Dark Trails to….

http://philxxx.blogspot.com

Walking along a dark alley in Quiricada in the early evening of a Saturday in September in the year of the Dragon, I stumbled into a group of young Pinoy Punks. Clad in tattered leather jackets sourced from the nearby Ukay- ukay thrift shops in Bambang and sporting crazy Mohawks, they accosted me for looking them straight in the eyes longer than the usual permitted glance.

“Hey, asshole! What the fuck do you want?” said the leader of the group.

“We better teach the fuck ‘bout the law of the streets!” chorused the other gang members as they dashed like a bunch of Apaches in their ear- splitting rebel yells towards me with unexplained rage on their scowling faces that were obviously aped from watching too many B- movies.

“Uh-uh, what do we have here? I didn’t know that there are punks in the Philippines, huh!” I replied in my mocking nasal twang complete with a sarcastic smirk that I could muster for them to see my contempt for their kind.

I looked around and saw countless faces etched with a mixture of fear and indifference from the gathering crowd of on-lookers…

I stepped back slowly and thought about the art of “Bitbit-tse” that is the best form of self- defense in this kind of situation but did not act on it. My inherent Pinoy blood oozing with machismo prevented me from turning the other cheek and running away from a fight even if I am far outnumbered and unarmed.

I took a deep breath in rapid successions and willed myself to relax as the four screaming punks came rushing in. The first dude attacked me with his deadly left hooks and right straights but I stepped aside and parried his blows as I launched a vicious counter-attack that caught him in his glass chin and staggered down to his knees.

The next one came roaring, an Indian straight out of the cowboy movies complete with his fist whirling in the air but a solid right straight to the chest stopped him on his tracks and put him down to the ground gasping for precious oxygen.

Then I caught the two remaining punks with successive roundhouse kicks into their face and stomach respectively in their moments of hesitations when they saw what happened to their comrades as they fell one after the other to the muddy ground. My years of training in mixed Martial Arts really helped me in this particular situation.

As they staggered back to regain their bearings, I turned my back and confidently walked away which turned out to be a very costly mistake that almost cost me my life that I had regretted to this very day.

I felt the sudden surge of pain at the back of my head followed by the crimson spurt of blood that looked like a miniature fountain followed by blurring of vision as darkness began to set in as a result of a stone that struck me thrown treacherously by one of the punks in his desperate move to get even and regain their honor in the yes of the crowd.

I saw them running towards me; this time armed with fan knives but was stopped on their tracks by the sudden bursts of gunfire from a semi-automatic weapon just before I lost my consciousness.

I woke up in the hospital bed the next day with policemen telling me to file a frustrated homicide and serious physical injuries against my attackers but I refused. I stayed in the hospital for another week licking my wounds. I spent the entire time pondering on my near brush with death that all the more strengthened my belief that I am here on this planet with a purpose and that I am invincible!

In a span of two months right after I was released from the hospital, I evened up the score when I picked them up one by one in the mean streets of Quiricada, Avenida, Tayuman and Santa Cruz with my trusted and ever reliable Beretta.

The Police as usual was clueless on the dead bodies that turned up in the streets that they immediately put the blame the deaths of the punks to gang wars. One enterprising TV program even had an episode of the whole thing–about a Serial Killer in Tondo!

But nobody took them seriously of course what with the Filipino’s notoriety for inherent skepticism on certain things and stuff until it happens to them. Ho-hum.

One thing is sure though, the people in that place can now have a sigh of complete relief from the mischief of the wayward punks that they must have thanked me in their prayers.

As I stepped into the hard court I knew right away that it’s my night.

The moment I got the ball and took my first shot beyond the arc only confirmed what I believed.

“Threeeeeeee points!” barked the crowd watching on the sidelines. On the next possession, our opponents scored on a fast break. Then we retaliated by scoring on a pick and roll.

The game was close and we were battling neck and neck. It helped that I was into some kind of a zone carrying the scoring load for my team by making 15 points in a single stretch putting to good use my Milo Best Skills that I learned since I was 5 until other pursuits changed my course.

The first team to score 24 points wins the game and will take the pot of 2,000 pesos. In a pick up game or street ball like this, the money is nothing. What matters most is the pride of winning and nothing else.

The score was tied at 20, when the game turned dirty. On a rebound play my teammate was hit on the face by a wayward elbow. He retaliated by pushing the man as he made an attempt inside the paint in the ensuing play. It could have resulted into something more serious had it not been for the intervention of the proverbial cooler heads among the players and bystanders.

