Little Miss Apple Pie

Cold November wind
Brushed against my skin
As we all stood behind
While two people's love
Were being bind

And when they have been declared
As man and wife
My way, I saw you glanced
I looked back and smiled
As we moved on to the rest of the night

The bride threw her bouquet
The groom threw his garter away
I caught what was hers
But you failed to catch
What's meant to be yours

But though you have failed
Later that night
It was my name you hailed
Several green bottles after
You took my hands
As you asked me to dance
And we opened a brand new chapter

I will never forget
How the first touch felt
Long after you have gone
In my mind and my heart
It will be forever kept

First half of a short story.

SUMMARY: In the 1890's, well-renowned Egyptologist James Quibell has been involved in the mysterious Hierakonpolis dig. A decade later, he breaks his silence by writing the mystery that has shrouded the death of the famous Professor Petrie.

CATEGORY: Falls under Biography/Mystery/Horror, Urban Legend

Journal of James Quibell
5th May 1900

My initial excavation with the well-renowned Egyptologist, Professor Petrie, was in Gebtu (also known as Coptos) in the early 1880's; from that firsthand experience I have learned a great deal about the Ancient Egyptians and have come to appreciate their arts and culture until they have earned a special place in my heart. We have traveled to other parts of Egypt which only increased my interest and fondness of the land, but it was the infamous dig of 1892 that has marked me for life.

I have always been told to prepare myself for the worst in every excavation as there may be thousands of year old (yet, innovatively crafted) booby traps lurking in every corner of the site, or perhaps look out for unforeseen falling debris, all of which comes down to the same point which was to keep safe at all times. But though we are precautious nothing could have primed us for the unexplainable being we have encountered on our third day. By that point in the excavation, we have pierced through a tomb of an unknown royal family member; the marks on the halls leading to the main chamber expressed such an odd picture none of us, not even Professor Petrie, could fully grasp.

There were pictures of a luxurious life, that the owner of the tomb must have had centuries ago. It was interesting and easy to make out yet somewhere along the middle of transcribing, we've lost the idea. There seemed to be a series of death brought by one person, which our dear professor regarded as probably a symbol of a plague. It was then followed by some war images and even more deaths yet the oddest thing, and the most confusing of all is that in the next few pictures, the dead seemed to have risen to fight again. We have all come to the presumption that this is some sort of a reincarnation story yet it could not fully be since the scenes have not ceased and the, what seemed to be, reincarnated people were killing their own ensemble too. It was all too mystifying.

When we have finally reached the main chamber of the tomb, a revolting stench welcomed us but it was what lies behind the big stone door that astonished us; it was a corpse, a mummified corpse lying outside its sarcophagus! It was an outrageous sight! Whoever took it out of its gilded sarcophagus really made sure that it looked as if the corpse had crept out of it. No one dared to move for a while until the Professor finally walked in and we followed him, keeping quite a distance from him.

He squat down beside the corpse to inspect it as some of the men roamed around checking for other possible entryways, but as the professor leaned in, the corpse's fingers moved! He backed away immediately, appalled. He looked at me and gestured for me to move closer, I went behind him and as satirical as it may sound, I truly did hid behind the great professor frightened that the corpse might move further muscle. I stood there in complete silence waiting for the professor to say something but he didn't, instead he folded his arms at his chest and looked down at the corpse; I could tell that he was thinking really hard for an explanation.

Then he got down on a knee and lightly poked the shoulder of the pasty gray coloured corpse. In an instant, it responded and the professor immediately stood up and backed away again. It moved again, opening its mouth this time, gnawing as if trying to sink its rotting teeth at something as it tries to stretch its arm out to our direction. That gnawing sound echoed which made the other men move in our direction and look at the corpse on the floor.

