to them

They were beautiful, yes.Two sisters everyone feared.Thunder and lightning were allThat reigned in their heartsTheir minds clouded by thoughtsof destruction—Compulsion.

Those little boys never had a chanceWhen they would turn their sights on them.

48

by Motzie Dapul

Bathala the lonely

BATHALA HAD A WIFE, once. Like a consort, sort of, but he loved her. So, wife, then. S/he

(hermaphrodite, you know?) was kind. Gentle. Loving. Ikapati was her name. When Bathala was melancholic, s/he would warm him and kiss him and play with him, and he would be happy for a while.

But that didn’t last long.

S/he could see he was lonely.So s/he did something—a little thing; s/he formed

a ball from materials in her garden, and s/he gave it to him to play with.

With that ball, he created the world. Spattered it with water, gave it life with his breath. So proud was s/he that Ikapati placed it in the sky. Bathala’s great achievement.

After that, s/he was gone.Just... gone.“At least, that’s how it’s told.”“Whad’you mean?”“Only Bathala remembers now.”“Oh. So what happened next?”Bathala fought with Amansinaya all the time. He

was Sky, she was Sea, and they were so detached from each other that it took one disgruntled bird to bring their realms together.

Amihan wanted rest, so she forced peace—the infinitesimal, powerful bird that she was. And Bathala and Amansinaya just went with it.

After that, Amansinaya disappeared. Bathala made friends with Galang Kaluluwa, but he died.

Bathala felt the loss, but he got used to it. It was all he could do. Eventually, the second-generation gods came. Gods

of agriculture, protection, wind and rain, sea and stone, food and work—they rose up, singing praises to Bathala and taking responsibility for his people.

And for a while, he wasn’t lonely. Especially with, well...

Lakampati was a fertility god/dess; half-and-half, like Bathala’s wife, and just as kind and gentle. The people loved him/her for his/her compassion, and so did Bathala.

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But he was Bathala, above them, a god even in their eyes. He knew he’d just scare him/her away. He didn’t want to lose the warmth s/he showed him.

So he never said a word, and watched as his Ikapati—no, Lakampati—married one of his servants, Mapulon of the changing seasons.

She eventually birthed Anagolay, goddess of lost things, who married Dumakulem, warrior god of the mountains. And they in turn brought the sun into the world, as well as the goddess of love.

And in the changing seasons, Bathala watched them, far from his own happiness. Alone.

“That’s sad.”“It is, yeah.”“But Bathala—”“Was so human when he decided; He wanted him/

her to be happy. No use bringing up all that baggage. Especially when...”

The white men came again, first with words of peace, then with fires, to burn down villages.

The gods ran, took their people with them, into the mountains. They should’ve been safe there.

Still, they were lost. Their people turned to the new men and their God.

Those who remained faithful were hunted down. The gods couldn’t let their people suffer like that.

So Bathala, for the first time since his peace with Amansinaya, took the sky and parted ways with the Earth (once upon a time, the sky was so close you could touch the clouds, and the gods of the Earth and the gods of the sky could consort freely). He pulled it so high that it could not be touched.

But you can’t win ‘em all. Not even if you’re a supreme god.

The Earth gods couldn’t mount the sky. Friends and family were separated. Sky gods (seasons, stars, the sun

and the moon, the winds and the rain) couldn’t be left grounded. They were too important for that. Meanwhile, the Earth gods would have to survive on their own.

Luckily, the Earth gods married Earth gods. Sky gods did the same.

Except...Lakampati had fallen for a god of seasons, and

Mapulon loved someone who drew life from earth. And they were broken. They held each other until Bathala pulled them

apart. The sorrow touched him more than anyone, but he was a god. His duties were clear.

And so the sky gods lived, untouched, and the Earth gods... they survived.

“And you?” Rick asked. “I pay my way to

Bathala for moments with Mapulon, no matter how little,” Lakampati sighed, taking a sip of her sweetened coffee.

“He told you? The bit with Ikapati, I mean.”

“Just so I’d know, he said. Why he was doing this. Because he loved me. Because he couldn’t stand to see me wither away. I’d... gone through enough time, enough war, to take the news standing.”

Lakampati paused, taking in the café’s white noise.“Now I do Bathala’s jobs on earth: making heroes,

helping good people, taking care of his land. In exchange, I get to see Mapulon.”

“And Bathala?”He’s alone, Lakampati didn’t say. He’ll always

be alone.

And so the sky gods lived, untouched, and the earth gods... they survived.

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If only the sun had shone earlierby Pauline Hermoso

Memories of this old broken cityBits and pieces of how it used to beHere I sit by the same old cornerWhere he had a chance to break her.

We were kids back then; Persephone knew lessShe’s a really pretty girl that wouldn’t make a messBut we grew and the world grew colderAnd Hades came to take the rest of her.

It was a dark rainy afternoon that had the best of meWe played hide n’ seek, thinking she couldn’t find meTime passed; days came byNever knew she’d leave without saying goodbye

Grasping now these cold metal barsLooking on what’s left of my battle scarsRemembering how he wanted herAnd how his eyes would always make me shiver

She came back after a couple of daysLost in her own eyes; lost in her own waysHe promised her so many things she wanted to declineHe promised that this world would be fine.

Now the seasons change and war came between menNever did my heart ever try to softenAfter all those pathetic and selfish liesEveryone now prefers to be in disguise.

From the painful heat when summer breaksTo the lonesome cold when winter wakesHave I not done enough to make her clean?All of these orange leaves, what do they mean?

As I sit still by this empty cellThe chambers of my heart become empty as wellHow could the gods have let this happen?How could we wage war with our fellow countrymen?

Looking back at those days that had made me singShe was always happy when it was springMaybe I have to forgive and forget, or maybe regret laterBut this world wouldn’t have been wrecked if the sun had shone earlier.

54 55

HE DREAMS OF PEACE, a soft breeze drifting over the mountaintop. He dreams of sheep, and of his

faithful hounds barking in the distance as his tutors come to visit him. He is but young as the shadow of an eagle overtakes him, even as he runs as fast as he can. There is no escape for him, not that it matters. After all, who would be foolish enough to refuse a god?

by Motzie Dapul

Issues of consent “Cassandra. That’s who. And look how she turned out. Bag of cats. Couldn’t shake the crazy even if she tried.”

“Thank you, Eros, that’s very helpful.”Eros, infuriatingly sweet-faced with a touch of

mischief in his dimpled smile, giggled—yes, giggled—over his coffee.

“You look older,” he observed. “Cold turkey. I haven’t had ambrosia in years,”

Ganymede said. “Not that it matters. I think the shit’s my blood.”

“In your blood?” Eros asked. “No. Is my blood. Ever since I stopped drinking the

stuff, I’ve been piling up the mortal injuries. I bleed gold. Gold, Eros. You know how I explained that to my last ex?”

“Oh, do tell.”“I didn’t. He was so tired he thought he was

dreaming. I ran. Packed my bags and ran before he could ask questions.” Ganymede sighed miserably. “I liked him. He was nice. A bit on the eccentric side, but nice.”

“What about now? You’re dating that cop, aren’t you?” Eros asked, leaning precariously on the hind legs of his chair.

“You know very well I’m dating that cop,” Ganymede said, pointing an accusing spoon at Eros’ chest, “you manipulative little SOB.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t bring my mother into this,” Eros said warningly. “And don’t think I don’t see it. He makes you happy. And you make him happy, but don’t ask me how that part works. I’m baffled by anyone who lasts with you for more than a week, especially with the new wrinkles.”

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“I like the wrinkles,” Ganymede said. “I was sick and tired of being forever 13. I wear 21 pretty well, don’t you think?”

“Certainly less jail-baity,” said Eros. “At least no more big man gods will be tempted to kidnap you, Mister Hunter.”

