Valerie, my friend of 10 years, talked to me one after noon about her problem. She would like to confess that she loves this certain guy. You see, she never had a formal relationship. She is pretty and smart, but she focused too much on her studies that love has come and gone in front of her without her noticing.

It was a difficult question. How would girls confess what they feel toward guys without sounding desperate? There has been an unfair judgment nowadays between man and woman despite the thresholds of equality that have been set by history. If a man would admit that he loves a woman, the woman would either accept or dump him. Just that. If a woman would admit the same emotion, she would not only be given any of the two answers but would also be branded with names unfit for her. She would be judged desperate because the society, modern and liberated as it may seem, would still have something to say about that.

So I told her that she would be judged on different bases. First, it would be up to whether the feeling is mutual or not. If a girl confesses and the boy feels the same, the judgment will not be thought of, and the boy would instead proceed into telling the girl that he feels the same. Then, they would perhaps be together. If the boy does not love the girl the way the girl would like to be loved, he might judge the girl as desperate because the understanding that should have been there had love been present was not there to make things work. If we don’t like someone, we tend to notice the bad points, the reason why the boy would probably conclude that this girl is too desperate to say what she feels. It could also be his way of getting out of the situation. Well, guys have always been known for putting the blame to someone or something else just so they could escape, right?

Another concern would be if they know each other that well. Of course, if a girl would say she has already fallen to someone who she knew just a few weeks ago, for example, she might be taken negatively by a guy. Sure, this could be possible, but to be very much sure about it in just a short span of time, sure enough that the girl is ready to confess about it, it could be taken by the guy on an exactly different plane.

I also told Valerie that it could also depend on the guy to whom she would be confessing what she feels. If a guy is not open-minded enough to accept things like this an to understand how love and all the other emotions work, then she might receive a negative response. If a guy would be open to understand that girls could also feel this way, then he could weigh things out without having to judge the girl as desperate. 

The delivery of the confession is also a factor. Just like any other messages communicated from a source to a receiver, how you say it should matter. Your manner of addressing it shall be subject to various interpretations that you can no longer control. Thus, say what you want to say clearly. Explain well. Consider your words and your tone. If something has been misinterpreted, clear it out. Communicate what you feel in the best way possible.

I had to clear it to her that my explanation is on a guy’s perspective. I told her to ask a girl, too, and she told me that she already did before she asked me. At the end of our conversation, she was convinced that it was high time that she express her heart out. She thanked me and walked away.

The next day, I received a letter. It was from her.

I dreamed about sex again.

The dream starts with me going out of my room, walking downstairs, getting out of the house, crossing the street, and knocking at Belinda’s house just in front of ours. She opened the door and smiled at me. I asked her if she’s doing well; she said she was. She told me that I should get in because she was cooking something and she couldn’t stay outside really long. It was either I leave or I stay. Of course, I stayed.

She was baking. The smell of cookies was the house’s perfume that afternoon. The first batch was ready, so she offered me some. Belinda, my childhood best friend, loves cookies and milk. She always bakes all these cookies of different shapes and flavors, and then she would dip it into her milk for miryenda. We were on the living room, and I was just looking at her, marveling how much she has grown. We are both in college, and who would have thought that this girl in front of me, who was once a very messy kid, is everybody’s dream girl now? Well, who could say know to her beauty and those healthy boobies?

She was drinking milk when some of it spilled and went all over her clothes. She said she would go upstairs to change. As I looked at her wet clothes, I got a boner and asked her, wondering, where her parents were. She said they went to a party and would come home tonight. And then, she went upstairs.

I didn’t think twice. I hurried upstairs and went to her room. When I opened the door, she was shocked and had to cover her breast with her still-wet blouse because she had just removed it. I grabbed her and pushed her to her bed. She was shocked. I crawled to her and grabbed her hands, just so she couldn’t escape. She shouted, so right away, I gagged her with my handkerchief. I used her blanket to tie her hands, and I went on with my thing. I was so horny. Things were fast and I found myself exploding inside her. 

I looked at her and I saw tears. I can’t take it. It made me feel guilty. I killed her because I can’t take it. I can’t stand to look into her eyes.

