Something About 0.1%

Once upon a time I was dissatisfied with how I used my brains and with how Sam used his.

Squeezed

It was already dusk when he arrived at the gate.

His eyes were immediately riveted to some children playing under the huge Christmas tree. A mango tree that was decorated with Christmas lights stood close to it.

He took out an old cellular phone inside his pocket. No messages. He squared his shoulders and heaved a great sigh. He looked at his own hands, which were already weary from pushing his own wheelchair. He tightened his grip on the wheels even more and turned them slowly forward. No one noticed his arrival when he painstakingly tried to squeeze himself through the main door.

Hunger Within

The mother threw herself into

fits of delirium for

her three sons couldn’t five wives

except their own

sister.

 

A silent violent outburst:

her sneer

to her daughter’s

continuous lascivious acts

flirting with her

sons

every night.

Scratch Papers

 

They were all over the place – in my bedroom, lurking under my bed, hiding inside the cabinets, even concealed in my pillowcases. Things like these do happen, once you have gotten used to the scratched papers lying around, no matter how odd they look, you come to think of them as natural, and later on, you’d conclude that weirdness is normal. I kept reminding my mother that scratch papers lying on the floor is not an act of teen rebellion, neither is it an issue of cleanliness. It is simply because their presence occupies what seemed like an empty space, in which I am constantly self-absorbed with my creatures of doom.

Climbing Stairs

When I was in front to present

the Mt. Pinatubo drawing that I made, I saw

my mother across me, her hands

clasped.