Tick-Tock

For a summer night, the air was unusually cold. I remained in bed, my eyes staring blankly at the ceiling; my mind empties for a moment. Sighing, I closed my eyes. I have so much to do but so little time. Have I always been this terrible at time management?

No, I don’t think so.

I grunted in frustration. Yes! I remember — I always had trouble emptying my mind. I was always thinking, always doing. I always needed to do something and I would never stay put — I couldn’t, yet now I wonder...why could I never stand still? Why can’t I just be?

I hear the clock ticking.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. I felt more uneasy with every second passing.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick—

I opened my eyes, the same cracked ceiling greeting me. The warmth of my bed covers pleaded with me to stay in bed a little longer, but the constant ticking of the clock reminded me I had other things to attend to. I let out a sigh and got out of my bed. Tick-tock, tick-tock. It was starting to be bothersome. I had a sudden urge to smash the clock.

I ignored it.

Instead, I shifted my gaze and observed my surroundings. Save for some cracks on the wall, it looked exactly just as I had left it — the curtains still joined together by the thin hair elastic I had borrowed from Jessica, the light still flickering…

Ever since, the lights in my room had always flickered, so I never bothered to turn them on; but even so, it was so long since I last set foot in this house — I can’t even remember the last time I had set foot in my room. The lights should’ve long been dead.

Seeing a glimpse of my reflection on the window, I looked out, meeting the creases on my forehead and the dark circles under my eyes. I paid no attention to the wine-red stained shirt, horrified at the sight of my hair.

I have always kept my hair short; I liked it that way — short, trimmed, and clean-cut. For some reason, however, it looked like a cheap copy of Karen Davila’s voluminous hair. How did I let this happen anyway? Did I allow it? I felt chills down my spine at the thought of possibly being mistaken for a woman.

Now feeling very self-conscious, I remembered Mang Joy, suddenly missing the familiar scent of cigarettes that filled his shop whenever I’d visit to have my hair cut. The barbershop where he worked at was just across the street. He knew exactly how I liked my hair done, and for just twenty pesos, he was the only barber who met my expectations. I must pay him a visit first thing tomorrow morning.

I snapped out of my thoughts, my eyes now drawn towards the light shimmering past my reflection. My eyes trailed its light.

I anticipated with eagerness, expectant of the moon.

Is she waiting for me?

My eyes fell upon the magnificent moon. Something was off. She was in her entirety tonight — a full moon — how could she let those sorry and lifeless clouds overpower her?

It was odd; most nights, she stood proud and bright. Tonight, however, she was cold and bleak. I do not understand. Is she well? Upset? I want to understand.

I stare immensely at her light, traveling along every visible inch.

What was she saying?

She seemed to be shouting and holding back at the same time. It looked as if she was pleading with me to look a little longer, be mesmerized a little longer.

Stay with me a little longer.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

On most nights, I would have given in.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

On most nights, I would be stuck, hours on end, captivated by her intensity.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

I turned away.

Ah, the work I’ve to finish. How long has it been? Two, three weeks? I don’t know. My memory withers with each passing second.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

What time is it?

The nearby Quiapo church bells rang, signaling what I suppose is the 6 p.m. Angelus. Alright, they should be home soon. I guess all I have to do now is wait.

Wait...

With a swift, I cut loose the fragile elastic binding the window curtains, allowing only a fragment of what was left of the moon’s strength to gently caress the fabric.

The doorbell rings, and I hear the rustling of Mama’s keys and my little sister’s playful voice; I run down the stairs, a bright smile plastered across my face. I greet them, “Mama! Jessica!”

Mama shook her head, scolding Jessica, “I told you not to ring the doorbell. What will you do if someone actually opens it?”

“But Mama, I like ringing the doorbell,” my sister replied with a sheepish smile, “Oh, Mama, Mama! Today, Gino told me Ben likes me.”

Mama put the keys back into her purse, changing from her work shoes to her home slippers. “And how did that make you feel, honey?”

“I don’t know, Mama,” My sister frowned as she slipped onto her pink bunny slippers beside Mama, “You know I like Gino.”

I looked at the both of them, still engaging in conversation.

Did they not hear me?

I was just about to call them out again when the rain had suddenly started pouring. Before I could even utter a word, Mama hurriedly rushed out the balcony, “Oh my God, the clothes! Your father is going to be so mad if his favorite shirt gets wet again.”

Again? Ah, right. Ever since that day, the rain has been pouring non-stop.

“There!”, a man shouts before I hear gunshots fire. I hear the screams of women. My hands latched onto my forehead, knees on the ground. They were back again. What was that? Hallucinations? Past traumas? Repressed memories? Damn it! If only I could remember!

I struggle to get up on my feet.