The professor looked at us and said, "Gentleman, I think we just gained a new member." It was amazing how the professor could say this calmly as if he was introducing us indeed to a new member, someone that is alive and breathing and not something that lies lifeless on the floor of the spacious chamber just right outside its sarcophagus. The professor looked back at the corpse, this time it was trying its best to crawl but could not seem to pull itself any further from where it lies on its stomach on the floor. The professor then ordered us to check the rest of the chamber, I specifically was asked to check the sarcophagus and as I did, I discovered something way beyond what I could comprehend.

There were scratch marks on the lid of the coffin, which could only be from human fingernails; the scratches were deep as if what was inside it was buried alive and is desperate to get out, which probably means that my initial theory that it had crept out of the sarcophagus might be a fact after all. I backed away and turned to the professor, showing him what I have just seen then, telling him about my inconceivable theory; we both looked at the corpse on the floor, still gnawing. In that instant, the professor ordered some of the men to retrieve a large cloth and wrap the corpse with it, and not long after they were carefully wrapping the body of the deceased.

But before they could fully wrap the corpse, it had sunk its rotting teeth to one of the diggers' arm. It screamed in pain as the sharp teeth of the deceased pierced through his skin. "Be careful!" The professor screamed at the men who tugged the corpse away in both shock and terror. The victim pulled his arm as it pushed the head of the corpse away but instead of detaching the teeth of the corpse from his arm, his skin tore from his arm and he yelped even more in pain. Immediately, he was taken out of the chambers and out into the camp to be treated.

The remaining men continued to wrap the corpse as instructed by the professor. In a couple of days, we all have taken out what we could from the chamber including the sarcophagus, and not long after that we went back to England to further study the antiques we've found in the main chamber. The crew who got bitten was treated but had an infection, which resulted to a high fever that lasted for days. He was delirious by the second day at the ship, and soon he passed away.

But the very next day, whom we saw died in pain the other night, was roaming the halls of the sleeping quarters. He does not look alive, though and instead of walking, he dragged his feet on the floorboards of the hall instead; he was also moaning, not in pain or in any other emotional way, just simply—moaning, absentmindedly and his eyes were hollow and empty. Simply put, there was no sign of life in him apart from his ability to moan and walk (or rather drag himself around). I stood there at the end of the hall with the other members of our crew, they were all terrified; I was terrified too, and as it got closer I felt my knees weaken, I was shaking and as the slug reached out for me, I felt a hand pulling on my sleeve and there was darkness.

To be continued...

NOTA BENE: I don't exactly know what to call this kind of story but I hope you'd still enjoy it. This is from a man's point of view, the response to this (woman's POV) will be posted soon, I'm working on it. LOL


No one could tell the story of how it had ended, not even I, who had been still so deeply in love with you at the time, know what changed your mind.

As far as I know we had an understanding that whatever we were we'd still be together, even if the universe do not want us to we would still hold each other's hand and fight for whatever kind of love that we had. But like a child in a haze in class, all I heard was the bell signaling for the end of the day, clueless of what had previously happened before it had ended. Unprepared of what reality has to offer.

I'm not the kind who gives a lecture or vomit thoughts on love as if everything revolves around it, no. You were a believer of true love and I--well, I was just fascinated by the thought of it. You believe in love though you try so hard to conceal it, you made me believe that true love exists without you knowing it thus turning me back into its salvation. And with you, for a moment in time, I have seen and been into paradise and I like how it feels like, how it tasted like.

Now I sit here, recalling the last time I held your hand, the last time I kissed your lips and the last time we made sweet love... It was a Saturday and we walked around town hand in hand with smiles on our faces. I remember how the cold October wind lightly blew your hair as you pull it out of a tight bun, I remember how your hair smells and how you make those cute little gestures that you’re not aware of especially when you’re sleepy.

Right then and there I knew I wanted to keep you for good, especially when you allowed me to bask in your thoughts of me and of us. I must admit that I have finally thought of settling down and I want to settle down with you. For the first time in my life I wanted to do things right with a woman, I was ready to let the other go as you have left your previous lover the morning after we made love for the first time.