It was the noise of sirens that woke me up that morning. Apparently, police cars are swarming at Belinda’s house.

My name is Isabela and I used to be second best. Things would usually change, but I wonder why, every time I get to get to the top, I only end up mourning.

When I was in grade school, my best friend Monina and I were a tag team because we always land the top spots in academics. Of course, I was second place. It was fine with me because Monina is my best friend and I am so proud of her. It was always consistent during the years. In Grade 3, however, since our school, which was situated in a rural area, will be awarding medals and scholarships instead of just ribbons because the newly elected mayor pledged sponsorship, I started craving for the topmost spot. Days before recognition, Monina and I were walking to school when, all of sudden, a truck appeared at a curve we were about to pass. She got hit. I cried a lot most especially when I was being awarded the gold medal and the scholarship grant during the recognition program.

Years after, I was always rank 1. In Grade 6, however, I found myself in competition with this boy named Aeron. He was exceptionally good in Mathematics. Well, I was really excelling as well, but he became the favorite because he was new when he transferred in Grade 5. He wasn’t much of a threat because he was the Math genius and nothing more. I was just surprised when he aced all subjects in Grade 6.

He was announced Valedictorian. My classmates were whispering that it should have been me had he not transferred to our class. I told them that it was fine because what’s important is that we would all graduate. We closed the conversation with a group hug with all our eyes teary with a mixture of joy and sadness.

On the day of graduation, Aeron was found dead in our very classroom. I came to school late that day and was aghast when I found out what happened. Apparently, Aeron told his parents that he would go to school earlier and would just meet them there because he would meet one of our classmates. And there he was found instead, bathing in a pool of fresh blood.

My valedictory address became a eulogy to Aeron.

I became number 1 again when I entered high school. I was even attending competitions on almost all the subjects. Of course, I ended up being the champion. There was this decathlon where we were to compete at finals with a group of students from a prestigious private school. Our scores were on a race towards the end of the game, and after the break, the brainiest player of our rival group was nowhere to be found. They were disqualified, and we became the champion. 

The player was later found dead inside the girls’ bathroom. They say that she must have hit her head to death by accident because the floor was really slippery. I was sad because I even congratulated her in advance during the break when I walked pass her in the comfort room.

On a journalism seminar, I found myself competing again with this girl from another school, who was first in every category where I landed second the year before. She was sort of my competition. Like me, she was the editor-in-chief of their school that time. However, the night before the awarding ceremony, she was found dead in her quarters, with pens stuck deep in both her eyes. It was really horrifying for everybody. It gave me extra chills because just a few hours before that she smiled at me at dinner. 

The management, despite the scene and the police surveying the area, decided to still award the certificates to the winners. I was 1st place in news writing, feature writing, and column writing.

Now, I am an incoming 4th year high school student. I was feeling a bit bad because Clayton, my classmate, was just a few points away from me by the end of our 3rd year. I hope that it wouldn’t be a hindrance to my becoming the Valedictorian. Well, anyway, whatever happens, I know there is a way.

Again, I am here in this same office and have been doing the same routine for the last ten years. People would ask me if this is tiring. Hell no. I love this job, and I am here to stay.

My name is Randolf and I have been still enjoying my job as a copyeditor. We edit files for scientists, professors, and engineers around the globe. We edit their works on this and that as per grammar and style. Each project has its own set of manuals with various styles to follow. In one project, hyphenations are not changed at all. In another, only punctuation marks are checked for proper usage and consistency. Full editing is required in many. Things like that.

This job is one boring job, I know. All day, you would have a face-to-face duel with your computer, typing all day to make changes in every file here and there. Worse, you would do it again tomorrow and the day after that. You would encounter authors whose sentence constructions are out of this world. You get to edit research papers with topics you don’t even know about and terms that make you bleed. Don’t you dare make changes that alter the meaning. Don’t dare fix what’s not even broken to start with.

I entered the building with a smile. I said hello to the guard. I think he’s new here because his face is not familiar to me. I smiled, and he was reluctant. I climbed up to the fourth floor, stepping aside as my supervisor rushed out to go to the bathroom. I didn’t get to greet her because I think she’s in a hurry. Probably, something is about to burst.

