Game by Melissa Salva - Love Stories Series #6

 

From Cecilia Brainard: I am proud to share MELISSA SALVA'S short story, GAME. This is part of my Love Stories Series featured in my blog. Melissa's story developed in a Filipina Women's Writing Workshop, that included Melissa, Susan Evangelista, Cecilia Brainard, and Nadine Sarreal. This is featured in my blog with permission from the author. 

Writing Workshop in Tagaytay 2013 with l-r: Melissa Salva, Susan Evangelista, Cecilia Brainard, Nadine Sarreal

***

MELISSA SALVA  (aka Melissa Ramos) writes fiction, poetry, and children’s books. Her work appeared in national publications as well as in anthologies published in the Philippines, the US, and Singapore. She is the author of five books, including Marawi, Land of the Brave, which was shortlisted in the Philippines’ 6th National Children’s Book Awards. Her children’s book on the Spanish artist Juvenal Sansó is forthcoming.

 ***

GAME

Copyright by Melissa Salva. All rights reserved. 

THE CLOCK on the dashboard read 10:26. KC sighed and climbed out, because being late went against her nature. A time had been agreed upon. If it were merely a suggestion then it would have been vague (“between ten and eleven”) or implied (“brunch.”) She disliked the notion of suggestions. But for the time being, she was willing to wait before asking point-blank. She didn’t want to scare this one away.

None of her previous dates ever showed up on time. None of them referred to their meetings as dates, either. It confused her so much that she always pulled her wallet out when the waiter came with the bill. She insisted on paying her share so aggressively that the men could do nothing but concede. What she wanted to say was, “if this were a date, of course I’d let you pay.” But what came across was, “you didn’t say this was a date!”

After the Ascension by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard - Philippines Graphic Reader December 2024

 

My short short, AFTER THE ASCENSION, was published In December 2024 by the Philippines Graphic Reader

AFTER THE ASCENSION

Copyright 2024 by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard

(Short Fiction in the Style of Joaquin Antonio Peñalosa’s God’s Diary)

 

            When the Cherubim settled down and the fluttering of wings turned into soft rustlings, the Father said, “So tell us, My Son, tell us, what happened.”

            The Father knew everything of course, from the time Gabriel greeted Miss Mary, every second, every heartbeat, every breath the Son made: the hammer in His hands when His earthly father taught him carpentry, the wine in the casket, Lazarus arising, the cross leaning heavy on His Son’s shoulders, the nails in His hands as he hung on the cross, the cry to Him—Eloi, Eloi—but He wanted to hear His Son tell the story of His Great Adventure. He wanted to hear His voice. Tell us, My Son.

            And so the Son spoke, and the Cherubim became excited at the boom of His human voice, at the veins throbbing on His neck as His words filled the air, and they marveled at the wounds in His hands glistening as He gestured for emphasize – (His earthly father had taught Him to do that); and the Cherubim tucked in their wings and whispered in great awe, “A Human, the Son is a real Human!”

The Son’s voice echoed throughout heaven and eternity, throughout time and infinity. And the Father and Cherubim listened, enraptured, and they laughed and marveled and wanted to weep. It was not just the Son’s words that moved them, but the sight of the wounds in His hands and feet, and that terrible jagged cut in His side. The wounds had dried blood in the center, and the flesh was red and blue at the edges. (Did the Son’s friend Thomas really ask to touch those ghastly wounds?)

            When the Son got to the part of blood and water gushing from the wound on His side, the Father had to ask, “Son, did you suffer much?”

            “Very much so, Father,” He replied, with forthrightness.

            There was silence for a long bit of eternity. No one had to say, I’m sorry You had to suffer all that pain and humiliation and die next to thieves, because You are the Father’s eternal Son—yes, Son of God the Father, Creator of everything—because the heavenly hosts knew.

            After the profound silence, the Son said, “It wasn’t a piece of cake. I really hated seeing the women crying, especially my Mother, but I had to do it. Only I could do it.”

