Chapter 3: last
885 Words
And snapped me into reality.
I climbed down from the bed, my legs trembling, and tried to lift Kuya. Blood had soaked through my clothes—his blood. My hands were shaking as I held him. Just then, the bedroom door slammed open.
“M-My God… what did you do to your Kuya?!” Mama shouted, furious, her voice cracking from panic and rage as she ran toward us.
“M-Mama… Papa… Kuya… he—he tried to hurt me,” I cried through choked sobs. “He almost r***d me… please believe me…”
But they didn’t.
They didn’t even listen.
They looked at Kuya, unconscious and bleeding—and all they saw was their son. Not the monster he had become.
They handed me over to DSWD.
Signed documents without a second thought.
Left me there.
Like I was trash they were finally getting rid of.
I couldn’t stay in that place. I didn’t belong anywhere—not even in the world.
So I ran.
I found paper and a sheet of cartolina, and I climbed up to the rooftop.
It was high. So high that everyone below looked like tiny, blurry ants.
I stood at the edge, the wind brushing gently against my skin, like it was whispering “You’ve done enough.”
And then I heard it—
“Oh my God! That child up there!”
I smiled.
Slowly, I raised the cartolina in my hand. With the blood that flowed from the cut on my wrist, I had written just one thing:
SORRY, MAMA AND PAPA.
“Get down from there right now!” a police officer shouted.
But I didn’t listen.
Because then—I saw them.
Mama and Papa were there, standing in the crowd.
Tears poured from Mama’s eyes. Her voice cracked with something I’d been dying to hear my whole life.
“My baby!” she screamed.
That phrase…
My baby.
It echoed through my chest like the lullaby I never had.
It was too late.
I was too tired.
I felt the wind grow stronger, wrapping around me like a goodbye hug.
I stepped forward. Just once.
And then again.
And I let myself fall.
Everything around me began to blur—like water over a painted sky.
The crowd screamed.
People rushed forward.
But it was too late.
The world dimmed.
And just before everything faded completely...
I heard her again.
“My baby…”
And for once in my life, it sounded real.
After everything...
Memories flooded my mind—each one rushing back like a film playing in reverse, unraveling moments I wished I could forget.
I saw it all.
The way they doted on Kuya, as if he were the sun around which everything else revolved. How they praised him, how proud they were of his every achievement, every small victory.
He was the star of their world, and I—
I was a shadow.
I watched as they lavished love on him, their eyes shining with affection. But when their gaze shifted to me, I was invisible. Not even a passing thought.
And then, there I was—alone in the corners of my memory.
Forgotten.
Unseen.
Unloved.
Tears fell, warm and silent, before I even realized I was crying. The weight of everything, all the hurt I had carried, seemed to pour out of me in a way I couldn’t control.
And then… I heard it.
The sharp sound of a chair falling.
It echoed in the quiet of the room, like a slap to the face.
I froze, my heart racing. Panic gripped me, and I ran toward the noise, driven by some unexplainable need to understand.
When I reached the source of the sound, I turned the corner.
And there she was.
A little girl, curled on the floor, her tiny body trembling.
It was me.
The younger version of myself, lost in her own sorrow, her sobs unheard, her cries swallowed by the emptiness.
I stared at her—myself—and something inside me shattered.
She was so small. So fragile. So full of pain.
So... unloved.
I couldn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t stop myself from breaking down completely.
In that moment, it was like I was staring into a mirror—seeing my past self, all the hurt and loneliness I had buried so deep, now rising to the surface in a painful flood.
Memories hit me all at once.
Moments of silence. Of sitting in the corner, wishing for just one ounce of attention, of affection, of care.
But none came.
I collapsed to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, my body shaking with the weight of it all. The silence around me felt suffocating.
I couldn’t breathe.
Because deep down, I knew—
There was no hope left for me.
No one to turn to. No one who saw me.
Maybe it’s better this way.
Maybe it’s better not to feel anything at all.
Because what is there left to feel when the only thing you’ve known is pain?
What is the point of fighting for something that will never be?
Maybe the numbness will set me free.
Maybe feeling nothing is the only way to survive.
And so, I sat there. Drowning in the silence. Letting go.
- Writer
