Sunday is Not Coming

i. Journal of Deaths

I. Journal of Deaths
Isaiah.

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It didn't matter how Sunday and I met. What matters now: I dug her lifeless body in an abandoned daycare building.

The blinding light lit the gloomy sky of June, followed by a mournful boom, reverberating through the air-like a funeral dirge, invoking anguish and grief. Trees rustled, sputtering clandestine messages and cautionary tales.

The gentle yet unmistakable pitter-patter of raindrops upon the roofing sheet synchronized with my heartbeat. The smell of wet earth wafted through the air, reminding me of human nature's fragility to change.

A storm was approaching. A huge one enough to sweep away Santa Lucia and its hard-earned reputation.

Fear gripped my throat as I looked around, ensuring no one had seen me. The scar on my neck itched as sweat glided over it. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and picked up the shovel to dig again.

I was sure my guilt was written all over my face, but none of these could stop me from digging into Sunday's grave.

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Santa Lucia woke up to three unpleasant surprises this week. One, a storm is approaching our town. Two, Isaac Castro-former head sacrist and model student-committed suicide. And three, Sunday Velasco, Isaac's academic rival, was missing.

There was nothing new or surprising about the first news. Everyone has been preparing for disasters since the super typhoon that almost destroyed the town ten years ago. That disaster even made our incumbent mayor, Mayor Gallardo, famous. He turned the tragedy into a blessing in disguise-Santa Lucia became one of the wealthiest towns.

Aside from a reliable mayor, Santa Lucians listened well to the church. When the church said, let's segregate, everyone complied.

What shook the town's residents was the news of Isaac Castro's suicide. None of these people expected Isaac's outcome.

Isaac was two years older than me and set to graduate with flying colors the next month. He was so competitive and dedicated that I couldn't believe he had committed suicide.

But with or without our disbelief, he stopped breathing. Nonetheless, he was my brother, so I had no choice but to file a leave of absence at work, mourn his death, and attend vigils every midnight with cups of coffee accompanying me.

That was why tonight, on the last day of his wake, I had to keep watch of Isaac's room. Everyone was outside doing a commemorative program for Isaac-wala naman akong magandang masasabi kaya ako na lang ang nagpresenta na magbantay sa kuwarto niya.

Hinila ko na rin si Koen, kaibigan kong naghatid sa'kin mula Bulacan hanggang Santa Lucia. Siya lang kasi ang may kotseng available noong hatinggabing pinauuwi ako ni Mama.

Isaac's room spoke loudly about his personality. Tidy and rigid. From his wallpaper down to every piece of furniture, it was all gray and white. Isaac arranged his books on his shelves according to their sizes. A paper shredder occupied the space above his shelf. Not even a speck of dust could be seen on his table.

I sat in Isaac's chair, stirring my seventh cup of coffee. Koen checked Isaac's books on his shelves.

"Too much caffeine is bad for your health," Koen said as he clamped his waist-length raven hair.

I blew the steam off my coffee, sipped, then stared at him, "Not as terrible as failing all five subjects and having a major record at our university?"

Hindi siya nakapagsalita sa naging sagot ko. A triumphant smirk formed on my lips as I watched Koen's mouth turn straight. But the taste of victory quickly faded when he replied.