Danton RemotoCity Lights
An excerpt from Iceberg, a novel
Anna clasped her hands on the smooth Formica tabletop, raised her face, and said: “I want to kill myself.”
Anna stood at four feet and 10 inches tall, and she had the fragile air of a baby. She was a Humanities major who vowed to write the Great Filipino Children’s Story. Nothing reminded me of Anna’s Spanish blood, except her temper: When it exploded, it sent sparks in the air, like the sharp movements of a flamenco dancer.
And now, she wanted to kill herself. I smoked on, unbelieving. A long line of students stretched before the greasy food counter of the university’s cafeteria. Others sat and tittered with their after-lunch gossip. The voices fell over us, like a net.
“So, you’ve finally joined them?”
“Who’s them?”
After c
