Art by Riana Laurice B. Fajardo/THE FLAME

IT HAS been a while since Gabriel saw his little sister. 

She resided on Southwest Hill, only three miles from his apartment. 

Despite the moon illuminating the way amid the seedless sky, he still got lost on his way. The white lilies pranced around, anticipating his arrival. He was adorned with a raggedy suit and a picnic basket in hand. He was unsure of what to say. 

He mumbled until he arrived at the top. There he saw his little sister, dancing along to the tunes of the midnight ravens encircling her. 

“You would have been a great actress,” he said. 

She simply laughed at her brother’s praise. 

“How was it? Did they like your performance in Celestia? I might join you if they don’t,” he said. 

She stopped dancing and urged him to come forward. She whispered something to him that made the moon focus her attention on them, creating a minuscule heart just for the two of them. 

“I’m just joking, sis. I don’t want to live inside a blinding cottage,” he said.

At least not yet, he thought. 

She pulled her brother for an embrace. 

“It’s cold,” he said. 

She picked a white lily and gave it to him. 

“I hope you’re doing well there,” he said. 

She smiled and looked at the moon. The midnight ravens encircled her once again, and the night was filled with silence. He retreated at the moon’s behest. A trickle of rain released him from the illusion of seeing someone he once held dear.  

He took one last glance at her grave. 

Patricia Buenaventura. 

Died: May 5, 2005.

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