Tuesday, September 27
Shadow

Tag: Dapitan 2020 Promotional Pieces

A Message of Regret

Literary
By MARIA PAMELA S. REYE EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a seven-part series in line with the Dapitan 2020 theme Ina. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers. DEATH came into my life through a text message. It had a few simple words: “Wala na si mama.” Despite hearing the news, I went on with my daily life. As always, I woke up before the sun peeked through the horizon. I ran past other commuters piling around the streets, in hopes of catching a ride before anyone else. I needed to get to work on time. The ridiculous amount of bills being sent to my apartment was enough to distract me from the event. My mother could wait; I needed to survive. Once I got home, I grabbed the growing pile of letters from the table and...
Mama’s Jealousy

Mama’s Jealousy

Literary
By MHERYLL GIFFEN L. ALFORTE EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a seven-part series in line with the Dapitan 2020 theme Ina. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers. FOR as long as I can remember, I have never had a definite inkling of what I look like. Mama had always forbade me to look at myself in the mirror; she said I must never indulge myself with vanity. It was only through stolen glimpses of my reflection that I had the chance to look at the face I should have memorized like the back of my hand. Here I am, almost desperate for a longer peek even at the risk of getting caught. I stared at my reflection. The television’s screen mirrored my face in a faint manner, but it was enough to discern my features: I had the s...
The Potter

The Potter

Literary
By ANA MURIEL R. VERON EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a seven-part series in line with the Dapitan 2020 theme Ina. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers. When she chose the clay, She perhaps desired the Kaolinite That would have resulted in pristine, white porcelain. She knew this medium would limit her And her creation But it does not bother her.   She would be content in the results Of her skill and the love She would instill in her craft.   To create was a heavy task to take on— She would labor For the rest of her life.   She worked alone. In an orderly workshop With occasional visitors and seldom assistance. She did not need it.   She m...
In a War-Torn Motherland

In a War-Torn Motherland

Literary
By DENISSE P. TABOR EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a seven-part series in line with the Dapitan 2020 theme Ina. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers. AS Generosa stepped out of their family home, the sight was not far from what she imagined. The streets were bestrewed with random firearms and empty cartridges. Lifeless bodies, mostly those of the Japanese soldiers, lay on blood-spattered pavements. Makeshift garrisons were completely deserted; their porch lights flickering ominously. What was once a harmonious country was now devoured by smoke gray and crimson red — a telltale sign of the war. True to their promise, the Americans came back to the archipelago after three years. But what the locals did not anti...
Who I Cradled

Who I Cradled

Literary
By PATRICK V. MIGUEL EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a seven-part series in line with the Dapitan 2020 theme Ina. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers. I was 14 and he was new to the world. Everytime I go out with Rick, people look at me with their eyebrows arched high. I can see them gather around and mumble hurtful words about me. From behind, I hear them laugh and mock me for what I am. There is nothing I can do but let each word pass through me like painful shards. I ask myself, what is wrong with taking care of a child at this age? As I stood inside the nursery full of toys and baby bottles, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It reflected Rick being cradled in my arms and also my appearance. I lo...
Howl

Howl

Liyab
By PATRICK V. MIGUEL EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a six-part series in line with the Dapitan 2020 theme Ina. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers. SHE guarded the land against trespassers but the owners were the ones who trespassed against her. There was no presence of either the moon or the sun. The sky was glassy and grey as the wind withered wildly in the moors. Maningning looked up above with her eyes full of sorrow and mourn. When she howled, the pain she showed overpowered the wild gush of wind. Legends say that when a wolf howls under the opaque-white moon, it is because the wolf yearns to touch the moon even though it is impossible. Even though she was not a wolf, Maningning cried towards the sky, ...
Fruits of Labor

Fruits of Labor

Liyab
By DENISSE P. TABOR EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a six-part series in line with the Dapitan 2020 theme Ina. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers. SHE sat down on the curb to rest, putting down the rest of her unsold goods alongside her. It was already late; all the shops and stalls have closed for the day and there were fewer passersby. They were all in a hurry to get home so none of them took any interest in her chicharon and kropek. She would have headed home too if not for her measly profit. But instead, she toiled away the wee hours of the night so that her children would not have empty stomachs tomorrow. She looked around and noticed that she was not the only one awake in this ungodly hour; a few feet awa...