I sat on my chair and opened my PC. It’s late night and I chose this shift because these has been part of my routine. I stood up to get a file to work on. No one is around now. I hate this silence. This creeps me out every time. It brings back the memories that I’ve always wanted to keep on some big chest in some stock room. The silence reminds me of that one night that I’d rather forget.

Ten years ago, around this time of the night, I rushed to work because I have a file to finish. I came from a party because we celebrated my being promoted as the manager. I was planning to just finish the said file tomorrow, but the people from the other department already needed my file, so I had no choice but to give it a go. Anyway, my apartment is just a few blocks from here. 

With nothing but silence to accompany me on a busy night, I was already working on the said file when, suddenly, I felt something extremely painful in my head. Blood dripped to my cheeks, and I fell. I looked up to see Mimi, the previous manager. She was holding a large metal rod, looking at me with a face and stead as if she had just made a homerun after hitting the ball. 

It wasn’t my fault that she lost her job. It wasn’t my fault that she has become incompetent and that people filed a case against her unfairness and lack of competency as a manager. It wasn’t my fault that all her other secrets, including falsification of receipts for financial reports and the apparent loss of funds, have been brought up. It wasn’t my fault that I got accepted as the new manager. It wasn’t my fault that I needed the job, too.

She killed me anyway.

Ever since that night, I have been doing exactly the same thing. I have been working and working, one file after another, doing the same thing and not even getting tired of it. This has been my job for a very long time. Mimi or any another manager can never stop me from doing my job.

I heard someone come, so I looked up. I saw the frightened face of another employee as he ran away after seeing me. Maybe, he needs to go to the bathroom, too. 

I didn’t stop to think things over the moment I heard it from our neighbor. I ran home right away.

Erik and I have been arguing about things since last night. He would usually come home with a flower for me, sometimes just one rose with a ribbon tied around its already thorn-free stem and, on other occasions, a bouquet of flowers that really smelled like heaven. If not, he would surprise me with a kiss, or he would suddenly tickle me while I was cooking dinner for us to share. We would watch TV shows until late night or would watch some movies together. He would even make it a point that we would watch horror films only to scare me out. I would then hide under his arm whenever the ghosts in the movies appear on the screen. I would end up sleeping with my head on his lap. The next thing I knew, I was in our bedroom, and he was hugging me real tight in the coldness of the night.

Those days are over. For the last few months, all we have been doing is to argue over everything. He easily gets mad just because I readied the wrong tie for him or just because the food isn’t ready just yet. His temper has become much of a problem. Our nights have become sleepless because we stopped talking and teasing each other at bed time. I would lay in bed not facing him, crying over the happy days that have gone away.

I didn’t even explain anything to my manager when he asked me where I was going. The explaining would have to wait.

I met Erik back in college. He was this geek who was the editor-in-chief of our publication back then. I was the managing editor. We were together all the time because of the duties that we play. There was this one journalism seminar in Baguio when we had to attend with a few others. He told me how much he loved me while we were walking in a path of pine trees that wallow in the breeze of that cold night. I didn’t say a word. I just held his hand and continued walking.

I know he was meeting someone else. Ever since he introduced me to Kris, his workmate, I know that something was going on, the way they laugh while looking at each other’s eyes at dinner one night, the way Kris picks up Erik almost everyday, the way they spend working nights together while I lie in bed alone. And then this, Erik doesn’t even see me anymore. I was existent only because I provide him with what he needs, but really, I was only a background and someone has taken over my spotlight.

My jaw dropped when I reached home. Our house is trapped in a repertoire of fire dancing and twirling in a holocaust of destruction. I ran past the firetrucks and the crowd of people who have been lured into fire’s hypnotic powers. It was as if everything was in slow motion as I ran toward our door, not minding the heat of the dancing demon.

Erik is inside. I have to save him.

I didn’t mind the firemen who were trying to stop me. My adrenaline beat them, and I plunged into the sea of fire. Despite everything that happened, I still love Erik. I will never be able to forgive myself if I let him succumb to ashes without me trying to save the best of him. This morning, we had a fight because I confirmed my speculations about Kris and him when I read it from my husband’s phone. Apparently, Kristian is deeply in love with Erik, and he wanted to take it a notch higher.

