Claude Ver. 8

Claude Ver. 8

That is the void in her life.
Deep, endless debauchery.

The elevator closed and, in her mind, she saw them grabbed each other. She saw her back pressed against the railing; his palm pressed against the wall. She saw his arm around her waist; hers around his nape, holding a notebook.

Classes have ended and, in her mind, she saw them – her lover and his past lover – disappeared.

She saw things that happened many years ago. On a sofa in the living room, in the car, on a piece of cloth, in the open air, under the stars, against the tree and wall, every time they were together. She saw his hips against hers, their bodies coiled and inseparable and buried in anticipation and ultimate fire.

Unable to bear the torment, she grabbed her laptop
and wrote the things she saw
many, many years ago. (To be continued)

Claude Ver. 7


Perhaps, within this year she will die.

She has already expected it, somehow. She will have a quiet death and it will be weeks before people discover her corpse. She moves about a lot and changes her identity a lot and when it arrives, it will take a very long time before her friends learn about her passing.

It will never break their hearts.

She will be alone when that moment comes. She’ll draw heavy breaths and in time, her existence will blur and people, even her lover, will gradually forget the truthfulness of it. She’ll look for something to hold but her hand will trip on old memories and hope, smashing them into pieces. Even in death, her room will be in clutter.

Perhaps, within this year she will die.
She has already expected it, somehow.

It will be a disappointment when it doesn’t arrive. (To be continued)

Claude Ver. 6


Whatever happens, I need you to remember this: this is a true story.

I tilted my head and was feigning sleep when without warning, he cracked up and began talking about his life in the military and the insurgency operations. He folded his knee and rested his arm on it; the worn cushion of the truck, as it strode somewhere in Bicol, pressed our backs.

There were twenty of them, twenty military men, according to him, and they stabbed twenty times. It was back in 2005, and they needed, that moment, to catch some rebels – to lift the image of the institution.

But they were fluid, he said. Like hope.

Driven by pressure, they’ve resorted in abduction and stabbing the person twenty times.
One blow at a time.

“How did you feel then,” I inquired, “killing someone?”
“Nothing,” he confessed. “It’s already dead when my turn came”. (To be continued)

Claude Ver. 5

Claude Ver. 5

More coldness fell as minutes went by. The buses stopped operating for the night. I’m stranded.

And I’m freezing. To keep my blood circulating, I’ve decided to leave the station. Some streetlamps weren’t working, but occasional vehicles gave me additional lights. There were no lovers about – none quarrelling on the sidewalk or sneaking out, like none of them was cheating or would contact a disease eventually.

Coffee. I badly need coffee, I thought. And some shelter, some heat, some man to seduce tonight. Someone with acceptable face.

A boy was sitting on the sidewalk. I inquired about the nearest coffee shop. He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch. His focus remained on his phone, his gaze burning.

I asked again, moving sideways. He looked up, hid his phone and said he doesn’t know. But in his mind, perhaps, the sex scandal continues to roll like Ferris wheel. Intense and burning. (To be continued)

Claude Ver. 4

Claude Ver. 4

The others must have seen me, but I remained unnoticed to their vision. I stood there. I stood still as they passed by, that certain couple in their 20s whose form of entertainment revolved around alcohol and apples and sneaking behind the tree or inside the car. Nothing astounding.

Their steps carry the particular type of urgency available only to the ordinary and the fools. He clasped his fingers around hers and thought about the future, being married and all that, but she was bored with him. She looked almost trapped.

I watched him open the door to the passenger’s seat. I watched her enter the car. I watched him follow in barefoot, and I watched them drown themselves in hours and shadows and whispers and when they finally went out, she still looked bored even with his promises and hundred years. (To be continued)