Ever since Ida was young, she hated her birthright.
The earliest incident that she could remember was when she was five years old. Her tito was babysitting her and they were playing out in the grass. It was a game of hide and seek. Ida thought that she had found the best spot to hide in, her tito couldn’t find her at all. When it was sundown she knew something was wrong.
She didn’t have to look far. Her tito’s body was facedown by the tree where he was counting down.
At the funeral they said there was something wrong with his heart. Ida listened to the older members of her family and found out he wasn’t the only one.
Tito Boy dead at age 45.
Lolo Abe dead at age 65.
Cousin Layla dead at age 26.
And those were the ones that her family was willing to talk about.
When she was twelve her parents sat her down to talk about their family’s history.
Her mother explained that heart problems were common on her side with a lot of her relatives having something called ‘a weak heart’. Ida didn’t understand the specifics but her mother just told her to be careful and if Ida experienced any symptoms, she should tell her immediately.
And every time Ida would be out of breath or have short palpitations, she would remember her mother saying, “It’s always better to go to the doctor. You don’t want to end up like your tito.”
Her father’s side had a different set of problems. There were many in his family that were obese and suffered from Type 2 diabetes. It explained why he would push Ida to do sports and eat healthy.
And so the years passed, bringing her to more reunions.
More heart attacks.
More strokes.
And even a suicide (That one hurt the most).
Through all this Ida endured.
She woke up every morning determined to live another day.
Her routine gave her a sense of purpose: Take her medications, work out, have a protein shake, eat a breakfast of fruits and oats, and monitor everything. Count calories, no sweets, no saturated fats, avoid energy drinks, no smoking, no drinking were only a few of the things she would keep in mind.
That was her life and she was at peace with it.
Until she woke up in the hospital, of course.
It was a normal day, she had just finished a meeting with her associates and sat down to have lunch. She took a few bites and started to feel dizzy, crumpling to the floor and vomiting blood.
Thankfully someone had called an ambulance and rushed her to the emergency room.
What followed were days of uncertainty and fear.
The doctors said whatever Ida had wasn’t related to her hereditary issues. It looked like something had been ripping through her esophagus and organs.
Her pillow was soaked with tears. It wasn’t fair.
She had done everything right, denying herself even the smallest bit of pleasure just so she would know that she could see the next sunrise.
Why was this happening to her?
That evening, as the light of the full moon washed over her sleeping form, a small centipede with a gossamer thread crawled out of Ida’s mouth.
It made its way out the window towards its master, who, after seeing that the thread was red with her blood knew that his pet had done its duty.
Ida had spent her entire life with the shadow of death looming above her that she didn’t take the time to notice what was happening around her.
Not the friends by her side.
Or the enemies she had made.
The centipede’s master pocketed his pet and walked to the car where he would receive his payment. A fat roll of bills greeted him, double what they had agreed on. He took his spoils and left the hospital.
He wondered though what would anger a person so much that they would need his services?
A jilted lover?
A jealous workmate?
To settle a score?
Whatever it was, it paid well.
Hopefully word would spread.
He needed more clients.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Mambabarang legends from Siquijor
Mambabarang Illustration by Megel Ramiterre
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