I sped up and went to the kitchen, sidestepping whenever a fist of fire would explode near me. I reached for the refrigerator and grabbed all the big jars that I could carry. I grabbed the jar that contains his hands, then the once with his heart and insides. The next one that I was able to grab contains Erik’s eyes. I looked at it as I would look at him at night before we sleep. I love him. This fire will never burn all his parts into pieces.

Suddenly, something heavy fell straight at me. I was knocked off, and as smoke suffocated me to death, I tried to get up but failed. 

I saw his eye on the floor, along with his other parts and the shattered jar. It looked at me as I closed my eyes.

Random fact. I wrote a letter to someone who is also a guy. It was back in high school. He was a year ahead of me. We got to be together because we were both active. I was part of the dance group of the school, while he’s, well, good looking, the reason why, when we went out to represent the school in any competition, we were both always there.

Dion was this tall guy who was really simple. He got the looks, but despite that, he was humble and friendly to everyone. Our first encounter was when I was carrying our CD player and speakers from the faculty room to the practice hall. He was sitting at a bench along the pathway, and seeing that I was having a hard time carrying everything, he offered to help. At first, he jokingly bumped into me so I would wobble my way with all the heavy load. Then, he smiled and carried almost everything. By the time that we reached the hall, I was only carrying an extension cord.

After that incident, I would always volunteer for any errand to the faculty room, and then, we would see each other at the pathway. He would smile at me or would sometimes play around with whatever I am carrying. From there, we became really close. We even sat beside each other on the ride to the venue of wherever we would be performing. He became my best friend and my brother. 

I wrote a letter to him a few weeks before their graduation. I told him that I admire him. I made it clear that it wasn’t an admiration that is coated with malice. I admire his looks, his built, height, smile, and eyes. I admire his attitude. I told him that I wanna be just like him. That and nothing more.

After I gave him the letter, we didn’t get a chance to talk about it. He was busy with graduation stuff. It was just fine, not until this one day when I saw Therese holding a familiar piece of paper. She looked at me and had this smile that sort of irritated me. It was a smile of mock.

I was deeply insulted with that smile. It felt like she was playing with my emotions. She gave me that sarcastically about-to-burst-to-laughter smile for my efforts to hide what I actually felt and failed hiding. She realized the secret behind that letter. She realized my intentions, and the best she could over for my poor hopeless soul was to give me a piece of mockery. Thank you very much for that.

What the hell is wrong with Dion? Sure, he can tell his girlfriend that I wrote something for him, but to allow his girlfriend to make fun out of my letter is definitely insulting. Who else got to read the letter? His friends? The whole class? The whole school?

When I passed by Dion at the pathway, I didn’t look at him. He was about to stand to play another joke at me, but I wouldn’t allow it anymore. It was my turn.

The whole school was closed the next day. Police officers gathered and were surveying the perimeter. Media people were talking to school officials. Students who came to school early were crowding near the gates, each face drawn with confusion. Apparently, Therese was found dead; her body bathed with blood along the pathway to the faculty room.

Dion came running to me and punched me in the face.

Remember that day at the meadows? Up to now, I can still hear you laugh. Everything is still ringing in my ears up to now. I can hear my breaths I had a hard time catching up as I chased you into that multitude of flowers nodding by the cool breeze. You are a natural runner, you. I caught you to my embrace and we circled like we were in some romantic movie. And then, there was blood. 

A lot has changed with him.

The last time I saw him, he was simple and happy, but he grew into this wrinkle-faced guy who never slept. His faced was scarred here and there. It was as if he was on his way home from some sort of war that only he knew. He looked tired even he has not done anything yet. He looked like he could really use some nap, or probably something more permanent than that.

I looked at him, and he gave me this look that seemed so stern and painful at the same time. I winced, but I kept on looking at him right at his eyes. It was as if he was trying to say something to me using his vision, only I really don’t get it. I can only feel his anger and sorrow, nothing more.

He was tall but skinny. While I was not even eating all of my food for lunch, he was here, looking not even fed a grain, I thought. He had bruises that seemed fresh. He also had wounds that looked rotten. Indeed, he wasn’t having a good time.

