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2024-10-29 19:42:56Anyone interested in stories about fairies and dwarves may find the town of Parola up to their standards. Because see here, in 1924, Parola had a bunch of them. Though the grownups couldn’t see, the children did. Every single day. They were often spotted in open places. Fairies dangled on trees. Dwarves from different colors of different tribes flocked the marketplaces, the farmlands, churches, and barangay posts. Some slept under the huts for a better shade. They were part of nature. And to some extent, they were involved in the various activities of children.
Joaquim Dela Cruz spent his childhood in this town and was used to seeing little folks participate in many things that children do. On his first day in Parola elementary school, he spotted dwarves sitting leisurely by the window, watching as the teacher pointed her ruler to the blackboard. The dwarves appeared like gangly children, with a silvery and yellowish hue, and pointed hats and ears, and curling shoes. W
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Joaquim remembered so vividly when he flew the pigeon past San Martin de Tours church that he had arrived in Taal, but it had turned into the wrong town. It had lost its luster, compared to the last time he was here. That was just days ago, he believed. But as flew about and raced across the town proper, it looked increasingly evident that weeks, or even months, have passed. Because magic is as magic does. It can do anything. If it had turned him into a dwarf, it could certainly push him forward in time. And so, apparently, Christmas had come and gone and surely, when it did, the Japanese broke the festivities and soured the mood. They never celebrate it anyway. More likely, they took down the decorations and the flowers that festooned the plaza last December. Joaquim only spotted a large Japanese flag draped in front of the town hall. The Tokyo men have posted their sentries in various select areas of the town. It was a way to remind ev
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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.
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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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Joaquim thought he had it all figured out. Being human, you know the basic cause and effect of things. You know the laws of physics. When a force exerts something on you, you get pushed back—or thrown off, as you would in an explosion. You know how people get killed. When shrapnel hits your body, you bleed. You die. The grenade has certainly sent the eye-patched officer lying flat on his face. Joaquim couldn’t tell whether he was still alive. But Joaquim quickly realized he was not in a typical earthly plane. Things work differently here. After the dust settled, the nuno towered over him with a tight grimace. He didn’t even budge an inch. Though soot and dust had covered him, he remained unscathed. “You just made things worse,” said the nuno. “Now look what you did.” The mound of earth that was home to the nuno had been completely blown off.Now I’ve really dug myself into a hole,Joaquim thought
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The Guardian
First Lieutenant Shimoda was seated at a scarred desk, studying some papers in front of him. He was in his late-thirties, with thinning hair, intense black eyes under bespectacled round glasses, and had a pedantic manner about him. He had been in charge of the Japanese army sent into the deep south of Luzon. He had arrived with the background on infantry command and the zeal of an idealist, determined to make sweeping reforms to this atrocious Asian country turned into a rural western. Two days ago, a daring heist committed by a few ragtag thieves caught his attention. Despite posting several soldiers in the depot, they still failed to do a simple job: guard the supply depot. It didn’t really matter what had been stolen. If the locals get word how incompetent his troops were, there would be anarchy. He won’t allow that. Not while he is in this post. He called in his assistant. “Send them in.” Mako, Ichiro, and Jiro stepped inside. Their ha
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