“I’d drink to that if I had any alcohol,” Ganymede said, raising a coffee cup good-humoredly. With one wave of a plump little hand, Eros turned his milky mix of coffee into the highest quality of wine.

And with his own goblet of wine, the god raised a toast to the immortal human and his newfound freedom.

--Mythology Studies was 10 times more interesting

with George Hunter, also known as Mister Couldn’t-Be-Older-Than-20-So-What-Was-He-Doing-Teaching-College-Students-How-Many-Years-Older-Than-Him.

He was gorgeous, a living Greek statue, with baby-blue eyes and gold (not yellow, not blonde, but gold) hair curling perfectly around his face.

But despite the youth in his face and the beauty that came with it, his eyes were old, older than anyone’s eyes had any right to be. An old soul trapped in a pretty young body, and people had come to respect that about him.

Even when Clash of the Titans came out and he spent most of the lesson ranting about how films loved to

It was a different time, then. No statutory rape, no court to appeal to when a god kidnaps you.

glorify a rapist/murderer/life-ruiner who got his rocks off on little boys.

It took his students about 15 minutes to realize he was talking about Zeus.

“Ganymede was a young prince, the son of Tros of Dardania, brother of Ilus—founder of Ilium, or Troy, as you know it—and Assaracus, who inherited the Dardanian throne. He was a young boy when he went up to the mountains to fulfill his coming-of-age duties. He was waiting for a visit from his tutors, who would bring his favorite hunting dogs, when it happened.”

A dramatic pause had people looking up from their notes. Professor Hunter looked wistful.

“He was taken by Zeus, who was... pleased with him. Carried off, away from his loved ones, to live with the gods on Olympus. To be loved by all but abhorred by Hera, Zeus’ wife, for replacing her daughter as Zeus’ cupbearer, replacing her in Zeus’ affections. Can you imagine?” George laughed bitterly. “A goddess, jealous of a 12 year old boy. At least, we can assume he was 12,” he amended quickly.

“FYI, cupbearer wasn’t all he was,” George continued. “It was a different time, then. No statutory rape, no court to appeal to when a god kidnaps you. Tros grieved for him, but Zeus compensated him with horses. Horses for his son.” He stopped, his hand clenched on the table.

“His dogs cried for him. They died eventually, as he watched from the sky. So did his family.”

He turned to his class, slowly. “Gods are made for immortality. But a 12 year old,

living forever? Beautiful forever? What do you think was going through his mind right then?”

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Is it fair? Is it not fair?To do what it takes to get your shareYour wants, your needs, your driveThe reason for you to stay alive…

When you’re in love, you do stupid things, Things caused by obsession and jealousyA love that makes your heart sting,For a deity of immortality or immorality…

All is fair in love and warby Melanie Irene Tagama

Medusa—given injustice for lustWhoever looks at her turns from stone to dust, Makes a common fool like me wonder: “What did Poseidon see in her?”Athena made Perseus cut off her headWas Athena that jealous of her?Or did she just not want to be over-headedBy a Gorgon so different from her sisters?

Hades—the most fearful god of mankindThe only god who took what souls he could findA lonely god in need of a muse in his dark kingdomWith Persephone, he didn’t care about freedom…Persephone was blinded by Hades to stayThe goddess who regretted his proposal that dayIs now turning spring into summer, fall into winter; Nagging he who made her like this forever.

Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades just want for their ownThat place which they claim for themselves, called “The Throne”Drew lots and Zeus hit the jackpotMade Hades the god of rot…Zeus—the ancient womanizer of mythology,From first wife: Hera; to his last wife: Semele…Athena never had an offspring, became the ancient single ladyToo bad for all the suitors who want to have her baby…

Is love hard to find? Or is it just blind?Is war the answer to every task at hand?Are the gods and goddesses immoral to mankind?To be honest, I don’t know, so I don’t understand.They exist among us today in our modern-day dramaBut I fear those who’ll read this and come out with trauma.It does start to make common folk like me wonder:“Is ‘all is fair in love and war’ real? Does it matter?”

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THERE ARE FIFTEEN PACES between the counter and the door, he’s fourteen

paces away. It’s all very surprising, really. Okay, not really. I expected him to show up at my bar

sometime. Got a hint from my son, Fenrir, about a couple of talking birds following me around. I mean—the fact that he’s dressed like a hobo...

So Odin walks into a barby Ko Hwe-Jeong

Seriously?You’re gonna try that on me? Me? Sure, it worked on at least two of his sons

and that one giant (some wise being he was), but he doesn’t really think I’m gonna fall for that, does he?

Norns help me.“Sorry, we’re closed for inventory. You can

come back tomorrow.”Or never. Never sounds good. He’s still here isn’t he?Well let’s get this over with then. “I can’t say I expected to find you working at a

place like this.”Is he trying to sound dramatic? Oh wait.

Aww, that big oaf knew I could see through him all along?

He’s here to kill me. Yeah, that’s probably why he came in, even though the sign said ‘closed.’

“Well you know me. I’m all about fun. And what’s more fun than watching a drunk idiot go on a rampage?”

Let me answer that for you: tying the said idiot up with his own son’s entrails while a snake drips venom onto his face, that’s what. He at least looks guilty. I think he does. Okay look, the lights are dim on purpose, it contributes to the atmosphere.

He takes a seat at the bar. That should not freak me out as much as it

does. It really shouldn’t. I mean, he’s obviously not here to kill me. If he did, I’d go to Helheim, assemble an army, and woohoo! Ragnarok. This guy threw his eye into a well to postpone Doom, not start it.

62 63

Either way, I’ve got protective runes carved into key places (you wouldn’t believe how often they come in handy) around this fine establishment, and maybe this guy hung himself from a tree to learn the runes, but I had help from Freyja. Freyja. I should call her. If she’s not still mad about that time at Ægir’s, that is.

I’m fixing him a mug of ale when he asks the stupidest question ever.

“How are the kids, Brother?”

No. Hell no. I‘m going to kill him.

“Which ones? The ones you banished for being mine? I don’t think you’d have to ask about Sleipnir.”

I’m not going to kill him. That would be counterproductive. I can do better.

“You had no right to take them, Brother—““Don’t call me brother! I would drain every drop of

blood from my body before I let you call me that again! Why the hell would I want to go back to being your scapegoat? Would you even let me come back? Are you here to put me back in that cave, brother? I’m going to be the literal death of you, right? The hag says so after all!”

“Brot— Loki…”My throat hurts from yelling. Really, just yelling.“But oh, it must’ve been such a relief for you to see

You once swore, Odin, that you wouldn’t drink without me. Well here’s to one last drink, because the next time we meet, the sun will grow black and the earth will sink.

me at Ægir’s, making a fool of myself. Confessing to a murder you planned to keep your shining son of light safe. Finally, there was a reason to keep me out of the way and prevent Ragnarok, right, Brother?”

“You took things too far!”“Don’t you talk about taking things too goddamned

far! I can accept that you’re afraid of Angrboda’s children, I can accept that you’d want to lock me up as long as you can, but what you did to Narfi and Vali… I left Sigyn because of that. Sigyn, who stood by me when no one else did. I left her because I was afraid for her.”

That should get the point across. He still believes he was justified in what he did, I

can tell. But now, he thinks I think I was too. He’s not going to be bothering me or Hel or Fenrir

or Jormungandr for a while. But just to really get the point across…

“You once swore, Odin, that you wouldn’t drink without me. Well here’s to one last drink, because the next time we meet, the sun will grow black and the earth will sink.”

Because what this guy can’t seem to get through his thick skull is that I don’t want Ragnarok anymore than he does. And well… desperate times right?

He drinks without a word and leaves without turning back.

