NOTE:
Let's have a break from the emo, friends.
More acclaim for
"The Ballad of Juan Miguel"
by Mihk Vergara and Mackie Galvez
"I read for two nights, sleepless... and as I turned the last page, finished, I turned the whole book over and started once again. It's that good."
"This, this is what stuff like words, letters and the printing press were invented for..."
"I propose that time be no longer divided by B.C. and A.D. but with the publication of the Ballad. May his sweet song guide the future of mankind. Marvelous!"
"A complex pastiche of raw emotion. Powerful in it's simplicity."
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Dramatis Personae:
Juan Miguel, a boy
Miho, a girl
Baron Giuseppe, a mysterious man, Juan Mig’s friend
Billy Bob, 1 mig’s friend, boy
Whiskey Joe, disgruntled Vet
Chapter 3
Test of one’s metal
The three sat on the curb, sharing a cigarette. The girl took a long, hard drag and rubbed her sore arm. A little too tight on your grip. Sorry Luv. I forget me own strength. And it’s not like I’m not hurting either, said the disgruntled vet. But what a feeling, sobriety. I’ve been inebriated for so long, it’s nice to look at things with a little clarity. In fact I’m starting to see things pretty clearly. The vet glanced over at the girl and boy. The boy sat in silence. The vet offered the cigarette. What’s wrong son? Yer not sore about the bruise I gave your girl now? The boy turned over to look at the vet. It’s not that. I feel bad about your hand. It’s pretty useless now right? I’d hate to lose my hand.
Wait. What do you mean my girl?
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Miho, Whiskey Joe and 1mig walked the streets together looking for a hardware store. They had agreed, after a rather long and awkward silence that they should help Whiskey Joe fix his vise hand. After all, it was shattered over a misunderstanding after all, and being the good people that 1 mig and Miho were, they were all too glad to help.
Miho was looking at random things in a childlike manner, as if everything were new. Of the three, she was the most animated. This saved her from the ramblings of whiskey Joe who, now sober, talked much more than usual. It was 1Mig who had to suffer the stories of the third world war and the subtle differences between whiskey and whiskey blue. Whiskey Light, Joe said, should never, ever, be mentioned in his presence.
Something else besides Whiskey Joe’s rants was vexing 1 mig. The return of his monitions had made him uneasy since the bar. They had not manifested since his adolescence, and their reappearance troubled him. As he was counting off possible explanations, their little pilgrimage suddenly stopped. Whiskey Joe wanted to buy cigarettes. 1mig thanked his luck.
We leave the trio for a while to dwell more on the phenomena of monitions. ESP buffs are probably wondering what difference between seeing the actual event take place and having a vision of it at the exact same time it’s happening. The answer is, quite simple, if one mig were facing away from event A, he would see Event A in his vision. However, should he be facing the event, he would process it the same as any human. The lights, smoke and crowd obscured his view of the Whiskey Joe fiasco, hence the monition. It might be interesting to add that the visions aren’t exactly in sync with actual events, there is a .00789 second head start on the monitions, but there is no noticeable inconsistency with the synchronicity. As for the effect radius, it is as wide as any human’s field of vision.
After buying cigarettes for himself (and the two, for which they thanked him), the three continued on. They had walked for at least a couple of hours more, and by that time all three of them were now enjoying themselves. Bless your hearts, but I don’t think there’s anything open at this time. Besides…….. it can’t be fixed. You needs a special kinda metal for it. I should have told you earlier, but it’s been so long since I’ve had friends. Well, real ones at least. I just……enjoyed the company is all. I’m sorry for leading ya on. The old vet sat on the curb and lit a cigarette.
No apologies necessary WJ, chirped Miho. It’s been kinda fun. Right 1 mig?
The boy was now silent. Whatever enjoyment 1mig had, it was now gone. 1 mig? What’s wrong?, miho asked.
The boy just stood there staring at the old vet. One could have easily mistaken the look on his face for disdain.
1 mig, he said he was sorry. It’s no big. The boy continued staring at Whiskey Joe. He sat down, and lit a cigarette. Miho, who knew nothing more could be said to either of them, also sat down on the curb and lit a cigarette. Another rather long and awkward silence ensued.
