The 13th Man–Chapter 3

The Calling



It’s October 24th, the day I hope to be the brightest since I was born. Newscast bring forth much awaited solar eclipse, right off before Lola Elena and I hit bedtime. I woke up a little late than usual, house bathed by sweet scent of her cooking. She was getting ready for a celebration. We don’t usually invite guests in the house except now. It took me a week of negotiating before Lola accepted my persevering request to have Carlo tonight. He was the first one I’ve had interest in despite some gaudy efforts of teenage boys succumbed under the spell of hormonal rush. Quiet tall, Carlo’s stature showed an obvious blood of mestizo. His descendants, being Spanish who have monopolized the art of faking titles, took over all the biggest farms in locality. In the name of love, it didn’t bother me at all.


Our house is a post war remnants who have sheltered wounded and starving guerillas. Hence, Lola’s indifference towards Carlo was clear from the start. Who cares about history. Kids my age are only suckers for kisses and romantic mutterings.


He came in time for dinner. After a quick contention with Elena, the old woman went to bed from exhaustion. Night was in favor of us.. of this moment we’ve been waiting for.


I walked him into a small bamboo house crafted with knots and dangling leaves. A pilgrim of seclusion I made when Elena deems to ignore my occasional inquisition. She encouraged it perhaps to ease both our unsetlled minds. Carlo and I found our place on the doorstep, resting our idle legs on a three-step stairs. “Isn’t this night romantic?” his anxious hands crawled behind my back. Skin to skin, I quivered despite the long hair coming in between. “the stars..our witness. You and me making it more meaningful than what it is now,” The thought was more chagrin than exciting.


“I’m cold.” It sounded like a wimping plead. He leaned closer, offering his arms around this fragile body. “I think I should get in. It’s getting late and you’re–” He hushed bits of uncertainty by brushing the strands exposing my fear. It was quick. He moved closer squeezing and tasting this malleable lips from inexperience. His efforts grew from gentle to meeting the intolerable tongue while his hands daunt a mild grip to the hair. His arms wrapped around my shoulders straining away from rigid chest, moved down to my waist. I tried letting out a cry but his breath was vicious into sucking mine. He carried my weight, leading two bodies towards the dimness of what used to be a sacred playground.


“Please don’t do this,” My eyes watered from distress and fear while he trembles from dominating desire. I couldn’t breathe from his weight.


“I know you want this. What’s the delay?” clasping my two wrists in one force, while the right hand basks in freedom, toying the budding chest. Hands finally explored underneath the floral dress corrupted by dust and air.


“No!” Screaming wasn’t enough to break the silence. His hand paved into mouth grabbing my attention.


“Do that again and I’ll put you to sleep. That would have been much easier,” He managed to take off the barriers, cutting through innocence until it bled. Thrust was rhythmic, worst than a pounding music. Fainting sound turns into a solemn cry waiting for the deed to finish. It seems like a moment but the pain burns even when he left. I laid humming prayers of vengeance. Forever stilled by howling insects.


I need to clean up.


I was awaken by rage and reason.


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Abby Mabb

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