The jerk didn’t even leave a tip.

64 65

He inspects the dark room, faintly lit by the exhausted laptop at the corner near the door. He looks down at the floor under the clothes lying around like skin discarded by a snake. Books and notebooks are tossed here and there, as if vomited from a twister while pens and pencils are sticking up like daggers, threatening the feet of anyone who was foolish enough to cross them. Past all that is a bed, on which a bundle of bedsheets move slowly up and down, accompanied by a deep, soft snore.

When the man knows that the coast is clear, he steps into the room without care. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he says as he touches his right hand to his chest in greeting. “My name is Murphy Godlock. I am the bringer of misfortune, the luck never wanted.”

“You see, Destiny has many devices, some older than others, and,” he grunts, “some younger, which

Murphyby Gianina Martinez

ACCOMPANIED BY A TUNE from the 60s, he walks down the hall to the room of his last customer

for the day. It’s Tuesday—no, Wednesday 3:00 a.m. to be precise as he opens the door. No locked door for him, ever.

Morpheus’ shop

“I’m sorry; I won’t be able to provide you with the pills,

But I think I could provide you with an alternate thrill.

For now it’s free. It won’t cost you a thing.

Why don’t you take a sample of my dream?”

by Jan Sabado

66 67

would be me.” He takes a look around the room and spots the alarm clock by the bedside. He reaches out and starts to fiddle with the clock’s hands. “Don’t mind me. Your clock’s running out of battery. I’m just helping to point it out.”

He puts the clock back in its place and pats the dust away from the subdued orange of his suit. “Now, where was I?” he ponders as he pushes the sleeping man’s papers aside to sit on the table. “I come around when people, such as you, least expect it. I’m not quite sure with my siblings though. They have their own timing.”

“But let’s talk about my job; I think that’s pretty much obvious as it is. I’ll have you know that misfortune is sometimes your fault. Sometimes it’s for a different reason, but mostly, because it’s your fault. I just pretty much point it out for you.”

He shrugs as he closes the laptop with the files unsaved. “If you didn’t leave any loose threads for me, I will not be compelled to pull them.”

“But,” he chuckles, “much to your misfortune, you have so many.” He stands up, stretches his arms and yawns. “You make it too easy.”

He makes his way towards the door. “Today will be a trying day for you, but hear this—” He pauses for a heartbeat or two. “Do not think ill of me. Blame no one. Maybe my sister, Lady Luck, will show you your way. She always did like puppy stories.”

He smirks as he opens the door. “And maybe my brother Serendipity will put in an appearance.”

He steps out of the room, and starts to sing, the lyrics echoing softly in the hallway.

“Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien. Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait, ni le mal tout ca m’est bien egal...”

If you didn’t leave any loose threads to me for me to pull, I would not be compelled to pull them. The untold story of the

goddess of the Underworldby Jemmarie Bocalbos

IN NIFLHEIM, the cold flames burned and silent moans could be heard.

68 69

A goddess sat on her throne as she looked at a crystal sitting atop her hand. She was a feared goddess, for she ruled the Underworld with an iron fist. Not a single spirit could escape her.

Her long hair curled elegantly. Her ruby eyes were glued intently on the figure as it changed form. She watched him as he changed. No matter what form he took, for her, he was always the same.

The fact will never change that he who had given her life had also taken her heart.

He continued to walk the earth—something she loathed. For as long as he lived, he could never be with her, she who was fated to watch over the dead, she who could never leave this place.

He had done wrong, and she awaited his arrival patiently. Odin had ordered his death as compensation, in exchange for the life he took from Baldur, but he was indeed clever, and always managed to escape her grasp.

Her eyes stared at his form. No matter which one he took, he could never escape her, for her black heart would find him.

Their invisible connection.He opened his eyes and looked at the form

above him. She had fierce eyes, and reminded him of someone who’d saved him once, long ago. It was for this reason that he didn’t fear for his life, though she took the form of an executioner. A look of hesitation crossed her eyes and she finally brought her hands down, releasing the blade. She looked down, closed

The fact will never change that he who had given her life had also taken her heart.

her eyes, and then stood up and walked away.He stood up and followed her, grasping her arms

before she could take a step further.“Let go before I change my mind.” Her tone

was cold.He loosened his grasp, but he kept his hold on her.“No,” he repliedShe finally turned around and faced him. “So would you rather die?” She said, her voice

coated in venom as she took out another blade from her coat.

He shook his head and looked her straight in the eye.

He saw her look soften for an instant before becoming cold once again. His mind raced to grasp what role she had in his life, but there was noth-ing there.

Only darkness. She, too, looked at him and confirmed that he’d

lost all his memories. He might have been the same soul, but he wasn’t the same mind, the same person. It would be unfair to take his life. She felt the pang as if a thousand blades had stabbed her heart. He didn’t remember her.

There was no strong connection, at least, not for him. She was the only one who ever felt that way. She heaved a sigh as she shook her arm away from his grip.

For her, their invisible connection would always remain. She would see him again, that was for sure, for though she was greedy, she was also patient.

She would have him. She would have him, and in that time, he would have no choice.

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And Loki. Yes, and Lokithe brother, Odin’s kinWhile Odin lied and Thor destroyedWhat then was Loki’s sin?

For all the good he’d done for themThe lives he’d saved, the godsWere all too quick to have him boundand suffering (those sods).

And Izanami, loving wifeShe died to birth her child,And now she’s seen as rotting darkFor death and nature wild.

And what of Lillith, often knownAs Adam’s first, strong wife?Because she stood for her own rightsShe was condemned for life.

They called her demon motherA lustful, evil soulFor being strong and right and trueAnd breaking from her role.

Demons, evils, monsters, foesThese labels were made knownBut for what more than their own rights?The seeds of lies were sown.

Now think for one more momentAnd ponder on these truthsWhy blame the gods of darknessWhen “good” gods have no ruth?

So look again and wonder,And question, as the oneWho knows to look in deeperthan what myths say were done.

I wonder what it’s like to lovethe villains of the show.You root for heroes, strong and swiftWhat do you really know?

So Zeus is said to be the godOf skies and glory, well,and Hades gets the shorter stickThe Underworld (not hell).

But Zeus, the good god? Rapist. Not once but many times.And Hades gets the flack for oneof Zeus’ hundred crimes.

The villain songby Motzie Dapul

72 73

Prisoner

Down in the pits of Tartarus,there she lay.A broken spectacleyet, an iridescent face,she stifles a cryand cascades a silver tear.All the odds are suspendedin the atmospherewhere the sound escapesand no one actually hears.

What a tragedyof an infinite existencethey never could defend.What a connivingtwist of fatesto punish without an end.

If only to breakher shadows and chains—and I know it sounds absurd—but I would gladly sell my life, my heartand my soul to the Underworld.

by Tonichi Acenas

And then there were people. People came with existence,

in the time no one remembers. But the people wanted to remember, so from them came the stories.

“It’s hard to explain. I’m not even sure what happened,” Sarah said as she took a sip of the cheap red wine. Her hands held her glass protectively.

“It’s okay sweetie, I understand. It would be a lot easier if you tell me everything from the start.”

“It happened too fast... I do-” “You bet it’s all too fast! You caught us all by surprise.

Nobody saw this coming. I’ll admit even I didn’t see this coming,” Tina burst out before Sarah finished her sentence.

“I don’t know…” Sarah looked down once more.“Is it serious? Or serious-serious?”“I’m not sure, really.”“Have you talked about it with anyone else?”“No, of course not… I don’t want to go over it with

everybody anyway.”“I’m glad you came to me first, Sarah.”“That makes one of us.”“Oh, stop it! You know talking about it will make you

feel better.”“I don’t even know where to begin.”“Well in that case, tell me how it ended.”“I can’t… it’s just…”“Just?”“I’m not sure if I’m ready for this, Tin.”“Then why the hell did you ask me to come here?

