The old man wasn’t much to look at. Sure he didn’t look his age. He appeared to be in his late fifties though I’d guess he was definitely a decade older than that. No head-turner, that’s for sure. Not with…
Short story selected for the 2014 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology Once upon a time there was a red-shirt boy and a yellow-shirt girl. The boy wore the same red shirt every day. It was made of cotton and…
Short story selected for the 2014 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology When the riot burns the city- Jazz up your city in a dapper pinstripe suite, ditch the slouch, the carefree attitude, you get yourself a city on the…
Short story selected for the 2013 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology Meredith stands a few feet from the edge, as close as she dares. Far below there are trees, so tightly packed that they look black. She kicks a…
Short story selected for the 2013 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology They are sitting at Carlo’s Pizzeria downtown, sharing a thin-crust Margherita pizza and a pitcher of beer between the four of them. Having downed a few vodka-orange back…
My writing teacher once advised me: Never write a story in which nothing but bad things happen to the main character. She said it’s a disservice to the reader. However, she also told me to always write the truth. So…
(Read Part I here) “Have you asked your Lolo?” Ma’am Gayson said, lighting the candle with a matchstick. “No,” I answered. Ma’am Gayson knelt down and buried the lower end of the candle on the soil, beside a cluster of…
The comfort room looked as though it was from another place or time. Its walls were gray, and weeds and trees were growing wildly around it, while the rest of the campus was spruced up. The classrooms were painted rainbow,…
Nita was passing by Miling’s house when the latter called her. “Come over for a moment,” Miling said, waving so frantically that Nita thought the matter must be urgent. She walked to Miling, and Miling met her at the low-rise…
Borja St., Caritan Sur: The last of the moving van left. I had spent the morning running around the bungalow that had been home to Harold and me. I wandered through the house to see if anything precious was left…
(Read Part I here) The corn was sold, and the income was not enough to pay for Molong’s debts. However, the financer of the farm, a rich man from the center of the town, offered to buy the farm, horse,…
The food was alive, Nonoy was sure of it. The thin slices of meat were wriggling in the frothing red sauce, like souls flung in hell, gnashing their teeth in a lake of fire, condemned forever and ever. The boy…