They cheered for the hero, the vanquisher of the great halimaw.
The hero took note of the strengths of her foe, how thunderous noise would spill from its feet.
It was as fast as the wind.
But she was faster.
The halimaw was used to the element of surprise, its large frame betraying its weakness.
She had many openings to hit the hulking abomination.
With one slash of her bolo, its legs were cut down to size.
With another its arms fell.
She slashed the beast in twain and from that wound the eyes of its victims spilled out.
The great hero basked in the glory.
She had saved the villagers.
She asked for no reward.
And just like that, she vanished.
=——————-=
Thus ends the tale of the hero and the Taawi.
Tears fell onto the journal, mixing ink and dampening the paper.
“What great bravery the hero had,” she wrote.
She could still remember that night.
The night of the Taawi.
Its footsteps should have been enough warning, but there was a storm that night.
She should have listened to her intuition.
She should have ran.
Was their pain? She wondered.
She couldn’t remember any.
After her resurrection, only darkness filled her vision.
It wasn’t something she could share with any of the other villagers.
They were saved.
Weren’t they?
She knew there was something wrong when she dreamed.
The Taawi haunting her even then.
She would wake up screaming, her lungs demanding the air that was taken from her.
Her eyes felt molten, like they were about to explode.
One night she went to her kitchen and took a knife.
It was her eyes.
She needed to remove her eyes.
Only then would she find peace.
The blade felt like ice against her skin.
She prayed to every god that would listen.
And the knife did its work.
=————————-=
Alicia was found by her sister and her body buried in accordance with the customs.
Silence reined throughout.
No one of the villagers was brave enough to come forward, to let them know she wasn’t the only one.
The villagers settled back into their houses, their dreams a horrific testament to the shared trauma they experienced.
They went on about their lives, living under a cloud of pain.
There were those that followed Alicia’s example and as soon as word spread, many cursed the hero that ‘saved’ their village.
The hero left the villagers to their own devices.
They suffered under her curse, the didn’t even blame the Taawi.
One by one, they perished by their own hands until the village was left empty.
There were no lights to guide them to the life after.
Sometimes there would be travelers that passed through the silent cemetery the village became.
They would tell stories of eyeless corpses and abandoned houses.
There was no one left to tell of the heroes’ curse.
As the moon reached her zenith, the hero ventured to her next sojourn.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Taawi description in The Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology, Maximo Ramos, Phoenix Publishing, 1990
Taawi Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
FB: That Guy With A Pen
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