You think I like to down alcohol in my free time?”“Don’t be mad, please. I’m tired of all this shouting

and fighting. I just want… to clear my head. I just needed someone to talk to….”

Sarah stooped lower, hands clasping her glass tighter, as if its existence depended on her soft warm

by Raphael Bulaong

Ex-mythology

“SO, ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME ABOUT IT OR NOT?”

Sarah drew a long breath. The straightforward question caught her off guard. She thought they would dance around the subject for a while, maybe talk after a few glasses, but she supposed it had to come out sometime. She lowered her head and her eyes took refuge in her knees, trying to hide from Tina’s patient gaze.

After what seemed like an eternity, she managed to look up and her eyes met the goading and concerned face of her inquisitor.

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her hands, which had held hers a while ago, were busy, thumbs thrashing a BlackBerry.

“I have to go, now sweetie,” Tina said without glancing up. “I did tell you I have class, right?”

“Yes, but…”“I can’t cut. I’m way overdue.” Tina pocketed her phone as she stood up and looked

Sarah in the eye. “You’ll be alright sweetie, forget about him. You’re better off. Text-text?”

“Thank you, Tin.” Sarah stood up and Tina gave her a hug.

“I’ll text you, sweetie, okay? I’m running real late. I really have to go now. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Sarah sat back down. As Tina was almost out the

door, Sarah called her.“Tin! Don’t tell the girls yet, I’ll be the one to

tell them.”She smiled back and left the restaurant without

saying a word. Alone, Sarah looked at her glass and mused. How

many times would she have to tell this version of her story? How many other versions would Tina tell others? And what would be his story? She took a final sip of the cheap red wine. None of those questions matter, she thought. What saddened Sarah is that nobody will get to hear the true story…

The story they only two know.

touch. She looked outside the window to her right. Outside, the people were going on with their lives. The students walked to their classes. The jeepney drivers hustled the streets for passengers. The pedicab boys wading through traffic like rats in a sewer. All of them, Sarah thought to herself, oblivious to her presence.

“I wasn’t angry,” Tina said in a low voice, “you need someone to talk to and that’s why I’m here, right?” And almost on cue, she held Sarah’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

Roused from her reverie, Sarah felt the icy hand resting on hers and took comfort in the friend who was sitting right in front of her. She was still looking through the window when her mouth started to open.

“We... I... I wasn’t happy. And I haven’t been for a very long time...”

She stammered at first. But as she went deeper into her story, her choice of words became more careful and cautious. The reasons, mistakes, and apologies were chosen meticulously as she left out a detail or two. It wasn’t her fault after all. She could only tell what she knew, and what Tina had to know. As she spoke, she felt this odd feeling passing over her. As if everything else didn’t matter and the past gossiped with the present about the future. Sarah felt so sure and confused at the same time. Then she stopped talking.

When she looked back and faced Tina, she saw that

The reasons, mistakes, and apologies were chosen meticulously as she left out a detail or two. It wasn’t her fault after all.

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“Thou shalt not use the Lord’s name in vain,” Mang Kiko replied nonchalantly as he continued on the trail, hacking away at the small branches that blocked their path with a bolo. The sun was starting to vanish behind the tall trees. In the diminishing light, they tried desperately to find their way back out of the forest.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Josh’s companion, Ram, asked in worn-out voice. He was heavily set and trekking the uneven hiking trail had clearly taken a toll on his hefty body.

“Don’t underestimate me, hijo. I know this forest like the back of my hand.”

Mang Kiko stopped in his path. Every few feet, he paused to leave marks on the trees. Using the bolo, he chipped off some of the bark— markings to ensure that they would not get lost. But as more time passed, he noticed that these markings were of no use, having passed the same Balete tree over and over.

“We shouldn’t have come into the forest today,” he said as his fears were confirmed. “We’ve been led astray.” Facing the teenagers, he reached down for the hem of his shirt, pulled it over his head and turned the garment inside-out before putting it back on.

“Come on, do as I do,” he said when he looked up to see the teenagers gaping at him. “It’s the only way we’ll be able to find our way back.”

“Tanda, you can’t be serious about this” Josh asked incredulously. “We’re obviously walking in circles and the only solution you have is a senseless superstition?”

“I don’t know how things are in Manila, hijo. But here in the province, youngsters do not call elders, ‘tanda’,” Mang Kiko said with a glare. “And secondly, those

Old wives’ talesby Iris Trinidad

“MANONG, ARE YOU SURE WE’RE going the right way?” Josh, a young man of a tall

slender stature asked. “We’ve been walking around for ages, for God’s sake!”

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“I have come here to ask you to release the boys.”“Now, why would I do that?” The tikbalang slowly

crouched down on his legs and stared down at Amihan, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Be reasonable, Alegro. Maria would not be pleased with this,” she said with a pleading tone. “Your tribe, as well as the other tribes, agreed to the pact that she had made with my race.”

“Hoho, you speak the truth. But you forget one thing, Amihan,” the tikbalang snickered. “Only those who honor the pact are protected. Not only have these delinquents disrespected the day of my union, but they have also desecrated the mountain.” Amihan looked away from the eyes of the tikbalang. She knew that it was the truth and therefore there was nothing she could do.

“I presume that this is the end of our little rendezvous. Tread well, Amihan.”

With that, the tikbalang slowly faded back into the darkness. Silently, Amihan nodded in defeat as she turned around to make her way back to the inn; leaving behind the souls of the young men—daft enough not to believe in old wives’ tales.

It did not come as a surprise to her when Mang Kiko returned the next day, alone and weary.

so-called ‘superstitions’ have saved my life more than once. Now turn your clothes inside-out. It’s best we get out, before the night comes.”

Rainfall on a clear sky.“Tikbalang,” she had warned “A tikbalang has

gotten married today. It is not wise to interrupt their celebration.”

But her misgivings were not heard by the two teenagers. After all, with adolescence came the inevitable daftness of youth. With a little more convincing, they had persuaded the aged lady to allow them to go for a hike.

It was moments after she watched them disappear into the trees that she sat behind the front desk of the inn, wondering if she would ever see those teenagers again. It did not come as a surprise to her when Mang Kiko returned the next day alone and weary.

It was a quarter before the devil’s hour when she left the inn. A candle in hand, the woman walked through the darkened woods. In silent haste, she made her way to the heart of the forest, keeping a careful eye on where she stepped, as she feared disturbing a duwende, a nuno or even worse—an engkanto. After what seemed like hours, she reached her destination. She stood under the Balete and waited.

“Good evening, Alegro,” she said with a bow. From the darkness emerged a humongous figure; human-like, with the head and the hind legs of a horse, but a muscular torso of a man.

“Hello, Amihan. I take it that you did not come here to congratulate me on my union?”

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by Aviana Baladad

Glass-eyed quests

“SHOCKS REACHING NINE AND ABOVE on the Richter scale have been recorded in different parts of the world…”

Isang araw, kinausap ako ng aso ko.Sabi niya, siya raw si God.Of course, I didn’t believe at first. But hey, who am I to disagree with a talking dog?

Mahirap man maintindihan kung bakit At paano nagawa ng isang aso ang mundong ito,I guess you just have to take it as it comes.Plus he was a very good dog, too.

Ang daldal pala ni God, sobra.Tinanong ko siya kung isa ba Siyang Anubis or isang Inugami.He just shrugged and said,“I am neither.”

“Ah, ganun ba?Eh, sino ka ba?”“Well simply put, I am God.There is no name that could singularly describe me.”