The game went on until it came to the last shot of the game. We had ball possession and the score was 23- 22 in favor of our opponent. I received an inbound pass from my teammate and dribbled the length of the court. They’re guarding us man to man that would collapsed into a zone defense the moment my teammate would post up.

The defense was tight and there is no room for a clear shot.

Then all of a sudden I saw an opening and move for a lay-up but I saw the defense drawing on me. In that split of a second I made a decision to pass the ball and saw in the corner of my eye my teammate standing at the top of the keyhole unguarded.

I flicked a fancy behind the back pass to him as I soared up into the air. He caught the ball and drained the shot for the game winner.

The final score was 23-24 in our favor and as we made our way out of the basketball court, “high- fiving“, shouting and laughing in jubilation of having put one up over the other team, I saw a knife being wielded by one of the players of the opposing team as he ran towards our direction.

By instinct or whatever you may call it I shouted a warning; we all scampered and ran into different directions. As I looked back I saw him caught and stabbed my teammate twice in the abdomen and again started to chase another one.

I ran into a nearby construction site and managed to get hold of a solitary piece of 2” x 2” wood block that then served as my improvised weapon in the process. I went after the assailant, caught up with him and lunged at him with all my might knocking him off unconscious to the ground. I was about to deliver the coup de grace on him but was restrained by two burly policemen who were passing by in their mobile car and immediately responded to the melee.

We brought the two victims at a nearby hospital while I went with the policemen to the station to give some statements; was detained for obvious reasons while waiting for the case to be finalized by the Fiscal’s Office.

I was released the following morning when no charges were filed against me. So, I went home for a much needed rest.

The following morning I went to the hospital and found out that my friend died due to loss of blood. His assailant survived and went home against medical advice the previous night. Apparently he felt safer in the streets than in a hospital bed.

But not for long for I managed to catch up with him two weeks later and avenged the death of my friend and teammate with the help of my old and reliable switchblade.

I was sitting alone on a concrete bench at the Luneta, chewing endlessly on my tasteless Bazooka bubblegum while looking into the horizon through my Wayfarer sunglasses, unmindful of all the commotions around.

My mind drifted to far away places, far enough which was hard to fathom. Memories circled in my head and then pffft! —

Broken by the touch of a dirty hand from a dirty child begging for food while pointing to the Jollibee hamburger that lay on the cold chair. I smiled at him and gave him what he wanted and he ran towards his companions with glee.
I watched him eat the burger, ravenously, aware of the presence of other kids his age, eyeing him like wolves watching their prey. In a split second, the burger was gone and he returned to where he was before, there on the dirty pavement lying on his back pretending to be asleep while holding a tin can by his right dirty and bony hand waiting for someone that will drop a coin or two.
I stood up, searched my pockets, and dropped a few five peso coins; he opened his eyes upon hearing the tinkling sounds of the coins as they hit the bottom of the tin can. He managed a naughty smile and looked me straight in the eye.
Then in a moment I signaled for him to follow me as I made my way out of the park into the parking lot along T.M. Kalaw Street. I got inside the car and started the engine as he knocked on the window with his bare knuckles. It was already dark and I asked him to join me for a ride. He cheerfully went in and sat on the passenger seat.

I sped off towards the CCP and parked my car near the unlit portion of the condemned Manila Film Center building. Then in a flash I grabbed his neck and choked him hard. He struggled a bit and went limp in just a few minutes.

I drove off towards Roxas Boulevard and turned right into the road leading to the newly built President Diosdado Macapagal Avenue where while cruising I opened the passenger door and pushed his lifeless body out into the ditch on the side of the highway and went for a candle-lit dinner in Greenbelt, Makati with my new girlfriend.

His death was just another nasty thing done by a nasty dude with a nasty mind and a nasty deed.

No sweat.

One early Saturday evening as the Jeepney that I am riding was cruising along Quezon Avenue, I noticed a young girl with a smiling face seated opposite to mine. I can tell that she’s still in high school because she’s wearing a uniform of one of those Catholic Schools in downtown Manila.

I observed her in a not so obvious way- studying her moves, facial expressions, and demeanor while pretending to read a book on Rizal by Ambeth Ocampo. She maybe around 15 years old but she was beautiful and big for her age; raven-haired and doe-eyed with porcelain skin and with a very nice set of pearly-white teeth that goes with her oh-so- girly-innocent smile. She could easily pass up for a beauty queen or a model or even a movie star so I thought to myself.

