Prose Collection Entry No. 1
Midnight was spelled all over the heavens. It was the 13th of Friday; Clouds
covered the whole sky like a huge blanket. The moon was nowhere to be seen, and there
were no signs of stars either. The crickets and the frogs, which used to engage on a
midnight orchestra, were silent. It was as if the whole place was uninhabited. Avenue
Obscurité never was like this. Until now.
Prose Collection Entry No. 2
I never expected for this to happen. I only found a mysterious letter on my
doorstep telling me that the time has come for me to understand the true meaning of my
existence. At first, laughter was all that I could express, but after I read all of it, I became
dead serious. Affixed on the signature line was the name Frederick Van Heusen; my
great-great grandfather. But how could that be? He was already dead a long time ago.
What was more baffling is that he wants me to meet him at Plaza LeBront. Tonight. What
would happen in this encounter? There was only one way to find out.
Night has already fallen outside my doorstep. The time of reckoning has come.
Prose Collection Entry No. 3
“I thirst.” That was the nth last word of Jesus Christ while he was nailed to the
cross. He thirsts physically. He thirsts for kindness. He thirsts for the people to repent for
their sins. He thirsts for all of these things. I, on the other hand, thirst for revenge.
Prose Collection Entry No. 4
The first time I saw when I woke up was a stone ceiling. Funny, I thought that
mine was made of plywood. It was unusually dark. I always turn on the nightlight before
I go to sleep. I groped for the walls, but all I felt was cold hard slate. Then I thought, why
am I lying on the floor? I have a bed, for God’s sake! What am I doing sleeping down
here? I just lay down there and adjusted my eyes to the dark. Slowly, my vision became
clearer. I gasped. This wasn’t my room. It was entirely different. I am in a prison cell.
Prose Collection Entry No. 5
I am Paul. You may not know me (you may not even know that I ever existed) but
I lived in this world once. It is not me who wrote this story, but my spirit, which
possessed a body of an unwary writer, who did not know that I am in full control of his
hands by that time. Ah, how I missed the sounds of the keyboard as one types a piece.
I am dead.
That was why I am now but a mere specter, an imprint in this world you call
Earth. I, my spirit, came back here to write, not just anything, but a story of my life. A
story of my struggle, my fight, my love, my death. For I did not die unexpectedly, I did
not die a coward or a criminal. Nor have I died a holy man. I died protecting the ones I
love. A hero, you may say, but I consider myself not.
Sacrifice! That’s exactly the word that I was looking for. I sacrificed myself to
save my family, my friends, and my love. How and why I did such a thing, I would relate
in the paragraphs to come. But for now, let me tell you a little story about a rabbit and his
friends. Once, a rabbit and his animal friends were stuck in a forest without anything to
eat. They only have their leaf beds and a bonfire to warm themselves, and nothing more.
One day, an old man wandered into that forest and came upon the animals. He asked
them if they have any food to spare. The rabbit wanted to help, but since he could not
give anything, he jumped into the bonfire to be the old man’s food. The old man turned
out to be a deity, and because of the valiant deed the rabbit has done, he rewarded the
animal by making him a constellation in the skies.
That seemed to be my story, minus the rewards in the end part.
I did not ask nor receive any.