You were magnificent in my eyes. I adored you and that is something I do not do.

I remember the sound of your laugh, the look of genuine joy on your face whenever you laugh and how sadness and tears could turn you into someone different. You would not sob, the tears would just fall and your beautiful eyes that once gleamed in joy will be suddenly filled with pain. Such look of yours made me want to just wrap my arms around you, soothe you and kiss you. I have seen you in your best days and I have seen you in your worse, yet I still feel the same, even stronger if I must say.

I love you, I love every bit of you and everything about you. I wish I could tell you that right now but it’s too late, I’m too late. Now I wonder if I had told you earlier, would it still be me holding those hands and would I be the one whom you would wait to come home every day?

I chuckled as these could have been’s crossed my mind. For you, like my music, came into my life and touched my heart in such way that nothing else in this world could ever do or make me feel. All is fair in love even the agony it brings, but that is something you chose not to believe and understand.

As I sit here, I look at you from a distance and I remember that this is exactly how it was when I saw you for the first time and I find it ironically funny and painful at the same time that you left me the exact way you came into my life.

It took me nearly three years to start and finish writing a short story and now that I have written it, I couldn't figure out the right title for it. Which is a bit frustrating, but hey! Achievement unlocked. Here it is, written a couple of weeks back during one of my sleepless nights brought by the pressure of the board exam.

Nota Bene: Haven't proof read this yet, forgive the laziness. LOL



The both of them sat on the bed silently that only the sound of the rain outside could be heard; he lit a cigarette as she sat next to him, terrified and trembling. He brushed his hair away from his eyes and looked at her calmly; he too was troubled but not as much as she was, perhaps the cigarette helped him calm down but who knows for sure, maybe he’s quite used to be in such situation considering his history with women like her.

“What are we supposed to tell them?” She finally spoke breaking the almost deafeaning silence between them.

He took a deep breath and moved further back in the bed to lean on the headboard. “Nothing. I don’t think we need to tell anybody about this, I mean, we could take care of it ourselves.” He answered.

“I am not so sure about your plan. It’s too risky. I might get into a lot more trouble.” She murmured as he stared blankly at the wall trying to think of another way out.

“Well it’s either that or carry the burden forever.” He blurted out that made her glance at him sharply. She knew it was a mistake, she knew that this would happen, she knows exactly what the outcome would be, yet she still agreed to do it and now here she is, in the same room where they had done it thinking of a way out of the mess they have made.

“But don’t you think it’s better if we give it a chance? I mean, who are we to play God anyway?”

“Listen,” he said as he moved closer to her. “I told you from the very start that I don’t want this kind of responsibility—“

“I am not giving you a responsibility!” She said louder than she had intended to. “I just wanted to let you know… and I just need your help for now. I need a little support. When this is all over you don’t have to worry a thing. I can handle it.”

He reached for her hand and pulled her close for a hug. “But that would ruin your career, perhaps even your entire life if you won’t get rid of it now.” He whispered to her but she shook her head as she pulled away from him.

“Don’t talk about it as if it’s not there. It’s breathing, it can hear you.”

“Let it hear me! Then maybe it would just get rid of itself!” She stood up and walked away from the bed, away from him.

She stood by the window, watching the rain and the empty street.

“We’ve talked about this before.” She said tearfully. He sighed and lit another cigar before he stood up and hugged her from behind.

“It would be alright, you just have to trust me in this one. Okay? Everything is going to be just fine, we’ll just tell your folks that you’re going on a road trip with the gang for a couple of days and they would never know what happened.” He said reassuringly. She turned to face him and she looked him deep in the eyes.

“Will you promise not to leave until it’s all over?” She asked him and he smiled warmly at her.

“Even until it’s over, I’ll stay.” And with that, they hugged but their brief moment of joy was interrupted by a soft movement from under the bed.