            There was another hushed silence, after which the Father sighed and nodded, and He bent down to where His Son was seated and gently touched the awful wounds, and He peered through the wound at the Son’s side, and He was surprised that He could see all of mankind; and His heart went out to them.

 

~end~

The Philippines Graphic kindly cited the story at their 25th Nick Joaquin Literary Awards Night.

Read Also

Cecilia Brainard Fiction: The One-Night Stand at the Frankfurt Book Fair  

           Cecilia Brainard Short Short: My Mother's Skirts 

Love Stories Series

          The Mechanism of Moving Forward by Nikki Alfar - Love Stories Series #1

            A Simple Grace by Geronimo Tagatac - Love Stories Series #2 

        The Virgin's Last Night by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard  - Love Stories Series #3 

        Fossil by Angelo R. Lacuesta - Love Series #4

         Rose Petal and Tea and an Inn by the Sea by Susan Evangelista - Love Stories Series #5

         Game by Melissa Salva - Love Stories Series #6

          An Affair to Remember by Paulino Lim, Jr. - Love Series #7

         Compartments by Ian R. Casocot - Love Series #8

Rose Petal Tea and an Inn by the Sea by Susan Evangelista - Love Stories Series #5

 

From Cecilia Brainard: I am proud to share SUSAN EVANGELISTA'S short story, ROSE PETAL TEA AND AN INN BY THE SEA. This is part of my Love Stories Series featured in my blog. This is featured in my blog with permission from the author. 

***

SUSAN EVANGELISTA, born in Michigan, first went to the Philippines as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mindoro and Zamboanga. After two years she went back to the U.S., to the University of Wisconsin, and met and married University of the Philippines professor Oscar Evangelista. The couple returned to the Philippines and Susan spent her work life teaching, first in the English and Interdisciplinary Studies Departments of the Ateneo de Manila and then, after “retirement” in 2000, in the College of Teacher Education of Palawan State University. Teaching, she found, especially teaching Creative Writing, gave her much insight into her students’ lives. Concerned about the ignorance of many of her students in matters of reproductive health, she invited her daughter, who was in Public Health, to come to Palawan and together they started a nonprofit which provides sexual health education and clinical services to young people in Palawan. This organization has now been running for sixteen years and is flourishing.

Rose Petal Tea and an Inn by the Sea

Copyright by Susan Evangelista. All rights reserved.

 

            "IN MY COUNTRY,” he said in a soft, steady voice, “they used to burn widows to death on their husbands’ funeral pyres.” 

“‘Used to’ is the operative word, I hope,” she answered lightly, masking the chill his comment sent through her. 

True, she had felt like she wanted to die after she understood that her husband Stefan was absolutely, irrevocably dead. She’d fought the whole thing on every level, hadn’t really accepted the death – so sudden – until the burial was over and everyone went home. And then she mourned. But nearly as soon as her grieving started, she understood that she would come out the other side, forge a new life, find new, if less exuberant, joys. 

But she sometimes felt as if the people around her, even within her own family, didn’t think she had that right. 

Marcos Takeover Called Tyrannical, LA Times Letter to the Editor, by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard

I found these in my old files - an October 1972 letter to the LA Times Editor. It was one of the first public denouncement of the Ferdinand Marcos Dictatorship. 

tags: Philippines Martial Law, Philippine Marcos Dictatorship, Philippine Martial Law, Ferdinand Marcos

EAD ALSO:

The Mechanism of Moving Forward by Nikki Alfar - Love Stories Series #1

            A Simple Grace by Geronimo Tagatac - Love Stories Series #2 

        The Virgin's Last Night by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard  - Love Stories Series #3 

Cecilia Brainard Fiction: The One-Night Stand at the Frankfurt Book Fair  

How I Became a Writer Series

Ian Rosales Casocot 

Caroline S. Hau

 Paulino Lim, Jr 

Tony Perez

Eileen R. Tabios

John Jack G. Wigley

Hope Sabanpan Y

Fossil by Angelo R. Lacuesta - Love Stories Series #4

 

From Cecilia Brainard: I am proud to share ANGELO R. LACUESTA'S short story, FOSSIL. This is part of my Love Stories Series featured in my blog.  Fossil first appeared in Sarge's collection CORAL COVE AND OTHER STORIES (UST PH 2017).  It was also published in Santelmo Journal (2025). This is featured in my blog with permission from the author. 