I watched him study my features in return. Just then, he rummaged the tattered pocket of his pants and revealed a knife. I was taken aback. I thought he was planning to kill me. Out of envy, maybe, I don’t know.

But then, he wasn’t set to murder me. Instead, he thrust his knife into his heart.

I closed my eyes as I felt drops of blood on my feet. All the images of what my life used to be flashed back as the pain grew. I fell and I realized that nothing was what it supposed to be anymore.

And then, everything stopped.

(Source: sirseaweedbrain)

Hello, everyone! My name is Bianca and I am baking cookies today. You see, I love baking because Mama and I used to bake together. At my young age, I have been baking different pastries. After these cookies are cooked, I will make you try some. You can eat them from free.

I have been baking a lot lately. Last week, I baked cupcakes, and the other week, I baked brownies. They come in different shapes and forms. Some are gingerbread cookies, others are cupcakes with whipped icing on top, and there are brownies with marshmallows and sprinkles. Designing them is my favorite part, you know. I can be as creative as I want to be. I have to sell everything, so they better be really inviting to eat.

I have been helping my parents because our business is not doing great. I overheard Mama and Papa one night, discussing about how our hospital is not earning well. They are doctors, and instead of being doctors in different hospitals, they decided to build their own after they have saved just enough to build one. At first, they are doing well with everything, but since the public hospital was built through the efforts of our mayor, who will be running for congressman in the coming elections, people started choosing that hospital. Very few chose to be healed in our hospital. It was really sad because I see only a few people there now.

So, I have been helping them earn through my baking skills. At first, it was really hard to sell these because my classmates in grade school have their own snacks, but when Papa gave me a very special ingredient, people started buying. I will not tell you my secret formula because I want all the customers to buy from me.

Soon enough, people started going back to our hospital. I heard from my classmate Anita that, when she was confined at the public hospital, the doctors there don’t know how to cure her, and it was Papa and Mama who get to make her feel better. She thanked me for that. A lot of my classmates have been to our hospital as well, and they thank me because our hospital saved them. It made me really happy.

I am happy because I have been earning a lot of money because of my little business, and at the same time, Papa and Mama are becoming very busy with the hospital. I used to bake with Mama, but now that our hospital is back to business, she can’t help me anymore, which I understand. She only reminded me to use our special ingredient sparingly. She said that I should only use it in a few of whatever I am baking, like only in two to three pieces, and let the rest have the usual ingredients in them. She said that, that way, it wouldn’t be really obvious. I didn’t get it, but I took note of what she said.

I saw my classmate Ella yesterday at our hospital. She has been confined there for a while. I missed her because she is my seatmate and she always buy some of my products. I really wish her well.

The cookies are ready to be eaten. You want some? Don’t be shy.

It is raining again. It has always been this rain that reminds me of you. It reminds me of how you’ve been special to me right away.

I never went to mass before we met. Well, I believe in God and in the religion. I pray at night and before meals. But going to church on Sundays has never been my habit. For me, I can worship God without having to attend mass every week. I have my ways, but they all changed when I met you.

I was on my way home that night when I saw you coming from the other direction. You were really tall and you are literally and figuratively someone to look up to. You smiled when our eyes met, and you approached me like you personally know me. Yes, we see each other before in this small town, but it is only now that we actually had this chance to talk. We sat down near a closed store at the street, and we talked even if it is really dark in the area. It was a great night for me.

The next day, I found myself applying as a sacristan. You were the head sacristan, that is, the eldest among all the members,  so I had the urge to join. It was another chance to be with you.

Now, I attend mass three times every Sunday to serve, and above all, to be with you. I never had a brother and you came to my rescue. It was as if it was God’s will. I enjoyed the talk we had last night, and even if I was surprised we had to do other things, it was fine with me as long as we will really be together. I enjoy our having lunch together and our afternoon walks. I enjoy your company, Kuya.

It was raining that one afternoon. Do you remember that? I was about to call you when I saw you from afar, but you were with Jonas, the other newbie. You went inside the church and up to the choir room. I was starting to get paranoid, so I silently followed the both of you. Then, I saw you pull his pants down. You did to him what you did to me, and he wasn’t enjoying it the way that I did. I felt drowsy because I wasn’t expecting it.