She alit at the SM City Complex and I followed her thereafter. She went into the food court and ordered a Burger and Fries combo. A couple of minutes later, another girl joined her and they went on with their meal with the usual chatter of hyper-active teenagers.

It’s now 8:30 p.m. and it is been quite awhile so I decided that I need some time on my hands and got myself a six-pack of Ice-cold San Miguel Beer from one of the vendors in the food court.

I was on my 5th mug of beer and a bit tipsy, when I noticed that they were gone. I immediately run towards the entrance and was glad to see them, as they were about to ride a cab. I immediately hailed a taxi and instructed the driver to follow them.

I learned that night that she lived in a modest bungalow somewhere near the Batasan Pambansa Complex in Quezon City.

The next day, I woke up very early and proceeded to her house and waited for her to come out. When she finally came out and rode the Jeepney, I followed and seated next to her. I enjoyed every minute of it especially so when I can smell her and her sweet perfume. It really gave me a lift that I was looking forward to it for almost everyday.

For three months, day in and day out, there I was seated inside the Jeepney next to my sweet little angel.

How I wish that it would go on forever and never to end.

But alas, some good things never really last as the old cliché goes.

For in the summer of that year I decided to end it all….

God Bless her soul.

I bumped into an old classmate of mine from high school one rainy August Monday while walking along Morayta Avenue just in front of the Far Eastern University Campus at the University Belt in Manila.

"Hey, it's you! How are you? How's life?" said he.
"Er, aah, I'm Ok and you?" I answered.
"Small world, huh?!"
"Yeah, so wazzup?"

After the familiar questions and answers when you suddenly bump into some old acquaintances we decided to have our snacks at A&W and update each other with our lives. He had a Burger and Coke while I had fries and Root Beer. We talked about the good old days and what we have become, our plans for the future, our classmates, movies, and girlfriends- every topic that comes to mind.

I learned that he's now connected with a Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) and works as a consultant doing some charity works with children and out-of-school youths in one of their centers in the slums of Tondo district at the heart of Manila. He invited me to join him on my free time and see for myself the conditions of our poor countrymen.

To make the long story short, I visited him on the site and was appalled at the poverty that I have witnessed. Most of the children who are at the center are barefooted, naked from the waist up, some have no teeth and many were emaciated. They look rather old for their age. I was told that majority of them no longer goes to school and instead help their parents in collecting whatever things that they could salvage and sell to some Chinese Junk Yard Owner from the horrible Garbage site known as the Smokey Mountain.

So, I decided to give my time to my fellowmen and eventually went with my classmate on his numerous visits to the shanties that was home to the most impoverished people of Tondo and their I witnessed and experienced first hand the things that I thought were just the product of propaganda by some enterprising activists on this side of the world. Things that I only saw on TV or read in the papers but thought nothing of it until today. Their homes were mostly nothing but made of old corrugated GI sheets and old Boxes of Cigarettes probably salvage in the dumpsite. Many are lucky if they could have three square meals a day.

Everyday my classmate and I would walk through the narrow alleys that could only fit one person and the stench of the garbage and the murky Esteros* filling the morning air with a dedicated and determined look on our face to make a difference. I was amazed that he knows by heart all the names of the people living in that maze of shanties along the Pasig River. I admired him for his heart and dedication on serving his fellowmen.

But I am not like him. And will never be.

I could not stand the sight of the children suffering especially Erning who was afflicted with Polio since he was three years old. I was a witness to his daily suffering. He would be out of his Barung- barong* at five o'clock in the morning everyday without fail limping while trying to keep his balance on the narrow Bamboo Bridge while fetching a gallon of water. I watched him do his thing from afar and decided that I have to do something to help him.

I was determined to help the boy in any way.

In my own way- my way…

On one particular cold August morning, I saw him again laboring his way trying to cross the makeshift bridge; I decided that this would be the day. It rained hard the night before and the river was swollen with murky water and so was the Estero.

I met him in the middle of the Bamboo Bridge. He looked at me. Our eyes met.
The next thing I remember was my right foot holding him down the dirty water as his limp frame struggled in vain…

Consumatum est.

“Ain’t no mountain high enough?”

The song by Diana Ross and the Supremes keeps on playing inside my head as our group of ten mountaineers snaked our way into the narrow and steep cliffs of Mt. Makiling amid strong winds and pouring rains.

