The Diary of a Teenage Cannibal Part 3
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I was so careful. I thought I covered my tracks completely. The nights when there would be a fiesta I would sneak out of my room and the next day I would smile at my parents as I got ready for school. Sometimes they would ask me why I looked so tired, but I blamed it on my studies. “There were too many tests that I had to deal with,” I would say, and my parents would believe me.
That is, until last week when my teacher paid us a visit. She told my parents that I was failing all my classes. She said she was worried about me.
She just wanted to meddle. If it wasn’t for her I would be enjoying the feast with my friends. It took me months to get the wirwir and the kagkag to trust each other and I don’t know if old rivalries would flare up if I wasn’t there.
I’m trapped in my room, being given a lecture by my mother. She thinks that I’m secretly seeing some boy. She tells me that he isn’t worth it and that I have so much potential. “There are people that will say anything to get what they want.” “We didn’t raise you to be like this.” “Why would you lie to us?”
The sermon goes on and on and I can barely keep my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. I tell my mother what she wants to hear. That’ll I’ll be honest from now on, that they can trust me. I look at my mother with tears in my eyes and promise that I’ll never see that boy again.
And technically I did keep my promise.
I had to wait until the next full moon to meet my friends. Hours of fake smiles and pretending I was like all the other girls took its toll on me. They dance to the putrid rhythm of their normal lives, they’ll never know how good it feels to escape from the pretension of normalcy, to fully embrace your primal urges and kiss the taboo.
I miss them. I miss the sound that bone makes as I bite into it to suck out the marrow. I miss the smell of dried blood on my lips. I miss the drumbeats and the sound of death.
I travel to the graveyard to see them. The moonlight feels perfect on my skin. I can feel the vibrations of the drumbeats race through the ground to find my heart.
It has begun.
There was a car accident a few days ago and Emilio Canoy didn’t make it. They had a closed casket ceremony and buried him right away, not even embalming him. I couldn’t help but think of the treasure that lay within.
I go to his grave and am surprised.
An ebwa fends of the wirwir and the kagkag. It’s bigger than any I’ve ever seen before and I’m overjoyed, another new friend to add to the collective.
My friends have already exhumed most of the body and I see that they had already started without me. Pieces of Emilio were suspended in their mouths and my mouth starts to water. There will be time for that later, I tell myself, for now I have to welcome our new friend.
The ebwa are cowardly by nature, kept at bay by even the smallest light, but we are all scavengers. I take a piece of Emilio’s liver and I offer it to the beast.
It’s a prized part, only reserved for the most honored among the scavengers. I think back to what my teacher said. “The liver is the repository of our emotions. Words like ‘pighati’, ‘luwalhati’, ‘dalamhati’ all trace part of their origins to the old word for liver, ‘hati’.
It works, the ebwa ceases its retreat and feasts on the organ. I approach it and it lets me touch its head. I feel a connection between us, the girl and the monster, both enjoying the same taboo. It makes my heart race and my pulse quiver.
I look back to the body of Emilio and wait for my turn. There’s enough of him to go around. I breathe in the smell of death and feel more alive than I ever have.
But she just had to ruin everything.
One moment I’m enjoying the fiesta with my friends and another my teacher, along with a group of townspeople, rush towards us, weapons in hand.
I scream to let my friends know they are coming but it’s too late. One by one the wirwir and the kagkag fall to the bolos and guns of the townsfolk.
I run with them. I know now that my place isn’t among humans. A misplaced bullet hits my side, but the ebwa carries me to safety. It takes an eternity for us to find a cave where we can hide.
I’m losing a lot of blood. The shot hit deep and I don’t know if I’ll make it. The ebwa stays by my side, but I can notice it staring at my blood. I take a bit of the crimson liquid and taste it. I never had fresh blood before, and nothing can compare to the rich taste.
I gesture to the ebwa, as well as the few remaining wirwir and kagkag and I smile.
I know my death will not be in vain.
The fiesta will continue.
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Continued from the Wirwir’s tale
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Ebwa description in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.
Mandarangkal Illustration by Julius Arboleda