“Ahhh, eh bakit kami nandito sa mundo, bakit may namamatay, may nasasaktan? Bakit hindi parating patas ang mundong ito? Ginawa mo ba kami dahil trip mo lang? Bakit?”

“Well you see,Bark bark, arf arf.”

At ‘di na siya nagsalitang muli.

God is dog, dog si Godby Marty Arnaldo

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been stolen. Only… misplaced.”Huh. Okay. So the gods called me for a retrieval

mission. Carson grinned. Awesome.“What’s the item then?” he asked Hermes.Hermes tapped on his iPad and brought up a photo.“This is Poseidon’s most important possession,” he

announced. He handed Carson the tablet.In the stark white photo was a close up picture of

a glass dish. It was simple in design: clear and smooth, without any marks or engravings. The dish was so tiny it rested easily on the tip of Poseidon’s finger.

Carson frowned. He was passionate about Greek mythology, but he did not remember coming across a glass dish as an important object in Poseidon’s possession. He opened his mouth to ask Hermes about it when his eye caught a word printed in the corner of the picture.

Acuvue.Even the tremors seemed to stop for a second as

Carson gaped at Hermes.“You’re sending me on a quest because Poseidon lost

his contact lenses?!”Hermes looked at him crossly. “Do not take it so

lightly, boy! The last time Poseidon lost his spectacles, the dinosaurs—”

“You’re sending me on a quest for contact lenses,” Carson repeated, emphasizing the last two words. “It’s worse than finding a needle in a haystack. You’re asking me to search the whole world—”

“Including the Underworld,” Hermes interjected.

You’re sending me on a quest because Poseidon lost his contact lenses?!

“…a rare occurrence of earthquakes simultaneously happening…”

“…recorded alarming movements among major tectonic plates, greater than any witnessed in the past century…”

The news reports came fast as the two men stood on the very top of Mount Everest, which was shaking enough to loosen boulders the size of cars onto the land below. The younger one fought to keep his balance even as he sat, but the older one stood like an anchor locked into the earth, even as he browsed absently through the tablet in his hands. His eyes moved like twin blurs as he sped through articles and video feeds about the tremors happening at that moment.

This feels like a ride in an amusement park, Carson thought as a particularly violent shock threatened to throw him off the summit.

“Why is this all happening?” he asked the man with the tablet. The older one ignored him, tapping on the gadget furiously.

“Hermes!”Hermes finally tore his eyes from the tablet and

looked at Carson. “It’s a tragedy on a scale even the gods have never seen,” he explained. “Poseidon has lost something of great value, and he needs a young hero to retrieve this item from wherever it may be hidden.” Hermes returned to his iPad.

“He claims it has been stolen.”Carson frowned. “Stolen? Then shouldn’t you know

where to find it?”Hermes’ gaze grew hard and Carson flinched. “I may

be the patron of thieves but that does not make me a walking metal detector. Besides, I highly doubt it has

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Ding, ang stone!ni Dempson Mayuga

‘Nung bata pa ‘ko, mahilig akong maglaro ng super-super powers, kasama ng aking mga mighty friends.

Tuwing hapon ‘yun, bago ako tawagin ni Mama para utusang bumili ng bigas kay Aling Nena

Ang mga karakters at ang kanilang super powers:Si Abu, ang power niya ay apoySi Ann, ang power niya ay kidlatSi Nene, ang power niya ay ulanSi Bunsoy, ang power niya ay lindolAt siyempre ako, ang power naman ay hangin

Ang saya ng group namin‘Di man siya pang-Avengers or Transformers,Kumpletos-rekados naman ang elements

“Hades has been keeping to himself lately…”Carson was flabbergasted. “You’re asking me to

cross the Earth and the Underworld looking for a piece of clear plastic?”

Hermes gestured towards the shaking lands. “Do you not see the state the world is in? If Poseidon continues to search aimlessly for his lenses, it could very well be near the end.”

Carson pinched the bridge of his nose. Either millennia of living had caused the gods’ common sense to decay, or they were bored and running out of ideas for heroes’ quests.

“Why on earth can’t you just get a new set from the optical shop?”

Hermes paused for a moment. “You speak sense, young hero.”

Carson fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Tell Poseidon to sit down and stop wrecking the world while I quest for his lenses. I’ll send them to the sea god myself.”

Hermes sped away, dropping Carson off in Manila. As he trudged through the damaged city, he wondered whether being a modern day Greek hero would ever be like the stories of old.

Don’t count on it, he told himself as he picked up an intact pair of Acuvue lenses from a severely damaged optical shop.

The tremors had quieted down and people were milling about, surveying the wreckage, unknowing that they had been saved by a 14 year old boy who had released a small box of plastic lenses into the sea.

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by Marty Arnaldo

My friend, Joe, and I decided to make a God one day.It was one of those lazy Saturday afternoons where you feel like doing nothing in particular so we went over to the mallBought a Create-Your-Own-God kit and merrily went home.It had everything you needed:A chunk of faithA dash of loveA sprinkle of devotion And a bit of time And voila! Our very own God.He didn’t really do much Except idly watch us as we went about our dayBut it was comforting enough just to have him around.I love my God.

God. Some assembly required

Dahil nga sa kahiligan ko sa temang super powers,Pati ang mga napapanood kong anime na may magic ay napapanaginipan ko na rinNaging si Cardcaptor Sakura na ako sa aking panaginipMasaya ‘yun kasi nakakalipad ‘yung baton ko habang nagfa-flap nang graceful ‘yung wings

Naging si Sailormoon na rin akoAlam kong ang gay pero ang saya ng feeling kapag nagta-transform ‘yung damit mo habang sinasabi mo ang, “Sa kapangyarihan ng buwan…blah-blah”

At naging si Inuyasha na rin akoPero ang weird ‘nun kasi parang nasa world ako ni SpongebobAnyway, back to the story, masaya magkaroon ng super powers

Pero, hanggang ngayon, hindi ko pa rin ma-gets kung bakit gumagawa ang tao ng mga kuwentong wala namang katotohanan

Pang-entertain? SiguroForm of art? PwedeKabaklaan? Chenes

Ewan ko, baka ganun lang talagaGusto lang talaga nating mga tao ang magkaroon ng thrill ang ating buhay-buhay

Ansayang isiping may super powers ang lahat Parang world of mutants langPero minsan, parang nakakatakot din

Baka kasi makalimutan natin ang ibig sabihin ng salitang, “tao”

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“May shooting daw sa labas ah? ‘Yung Buhay Ko’y Rainbow Kapag Kapiling Ang Berde Mong Mukha,” ito ang bungad ng nanay ni Mac-Mac sa kaniya sabay salo sa kaniyang pag-aalmusal. ‘Di makapaniwala si Mac-Mac habang hinihimay niya ang tuyo at kamatis nilang ulam.

Ang Buhay Ko’y Rainbow Kapag Kapiling Ang Berde Mong Mukha ay isang remake na teleserye na hango sa You Make My World So Warm, isang Indianong nobelang-musical na tungkol sa pag-iibigan ng isang lalaki at babaeng nagiging halaman kapag naaarawan. Pinagbibidahan ito ng action star na si Dingdong Gutierrez.

Si Dingdong Gutierrez ang pinaka-idolo ni Mac-Mac sa showbiz. Pumupunta pa siya sa bahay ng kaibigan niyang si Kelvin tuwing Biyernes ng gabi para lang manood ng teleserye ni Dingdong sa TV7.

