Saturday, 16 August 2014



Bread. Bread. . .spare me a piece of bread. Believe me, I don't want to society but fate dooms me to this deplorable situation.

We used to be a happy family. Dad was a good provider until that pitiful day in May. All I could remember was Mom crying over the sad news of Dad's untimely death. He died in an airplane crush and his remains was nowhere to be found.

Mom gallantly took her responsibility as our guide and provider. Benjo, Mom and I made up the happy family we were once.

A day before New Year, we took the LRT to evade the heavy traffic. I was in pink dress, matched with a pink ribbon. As I mused with towering edifice on our way to lola, a great Commotion ensued. Mom embraced me tightly to shield me from apparent danger. Everything went fast. BOOM. . . A DESTRUCTIVE EXPLOSION WENT OUT.

"RIZZA, take care," she said and finally loosened her hold on me. Her look was gloomy and slowly she closed her eyes as she gave forth her last.

"Mom." I cried out loud as I struggled to get out from the broken seat. As I looked at the crowd, I saw everything in disorder; people in commotion and crimson blood oozed from my Mom's forehead.
"Mom," I cried bitterly embracing her lifeless body. Everything went dark, darker until I found myself in a hospital. Worst, Benjo was nowhere to be found.

What awaits a small, incapable girl like me. Nothing but a the bare truth of misfortune-darker than the hundred nights. . . uncertain than a thousand blank reality.

Bread, bread. . . give me a piece of bread.


  1. I remember reciting this during an audition at school when i was in 2nd or 3rd grade. It sure takes me back. Thanks for sharing this.