The boy, at this time, thought it best to say what had been troubling him. He was wont to be a little inconsiderate of others but always regained composure after awkward silences like this one. Awkward silences had been no stranger to 1 mig’s daily affairs, and in fact, his day would be incomplete without one. Having so many awkward silences happen to you sometimes makes you forget or perhaps even subconsciously deny that you are in fact culpable of them. This was the case with 1 mig. He had caused so many awkward silences over the years that he had become numb to their cause.
The boy stood up, ready to address his friends.
We can’t believe we’re doing this, the man thought. He put out his cigarette wit his huge, padded foot.
A mascot would not have seemed that out of place. After all, they have been used to promote everything from tampons to save earth rallies. Though some weren’t as lovable as they could have been, there is still that innate childhood fondness for all things big, fluffy and soft. This particular, big, fluffy and soft mascot was no exception. However, it was nearing 2 A.M., any promotional activity done at this hour would not have been very effective, or logical. To the casual observer, this mascot would seem suspicious. Let alone the fact that it was smoking like a chimney and stuffing pesos into a small, cloth bag.
A very special three. The last three you need, the Baron says. True, they would be what we are looking for, the man mused. I suppose he can be trusted. Love, after all, never takes sides. This took any doubt that remained in their minds, and they resolved to carry out what they had been doing since centuries past. The man closed the cloth bag, now full of pesos, with a knot.
He took a deep breath and took his step. He had begun swinging the bag of coins. A little later, he broke out in a run.
Just before 1 mig could break the awkward silence, it suddenly hit him. Another monition. He dropped to his knees.
1 mig! 1 mig are you okay? Back off there little missy. Give him some room. Now son what’s got you troubled?, the old vet said.
There’s a man coming towards us! I can see him!
Easy lad, alcohol will have that effect on ya, believe me. Just relax!
He’s coming right now, exactly now! He’s heading this way! He ‘s screaming
Nice night to dieeeeeeeee! Both one mig and the man said these words in perfect unison.
This startled both the old vet and the girl. They turned in the direction of their now all too real assailant. It was a huge mascot. With a cigarette in one hand and flailing a bag of coins like nobody’s business in the other. The three were fearful, and yet strangely amused at the same time.
The mascot hurtled at them with incalculable ferocity. The combined feelings of fear and amusement (almost like a familiar type of amusement really) had made it hard for them to make a direct course of action. The mascot had swung his blugeonesque bag of coins when the three started running. He had hit the lamppost where they had stop for Joe’s confession. Upon impact, the area of the post that was struck erupted into sparks, and there was a small trail of flame on it. So great was the force of his swing, the momentum of the bag made him lose his balance and topple over. Being as round as mascots are, it is quite cumbersome to get up after a nasty spill. This was an opportune chance for the three to escape. And so they did.
Crackers! The girl said, looking back. What was in that bag of coins?
Joe suddenly turned quiet. The boys eyes were on him.
So it’s true, the boy said. I was right about your hand.
‘Fraid so son. I promise on me mother’s grave I’ll tell ya everything, but for now, we best concentrate on making our escape.
The three sped along as quickly as a world war three veteran, dreamy waitress and odd boy could. As they turned, a corner to what they had hoped to be their safety. What awaited them was the spitting image of the mascot they had left behind about three blocks back.
How? Sputtered miho as she sought to catch her breath. The boy and the old vet instinctively shielded the girl.
For we are legion, the mascot said flatly. And. We. Are. Many.
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Brief interlude: Bathala’s 33rd song
We sing of Bathala, and his many great works.
We sing of man, and how it could not stand against the demon, the trickster, Sworn enemy of Bathala.
We sing of how he fought the demon, the trickster, his sworn enemy.
How, through his infinite wisdom he brought down his nemesis with one blow.
Shattering his body into a thousand pieces. .
We sing of Bathala’s wisdom as he scatters the pieces around the earth.
We sing of his providence as he speaks and tell us,
“Now man can fight these evils himself, just as he had the power to always do so.”
We now curse the thousand evils all over this land.
We now curse their name.
We now curse the day they would join again.
For they are legion, and they are many.