They both walked toward it and pulled out a huge black bag. He opened it revealing the head of a middle aged man, struggling to speak through the duct tape that covered his mouth.

“I’m sorry boss, but you deserve this.” She said coldly and dangerously as she pulled out a knife from beneath the blanket. The knife caught the light and without another word, she drove the knife straight into the man’s chest.

He came in to back her up by smashing a lamp on his head and just as she thought that the deed was done, he stood up and pulled something out of the bedside drawer. It was a gun with a silencer and before she knew it the man’s struggling stopped as blood spluttered on the floor.

“Now, it’s gone. Let’s clean up, grab the money and jewels in the safe and leave before it gets dark.” He said and few moments later they were burning the dead man inside the large fireplace in the living room as they cleaned up the blood spluttered bedroom.

The rain has stopped and they left the house with the fireplace still roaring wildly as the cadaver succumbs into the flames.

Prudence - or self-control; careful about one’s conduct; circumspect; to avoid offending one’s fellowmen and care in speaking; modesty and care not to boast of one’s exploits or intellectual prowess. Careful about one’s conduct; circumspect.

It is actually okay to talk about prudence and all those related things. But comparing yourself to another person is another thing, and to some people, it must not be done. Especially if you are comparing yourself to someone ten times more hardworking than you are. Ika nga nila in Filipino, “Okay lang mag yabang kung may ipagyayabang naman.” Why talk about other person’s prudence if you yourself does not have it? Or perhaps, sometimes you lose it? There really is no point in ranting about other people’s business and pulling them down through it. Does “CRAB MENTALITY” rings a bell?

Anyway, what I am only trying to say is that, we all do not have the right to judge other people and giving a lecture in prudence if we, ourselves, lacks from it. It only proves how shallow, immature, judgmental and disrespectful you truly are.

Do a self-assessment first before jumping into conclusions. Life is full of motherfuckers, DO NOT add up to their growing population.

(A Prequel to “It’s Time to Say Adieu”)

I never really like saying goodbye to people even if I know where they will be going.  I actually often get the feeling that I will not be permanently seeing those people, and that they will not remember me. So instead of saying bye, I would just simply say “see you”. But perhaps there really are incidents in one’s life that would trigger them to say those words that they do not really like to say. For instance, in my case, saying the word goodbye.


There is one incident in my life that I have accidentally said goodbye to someone that I dearly loved. I did not intend to say it of course; it just slipped from my mouth. I never knew such word… such simple word, would bring me the greatest sorrow in life.


    It happened last April. 



One day my elder half-brother called me up and asked me if I could come with him to visit our father. Enthralled, I told my mom about it and she gave me permission to visit my papa. It has been over ten months since I have last seen him and for some unknown reason, I got excited. The 25th day of April came and I walked along side my brother to our father’s house in Pasig.  When we finally got to our father’s house, his wife and his adopted three year old son welcomed us. Apparently, papa was still serving in the church by that time so we waited for him until lunch time. He arrived at around fifteen minutes past twelve in the afternoon, I could not really explain what I felt when I saw him going up the stairs from the window of their humble home, one thing is for sure though, I could not wait to give him a big warm hug. He was a little surprised when he saw me sitting on the couch alone; he said he was not expecting me to be there.


My father hugged me really tight and I felt a weird sensation that ran down my spine. Suddenly tears started welling up in my eyes but I held it back with all my might. I did not want him to see me in tears. I do not want anyone to see me in tears, especially in situations like this. It took me years to build up this kind of strength and I will not let a simple mushy situation like this one to have it all put into waste and although my father’s warm and caring hug was my downfall, I tried my best not to let it show and not let my emotions flow.