The local radio station announced this morning that there is a tropical storm headed our way. In fact, it was already typhoon signal no. 1 when we left our boarding house in UPLB. We decided to push through with our mountain expedition despite the announcements of the approaching typhoon because we thought it was cool and nobody in our group has done hiking in this kind of weather before.

So with much pride and bravado as well as youthful fire and enthusiasm we continued walking and climbing through a narrow trail unmindful of the rain and the gusty wind.
“Ain’t a mountain high enough. “

We were already deep inside the forest when we realized that this was no ordinary tropical depression. In fact many of us now realized that it has the making of a super typhoon. It is just 10 o’clock in the morning and yet it was already very dark. Despite having our Coleman flashlight on, visibility was poor at five meters. The wind was strong and howling while the temperature was already freezing when the group decided to pitch tent at a nearby embankment.

We were caught in a huge dilemma when some of the people in our group wanted to turn back and head for the lowlands. But the more seasoned mountaineers pointed out that since we were looking for adventure when we decided to become mountaineers then it is but logical to endure what nature has to offer us in search of that elusive glory that befits wanderlusts like us and by quoting that old cliché -" to separate the men from the boys" we prevailed on the “cowards” to stay and pass the night away right in the heart of the dense forest of Mt. Makiling.

It was a very dark and stormy night. The wind and rain continued without let up. As I tried to light a cigarette to ease the numbness brought out by cold and counter hypothermia, a thunder-like explosion caught us by surprise!

Suddenly, I felt being swept away by a very strong force of nature.

A flashflood!

Our worst nightmare was realized. As I struggled to regain my bearing amid the very strong pull of the rampaging body of water, I saw several of my buddies being carried away by the strong current downstream. I was about to pass out when I saw Samuel, my roommate in the dorm reaching out for me. After a short struggle he managed to grab my hand and pulled me off to safety behind the trunk of a very big Lauan tree.

As we were struggling to keep our balance and maintain our positions, that particular thought and urge again suddenly entered my mind and in a flash I lounged at him with all my might with my right fist landing a solid right cross to his temple. A look of disbelief flashed into his face as he fell and was pulled down and then carried away and eventually swallowed by the rampaging murky river.

Another day has passed before a military rescue team reached us. Of the ten mountaineers, only 3 of us survive the ordeal.

The bodies of my mountaineering buddies including Samuel were found floating several kilometers away at the mouth of the river downstream. I knew right there and then that my secret will remain a secret until…

Then I met Nora…
We were both Communication Arts freshmen at the University of the Philippines- Los Banos (UPLB) when I first saw her at one of those teach-ins being conducted by leftist and radical students. She was one of the speakers and I was quite impressed not only of her knowledge on the current political issues but also of her beauty and cool demeanor.

She was with the League of Filipino Students (LFS) while I am a Barbarian! No pun intended though, that’s what they call students who does not belong to any organization in the State College.

We were introduced by mutual associate and instantly became good friends. From then on I was a regular fixture at any LFS activity whether it is rallies and demonstrations in the urban jungle or in the teach-ins in the leftist activists‘“safehouse”. Don’t get me wrong though, for to tell you frankly I was there not because I believed in what they were fighting for but because I want to be close to Nora, the object of my affection. Truth be told, I hate communists for I know that they were no different from the present rulers of the country and were just making noise for their own gain and end.
And then it happened. ..

It was May 1, Labor Day.

We were part of the huge student delegation from UPLB. We were doing the usual activists’ stuff–marching from C.M. Recto Avenue towards Mendiola Bridge in the University Belt in downtown Manila chanting “Makibaka!” and “Down with US Imperialism!” when all of a sudden the anti-riot policemen in front of us started bombarding us with water cannons and tear gas canisters.

Then there were gunshots in the air that broke the boisterous chanting that was followed by the familiar sounds of pillboxes and Molotov cocktails exploding all around!

All hell broke loose! People started scampering in different directions. Amid the ensuing confusion and commotion, I managed to get hold of Nora and we started running side by side towards Espana Boulevard. From there we hailed a cab to take us to Sta. Mesa to elude our pursuers. As we were both soaked by the water from the fire trucks we decided to checked-in at a nearby motel to change only to find out that except for our wallets, we lost all of our belongings in the battle with the riot police.

