back with a vengeance.

And writer's block is the farthest thing from my head at the moment. Pain can be such an inspiration. It pushed me to do more than I could ever imagine. I'm inspired by who I already am and what is yet for me to achieve. Here I give you my comeback stories. Hope you like 'em :)

*****

I sobbed and watched the agony of it all. They were torturing him. I couldn't stand to see it unveiling in front of me. Much less squirm through the next three hours watching them devour him. I thought it was unfair for me to bear witness to this. Then again, I always had the choice not to look, but my pity was hardwired to my eyelids. It seemed that I would never be able to blink again.

I watched four men force his mouth open and heartlessly stick a knife in it. Blood squirted out like a geyser. I turned away swiftly, and looked back, a baffling first for someone who couldn't sit through a horror film like me. He let out a blood-curdling scream, prompting me to cover my ears.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I picked up an old shirt and rubbed my face. Why me? I was only seven. Was I even old enough to see this? Suddenly, the darkness of the room began to close in on me. Still, why me? And more importantly, why him? He didn't deserve to be subjected to such a brutal means of death.

He shrieked and hollered all he was worth, and even from the window in my grandfather's bedroom, I could see his legs weakening. His ears, which seconds ago were stiff and upright, were now bent against his sweaty temples. I wanted to come downstairs and set him free of those ropes. I wanted to look him in the eyes and tell him everything was gonna be all right.

But the door was locked. I was grounded until dinnertime--about time for him to mingle with my digestive juices.

Pink, my pig, was dying. Later on I would see him on a platter for everyone to feast on. And there was nothing I could do.

*****

Looking out the window, I see cars whizz by. Each of them have a particular destination, most of which I cannot presume. I believe that when one is in motion, he makes more progress than one slouching in a fairly circuitous Math class--regardless of the kind of motion.

The sophomores are supportive of each other's vices. From where I'm sitting, I see two guys fumbling with their cellphones, one chewing gum, and two freshmen are in our midst for reasons yet unknown.

Suddenly, I snap back to reality as the class erupts in cooperation. This is the easy part of Math, and I do not plan on opening my mouth to speak anytime soon. Only 30 minutes to lunchtime.

But I just did. It's virtually impossible to keep my piehole shut when I'm in this room. You could say everyone was on a roll this morning--and the rolling goes on. I hear expletives being muttered under breaths. My melange of frustration and discouragement is hurtling stones right smack in the center of my mental faculties and I can't stand it.

My stomach churns. I am subjecting myself--against my will--to the very first legal form of slavery that is school.

*****

As I settle down on the foamy white cushioned chair, my eyes drift toward an angel emerging from the door, followed by a whoosh of hot steam. It turns heads as it moves across the room. Everyone oohs and aahs, myself included. I of all people. It's a masterpiece.

Its smell wafts around the room and lingers outside my nostrils before it takes its sweet time in.

It smells so DELICIOUS. I wanna spend the whole night with it and let it take me to a new high. Its delectable soft texture makes me wanna give in to its divine taste. I don't know what's gotten into me, but for sure, I am far from lonesome. It's gonna be mine.

As I see the waiter put the dessert plate before me, my heart jumps with excitement. I can't wait to relish its heavenly sweetness on my tongue. Palatable would be an understatement. I stick the fork right in the middle of its multiple layers. Everyone in the restaurant watches as it goes into my mouth...

I must have this decadent chocolate cake!

*****

I hop down from the packed bus, donut in hand, about to face my biggest interview yet. It's not like I didn't prepare for this. Heck, I even got myself a shiny new notebook to take down every possible note. But as the looming Ganzon-Olan building towers over the sunny F. Llamas street, I feel a twinge of nervousness.

A tingle creeps down my spine. This is it.

Just as I was about to step into the building's huge revolving doors, a beggar in oversized jodhpurs and a tattered white shirt bumps (rather intentionally) into me. My donut lands on the ground, uneaten. Crap, I waited ten minutes at Krispy Kreme for that. I glower at the man.

He smiles--not the kind of reaction I was expecting.

"May sukli ka, miss?"

"Sorry, wala po," I shove my way through the crowd and into the building. He follows me, a big grin plastered on his rugged face.

