by Paolo Chikiamco

 A “council”? Really? That’s what you’re going with?

You gonna wear brown robes too? Break out some shiny lights and talk to me about the Force? More like a farce, am I ri– 

Ow, muscle fiber that hurts! Quit it! You old ‘mangkeros have no sense of humor.

Huh? Well, that’s the closest you’re going to get. I can’t cuss, can’t swear. Not anymore. 

Oh, I used to, all the time. You ask Mr. Antrada over there, and he’ll tell you. No, I think you deserved every word you cranky old fudger. Oh, I know him well, he was my Dungan teacher. Proud to be one of those terror profs, aren’t you, old man? Except that teaching “style” has forest consequences when you’re teaching how to cause harm through sheer will. How many of your students ended up with the albularyos, flopping around boneless because you forked them up with a sumpa?

Nica Bayona, originally a playwright and screenwriter, is currently taking up her MFA in Creative Writing at De La Salle University. Her notable works include her debut play, A Trip To The Moon for the Benildean Theatre Festival and Henry and the Barefoot from the recent Short+Sweet Theatre Festival held in Manila. She also writes poetry and fiction. “Children of the Bridge” is her first published short story.

by Nica Bayona

 Obet is never late.  But I’ve been waiting for almost an hour now that I finished counting all the concrete trucks bound for San Juanico. It’s been four years since they started building the bridge and the trucks would always arrive before sundown. I never really understood the huge, rotating barrels behind them but just recently, Obet’s father, Tiyo Jun got hired to drive one so I asked him how they worked. Driving trucks is the only job I’ve seen the old man do ever since I can remember, all kinds of them, so it only makes sense that he jumped at the opportunity the moment it was offered. Add a base wage and a promised pack of cigarettes and Tiyo Jun is good to go.

“The trucks have to keep mixing the chunky stuff inside so they can use it right away,” I remember him saying. Tiyo Jun seems so happy doing it day after day. I wonder if I can drive one of those too when I grow up. 

M. A. Del Rosario is a Filipino artist and storyteller. He is a published author of graphic novels and short stories. He lies and makes up stories about monsters and gods. He is also an advocate of reading. He tells people to go to libraries, comic retailers, and bookshops. He lives with his family in a quiet subdivision where fireflies still exist and where cats question the existence of men. Sometimes, he talks to gods lost at sea. He still believes that magic is real. You can visit him at www.paperdrawing.com. His story, Cañao, was published in Philippine Genre Stories in January 2023.

by M.A. Del Rosario

Artwork by: M.A. Del Rosario

Simeon S. P. Balagtas didn’t understand the world anymore. Life wore him down, as everything was very different in his youth, and that was a very long time ago. Every day he sat in his small store along Carriedo Street near a busy Quiapo church, with a walking stick in one hand and a fan in the other, waiting for someone to buy. He sold different things, from clothing to underwear, and assortment of bootleg shoes and fancy trinkets. He also sold bootleg toys, and those sold more than everything else he had. 

Simeon never understood the fascination for such things, for he didn’t have toys in his youth. He never found a fondness for it, even as he grew older. He didn’t understand why children were fascinated with these things and the foreign games that were a big hit to the modern youth when they could be playing Tumbang-Preso or Luksong Baka. Has the world influenced his country so much that traditional games matter little now, unlike before? Is his yesterday gone with the swath of modern influences?