***

ANGELO R. LACUESTA is a fictionist and novelist who also writes screenplays and essays. He has written more than ten books and two screenplays, and has won many national awards for his writing. He has represented the Philippines at numerous literary and film festivals and conferences. He is the current president of the Philippine Centre of PEN (Poets, Essayists, Novelists) International. 

His most recent book is the novel JOY, published by Penguin Random House SEA in 2022. In 2024 he wrote and produced the film “An Errand,” based on a short story he wrote, for the Cinemalaya Film Festival. It was selected as part of the Bright Futures section of the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR). His upcoming novel IRÔ (Milflores, 2025) was selected as one of 10 novels to be presented for possible film adaptation at the “Books at Berlinale” section of the  2025 Berlinale Film Festival. In 2025, “Song of the Fireflies,” a film he also wrote and produced, had its international premiere at the Manila International Film Festival in Los Angeles, California. 

*** 

FOSSIL

Copyright by Angelo R. Lacuesta. All rights reserved.

 

WHENEVER EMILIANO DATOY was drunk he stood up and declaimed in straight English how he had served, as a young boy, at meetings of town elders during the years before the war. The elders he had served themselves had served at the councils in their younger years, in Spanish times and then American times, entertaining traders, envoys and soldiers passing through Nueva Florencia, which had always been a dismal halfway town between the busiest of the island’s ports.

But I remember that when he was sober, Datoy spoke only Bisaya and could not even eat unattended, and he saved his feeble voice for when he needed it to carry from the veranda where he liked to sun himself, across the second floor living room, to his great-grandniece’s bedroom.

She appeared shortly, a dark young girl in her teens dressed in a batik house duster, carrying with two hands a thick, heavy, rectangular thing wrapped in the kind of velvet they used to cover statues on Black Saturday. Upon the old man’s croaked order, the woman swept the velvet curtain aside to reveal a block of black, stony wood bearing the smoothened etching of a winged figure. Dr. Hill drew a small gasp of awe from his throat and we bent forward to inspect the image, our heads softly colliding in the process. There were other things: vertical shapes etched around the figure possibly representing humans, and below it an inscription in badlit.

“Pre-Hispanic,” she said, when the old man nudged her ribs with an arthritic knuckle, which then pointed at the inscription. “The dragon of the swamps,” she translated, and Datoy’s folded hand sprung into a triumphant V and dropped to his side where he’d kept a bottle of gin handy, which he seemed intent to nurse into the afternoon. 

Dr. Hill remained silent but I know that by now he had begun to harbor a distrust toward the situation, his voice caved-in with exhaustion when he followed up with the old man about the tooth fragment. I was sure it was the heat, too. Datoy barked and sent the girl swishing out on bare feet to return with what looked like—and was soon proven to be—a two-inch tooth fragment. This she surrendered to us, depositing it into a piece of bubble wrap we had prepared specifically for this purpose.

Dr. Hill inspected the specimen while trying to express all due respect. It was Datoy himself who had started everything. He had seen my photo in a press release in the Daily Freeman announcing my scholarship in London and cut it out, A photo of the tooth-chip was stapled to a letter, written by the girl, explaining how she had discovered it while she had been playing in the dusty hillsides that surrounded their town.

 

Now available at Amazon - How I Became a Writer

 

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳: 𝘌𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘍𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 is now available on Amazon! The book is edited by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard and features 22 personal stories by writers of diverse backgrounds, each reflecting on how writing has shaped their lives.

Click on the link and get your copies now: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FLYNP1KC 

***

The 22 Contributors are: Merlie Alunan, Cecilia Brainard, Ian Casocot, Linda Ty-Casper, Aileen Cassinetto, Neni Sta. Romana Cruz, Jose Dalisay, Noelle de Jesus, Allan Derain, Migs Bravo Dutt, Yvette Fernandez, Caroline Hau, Luisa A. Igloria, Kristian Kordero, Paulino Lim, Jr., Tony Perez, Elmer Pizo, Joel Pablo Salud, Eileen Tabios, John Iremil Teodoro, John Jack Wigley, and Hope Sabanpan Yu.

PRAISE: 

How I Became a Writer: Essays by Filipino and Filipino American Writers offers intimate, fine-grained accounts in the making of what constitutes contemporary Philippine literature, provided by a remarkable set of Filipino writers in the Philippines and abroad, It is a book to be treasured. ~ Resil B. Mojares, Philippine National Artist in Literature.

Tags: Philippine writers, Filipino authors, Filipino books

The Virgin's Last Night by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard - Love Stories Series #3

 

Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, photo by Doreen Stone

 

From Cecilia Brainard: I am sharing my story, THE VIRGIN'S LAST NIGHT,  as part of my Love Stories Series featured in this blog. Earlier stories posted include Nikki Alfar's THE MECHANISM OF MOVING FORWARD and Geronimo Tagatac's  A SIMPLE GRACE.

My story, THE VIRGIN'S LAST NIGHT, was inspired by an unmarried aunt whose beau from her youth came around late in their lives, when he was a widower, and she still unmarried. She had spent most of her life taking care of her younger unmarried sister. In Cebu, they were referred to as the Old Maids living on Mango Avenue. My aunt sent the man away, ridiculing him (her nieces and nephews assumed) -- Are you out of your mind? At our age?

One day when I was already writing stories, I remembered my aunt and her old beau, and I wrote the “The Virgin’s Last Night.” The story flowed, with few revisions. 

This story first appeared in Going Home to a Landscape: Writings by Filipinas (Calyx Books); it also appeared in Growing Up Filipino II: More Stories for Young Adults (PALH & UST PH. It is part of my short story collection, Vigan and Other Stories (Anvil), and my Selected Short Stories (PALH and UST PH).

***

BIO: Cecilia Manguerra Brainard is the author and editor of over 22 books. She has written three novels: When the Rainbow Goddess Wept, Magdalena, and The Newspaper Widow. Her recent books include her Selected Short Stories and Growing Up Filipino 3: New Stories for Young Adults. Two books she edited were released in 2025: How I Became a Writer: Essays by Filipino and Filipino American Writers, and Step Into Our Kitchens: Theresian Recipes and Tales.

She has forthcoming translations in Greek, Japanese, Portuguese, Macedonian, Arabic, Serbian, Slovenian and Azerbaijan, in addition to earlier translations of her work in Turkish and Finnish.

She received an Outstanding Individual Award from Cebu, a California Arts Council Fellowship, a Brody Arts Fund, several travel grants from the US Embassy, National Book Award, Cirilo Bautista Prize, travel grant from the National Book Development Board, and others.

Cecilia taught at UCLA, USC, California State Summer School for the Arts, and the Writers’ Program at UCLA Extension. She served as Executive Board member and Officer of PEN, PAAWWW (Pacific Asian American Women Writers West), Arts & Letters at the Cal State University LA, PAWWA (Philippine American Woman Writers and Artists), among others.

She also runs a small press, PALH or Philippine American Literary House (palhbooks.com). Her official website is https://ceciliabrainard.com. 

THE VIRGIN’S LAST NIGHT

Copyright by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard. All rights reserved.

