Light Carries On

By Ana Rie D.C.

Light Carries On is a collection of short stories about women and

their losses. A lawyer who lost her unborn child, a caregiver who lost

her dreams, an archeologist who lost the spark of romantic love,

and a highschool student who lost her father and is bound to lose a

friend. This collection explores different forms of g

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Jan 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9789360490140

Book preview

Light Carries On

Ana Rie D.C.

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2024

Content Copyright © Ana Rie D.C.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

www.ukiyoto.com

Dedication

To my family and friends, and to anyone who has lost something, this is for you. Here's to letting the greater things find us.

Contents

Lilies

A Decade’s Call

A Mouthful of Grave Dirt

The Star Watcher

About the Author

Lilies

T

he client’s laments still rang in Issa’s head—another case of loan!—and further fueled her pent-up irritation as she set up the floral ceramic plates her mother-in-law has gifted for their wedding—I hate flowers!—which to her, would be the perfect outlet. She was sure the neighbors in their narrow, thin-walled compound could hear every thump of plate and harsh clink of silverware: another woman with a murderous temper.

Yet, she had been there before and knew the consequences of her frustrations, so she took deep breaths; the ones she had been taught. 4, 7, 8. Inhale for four, hold for seven, and exhale for eight. At the final count, she gently placed the empty glass beside her husband’s plate and after the small thud, the lights went off.

The gnawing irritation in her chest rose, and with closed fists she swallowed them back down. Flashes of colorful floaters appeared in her line of vision at the sudden dawn of darkness. She blindly felt for the counter and crouched to reach the cabinet beside the sink where they kept their candles and boxes of matches. When her gaze slowly adjusted in the dark, she saw the outline of items and reached over. The silence brought a high-pitch ringing in her ears, and she overheard the opening of doors from neighbors and their muffled complaints about the sudden blackout.

At the center of the six-seater table, she stuck the candle inside a short glass and lit it up. The front door opened, the muffled neighbors grew louder, a good evening, attorney was heard, and died down when the door was shut. Issa knew it was her husband, Gabriel, so she immediately strutted to the living room. He was sighing as he placed his bag on the couch and carried a bouquet of lilies in his arm.

Did we receive a notice about the blackout? she asked.

I don’t think so. Did you send in a report?

Not yet. The lights went out like ten seconds ago.

Gabriel didn’t respond. And even in the dim Issa could tell the worn-out look of her husband. She exhaled a breath and watched him collapse on the couch and unbutton his long sleeves beside the mountain of paperwork she had left. The tiny orange light from the kitchen loomed over, and shadows on the ceiling almost swallowed them whole.

Dinner’s already cold. I’ll reheat it.

Gabriel nodded. I need to shower first. Send a report. We can’t work in the dark.

Issa returned to the kitchen, left accompanied by the candle, and lit up the stove. She covered the pot of adobo and went to the living room to clean up her mess. She compiled all the papers and stacked them up on the coffee table, leaving the bouquet of lilies sitting on the couch. She settled back in the kitchen with her phone, standing by the stove and typing out a message about the black-out.

A Meralco crew from Balintawak Service Center has been assigned to check on your report and this may take 4 hours for the resolution of your complaint.

Four hours! Jesus. . .

Issa approached the small commotion outside the apartment, where her stout neighbor who was an accountant conversed with two other tenants. He leaned against the doorway with his white tank top that emphasized his bloated stomach, and from over his shoulder Issa could see his wife and daughter on the couch, vigorously fanning an abaniko.

Oh, attorney! He turned to Issa in surprise. What brings you outside? Couldn’t stand the heat, too, huh?

Gerard, she greeted, forcing a smile. Was there a notice about the black-out?

I just asked the guard, apparently there were no mails that came.

I sent in a report and they said it might take four hours.

Four hours? My wife made a report, too, but there’s no response yet. Maybe we should do a quick follow-up.

When