M.G. Maderazo
Bio
M.G. Maderazo is a Filipino science fiction and fantasy writer. He's also a poet. He authored three fiction books.
Stories (70/0)
The Old Lady in the Mysterious House
Author's note: Please read Part I It was one Sunday morning right before the start of the mass. I had pretended to Mother that I was not feeling well. That alibi was also my suggestion to the brothers, but I thought they would have difficulty in convincing their parents that they were both sick. I had faith in Lolito. He would find a way. He was good at it and the naughtiest among us.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Old Lady in the Mysterious House
Author's note: Please read Part II In the mysterious house’s backyard, I pitched the rope onto the window so that it flung onto the hinge. I pulled down both ends and tied them together. Then I rappelled up while Collette was watching out for someone who might see us. I reached up the window and, prudently; I peeked my head in. The first and only thing that got my attention was the fine shards of glass on the ground. It looked like ants dumped white sugar granules in a straight line. My whole body trembled with worry and stupefaction. I almost let go of my hold. It was awful. It was unbearable to think such a gigantic mirror is as delicate as a wine V-glass.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Witch Who Becomes a Healer
Author's note: Please read Part I The family goes back home in the morning. Marve has been sleeping like a log in Jaquelita’s arm. When they reach the house, Marve blinks his eyes against the sunlight shining through the window. He stares up at his mother and glares as if a bad dream has woken him up.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Witch Who Becomes a Healer
After typhoon Pablo ruined all the rice fields of Calipaian a month ago, Evanita has since been short of money to support her food. She had sold all the remaining sacks of rice in the wet market. She hadn’t expected the calamity. Pablo’s fury uprooted even the sweet potato and taro she had planted in the backyard. The root crops could have been a fair provision until she could plant and harvest rice again. Now, the option to survive is to borrow money from someone in the village.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
Tia's First and Last Fly
Tia is now a certified teenager. She could now compete with Aira. Her mother would now permit her to become a transporter. Aira flies every night to Manila to deliver a passenger for one thousand pesos, cheaper compared to the Philippine Airlines fare. Every month she takes home thirty thousand pesos.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
Gift from the Matriarch
The scout hovers above an isolated house in the middle of the desert one mid-afternoon. Jpop-O knows the house is abandoned. He lands in front of it and goes out of the scout. He looks down at his pink arm. It alters to pale blue, a warning sign that his system would not resist the deadly solar radiation for too much exposure. At the very least he is an inhabitant of Hikiki, a planet similar to Venus in terms of distance from the sun.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
Mistaken Return
It was astounding… but… disturbing. At the end of the school day, I loitered outside the school gates, leaning my back against the sidewall. I looked at my watch and realized that five minutes had passed already. Somewhat irritated, I continued to wait for Leonie when Mr. Diaz, the bald yet mustached principal, emerged through the gates and approached me.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Coin Collector's Dream
The coin collector was sitting like a log poised over a sofa, staring at the mahogany door which swung as the cold air from outside thrust into it. His almost drawn-out eyes never blinked. He had been in that state for quite some time until his back gave in. He slumped slowly, minute by minute. His head sagged and little by little his body dropped into the cushions of the sofa chair. The mere stupefaction had impaired him. His eyes shut at last. He didn’t close the door. Or perhaps he had been unaware of it. He even forgot what he was thinking. He lazily and inattentively hung his legs on the sofa chair, rolled over, and lay like a child in a womb. At dawn, he fell asleep and saw blackness.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Real Illness
He lay inside the pink mosquito net on a rickety bed near the window, pale and thin. He would turn over to the window to welcome the new day. He would do it slowly, afraid that the legs of the bed might give in. He would do it every morning when the sun comes out on the horizon. At night before sleeping, he would face away from the window. It had a benefit to him because when he coughed and needed to spit phlegm, he would just reach the tin can under his bed. It was better than to spit through the window and somebody would spot him. But the coughing did not hide the illness.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction