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)
White Palms, Pure Love
Uncle Gerry has white palms like the color of cotton. But his complexion is not pallid. Kids like me have white palms too. I mean, all of us have white palms until adolescence or until we get a crush on some pretty girls. By then our palms would become orange like the tangerine sky of twilight. My parents’ palms have been green like a virgin forest since my birth. They had been white before they got acquainted, turned orange in the first few months of father’s courtship with mother, and then turned red when they got engaged and eventually tied the knot.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Filmmaker
At a coffee shop outside St. Luke’s Hospital, Ranimel sinks into a single-seater sofa. He leans his head at the back and stares above the ceiling. He doesn’t care about the baristas going around and the customers pursing lips and shaking heads over what they think they see is indecorum. The truth is, Ranimel is exhausted. He works at night and, on days, he tends to his sick father, Chuck, confined in the hospital.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
Feathers
The infant howled like a wild dog. His worried mother swayed the cradle in rhythm to her humming of a lullaby. The ramshackle hut shook slightly as the cradle dragged its ropes attached to the brace of the palm roof. The mother hummed louder but in a pleasant tone. Her soprano voice flew about, against the lonely light of the sole lamp that was struggling to defeat the dimness inside the hut.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Pious Parrot
There was a bald clergyman who regularly went to Santo Niño village every Sunday to celebrate a mass. The villagers respected him in all aspects. Due to overwhelming respect, no one from them could ever utter the word ‘bald’ though the clergyman would not think of it as an insult if somebody would say it.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
Timeless Love
I felt anxious about knocking at the door. The same door I left closed more than four decades ago. The luster of its surface had melted away and some flower engravings had been chipped off. I was not sure who would open it and neither sure if I’d be able to recognize them or they’d be able to recognize me.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Soothing
“He’s not dead,” the albularyo said, taking the almost-finished cigarette away from his mouth. “The body in the coffin is not him. It’s a banana trunk.” His eyes flashed through the smoke wafting across the young woman’s face. “You are having a vigil for a banana trunk, not for a dead body.” He glanced at the window and smirked. “His sister came to me last week asking to cure him.” He puffed one last time, flicked the cigarette butt outside the window, and struck her with a sharp stare. “Look, miss, the vigil is nonsense. You bury it tomorrow.”
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Drunkard
After the joyous banquet, the night sky had seemed like the perfect place to rejuvenate. Shining stars spread in the heavens, some glistened sporadically, others shone steadily, while a few shot across the sphere and vanished uncaught by the naked eye. Some nocturnal creatures, bats or owls, swiftly darted overhead. The moon, glowing aloft the cloudless, shone as no other heavenly body could. Its standing ovation lit the lively village of Cansa, where a wedding reception had just taken place.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction
The Beggar
The heavy traffic swelling along EDSA stirred up the beggar beneath the flight of the Malibay overpass. Yawning, he stretched up. He checked his belongings, a tattered backpack and a striped-blue plastic bag containing empty plastic bottles of mineral water, energy drinks, and soft drink cans. They were there beside him. No one would ever touch things owned by a fellow as soiled as the beggar except another beggar like him.
By M.G. Maderazo3 years ago in Fiction