by GHEMARIE LABSAN
I HAVE always been scared of the night. Lola often spoke tales of once terrifying beasts that lurked on moonless nights and preyed on the weak.
They came in different shapes and forms, usually disguising themselves to look almost human-like. It would be easy to mistake one for your friend. It would even be easier to mistake one for an ally. They were not your typical monsters with sharp teeth and grotesque figures. They blended perfectly well with everyone else and even looked like ordinary men.
They would speak nothing but falsehood—convincing you to believe them and ultimately luring you into their intricately woven trap of lies. These monsters devoured their prey in a surprisingly methodical manner given their nature. Their prey would not even know that they have already fallen victim to their pretense of truth.
Lola told me how these monsters have long been dispelled into the darkness. She told me how on one moonlit night, everyone went out on the streets and wielded the very glow of the moon itself. The monsters feared light, so they thrived in utter darkness and perished in sheer radiance.
Somehow, these monsters have been stirring anew. Having been sitting idly in the darkness for decades, they greedily resurfaced.
You’ll see. Everyone else may have forgotten the past, but do not worry. Even when the moon’s light fails to banish these tyrannical monsters, the sun will always rise. And so shall we. F