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All Chapters of The Pint-Sized Piloto: Chapter 11
- Chapter 15
15 chapters
Ruperto Isidro
The Pint-Sized Piloto/t.m.gutierrez
On an unusually cold September night of 1642, somewhere in the dense woodlands of Southern Luzon, a heavier-than-usual downpour fell against the tree covers. The trees laid their branches down. They gathered their leaves together to form a roof. A closer look revealed that dwarfs were purposely shielding their houses below. At the same time, the dwarves diverted the downpour using wide leaves, directing it toward a canal, and into the river. But once the river swelled, it became a flood that overwhelmed the crude dikes. By morning, the nearby town was at least two feet underwater. Except, of course, this spot of land that remains neat and orderly. There was nothing out of place. No leaves can be seen drifting on the ground, the grass was all handsomely combed and pointing north. The flowers bloomed. Fruits grew aplenty. As columns of sun rays slice through the fields and the woodlands, gradually the dwarves a
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Clara's Amulet
The Pint-Sized Piloto/t.m.gutierrez
Chapter Eleven – Clara’s Amulet In the years that followed Joaquim would recall his whole escapade can be blamed on this maroon amulet. “This is a practical object you have here,” Ruperto said, dangling the object. “Best to keep it with you at all times.” He tossed the amulet back. It shrank the moment Joaquim caught it. “Shall we take a walk?” the elder dwarf said. “I’m sure, you have questions and I have mine.” Joaquim had tons of it. But above all else, he asked the elder dwarf, “How did I turn into a dwarf?” Read more
Flatfoots
The Pint-Sized Piloto/t.m.gutierrez
Joaquim soldiered after Ruperto into the jungle as he made a series of turns. The elder dwarf would shift his kamison backward, turn right, shift it forward, turn left, and so on. On every corner he turned, Joaquim would find the sunrise constantly changing its position. Somehow they were jumping forward into different places. There was no way to tell where they were headed. But even without a map or a guide, the elder dwarf seemed to know what he was doing. Nonetheless, Joaquim found it nauseating. Finally, they arrived at an expansive wetland. Hundreds of migratory birds flocked the fields. To the east, Joaquim spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Mount Arayat. By magic, they were a hundred miles north. They had traveled faster than an airplane would from Batangas to Central Luzon. Read more
The Traitor
The Pint-Sized Piloto/t.m.gutierrez
Beliefs and ideologies are like deeply entrenched trees that are nearly impossible to uproot—unless you kill the trees. When it came to Flatfoots, Ruperto truly believed that his folks were these peaceful, diligent, and hardworking laborers, who never held a grudge or resentment. Seeing that he and Joaquim have been surrounded by an angry mob of dwarves broke the commonly held belief: These weren’t the Flatfoots he knew and loved. They weren’t his family anymore. And this, more than anything, made him so sad it was killing him. Ruperto knew something was afoot and he had to intervene. He stepped forward and faced the army of forks and spears bearing on them. For a moment, he wished he had an enchantment to temper their moods. Since he had none of that—he had to rely solely on his gift of diplomacy… He read the glitter of the mob’s eyes and the way the council of elders hid their mouths with one hand. They were waiting... salivating… for their demise. If he protested, he would have f
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Mira Rosa Arkangel
The Pint-Sized Piloto/t.m.gutierrez
December 12, 1941A streak of white light stabbed through the thick darkness like a mad firefly. It was a diwata and her name was Mira Rosa Arkangel. The trees had awoken from their slumber, upon seeing a beautiful and bright fairy making a rare apparition. And they were smitten. Mira had slit eyes like a knife and hued hazel brown. Her skin changed color to light yellow to contrast the darkness around her. What seemed to appear like glass-like butterfly wings that had a curvilinear pattern that matches her dress is her aura emanating behind her. She was donned from head to foot with a bright white Baro’t Saya finely embroidered with flowery patterns, which wove smoothly with the air. Her head was covered with an opaque shawl. When she flew, her aura glowed and sputtered enough energy for a low glide. Earlier that day, Mira was summoned by the great and legendary engkantada, Teresa Emmanuelle Mabini, or Aling Mabini, and was given a task. An assignment from her is always a big deal.
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