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dweemeister · 7 months ago

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The Robe (1953)

Henry Koster’s The Robe, distributed by 20th Century Fox, appeared near the beginning of an era where religious epics and sword-and-sandal films became massive box office draws worldwide. Cecil B. DeMille’s Samson and Delilah (1949) and Mervyn LeRoy’s Quo Vadis (1951) had already laid the foundation on which Koster’s film, adapting Lloyd C. Douglas’ novel of the same name, would find its success. Despite The Robe being highly influential in Hollywood and becoming the highest-grossing film of 1953, the likes of DeMille’s The Ten Commandments (1956) and William Wyler’s Ben-Hur (1959) overtook it artistically and financially – no shame there, as those are two far superior films.

So what is The Robe’s claim to movie history beyond its initial theatrical earnings? When The Robe first came to theaters, 20th Century Fox advertised it as the first film ever made in CinemaScope. Created by Fox’s president, Spyros P. Skouras, CinemaScope was a format in which a widescreen camera lens contracted its widescreen shots onto regular 35mm film and, during theatrical projection, another lens would de-contract the image from the 35mm film in order to project a widescreen format. Theaters would only need to make minor, inexpensive modifications to their projectors in order to show a film in true CinemaScope, a 2:55:1 widescreen aspect ratio. Almost all other films were shot in the Academy ratio at the time (1.37:1, close to the 4:3 ratio – think: black bars on the left- and right-hand sides of a widescreen monitor – seen on many older standard computer monitors and televisions). With increasing competition from television, Fox executives believed CinemaScope could be a way to lure audiences back into theaters. Despite this overreaction from Fox’s executives (as well as the other major Hollywood studios), the legacy of CinemaScope’s innovation is still apparent today. Seven decades later, widescreen formats, not the Academy ratio, are the default in film and television.

Walking through the markets of Rome, returning Roman Empire tribune Marcellus Gallio (Richard Burton) reunites with his childhood sweetheart, Diana (Jean Simmons), who is now promised to Marcellus’ rival, Caligula (an always-sneering Jay Robison). Not long after, Marcellus – out of pettiness rather than financial sense – outbids Caligula for the Greek slave, Demetrius (Victor Mature). Marcellus immediately frees Demetrius, but Demetrius thinks of himself as honor-bound to stay by Marcellus. Elsewhere, an incensed Caligula reassigns Marcellus to Palestine – which, to the film’s Roman characters, might as well be the armpit of the Roman Empire. Marcellus and Demetrius go to Jerusalem, where they witness a man named Jesus enter the city, heralded by crowds of Jews greeting him with palms. Several days later, Judean Governor Pontius Pilate (Richard Boone) orders Marcellus to crucify Jesus on Calvary. Marcellus executes the order but, during and after the crucifixion, witnesses and experiences supernatural events. Demetrius, who has become a follower of Jesus during that week, obeys Marcellus when he asks him to fetch Jesus’ robe. The moment Marcellus dons the robe, he suffers something like a seizure. He falls out with Demetrius, and spends the rest of the film reckoning with his conscience over his role in Jesus’ crucifixion.

The film also stars Michael Rennie as Peter, Dean Jagger as Justus, Torin Thatcher as Senator Gallio, and Ernest Thesiger as Emperor Tiberius. Michael Ansara and Donald C. Klune are both uncredited as Judas Iscariot and Jesus, respectively.

The Robe has the misfortune of peaking in the first half. The adapted screenplay from Gina Kaus (1949’s The Red Danube), Albert Maltz (one of the blacklisted Hollywood Ten; 1950’s Broken Arrow), and Philip Dunne (1941’s How Green Was My Valley) is at its most interesting whenever Marcellus and Demetrius find themselves at odds with the other. In the scenes they share together, that happens often. But when Demetrius disappears after their disagreement over Jesus’ robe midway through, the film begins to sag with no foil for Burton to play off of.

For the entirety of this film, Richard Burton’s acting is overwrought. Burton, who had just arrived in Hollywood the year before to star in My Cousin Rachel (1952), is leaning too deeply into his theatrical roots here. His grandiose exclamations, stiff facial acting, and inconsistent line delivery result in a performance that is easily the weakest part of this film (Jean Simmons is also guilty, to a far lesser degree, of these same flaws in her performance). The Robe requires Burton’s Marcellus to undergo a spiritual conversion – becoming an adherent of Jesus despite following orders to crucify him, a developmental arc more dramatic than any other character’s in this film. Burton’s inability to convincingly sell this conversion (the stoic masculine tension, which some will interpret as coded homosexuality, between Burton’s Marcellus and Mature’s Demetrius does not help) weakens the film’s spiritual power.

Instead, it is Mature who is The Robe’s reliable scene-stealer. Mature, at one time likened to a “miniature Johnny Weissmuller”, has the classical Greek physique that, frankly, Burton does not. And in contrast to Burton at this time in their careers, Mature was more capable of a nuanced performance, as evidenced in his roles as Doc Holliday in My Darling Clementine (1946) and Nick Bianco in Kiss of Death (1947). As Demetrius, his soul hardened through his enslavement, there remains hope for a life free from the yoke of the Roman Empire and its callous slave masters. One sees it in his face during Holy Week, culminating with seeing Jesus dying on the cross. His faith is there, too, during a torture scene upon his return to Rome and an encounter with Peter. Amid miracles and cruelties, Mature’s Demetrius is simply the most compelling character of The Robe and the viewer – through Mature’s performance, especially in contrast to those of Jean Simmons and Richard Burton’s – can discern his genuine turn of faith. The Robe’s failure to showcase this inner awakening more believably is the fault of its two central actors and its screenplay; Mature’s performance and Demetrius’ characterization are all that saves the narrative.