Mama didn’t close the door leading up to the balcony. Oddly, a glimmer of the moon’s light managed to slip past through the dark clouds. A glimpse of the light shimmering on my feet caught my eye, and I followed its shadows until my eyes met the moon.

The moon now shone differently. Her light was no longer despondent, seemingly having recovered. I look away, my fists clench. Being a full moon made her even more proud and bright, just as she had always been before.

I could not help but feel betrayed.

The moon had not been herself for quite a while. Ever since that day, her beams of light were distorted, scattered, even broken. I would look at her, and we would suffer. Together. How foolish I was to think that it would not end.

My thoughts cleared together with my vision. The moon was still there. A fragment of her light reflected on the wooden floor. I felt compelled to follow the trail of light back to its source. Her light was so strong that it was now able to reach and brighten up even the darkest of alleys. At that thought, I felt small. I felt tiny; her light would fill every house, every alley, and every person the same — strong, but to where each light would travel to would be different.

Have we even met?

Compared to her vast reach, I was nothing but a mere speckle. My existence would probably be far too trivial for her to even notice.

All of a sudden, I felt my body quiver, instantly snapping me out of my reverie. What started out as a gentle tickle, like tiny water ripples bouncing off of each other, quickly formed into a single and sudden violent crash. It had felt as if a large wave had just swept through me.

I guess I hadn’t noticed Jessica walk right through me. She went upstairs, leaving me to feel the warmth of her body cross with mine for a split-second. How I have missed it. I’ve been deprived of it for so long that I hadn’t even noticed I'd been longing for it.

The rain poured harder. It had started to sound like static. I looked at Mama. In the pile of clothes she carried with her, I spotted Papa’s favorite shirt. It was a regular plain white t-shirt, nothing special, but Papa wore it so much that it had already turned into a light shade of grey.

Mama was wet from the rain. My hands instinctively reached out to the umbrella near the shoe cabinet.

I missed it.

Wait…

I tried it again.

I didn’t miss it.

My hand went right through.

What?

Damn it, I keep forgetting! Why do I always forget things?

I let myself fall on the ground, the weight of my back pressed against the wall. I tried to distract myself, reverting my eyes back to Mama. She looked tired. I curled up my knees against my chest, my arms resting on top, watching her as I notice new strands of whites mix with her jet black hair for the first time. My heart ached; its cries lost beneath the thunder that rolled overhead.

I thought about burying my head in my arms but shifted my gaze to the gloomy sky instead. The sky was putting on a show tonight. I have to watch.

The moon was still there, distant, hiding behind the shadows. In an attempt to distract myself, I focused on the raging thunder, etching outlines of the lightning that accompanied it on my mind. They would disappear all the same — as fast as they had shown themselves.

I struggle to trace its remnants.

I felt a heavyweight press against my body — as if I were being held down. My eyes remained fixated above, now mesmerized by tiny droplets of rain. I tried to listen to as many of their stories as I could. After all, each raindrop had a different story to tell, but it was foolish of me to have even tried to hear out each and every one — there were simply far too many for me to ever catch up with.

I found a compromise soon after and focused on a little one. What a shame though — this one disappeared before it even got to tell its story.

Funny how you let loose one little raindrop and no one would bat an eye, bring out a few and leave some annoyed, but set forth a battalion and watch. Watch as it bestows upon nothing but total devastation.

I hadn’t even noticed I was drowning into the abyss until I heard the door close. Mama was finished. With the clothes in hand, she headed upstairs. I tried to stand to follow her but couldn’t seem to move my legs. I was still being held down. By what, I wasn’t exactly sure. Tired, I sat there, succumbing to my thoughts.

I felt Chaos boiling within me.

The outside too, I realize, is in Chaos; maybe the Gods were angered? Somewhere out there, Chaos will have instigated. It always does. Wherever Chaos goes, disaster follows. As certain as the sun will rise tomorrow morning, memoirs of Chaos will remain.

A sudden unpleasant feeling came over me. Something was bothering me — but I couldn’t tell what. Did I forget again? I racked my brain for answers.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The clock.

My eyes widened.

The clock.

But why was it so familiar?

With every second passing, I feel my memory slip away even further — I felt them melting — like tiny cut-up slices of butter slipping right off my fingertips. The more I try to latch onto them, the more they would melt.

Tick-tock, tick-tock…

The clock. Still there. Still ticking. Oh, my God. What about the clock! Why could I not remember? Did I not want to? I felt myself spiral deeper into the abyss, losing control over my senses. My vision started dimming. Just before it had completely turned pitch-black, something hit me. It hit me — like a truck that had just lost full control — it smashed straight to my chest. Within that moment, snippets of my memories flashed before my eyes — the looming clouds, the heavy atmosphere, the overbearing vehicle lights that lit up the main road...

I remembered. I remember! I was being followed, not by the moon, but by something else. I shrugged it off.