"Please lang, miss, manganganak na po ang asawa ko..." he says. What am I, an ATM? Someone probably glued a smile on his face. Evidently, he was lying. So to get him outta my way, I pull out some coins from my bag's side pocket, unwillingly hand them to him, and start to walk away. Hmm. What date is it today?

"Miss, sandali lang," he calls once more, and that's when he got on my last nerve. I spin in his direction and point a perfectly buffed nail at his nose. "Manong, pwede ba? May lakad pa ako, pinagbigyan na kita. Pwede ba?!" I admit that was mean, but I was terribly late now, and the difference between charity and rudeness could be my job. I look down. What date is it today?

"Last na po, miss," he says, and he gives me a nicely wrapped box, the scotch tape prominent as

I held it under the sun's rays.

I say the smartest thing in the world.

"Ha?"

But as I look up, he is gone, leaving me with an unopened gift. I start jumping to conclusions. OK. Don't panic. What if this is, like, a bomb? What if I'm the victim of a practical joke? Come on, pull yourself together. It can't be that bad. It's just a really suspicious gift from a complete stranger who has come to make you late for your very first job interview. Yes. I don't even know what date it is today, darn.

Suddenly, I feel completely idiotic for even THINKING of the possibilities. Maybe he was just a nice guy trying to put a smile on someone's face. So I unwrap the gift and am surprised to find a piece of Choc-Nut and a small note. It said:

"Happy Valentine's Day po."

Oh. It's February 14.

*****

"Ummmmm...kamay mo, Anak."

I smile halfheartedly at the woman sitting in front of me. She's in her 40s, in a long, flowy dress, bedecked in jewelry and beads in a kaleidoscope of colors. I am in a white tartan shirt dress anf gray bermuda shorts, sitting uncomfortably inside a booth in Quiapo.

Getting my fortune told.

I cannot believe I agreed to this.

"Anak, mukhang may problema ka sa pag-ibig...o, siya, siya. Matagal na ba kayo?" she asks, and I recoil. Brent and I are fine, thank you. I look up and nod my head. Well, this is better than the convention my mother was gonna take me. Wallpaper convention = boring. I take a deep breath. "Seven months na po."

"Ahh, mabuti, mabuti. May nararamdaman akong vibes sa pagitan ninyong dalawa. Alam kong nag-aaway kayo. Huwag kang mag-alala at magkakabati rin kayo." She smiles and squeezes my hand assuringly.

"Salamat." Except that Brent and I weren't fighting.

"At ngayon, magpa-palm reading tayo. Palad mo." She lets go of my left hand and strokes my right. "Mahaba ang mga linya ng palad mo, anak. Maraming lalaki ang aakit ng ligaw sa iyo. Hahaba rin ang buhay mo, dahil marami kang kaibigan," she speaks matter-of-factly, like her reading had some sort of scientific basis. Outside, I hear catcalls from vendors selling pirated DVDs. Now would be the right time to bolt. I hardly believe in this anyway. I sigh. This is getting nowhere.

She gets hold of the shiny crystal ball poised at the center of her table, closes her eyes, and feels around it. Slowly at first, then she starts vigorously rubbing her hands against the ball, moistening its glass surface. Suddenly, her whole body vibrates, as if volts of electricity had just penetrated her. I remain frozen, mouth agape, in my chair.

"May na-raramdamaaaaaaaaaaan akoooo..." she says, freaking me out even more. I don't know what to do.

Then she stops abruptly, regains composure, and pushes a cowlick back from her sweaty forehead. I exhale, mouth still open.

"Zodiac sign mo?" she inquires, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

I find myself deep in thought, then I look up.

"Scorpio."

"Oh, realistic ka. Mahilig ka sa simpleng buhay, walang dinedemanda. Sapagkat mag-ingat ka ngayon dahil may isang problema na hindi mo maiiwasan. Masuwerte ka sa pera ngayon at wag kang umuwi ng maaga dahil baka may makasalubong kang dating kaibigan."

Wallpaper suddenly seemed more appealing at the moment.

So I push a 50-peso bill across the table, mutter a low "Thanks" and rush out. She looks at me, stunned, but puts the bill in her pocket, smiles, and calls in her next victim, er, customer.

I will never get my fortune told again.