 

FOUR MONTHS AFTER PETRA SANTIAGO DIED, and the night before her own death, Meding Santiago got out of bed, reached for her rosary by the side table and started reciting the Creed. It was almost midnight, and she was saying the rosary that Thursday for the second time. Since Petra died, she slept poorly, her mind fixed on the image of her younger sister on the hospital bed, waving her bony fingers in front of her face before she finally stopped breathing. Sometimes she would forget that Petra was gone, and she would pour another cup of hot chocolate or turn to say something to no one, and she would be surprised at the depth of her grief.

She was on her knees, with her eyes closed, when she heard a soft knock on the door. She rose and walked to the door. She opened it, expecting one of the servants, and was surprised at the figure of an old man. It took Meding a second before she caught her breath and said, “Mateo, what are you doing here? You’re dead.” 

“Here to see you, Meding. It’s been a long time,” replied Mateo, standing first on one foot, then shifting his weight to the other, a man embarrassed.

“Well,” Meding said, clutching her nightdress at the collar, uncertain about what to do, what to say, uncertain about her sanity at the moment.

“You’re not crazy,” Mateo went on. “I’m dead.  I know, it’s strange, but that’s how it is sometimes. I have to get back before sunrise.”

“Oh,” Meding said, accepting this explanation with some kind of relief. Ever since her sister’s death, life had taken on the quality of a dream, and Mateo’s presence was just another strange event. She squinted at the figure by the doorway. “You’ve gotten old, Mateo,” she said, “and paunchy too.”

“You’re just as beautiful.” Mateo hung his head the way he used to as a young man, many years ago.

Meding laughed and walked over to the armoire mirror to study her image. “Mateo, you and I know I’m no spring chicken.

A Simple Grace by Geronimo Tagatac - Love Stories Series #2

From Cecilia Brainard: I am proud to share GERONIMO TAGATAC'S short story, A SIMPLE GRACE. This is part of my Love Stories Series featured in my blog.  This is featured in my blog with permission from the author. 

***

GERONIMO TAGATAC'S father was from Ilocos Norte.  His mother was a Russian Jew. Geronimo has been a Special Forces soldier, a legislative consultant, a dishwasher, cook, folksinger, computer system planner, a modern and jazz dancer and a roofer.  His short fiction has appeared in Writers Forum, The Northwest Review, Alternatives Magazine, Orion Magazine, The Clackamas Literary Review and The Chautauqua Literary Review.  He’s received fellowships from Oregon Literary Arts and Fishtrap. “Summer of the Aswang,” received the 2017 Timberline Award for short fiction.  Geronimo's short story, "Hammer Lounge" is part of Growing Up Filipino II: More Stories for Young Adults, collected and edited by Cecilia Brainard. His first book of short fiction, The Weight of the Sun, was a 2007 Oregon Literary Arts finalist. 

 ***

A SIMPLE GRACE

Copyright by Geronimo Tagatac. All rights reserved

CATHERINE, C.K. HER FRIENDS CALLED HER, would later tell him that the way he moved when he made his way between the row of lecture hall seats and the way he sat himself down without the help of his arms is what drew her interest. The very simplicity of his gracefulness touched something in her.  

        C.K. saw him the following Friday evening, in the Interlude Bar. She’d gone there with Charles, a grad student who was ten years older than her. He was chummy with the younger faculty members who frequented the place. Marco was chatting with the woman bartender and, at one point he said something to her that made her laugh. C.K. was sure he knew that she was watching him by the way he sat, half turned toward her on his bar stool as though he could hear her through the clutter of conversation punctuated by the occasional raised voice or wave of laughter. She was almost sure that he would hear her if she spoke to him across the space between them.

            Marco felt her swift glances, returning them with his own in which he took in her thick straight brown hair cut square several inches below her shoulders. He guessed she was not much more than five-feet-two inches tall.  He noticed her light-colored eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses, the black turtleneck sweater, and wide-legged pants of a fabric that softened the shape of her legs. He watched her leave with her companion but noticed she didn’t hold his hand or lean into him in that way lovers do, and that rubbed away some of his envy.