At the 2nd Floor Hallway, Meridine Bldg., NCCI

11th August

“Hey, Romu,” someone called me. Her voice was mellow and angelic. It became soft and sweet when she says my name. “Don’t let others drag you down. Remember that.”

My forehead creased as she sounded tensed and horrified, spitting her last words. Why did she tell me this?

“Romu? Can you hear me?” she asked again. As I want to answer yes or even nod to recognize her, why is it I can’t? It feels like I’m paralyzed and immobilized then put here in a dark place. “Even you haven’t replied yet, I’m sill believing that you’ll let me know.”

Haven’t you replied yet? What does she want to imply?

“Abella?” a man’s voice appeared. So, it’s Abella who’s talking to me. But why is it her voice changed? It was way different and, precisely, not the same.

“Hey, Ronald,” she greeted. She was maybe referring to the man who approached her. Who’s Ronald, by the way? I can’t remember an acquaintance with the exact name.

“You’re still talking to him?” I heard the guy ask Abella with annoyance. Abella just signed as a response.

A minute of silence ensued.

“I’m not stopping, Ronald. Even though the chance is quite hanging, still…” Abella stated with a sad tone.

What are they speaking about? I know talking to a person who’s alive is not an off-beam idea.

“There’s no chance. Right from that dreadful night, Abella. Nine year and counting,” angrily, the man scolded his companion.

“Let me go, Ronald!” Abella hissed after seconds of commotion.

“No! You must wake up, Abella. Romu was already dead nine damn years ago.”

“Yes, Romu was dead.”

***



“Yes!” scream by those students happened to follow me right after entering the conference room where we must present our thesis and be questioned by the panel. “Defense done, Guts. We surpassed it. We can graduate at the end of the school year!”

Good to hear from them. Those students were done on their tiring and sleepless nights conquering waves of the typhoon to end up confirmed and glad on their work.

“Mr. Seclin!” I heard a woman’s voice calling me afar. I saw Mrs. Dhester walking her way towards me, looking professional on her green long-sleeve blouse paired with a black knee-length skirt. Her bun hairstyle never changes the comical eyes of the students staring at her.

I remain my stoic face as halted a meter away from me. Mrs. Dhester composed herself and handed me a brown, thick folder. Somehow, the folder reminds me of something.

“You did a respectable work of all the students presented under your course.” She looked at the folder, telling me to accept it, which I did. “In behalf of the panel list, I handed down to you your notable work worth for a recompense.”

Piece by piece, I comprehend what Mrs. Dhester uttered. Did I do a generous act when I was A kid which recompensates my hard work until this very day?

A small grateful beam emerged from my lips upon seeing my name plastered on the cover of the brown, thick folder I received. Upon seeing my sneer, Mrs. Dhester patted my shoulder, and off she went leaving her gratitude on me.

I got disturbed celebrating my success inside my mind when another commotion of students came out from the same door we exited. Few of them has a gloomy expression, and some held their sobbing backs and whispered words of encouragements.

Their slow and quiet sobs reached my ears. None were allowed to pass by the conference hall premises as defense activity is continuing. And the thing, because those number of students are miserable, was the defense, they’re in a few moments back inside the four corners of the said room. Beaming with them were the mighty stares of the panels that made their work the palate of the day.

I should not put my nose on their problem. I already finished mine, and I’m off to go.

Walking down the stairway, I remember the things I did. Leaving the church at Jetkins District four months ago halted my every night’s doomed and horror experiences. Until the day I’m enjoying now, and I wish until the end of my life. Nothing worries my eyes in all the spots I landed them. I was even doing things I never expected to be involved in. Those exhibited pleasure and another cup of tea never leave my mind, like going out at night and going home a few minutes before the cutting time at midnight and becoming wasted for three consecutive days and doing nothing just a day or two.

I made my life twisted for about four months, and I’m thankful for that. I observed at the other lens of life, aside from those modest ways to a rough viewpoint, yearning me for something out-of-the-box ideology that I found.

People of New Cica are mere players of a game. I’m sure of that.