So we had lunch, and while eating, my papa started telling us stories of him being a professor in UP back in the 80’s and I asked him if he is willing to teach music again. Because I know a school that has a choir that badly needed his help, for you see, my father was a brilliant musician. I do not mean to brag, but he has made a name in the music industry and is quite well-renowned. Oh yes, I am an extremely proud daughter. But my papa only smiled and said that he is already teaching music at the parish church where he is serving. I was astonished of course, with his great skill and talent he could actually earn a living, like what he did before. The church might be giving him an allowance, but surely it is not enough to cover up all his family’s expenses. But I was too foolishly indulged in the “art” of earning a living back then that I practically forgot that my father was God’s faithful servant. I realized that I am concerned about him and his family too, believe it or not, I really am. I actually cared without knowing it. Perhaps that is why I wanted him to get a stable job with a, somehow, good paycheck.


After lunch, we lounged on their small living room and watched the Sunday noontime show. I should probably be bored and sleepy, but something unexplainable was keeping me from dozing off. Then my father started telling us stories of those old singers from the noontime show and where and how they started their careers. His stories are based from his personal experiences with the artists themselves, and I find it really funny of myself to actually be entertained by his stories. Perhaps, because he is a soft-spoken man that it is impossible not to listen or maybe because I am just like he or he is just like me. Either way, I saw a part of me in him as he spoke and I find it both weird and fascinating at the same time. I have always wondered where I got that particular side of me, I never, for a second, thought that I got that from him. Well, of course, what do I know about him? He was not there while I was growing up, I have never even spoken to him nor seen him for nearly thirteen years until just last June of 2009, when my auntie set us up to meet in her music school in Antipolo. This is our second meeting, if that is how it is ought to be called, or perhaps “bonding” is the right term. I am not really sure.


Another thing that made me even more interested to listen to him is when he started telling me about his writing history. That was then I remembered that I have brought with me a copy of the literary folio from school. I had two poems and two photo essays in it so I decided to give my father a copy. He was more proud than I have expected him to be, I felt a little overwhelmed. And then he shared to me his campus journalism experiences. He said he was a former Editor-in-Chief of their school publication way back in his high school and college days. “You know mija, you could be an Editor-in-Chief too.” He said and I only snorted and told him how impossible that was but he smiled at me as if assuring me that I could really be an editor one day. He really is a fascinating man. Not only that, we also seem to share the same skill and passion for writing, photography and drawing.


Then my mobile phone rang. Unexpectedly, my papa picked up my phone from the little coffee table and looked at the senders name on the screen. I saw his forehead wrinkled when he saw the picture and the name of the sender on my mobile phones’ screen. It was the man that I was dating. “Who is Mr. V******?” He asked and my brother and I exchanged glances, and then finally, my brother told him about the sender’s identity. My father only scratched his chin and said, “Ask this man to come with us on the fifteenth in our farm in Morong, I want to get to know him and see if he is fit for you.” I totally burst out laughing and told him that it really is not necessary to do that, but he insisted. “This man must know your true worth and must treat you well.” I wanted to laugh again, but as the words sink in, I realized that my father is right. I never thought that he cares for me that much. My papa pulled me close to him and kissed me on the side of the head. It felt so great and for the first time I felt secured. I stayed there in his arms, looking vulnerable, and inside, my arms are aching to tightly wrap them around him. I did not let the chance pass me by again, so I hugged him tight.


    The clock struck two-thirty and it told us that it was time for us to go for papa has to go back to the church of Sta. Clara de Montefalco for the three o’clock mass. I really did not want to leave just yet; I want to stay there with papa a little longer, just a little longer. But my brother stood up from the couch telling me that we really should be going, so I slowly got to my feet as if standing up was a burden. My brother and I got ready to leave as papa changed his shirt in his bedroom. When he was done, we all went down and papa bid us goodbye, and instead of saying “see you later,” like I would normally say, I blurted out “Goodbye papa,” unexpectedly and one last time my papa hugged me really tight. I heard some of his neighbors asking him who I was and although I was not looking, I heard the sound of happiness in his voice when he said that I am his daughter.