“Len-Len! Nasan si Dingdong?”“Ewan! Tapos na ang shooting, Kuya!” sagot ni

Len Len. Tumakbo si Mac-Mac upang habulin ang shooting ng

kaniyang paboritong artista. Pagdating niya sa eskinita kung saan naganap ang shoot, pauwi na ang mga tao. Nakita niya si Kelvin, abot tenga ang ngiti niya nang ipakita niya kay Mac-Mac ang autograph ni Dingdong sa sombrero niya. “Paano ba yan, pre? Nahuli ka. Tara, DOTA na lang?” Dismayado si Mac-Mac dahil hindi niya inabutan si Dingdong. Ngunit pinalakas ni Kelvin ang loob ng kaibigan nang sabihin niyang babalik daw muli ang cast nila para sa reshoot. Hindi raw natuloy ang shooting kanina kasi nanakawan sila ng cable. Nabuhayan ng loob si Mac-Mac kaya inaya niya si Kelvin na tumambay sa internet shop.

Buhay ko’y rainbow kapag kapiling ang berde mong mukhani JC Jamoralin

HINDI IKAW ANG BIDA. Ikaw ‘yung taong ‘pag nasa crowd ay dadaanan lang ng pan ng camera, saglit

na makikita at makakalimutan na lang ng manonood. Generic, hindi ka espesyal. Isa kang extra. Tulad ng karamihan, gusto mo rin mapansin sa pelikulang pinagbibidihan ng magaganda’t makikisig na artista. Sa paglalaro ng tadhana, sumikat ka nga. Ikaw ay pinagkaguluhan at pinanood ng lahat—‘yun nga lang, iba ang role mo—at ang part two ng pelikula mo ay habambuhay sa selda.

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galing sa halos nawasak na utak ni Kelvin. Pumipiltik ang katawan ni Kelvin na parang inatake ng epilepsy habang tumatalsik ang mga laman na parang kinilaw. Bumagal ang mga nangyayari sa paningin ni Mac-Mac, ang matalik niyang kaibigan, ang taong nagpakilala sa kanya sa kaniyang idolo, ang taong nagbukas ng pintuan niya sa mundo ng Internet, kinitilan niya ng buhay.

Sa maliit na eskinita lang umikot ang buhay ni Mac-Mac, bahay nila, at ang Internet shop na madalas niyang pagtambayan kasama ang matalik na kaibigan na si Kelvin. Isang binatang tambay si Mac-Mac, graduate ng Computer Science sa isang di kilalang eskwelahan, tatlong taon na ang nakalipas.

Ito lang lagi ang kinukwento ni Mac-Mac sa mga kasamahan niya sa rehas. Pinapanood nila ang Buhay Ko’y Rainbow Kapag Kapiling Ang Berde Mong Mukha sa maliit na telebisyon ng masungit na guwardiya sa labas ng selda. Hindi na nga sinama yung scene ng paglalaban ni Dingdong sa robot na sumasayaw. Tapos na ang exposure ni Mac-Mac sa totoong buhay. Laos na siya. Habang buhay na rin siyang makukulong.

Sa maliit na eskinita lang umikot ang buhay ni Mac-Mac, bahay nila, at ang Internet shop na madalas niyang pagkatambayan

“Kumusta? Anong itsura ni Dingdong Gutierrez?” tanong ni Mac-Mac habang naglalakad papuntang internet shop at hinihimas ang autograph ni Dingdong sa sombrero ni Kelvin.

“Nakakabakla ang kagwapuhan niya!” sagot ng overwhelmed na si Kelvin. Binigay niya na rin ang sombrero kay Mac-Mac sapagkat alam niyang sobrang idolo niya ‘to. Ngiting-ngiti naman si Mac-Mac na na-deform ang bigote niyang hindi pa niya inaahit mula noong kaniyang puberty stage.

Bumalik na nga ang cast ng Buhay Ko’y Rainbow Kapag Kapiling Ang Berde Mong Mukha. Ilang araw ding ‘di nakatulog si Mac-Mac para sa araw na ito—pagkakataon niya nang matupad ang kaniyang pangarap.

Tumatawag na ang baklang naka-megaphone. Kailangan daw nila ng 50 kataong extra para sa shooting. Tutunganga lang daw sila sa camera habang nakikipagsuntukan si Dingdong sa robot. Narinig ni Mac-Mac kaya madali siyang magbihis. Ngayon niya lang ulit susuotin ang damit na sinuot niya nung prom night nila nung high school. Sakto pa rin sa kaniya sapagkat ‘di naman gaanong nagbago ang pangangatawan niya, medyo kupas na nga lang sa kalumaan.

Pagdating niya sa eskinita ay marami nang tao. Sumigaw si Kelvin at sinabi sa kaniyang, “Pare! 50 na kami! Ang bagal mo eh!” Gumuho ang mundo ni Mac-Mac. Sa sobrang inggit niya ay ‘di nakapagpigil, pumulot siya ng malaking bato sa at hinagis nang malakas kay Kelvin habang pinapalakpakan ang sumasayaw na robot. Nagkagulo ang mga tao, kumalat ang dugo sa eskinita

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SILENCE ALWAYS GREETS ME every time I pass through the corridors. It’s not absolute, punctuated

by the murmurs of people who look at me with disgust. It started from my first day so I kind of got used to it. I just remember that I was given the grant to study here, not to please these people. Or sometimes when I’m not in the mood to be kind, I think that maybe they’re just jealous that I don’t have to pay for my education.

Adventure down underby Jimdrix Diaz

Kwentong kutseroni Pat Arafol

Halika dito, maupo kaSamahan mo muna ako saglitDito ka sa tabi koKornik oh, gusto mo?Galing Ilocos yan, garlic and cheeseMahaba-habang kuwentuhan ‘toPagtiyagaan mo na lang ‘yung mga kwento koMedyo cheesy ito.

Naalala mo nu’ng…Oo, ‘yung…Tapos pumunta tayo sa…Nakita natin yung…Kumain tayo ng…Naglakad tayo sa…Nakakatawang part ‘yung…Ang ‘di ko talaga malimutan eh yung…Tapos…Hay.

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It looks pleasant compared to everything else. There is a cliff far to my left and I swear I can hear screams of pain and anger as I look there. I turn around, and about a hundred feet away is a huge gloomy castle. The castle intrigues me, so I go in its direction. I push open the cold steel doors and I see a man sitting on a throne at the far end of the room. His pale skin glows in the darkness and his black eyes look directly into mine. I’m not even scared, though I know he’s meant to be frightening. Slowly, I walk up to him and say “Hey… nice… place you have.” I don’t know why I said that.

“Well, thank you,” he replies.“Why exactly am I here?”“How should I know? Mortals do not often visit my

lair, so I just welcome every guest.”“What do you mean?”“You really have no clue where you are?”“Uh, nope.”“You’re in the Underworld, for god’s sakes!”“Wait, what?” Then I realize, “So you’re Hades?”“You got that right, kid.”“Wow! You look so… young and contented.”“Well, you know. Sometimes, you just have to let

people think what they think of you. It helps you become a better person... or immortal, in my case.”

“I knew it! I knew you weren’t as bad as they said you were!”

“Stories,” Hades sighs. “They change context as they change hands. Remember not to completely believe

Our school is a bit strange because it only allows one scholar at a time. I got the scholarship from a series of tests that includes an item on the salary of my parent. My family, which consists of my mom and I, lives in a small apartment just beside the campus, and her income only covers our food, rent, and bills. Sometimes she gets to save little cash for birthdays and holidays. But basically, we’re not rich and right now, I’m that only scholar in an exclusive coed school where all the rich kids study.

A part of our English lesson is Mythology. I got so into it that I drowned myself in books about it in the library after class. Hades fascinates me a lot; I don’t know why, but maybe it’s because sometimes I wish I had his helm of darkness so I could pass through the corridors unnoticed. I’m so hooked that I imagine myself being the lord of the Underworld, making use of the powers I’ve been granted.

I stand inside an extremely huge cave, stalactites jutting from the ceiling. I find myself situated in a field of high grass. In front of me, I see an entrance gate with queue lines, like in amusement park rides, with no one lining up. To my right is a hill, on top of which is a village, though I can’t see much from this distance.

