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UNEDITED SAMPLE LITERARY ARTICLE
By Zatia Denise Danao Gammad
IV - Madame Marie Curie


He decided to dig six feet under and bury the only thing that made sense in this messed up world I’m living in: our friendship. The thundering volume of the rain clashed with the silence of my woes as he finished the job and simply walked away. As every heartbreaking blink lessens the anticipation that’s all left within me, I still reach out for those dejecting eyes. Sadly, he let the million rain drops mask his face and letting his tears flow in disguise. He didn’t want his despair to harmonize with mine. He was firm upon leaving me strangled with his words, breaking every delicate cord connecting my sensation with his affection. Yet, I didn’t help myself. I stood there, covered in pelting rain and perplexity. I spent almost a lifetime there, trying to be washed away and be in oblivion. It was constantly repeating, “I have to let you go.” It was pure devastation. It was my fate.

Yes, he left me for good. He bid a bitter farewell and jerked every root of care he had for me. As it rained incessantly, dissolving every faith that restored my sense of being, I still stood there. I watched the rain transform into puddles and puddles into nothingness. Thunder sounded comforting, almost deafening me from the clear audibility of the truth. I was wandering aimlessly, hoping that I would fall into abyss but I can’t. I knew there was still something to hold on to, something to grab on as the rain turned into flood and washed away every fiber of my identity. As the rain started to be absorbed, it penetrates down to the very core of my strength. When rain dribbled hastily, sending its acidic drops to melt that very core entirely, there were still few roots that absorbed those acidic drops with as much pain as it could handle. The roots of mental rejection. I knew they were powerful. I knew my mind could persuade my heart to get over it. Even if they were already drowning, they were still clinging to every corner in my mind. Still, there were few acidic drops successfully making its way. I wished that it could’ve been the rhythmical droplets of drizzling, of temporary loneliness. But as soon as the first acidic drop kissed that very core, it was screamingly painful. It was absolute grief.

I grasp a moment so tight in my hands and closed my eyes as the rain still continued.

There was a time that we burned cinnamon-infused candles and place throw pillows around us as we enjoyed the tranquility of the night. He brought churros and hot chocolate which he knows that I crave for. It insulated me from the chill, and so did his presence. The luminosity of the candles made his rich brown eyes turn golden brown. And when the scent of the cinnamon reached his senses, it made him close his eyes lovingly and smile so dearly. As I inhale that same scent with his musk, I fixed my eyes to his. They were so charming. I found a space in there and I knew that space was mine and only mine. As stars started to embellish the stillness of the night, I was dreaming of forever.

I laid down, my head rested on a heart-shaped pillow. I heard chimes clinking hard as a monitory note of the coming downpour. Yet, I didn’t mind. I was in a dream and I can’t let the rain be the rain. Then started an escapade, a getaway. As he opened his eyes with marvel, he breathed warm air in his pan flute. I can feel the tinge of sadness from the lilting notes. It was hauntingly beautiful. It lifted me up as it started to drizzle. There revealed the shades of red as the drizzling won’t go any stronger. The natural rhythm of droplets and the pan flute’s melody collided and became one. I found my love for the rain. He saw me stare at him with wonder, probably thinking that I would ask something. He paused and held my hands. His felt so tender. He brought my trembling hands to his face. And I felt my heartbeat loudening as I cleared my throat noticeably.

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

His wistful yearning frightened me. It sounded like his last words. But it was the perfect moment to say it. Sadness enveloped us and it was for an inevitable reason that I hadn’t yet discovered. So, I reconsidered. It was a hint. In time he would say those three words that will resound for the rest of my life. And I just simply had to wait. What he said was my solace. And no matter how he said it, I knew it was sincere. I smiled as I put down my hands on my tummy; he was still right in front of me. He chuckled as he drew himself back and pick up his instrument. He continued breathing warm air in his pan flute. He continued until I fell into a deep sleep. He had an enviable versatility. He had control over the melody and power over me.

Drifting away from the moment clasped in my hands, I awoke and saw the dreadful truth once again. I was still there, standing in the rain, watching his shadow fading away as the hurt remained. My mind was flustered. And I couldn’t stand it any longer. Those acidic drops had melted every bit of my strength and there was nothing else left within me to withdraw. I screamed, with the very last of my strength, before his shadow totally faded away.

“Why leave me?!”

As those words painfully came out of my chest, the last of my strength dissipated instantly. I dropped to the ground and smashed into nothingness. I saw puddles reflecting my face separately. And as much as I tried to see it as one, to gain even the littlest of my identity, it was already useless. They were like jigsaw puzzles that won’t fit one another and their pellucid films made the fractions of the picture clearly visible. It was hopeless to consolidate it. And it was fair enough to be thrown away.

Time ticked an earsplitting tick for the past sorrowful days. As I failed trying to ignore it, I attempted to artificially console myself by lighting some cinnamon-infused candles and placing throw pillows of black around me. I heard the chimes clinked delicately as drizzle turned into breeze and stayed that way. Stars were nowhere to be found and I embellished the sky with reminisces. I had an overdose of depression that it put me into a deep sleep. Then a raucous ring of the telephone jarred me, preventing me to regain composure. I answered and muttered, partly to the caller and partly to myself.

It was his mother. She was stuttering as she tried to say her message slowly. One by one, the words built a blood curdling scream out of her and I started to feel my heart pound back, stronger than what she was experiencing. Then I heard the inevitable reason of his sadness. As I put down the phone, I was struggling to abort that impregnated truth.

His life was stolen.

His sickness settled in him for months and it was eating every spared cell of strength he had. His face didn’t mirror any fear, any disturbance. Instead, it mirrored endless bliss. His eyes were speckled with hope and not despair. He breathed warm air in his pan flute as a calling for eternity. Yet, it didn’t heed the cadence of his plea. But his wistful yearning was indeed a hint that I shouldn’t have reconsidered. That moment unmasked itself to me as grief gained depth. It was a getaway from the imminent fate that he was masquerading.

The breeze hurriedly turned into drizzle and the drizzle hurriedly turned into rain. The thundering volume of the rain clashed once again with the silence of my woes. And it penetrated once again to the very core of my strength. As soon as the first acidic drop kissed that very same core once more, it was screamingly painful than anything else. It melted a revolting void for an excruciating truth that will now serve as a detestable strength. Emptiness. And it was a newborn grief.