I did not want to let go of that hug just yet, I wish I never really did or perhaps at least I went with him to church that day and heard the three o’clock mass instead. Just a little more time, a little more time to get to know him better, a little more time to make him feel loved by me, a little more time for me to let him know how much I really love him and how much my heart aches for him. For a week later, May 2, 2010, he died of a heart attack. I was not prepared to let him go just yet, and I must admit that until now I have not fully grasped the fact that he is gone. I should have known, when I accidentally bid him goodbye, that it would be the last time that I will be seeing him. I would have spent more time with him. I will never forget though, that in those precious few hours we were given, he did not fail to let me know how much he loves me and how much he cares for me. I will never forget that one precious moment in my life.


I’ll see you later pa.


“Never say goodbye, because saying goodbye means going away… and going away means forgetting.” – Peter Pan

Every person has a life story to share and here is a portion of mine.

I was only four years old when I last saw my father. Since then I never heard from him. But I was told a lot of stories about him, what he was like, what he does and who he is. Those stories formed an image inside my head, and it was of a man that I must despise and must not look for and expect from. I grew up not wanting to ever see my father.

But no matter how hard I try to tell myself that he is a useless and uncaring man, at the back of my mind I fabricated the image of the real father I was looking for. Someone who would treat me as if I am a princess, someone who is quite over protective. Someone who would appreciate the things that I do and someone who would be proud to say that I am his daughter and that I inherited my skills and abilities from him. Nearly thirteen years later, I found out that the father image I was looking for had always been in the man that I have always considered as useless and uncaring: My biological father. I was able to see him, hug him, talk to him and make him proud of me. He was not the person I was told he is, apparently he become a renewed man.

I was able to be with him twice and on the second time I knew I wanted to see him often. I wanted to get to know him more; I was looking forward to spending more time with him. I was so happy on that second time, not knowing that it would be the last.

A week later he passed away while playing the piano on a mass at the church where he serves. He died on a very beautiful day, time and place. He died on a Sunday, during the four o’clock mass at the beautiful church where he was a choir master and a devotee; it was also Easter season. He lost consciousness and fell on his piano, everyone screamed and panicked. They brought him to the hospital but he was declared dead on arrival. He died in the church of Santa Clara de Montefalco in Pasig.

I know a Santa Clara church in Katipunan and I know very well that I was taken away from my father on that church for a very complicated and personal reason. On the last day I was with him he told me that the reason why he became devoted to Santa Clara de Montefalco was because he was hoping that someday Santa Clara would bring me back to him so that he could hold me in his arms again. I realized that I was his favorite child, and all those years that I keep on saying that I hate him and that I do not want to see him, he was longing for his baby girl.

During his three day wake, I met a lot of people he worked with and people he had taught. I was told a lot of great stories about him, like what a great musician he is and what a great, kind, caring and loving teacher he is. I envy his students; I honestly do, for they know my father better than I do, apart from that I envy them because they were able to spend more time with him. I tried not to cry, I held back my tears during his wake; I didn’t want my mother to see me crying, though she was very supportive anyway. But on the last night of his wake, I burst out crying in my uncle’s arms. I cried not only because my father is gone, but also because of the broken plans I had for us. I planned to invite him on my eighteenth birthday as my seventeenth dance, I wanted him to be there on my wedding day, to either take me to the altar or to play my wedding march, I also wanted him to see my future children but apparently it will never happen. Perhaps, I have planned those things too early. I guess I never learned that expecting from plans will always lead to great disappointments. But I promised myself that it would be the last time that I would expect for things to happen. For I felt too much pain from losing someone I dearly love.

He was cremated four days later and I let the tears fall as if no one was watching as I watch him being laid to a box and put into a big machine to be burned into ashes. When the cremation was over, they took him out of the machine and what we all saw surprised us, his remains were of powder white ashes. It was then I said my last goodbye and it was also then that I remembered that I have not even told him how much I love him.

I love you papà, and it was nice meeting you, but it is time to say adieu.