Remember not to completely believe your history books, because the people who wrote those never actually fought in the wars they wrote about.

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by Martin Diegor

I woke up on a journey to nowhere,As the road snaked upon a mountainside.The sea was black, the night blacker,And the asphalt lay, barely seen upon the moonlight.I looked up and the heavens partedWhere constellations danced before valkyries,The silence of their songs movingTo the rhythm of the borealis.Awe was an understatement when Spica did a twirl, Her silver dust showering the horizon.She deserved an ovation and I asked for an encore.But at that point, morning cameWith the sirens humming their chorus,While a chariot brought upon the golden sun.I was lulled back to slumber with light too bright for morning eyesAnd all I can think about is if this whispered soliloquyWill be heard by the person sitting next to me.

On that certain trip during the night

your history books, because the people who wrote them never actually fought in the wars they wrote about. Just like in Mythology; the stories are dreadfully different from the actual events.”

“Right… Wait, you’re saying Mythology, so you’re not real?”

“I can’t say. But I can say that I am in your mind, and that is real.”

“I don’t get it.”“Don’t worry. You will.”As soon as he finished, a cold wind rushed through

my entire body, and I sat up straight, breathing heavily. I open my eyes and realize my little adventure was just a dream. I look to my right and see my mother busy having her own adventure in her dreams. Then I look to my left and see something that was not there before I went to sleep. It’s a black bonnet with a note that says:

You can hide from others, But you cannot hide from yourself.-HI wear the bonnet and look down to my body that is

not visible anymore.

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The boatmanby Tonichi Acenas

All aboard the inevitableon an endless sea of painthrough chartered watersthat block the bordersbetween those who areand those who crawlin the menace of the dark.

Less than a captainand more of a phantom in disguisea golden coin should be enoughthen again, what could possibly payfor making a living from the dead?

The flags are all setand the skies are dimperfect weather for a sail.I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemenbut there’s no more roomon this boat of forsaken dreams.

At the end of all things, there will be no one to

remember. The people will be gone, together with the gods, and the stories. Only then will the things with no name return, for a little while, until existence itself is gone. And that is the end, the end of all things.

If only for a little while.

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AKO SI ABDULASIZ MAKALISKIS, isang junior student sa isang eskuwelahang pangit ang layout ng ID. Ang course ko

ay Multimedia Arts (MMA). Sabi ng iba ay madali lang iyon, pero du’n ako nagkamali. Sa kabuuan, ayos naman ang takbo ng aking buhay-estudyante. Madalas mo akong makikita na nakikipag-patintero sa mga pedicab sa kahabaan ng Vito Cruz. Normal na rin pala sa kalyeng ‘to na may makasalubong kang zombies lalo na kung finals week. Ayos naman ang buhay—hanggang isang araw ay naging green ang lahat.

Green dayni Dempson Mayugaby Angelo Oyardo

The plan

“Hey.: “Yeah?”“So the plan?”“Yes, the plan—what plan?”“You forgot again?”“Ohhhh. That plan.”“Yeah. That plan. We’ve been prevaricating on it for too long, you know.” “Really? Didn’t you promise that you’d never do it again? Remember the rainbow?”“Of bloody course I remember the rainbow; but they’re just so—”“So— ?”“So unworthy. And I’m bored with them. Look at the planet—look at what they did to the planet! ”“For Christ’s sake.”“Plus, we told the Mayans that we’d kill them this year.”“So? We’ve been lying to them ever since you created them out of your own image.”“But—”“I’m busy. Maybe next year.”“But I’m bored. Come on, it will just take a quick flood; probably a few comets; how about some tsunamis? You do enjoy making tsunamis.”“And then what? Another Noah’s ark scenario? Are you going to give them two rainbows this time?”“But—”“Just shut up, mate.”

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Pagdating ko ng lobby, nagimbal ako nang himalang wala rin sila kuya guard, maski janitors. Positive! May nangyayaring kakaiba sa mundo. “Zombie apocalypse na kaya ‘to?”

Palabas na ako ng building ng biglang sabay-sabay na bumukas ang mga elevator at naglabasan ang mga kulay green na tao na sugat-sugat at balot ng dugo. Napatalon ako sa gimbal at nagmadaling tumakbo palabas. Hindi ko alam kung saan ako pupunta. Dinig na dinig ko ang mga ungol nilang parang mga asong gutom na gutom. Confirmed. Naging zombie ang lahat ng tao at ako ang The Legend. Pero bakit wala akong aso?

Lumingon ako sa likod at kilala ko ang marami sa kanila. Pumasok ako sa aming main campus sa pagbabakasakaling may iba pang survivors. Pumunta ako sa building kung saan nandun ‘yung office ng org ko. Pagbukas ko ng pinto ng office, “Waah!” Pati pala silang ay zombies na rin. Naabutan ko pa ang mga kasamahan kong busy sa pag-e-edit ng articles. Hinabol din nila ako hanggang sa nakapagtago ako sa likod ng statue ng aming patron saint. Biglang may kumalabit sa likod ko, nanginig ang aking eyelashes ng tumambad sa’kin ang isang Brother na kulay green ‘din.’ Ano ba talagang peg ng mga zombies na ito? Avatar ba o Shrek? Kumaripas ako ng takbo hanggang makalabas ako sa main gate at napadpad sa kahabaan ng Taft.

May nangyayaring kakaiba sa mundo. “Zombie apocalypse na kaya ‘to?”

Saktong alas-otso ng umaga ako nakarating sa school (F.Y.I., hindi ako masipag na bata, kaya ko lang kinuha ang 8:00 a.m. na class dahil sa hindi ako naging D.L. at no choice na ako.) P.E. class ‘to, awkward pa kasi puro frosh ang classmates ko. Pagdating ko sa dance room, wala pang masyadong tao. Ako lang at ‘yung weirdong Koreano na may color rainbow na bangs. Dahil nga sa bored ako at bitter ako sa mga Korean, sinubukan ko munang umidlip ng saglit para ‘di ko ma-feel ang existence ng K-pop sa kuwartong iyon.

Naalimpungatan ako sa ingay na narinig ko. Parang mga ungol ng mga naghihingalong aso. Kinilabutan tuloy ako kasi pagmulat ko ng mata, wala na ‘yung weirdong Koreano. Madilim na rin ang langit at tila may nagbabadyang ulan (eh parang kanina lang bumubula na ang kili-kili ko sa init.) Kita ko ‘yung langit kasi ‘yung building namin sa school na ‘to ay covered ng salamin. Samakatuwid, natakot ako sa katahimikan at ambiance noong mga sandaling iyon. ‘Yung tipong parang ako na lang ‘yung tao sa building na ‘to. Nag-decide tuloy akong lumabas ng dance room.

Malakas ang hangin. Sumilip ako sa salamin ng building, napamura ako sa pagtataka—ang weird. Walang katao-tao, walang mga sasakyan, nakahinto ‘yung LRT; parang hindi Maynila. Walang mga pedicab. “Tae, anong nangyayari?” bulong ko sa sarili ko. Dali-dali akong pumunta sa elevator. “Shet! Walang kuryente!” Nag-decide akong mag-stairs na lang pababa at palabas ng building.

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The afterlife mythby Adrian Ayuyao

“IT’S GREEN,” SERAH SAID. I sighed in relief. Happy. That’s all I felt for Oliver. Just

happy. He’s dead now but I’m happy for him.