Young Jonas was shouting for help, and his voice echoed in the whole church. You didn’t know what to do, so out of panic, yes, I understand, you killed him. You were shocked, and so I was. You ran away, down the stairs and into the rain.

People came, and they were shocked to see me holding the knife you used. I was staring blankly at them. I was crying. My eyes welled with tears, but still, I can see you from the window. You were running in the rain, really far now.

I am doing this for you, Kuya.

I want it to go fast, really fast. But I am trying to be patient. I have to realize that some things have to go really slow. Deep inside, however, I want it fast. I want this really fast because I can’t take it any longer. I want to reach the peak right away. No matter how I try to wait for the right moment, I can’t seem to focus my mind. I am really bursting because I can’t stand all of this anymore. I need to release the tension. I want to reach the peak now. Here I go.

Fortunately, the elevator reached the floor where I am going that moment. I really have this helpless case of claustrophobia, so please forgive me.

Who could have thought that I would make it this big that fast and that easy?

I could say that the best decision that I have ever made so far was to quit my job as a copyeditor for research papers from international scientific organizations and pursue a career on news and current affairs for TV. Well, I am a graduate of B.A. Mass Communication, and the broadcasting industry is one hell of a job for me, just like for everybody who has the same degree.

I had this chance to apply for a budding TV network because my batchmate is already working there. After a month, I found myself becoming a news writer for their primetime news program. Things went on so fast, and before I knew it, I am getting the hang of my job.

Tomorrow, I will be using my new office as the newly promoted Executive Producer of my own news program.

Yes, it was really fast. A year ago, I was a budding writer. It was hard for me to get police reports that are really news worthy. Most of the time, I had to manipulate the news. That’s what we do in the industry. Sensationalism is the name of this damn game. As my mentors would say, nagsasalsal ng balita. That’s the term we use here, believe it or not.

The turning point of my career is my being able to track and give exclusives of a serial killing somewhere in Cavite. During the first death, I was in my home in Cavite when it happened. It was my day off, but I emailed my editor about my article and attached some really interesting photos. I was surprised when my editor told me that, aside from the fact that my article was well written, my photos are really worth the airing, so it was aired on a flash report.

When I came back to work, my editor right away assigned me a cameraman so I can report on the spot. He liked how my article was written, and since a field reporter was promoted as segment host, he offered me to do field reporting. I was more than willing to accept the offer. I got the police beat, but I was advised to step out of my beat if necessary.

I asked for the cellphone number of Kuya Luis, my cameraman, and told him that I will call him as soon as I get a scoop. He argued and insisted to go with me. But I told him that I will lose my techniques with him following me anywhere. I went on and found another killing in Baclaran. Surprisingly, it was killed exactly the same way as the one in Cavite, deep cuts on the neck and the heart, three each. I called Kuya Luis and we started rolling. I focused on the point of the incident being similar to another murder.

My editor wanted my angle. He told me that it was good for me to report not the usual way. The killings were followed by those in Taft, Parañaque, Sucat, Buendia, Boni, and Kamuning. The places were random, but in all cases, they were all children and the method of killing is the same. I always had an exclusive report on them, with Kuya Luis arriving just in time. The police force thanked me for being the first to always respond. I said it was my job to have the nose for news like these, since the problem has to be addressed, and we in the mass media are taking our role.

The Philippine National Police announced that they are doing the best that they can to solve the serial killing because it is getting worse as three more children were reported dead in just two weeks. They thanked our station and program for being able to respond in all the incidents. I was even mentioned during the press conference.

From that, I earned my promotion. I declined because I told the heads that I will only be accepting the offer after the case is solved. With an issue as big as this, threatening many people from all walks of life, I told them that it is important that we get the scoop first. It should be us who should get the first-hand information. It should be an exclusive. They respected my decision, with admiration obvious in their eyes.

So tomorrow, I will be using my new office as the newly promoted Executive Producer of my own news program. I will find the killer tonight.

I have one problem, though.  Who am I gonna kill next? And who will be my serial killer?