Big mistake.

I came face to face with the cold hard ground. It was clear as day — how everything felt and smelled: the gunshots, the blood, the drugs, the police.

It was raining, I remember. I was lying face-down on something cold and wet. The road had just been refurbished. The faint scent of asphalt mixed together with the scent of the rain served as personal escorts of the grim atmosphere. Like a mother soothing the cries of her child, the rain patted me on the back, washing away red sorrows.

Pitiful. The blood had already stained the pavement.

I wonder if I was the first.

The rain poured harder, with the thunder rumbling in unison. A crimson hand pressed against my torso. I winced at contact. With the little energy I had left in me, I managed to turn and face the man. He wore a blue uniform; a bullet-proof vest encircled his torso; his untainted hand held a gun. He looked young, maybe in his late 20s to early 30s. By the look of things, he was probably new.

He held up the gun and pointed it at me. I saw his hand tremble.

The last thing I saw was neither the creases drawn over his forehead nor the tiny particles of rain that dripped from the sharp edges of his chin. It wasn’t the hand or the gun either. Before closing my eyes to rest, I managed to gather just enough strength to look at the moon.

At that moment, everything was still. I was weak, but the light from the moon kept my eyes open. Time seemed to have ceased to exist — maybe she had bargained with him — probably out of pity. The moon stayed and sympathized with me. She mourned with me.

I heard a single gunshot fire, and the next thing I knew I was staring at the back of my body — it was drenched in a mixture of blood, dirt, and rain. I hadn't processed what had happened just yet, but I quickly fell to my knees, reaching out to turn it over.

My hands went right through. I was taken aback, petrified. I tried again; and again, and again. For that brief moment, it had seemed as if Time had really given me time to grieve and process everything. Again and again, I tried. I grabbed, gripped, grasped — anything. Nothing worked; my body wouldn’t budge.

Is this what it feels like to be dead?

Time’s up!

I see my shooter's commander hand him a small piece of transparent plastic bag. It was filled with white powder. I didn't budge; I was glued to the ground. I helplessly watched as the tiny bag found itself inside the left front pocket of my trousers. The commander gave his comrade a pat on the back.

I stayed in place, unsure of what I felt. Was it anger? Frustration? Despair? Relief? It wasn't until then did I realize that I had no longer felt the dripping of the rain on my skin. In fact, on the outside, I felt nothing. I no longer had a body to feel the cold or warmth. I no longer actually felt anything — only remembering how they felt like. A gush of coldness invaded what was left of me, leaving me hollow and unable to fully grasp the stinging in my chest.

She was never with me. The moon, I mean. It had seemed that she taunted more than she did comfort. Now, I am nothing more than a mere phantom — a troubled soul taking its chances on abandoned memories.

I was on my feet now, on my way up the stairs.

For now, I remember.

I have been trying to tell my family for the past two weeks. I must figure out a way to tell Papa, Mama, and Jessica before I forget again, before I forget at all. I need to tell them I’m dead. I need to —

I hear the doorbell ring just as I came face to face with Mama’s door.

“Jenny!” I heard Papa shout, “Were you able to salvage my favorite shirt from the storm?”

Mama’s door opened. Quickly, Mama rushed out yelling, holding Papa’s favorite shirt in one hand and a cellphone in another. “Yes, honey! Jessica, baby! Go greet your father.”

She went right through me.

The thunder roared as I felt the ripples Mama had caused. "Just a moment, Officer," Mama spoke on the phone, rushing down the stairs to greet Papa. "I'll call you right back."

The door adjacent to Mama’s room opened, and Jessica ran down the stairs, this time, missing my body by only an inch. I shivered as I remembered the ripples Mama had caused. It was still echoing my insides. The ripples weren't a pleasant feeling, but it wasn’t because it was painful or anything — I would only feel vibrations all over my body. These “ripples” were the only thing I could really feel.

Every ripple served as a grim reminder of my lifelessness. It constantly reminds me of how I am devoid of life and its warmth.

I turn my head, my eyes follow my sister as she greets Papa with a hug. Mama hands Papa his shirt. Papa's face lit up even brighter. I hesitated for a bit. The three of them looked happy. It was already perfect.

I turn back to the door right in front of me, staring at the doorknob, confused.

A little girl’s voice fills the living room below. "Papa, Papa! Mama and I brought you a new shirt from the market today! Wanna see, wanna see?"

My ears pick up the little girl's voice, then her mother’s and father’s beside her. The sound of their voice slowly empties out the room. I feel the lights start dimming.

As the light fades away, I remember something vague. What was it?

I think it was a doorknob, but I remember hearing a clock.

My vision cleared for a split-second, quick enough to see the doorknob in front of me, but just as I was just about to reach for it, everything went pitch-black.

Was I supposed to go in?