Tuloy pa rin ang paghabol nila sa akin hanggang sa makalabas ako. May mga ekstrang madre at mga babaeng naka-blue pa ang nakisali sa marathon. Takbo. Wala akong ginawa kundi ang tumakbo nang tumakbo hanggang sa marating ko ang building ng aming hotel-school. Iniisip ko, if ever man na abutin ako ng gabi dito, okay lang kasi free accommodation naman since zombie apocalypse na Hindi nga lang ako sure sa mga pagkaing ise-serve nila sa mga katulad kong guest.

At nasa building na nga ako ng aming hotel-school. May kuryente pa rin. Nag-elevator ako paakyat sa rooftop restaurant ng hotel para tingnan kung may natira pang pagkain. Pagdating ko sa roofdeck, ako pala ang hinihintay nilang hapunan. Mabilis kong pinindot ang elevator, pero pagbukas nito, mga naka-formal attire at mga naka-chef uniform na zombies ang tumambad sa’kin. Nag-stairs ako hanggang marating ko ang library ng building. ‘Dun ako nagtago. Nanginginig ako sa takot. Nararamdaman kong may papalapit sa’kin. Biglang may humawak sa likod ko.

Nagising ako na kaharap ang P.E. teacher ko nakasuot ng kulay green na uniform. Sa gulat ko ay nasampal ko siya. “How dare you?” sabi niya.

Sayang, panaginip lang pala.

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afterlife or the family of a cancer patient waiting for greener grass ahead.

The machine didn’t change the world. Some said the machine proved everything. Others said the machine proved nothing. Religious, atheist, and agnostic were split alike, with the conservatives staying conservative and the liberals staying crazy all their lives. For the few that thought it mattered, it mattered a lot. Like me.

Serah stood, stretched, then yawned. We’d been here longer than we should have been.

“Oliver was doped up,” Serah said out of the blue. She turned again.

“What?”“He was on painkillers

when he went. Heard about it from the nurses.”

I shifted in my seat. Something told me this wasn’t going to a direction I would like.

“What do you think about it?” I said.Serah put her arms in a cradle. She was thinking.“Well, if we were just aiming for the almighty green,

shouldn’t we just go all happy and quiet-like? Who knows if it really matters if there’s an afterlife, anyway?”

“Life’s about more than dying, Serah. Oliver didn’t just live and die. He did good; he left on a good note.”

The machine didn’t change the world. Some said the machine proved everything. Others said the machine proved nothing.

“And here I thought he’d hit yellow for sure,” I joked. “Me too,” she said. She gazed at her coffee, pushing

Oliver’s scan to the side of the table.I drank from my coffee. The hospital ceiling was just

as uninteresting as it had been the last time I looked, waiting here with Serah.

Silence. I decided to break it.“Can’t believe it’s been two years since they made the

machine, huh?”Serah looked at me straight. She made a turn.“It’s been three, I think.”Serah stared at the waiting room’s TV. I decide

against disturbing her newfound zen-like focus to be uninterested.

Two years ago, scientists made a hypothesis. If they could scan live people’s brains for what they felt or what they saw and dead people would only feel that last thought forever, then perhaps there could be a way to know what someone dead must have felt; to see what kind of afterlife was in store for them.

The result of the hypothesis was a machine that would take a brain scan and pop out a color. Green was heavenly. Yellow was purgatorial. Red was... bad.

Of course, it wasn’t to the benefit of the dead because, well, they’re dead. It was more of a comfort to those who were left behind, to know if a loved one passed on pained or happy. Like people breathlessly waiting for a death row inmate’s decisively maroon

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I took a sip of the hospital’s coffee. It was a little too sweet. “It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.” Serah stood by one of the pitch black windows.

“You can always go after you’ve done what you need to. There’s always getting all the guilt and regrets out of the way. I heard stories that at least clears people from the red.”

I stood up to see her. The hospital always made things seem a little more distant.

I walked up to Serah and saw that she was holding a small orange tube. It was white capped and empty.

“You never know,” she said.

The authors

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He can speak a single language.He can draw all but a straight line.He can state none of the digits of pi.And he has no chance of becoming a pop star.But he never forgets to DFTBA.

Adrian Ayuyao

Aviana likes many things, but not immortality. She’s been named queen of the Underworld on more than one occasion—she enjoys the title and the power that comes with it, but sees no purpose of living when you can’t look forward to death.

Aviana Baladad

“Whenever I hang out with my friends in a mall, upon entering a store I always look for a place to sit and read my e-books. I swear reading is more fun than shopping. Trust me!”

Gennina Balana

Eya likes to be called Eya and not the nine-letter enigma that is her first name. She likes to think she’s shy, but everyone who knows her well says she’s the opposite of that. She loves to read and draw, but her favorite hobby is procrastination.

Eya Arceo

Marielle Almario Sometimes I like to think I’m the overlord of an estrogen-filled empire where everyone does my bidding while I watch over them from a giant hanging loft and reruns of Glee playing from a giant screen TV.

“I don’t want to clean bathrooms anymore, I’d rather climb a sycamore tree.”

Marty Arnaldo

“I will do everything for the love of coffee, cheesecake, and red velvet.”

Pat Arafol

Tonichi is a happy child who lives under a yellow submarine. She likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. (Just kid-ding, piña coladas are totally overrated.) She also never speaks in pretentious third person but just this once, decided to make an exception.

Tonichi Acenas

Jimdrix DiazIf I would be asked what my worst ability is, I’d answer describing myself. And if would be asked to describe myself, I’d say I like tuna.

He lives in the blurs between skip trains but you can lure him out with a bunch of french fries. Toss in a cup of Coke float if you want him to stay for a conversation.

Martin Diegor

My mom named me ‘Tetrice’ since playing the game, Tetris, became her hobby months before she gave birth to me. Unfortunately, I never learned to master the game and in fact, I hardly win Tetris battles.Oh, I cry easily, by the way. But worry not ‘cause making me smile is a lot easier.

Acy de Guzman

This pleasantly plump and stout-hearted little dust mite is responsible for the chaos you see: in sanity. I love how guinea pigs are grazing animals, they’re like mini-cows. Banana split, yo.

Patmai de Vera

Jemmarie BocalbosWhen my pencil gets tired of creating pictures on paper, it begins creating images with words.

“HRIM student by day, writer by night.”

Raphael Bulaong

Anne Beatrice CruelCan’t talk right now. The universes I have created are at war with each other... or are they at war with me?

Watch and learn, child.

Motzie Dapul

When was sense ever made?It is realized; always have and always will be.

Angelo Oyardo

“Hi. I’m Dempson. Yeah, weird name. I love eating iced gem biscuits and hopia ube. Coffee is my water. Hello world!”

Dempson Mayuga

“For now, the author is the human guinea pig of Morpheus’ products.”

Jan Sabado

“The writer is a Ninja Unicorn from Robot Ninja Unicorn Land. She drinks coffee like water and hates carrots. Carrots are evil. (Don’t) Trust her. She’s a writer.”

Iris TrinidadThis is Maki. She hides in the lairs of Neverwhere. Her noble quests starts with surfing the waves of Tumblr and British television shows, slaying homework and projects and climbing the moun-tains of writer’s block. Lure her out of the cave with cheesecake and calm her down with coffee.

Gianina Martinez

Ko Hwe-JeongYou appeal to Reason? Reason!? Reason is overrated! I will only consider appeals to Chaos!

“Strangers think I’m a short girl with big city dreams. My folks think I’m an aspiring I-will-wear-a-pencil-skirt-and-show-you-that-Philippine-politics-is-fun girl. A lot of my friends think I’m a total freak that just keeps on drawing eyes and writing poems on random sheets. All of them are wrong; I am a ninja from the planet Nebula with a pet llama named Whatchamacallit, and I do not regret anything I’ve done in my life. Peace.”

Pauline Hermoso

Short self-descriptions are pretty hard, so I’m a monkey born in the year of the fish, go figure.

Camille Estanislao