It was already 9:30 p.m. and since both of us were dead-tired and weary after a long hard day in the streets, we decided to spend the night at the motel. As we lay naked in that room, I smothered her with the pillow and she never had a chance. I plucked three pubic hairs from her and put it into my wallet to add to my collections. I then pushed myself unto her cold body until I climaxed inside her. I pulled myself up, took a shower and got dressed. Afterwards, I got hold of the towel and wiped the chairs, knobs, glasses, etc. to erase whatever traces of my fingerprints that the police might find in that cheap smoky room.

After an hour of aimless wandering in the mall, I soon found myself aboard a bus bound for Los Banos wondering how I managed to slip out of the hotel unnoticed.

The next day, news spread like wildfire that the young activist, Nora was found dead inside the motel apparently raped before being killed. The left blamed the police for her death and vowed to retaliate to avenge the death of one of their comrades in the hands of the fascists military.

I attended her funeral and spoke about her courage and conviction to uplift the life of her countrymen. The left lionized her as being a true heroine of the people and honored her by naming one of their units after her years later.

As for me, I just went on with my studies as if nothing happened. I was not really surprised that there was not a tinge of guilt in my system on what I have done. Instead it was a sense of pride on what I considered as an achievement.

The last part of the school year proved uneventful until…
*Tibak- a Filipino/ Tagalog slang for Aktibista (Activist) 

So, I set my sights on Diana, the muse of our class.

Everything began with a simple smile and we ended up as sweethearts two weeks later. After a month we were lovers. A year and a half later she was dead and never to be heard of again.

Oh who can forget that sweet little thing! We shared so many happy memories together but the “urge” and the thrill of finally fulfilling my long cherished dream of having my first human victim is greater than the love that I felt for her then.

As the saying goes, you can not forget your first time. I can still vividly remember the last night that we were together–it was a very serene and moonlit night in Lake Caliraya and we were onboard a boat that we rented for a few hundred bucks. We were making love under the moonlight while in the middle of the lake when the thought of finally fulfilling my long cherished dream of killing somebody flashed like a lightning into my mind. Right there and then I strangled and suffocated her with her own Hanes white t- shirt and after a brief fruitless struggle, she was gone and it was so easy.

I can’t believe the feeling that crept into me moments later for it was not of remorse but of triumph. After a minute or two of silence, I plucked three of her pubic hairs and put it inside my wallet for posterity and I then tied a rope on her ankles, put on my Scuba gears and dragged her to the bottom of the lake that will serve as her final resting place. Years later I would return to that lake to offer my prayers for her happiness wherever she may be. But that’s getting ahead of the story.
My first concern though was to cover my tracks so that no one will suspect me and link me to her disappearance. First, I need to have a very good alibi and a foolproof plan of what to tell our friends and families about where I’ve been and why I don’t know the whereabouts of my girlfriend. I spent hours in front of the mirror rehearsing the things that I’m going to say and studying the right facial expressions that I’m going to use that will convince them of my innocence. I even volunteered to undergo a lie-detector test at the NBI but they all agreed that it was not necessary having been convinced of my innocence and credible acting as the distraught boyfriend.
For years I have maintained my good relationships with Diana’s family and I was amazed at myself at how I managed to do that. This I can only tell you that my acting was so damn good and convincing that I could have given that great Hollywood actor, Robert De Niro a run for his money.

I do think that most of us are born actors…

Hmmm…. they say that serial killers are made not born.
Well, here I am proving that it's the other way around.

You may not agree with me but it’s true.
As far as I can remember and that was a very long time ago, there’s always this weird and strange obsession to kill and kill and kill!

My first victim was our neighbor's pet dog- “Hunter” back when I was in the third grade.

It took me several days of planning until the day when I fed him a piece of meat I got from my mother's refrigerator laced with 2-4- D, a kind of poison used by rice farmers wherein I have access being the only son of the owner of the only store which deals in agriculture in our town and presto I got my first victim at age 9!
From then on I became the scourge of all the animals in our town. Whether it is a stray dog in the streets or a cat lazily napping on a neighbor’s porch or a friend’s exotic python, I got them all. It gave me the vile satisfaction seeing the owners of my "victims" perplexed and at a loss on what happened to their pets.

Not being caught, gave me the courage to become bolder and bolder until the time when I got tired of killing mere pets. This was around the time when I was in already in the 3rd year of high school where I promised myself that I have to kill a human being as a rite of passage to adulthood and that is on or before my graduation day from high school…