by  Raissa Claire R. Falgui

(image from Wikipedia)

I saw him blundering through the forest before he saw me. Naturally. I was the goddess of Mt. Makiling and he was a mere mortal. And he was getting old. It had been over twenty years since I had last seen him. But I knew him, old and stooped and anguished as he was. 

“What a surprise to see you here, Dodong,” I said, as I appeared before him. “How have you been all these years? And how is my namesake?”

For he had named his daughter, his only child, after me. That had been what he promised me after digging up a pot of gold from beneath the roots of the mighty narra tree I had forbidden the ambitious furniture-maker to cut down. A simple reward for his humble compliance. He was so delighted! 

Though I said nothing of it, I made sure that my future namesake would be blessed with all the finest attributes. Beauty. Grace. A way with plants, especially flowers. She was such a perfect epitome of femininity, I heard that she managed to transcend her plain, common name of Maria the Spaniards had tacked onto my true name Makiling, and became known as Mariang Mayumi. Simply Mayumi, in recent years, for her sweet and modest nature. Overly modest, perhaps. She was known in her town for extreme shyness and reticence. 

Mary Gigi Constantino was a fellow at the UP ICW Amelia Lapeña-Bonifacio Writers Workshop for Speculative Fiction (2016). She finished the certificate program: Sertipiko sa Panitikan at Malikhaing Pagsulat sa Filipino from Polytechnic University of the Philippines last 2021. Her work has been included in speculative fiction anthologies like “Kathang Haka: The Big Book of Fake News” (2022, UST Publishing House) and “May tiktik sa bubong, May sigbin sa silong” (2017, Ateneo Press). Her story “Dumaan si Butiki” was published by Adarna House and was awarded as one of the Best Reads for Children for 2014-2015 by NBDB and PBBY. Her latest story, “Duyan Pababa Sa Bayan”, was published by Anvil in partnership with Room to Read.

PGS is opening its portals once more for submissions of previously unpublished and non-AI-generated stories that explore and experiment with the genres which are written in English or in any of the native languages with an English translation. 

Each story considered for publication may receive developmental edits. Authors/translators of chosen stories for publication will be contacted via email. Stories slated for publication will be compensated with a humble fee. All authors/translators of selected stories for each month will also be featured via a short profile.   

Students and unpublished writers from the provinces are encouraged to submit. With Mia Tijam still serving as Guest Editor, please email your submissions to philippinegenrestories(at)gmail(dot)com.

ni Mary Gigi Constantino

(English version: The Last Migration) 

Mas maginaw kaysa rati ang madaling araw at nasa hangin ang amoy ng ulan. Sumiksik si Marga sa kanyang sulok sa jeepney at hinatak ang pandong upang matakpan ang kanyang mukha. Sumandal siya at pumikit,  sinusubukang ‘di makinig sa daldalan ng mga pasaherong kaharap. Nais niya sanang makaidlip bago pumasok sa trabaho pero napakaingay ng mga marites. Pinagtatalunan nila ang butanding sa palabas ng KMJS kagabi. Peke yun, pilit ng isa. Di alam ni Marga kung sinong papaniwalaan, at wala rin siyang pake. 

Nangatal siya nang rumagasa ang hangin mula sa bintana. Harurot ang jeepney. Madalas ganito sila kapag walang gaanong tao o ibang sasakyan sa kalsada. Hindi pa sumisikat ang araw, at sira ang ilang ilaw ng mga poste. Unti-unti siyang nakaidlip. Nilunod ng ugong ng makina ang mga boses ng iba, hanggang parang mga lamok na lang sila sa kanyang tainga. Inaantok din ang tsuper, kaya naisipan niyang gisingin ang sarili at magpatugtog ng radyo nang napakalakas.

“PARO PARO G PARO PARO G—”

Punyeta.

by Mary Gigi Constantino

(Tagalog version: Ang Huling Paglikas)

Dawn was colder than usual and the scent of rain was in the air. Marga burrowed into her corner of the jeepney and pulled the hoodie to cover her face. She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying not to listen to the chatter of the passengers in front of her. She wanted to get some sleep before getting to work but the gossipmongers were too loud.  They were arguing about the whale shark from last night’s KMJS show. It was fake, one of them insisted.  Marga didn’t know whom to believe, nor did she care.

She shivered as the wind rushed from the windows. The jeepney was going fast. They usually did when there were few pedestrians or vehicles on the road. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and some streetlights were broken. Sleep slowly took over. The sound of the engine drowned the voices of the others, until they sounded like mosquitoes in her ear.  The driver felt sleepy himself, so he decided to  give himself a jolt and play the radio at full volume.

“PARO PARO G PARO PARO G—”

Punyeta.