One aspect of Christianity that The Robe captures confusingly (and oxymoronically) is the insignificance of Judea and the prominence of early Christianity in Rome in the time immediately following Jesus’ crucifixion. Oftentimes in Biblical epics, Judea is a centerpiece of the Roman Empire when, in truth (and in The Robe), it was a relative backwater. By Caligula’s reign between 37 and 41 CE, Christianity almost certainly would not have had a substantial presence in Rome at that time. So while Caligula would probably see Christianity as a threat, the film’s decision to treat the early Christians as a clear and present danger to his rule and the Roman state religion is the film’s glaring historical inaccuracy. The Robe – the book and the film – muddies the timeline from Jesus’ crucifixion to the film’s final scene in Caligula’s court. The relative suddenness of the Roman Empire seeing the early Christians as a very minor cult into becoming an Empire-wide menace is difficult to reconcile.

With few other post-silent film era Biblical epics as a guide, The Robe helps set the aesthetic of its fellow Biblical epics and sword-and-sandals movies going forward through its costumes and production design. The work of costume designers Charles LeMaire (1950’s All About Eve, 1956’s Carousel) and Emile Santiago (1952’s Androcles and the Lion, 1958’s The Big Country) is resplendent, regardless of either the Roman or Judean setting. Art directors Lyle R. Wheeler (1939’s Gone with the Wind, 1956’s The King and I) and George Davis (All About Eve, 1963’s How the West Was Won) and set decorators Walter M. Scott (All About Eve, 1965’s The Sound of Music) and Paul S. Fox (The King and I, 1963’s Cleopatra) all make full use of the CinemaScope format and color to enliven the scenery – a sumptuous visual treat for the viewer, and, to reiterate, setting a standard that the crew of The Ten Commandments and Ben-Hur both would study and surpass.

Of all of 20th Century Fox contracted stalwarts behind the camera, composer Alfred Newman was the studio’s most important figure. If Fox’s executives needed a composer to craft a score for what they would consider would be their prestige motion picture of the year, Newman – who composed the original 20th Century Fox fanfare and its CinemaScope extension (the extension, which is now inextricable from the fanfare, was first introduced in 1954’s River of No Return) – was almost always their first choice.

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In one of Newman’s finest scores of his career, it is his choral compositions, with incredible help from his longtime choral supervisor Ken Darby, that form the score’s emotive spine. Jesus’ motif, shared between wordless choir and strings, appears almost immediately, in the opening seconds of the “Prelude”. During the many invocations of a Messiah before Jesus’ first physical appearance in The Robe, his motif shifts, changes form, and modulates – imparting not spiritual comfort or devotion, but a mysteriousness and otherworldliness. When Jesus (whose face we never see) first appears in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, the cue “Passover/Palm Sunday” represents one of the rare juxtapositions of the brass-heavy martial music representing the Roman presence in Judea and Jesus himself. The modulation to a major key at 1:22 in this cue, with festive percussion, also includes one of the only instances of celebratory choral music in the score. Jesus’ motif in “Passover/Palm Sunday”, appears at 2:26 – cementing his (and Christianity’s) association with the cue, and appearing as the only instance in which one might consider this motif triumphant.

Choruses, which Western viewers so often associate in religious movies as angelic musical devices, become mournful in “The Crucifixion” – arguably the standout cue of Newman’s score. Even though one might be well aware of Jesus’ death and can anticipate a turn in the music (starting moments earlier in “The Carriage of the Cross”), it is startling to hear Newman’s composition change so rapidly. But it is in these several minutes depicting Jesus’ final moments that Newman, with modifications to his harmonies and orchestration, transforms Jesus’ motif to evoke its tragic dimensions. It is magnificent scoring from Newman, and this is not even mentioning his wonderful demarcation of Roman and Judean identities through his score.

In a film about faith – how it comforts, destroys, heals, and vexes – one wishes that the characterization of The Robe’s supposed lead characters in Marcellus and Diana could feel more plausible. The film’s final scene, possibly allegorizing of screenwriter Albert Maltz’s travails as a blacklisted figure in Hollywood, is decently powerful, but it needs far more storytelling support from numerous scenes preceding it.

As it is, the film’s expressive power lies within Demetrius and Victor Mature’s performance. So how fortunate that, because Fox also wanted to make a sequel to The Robe even before it finished production, Mature also signed a contract to appear in a sequel. Nine months after The Robe made its theatrical debut, Victor Mature starred in Demetrius and the Gladiators, directed by Delmer Daves and also seeing Michael Rennie and Jay Robinson reprise their roles as Peter and Caligula, respectively. Though it did not top the box office for that year like The Robe did, Demetrius and the Gladiators was a financial boon for Fox.

With Hollywood’s major studios always ready to respond to the box office successes of their rivals, The Robe helped make possible the decade of Biblical and sword-and-sandals epics to come – and the required viewings for many a Sunday School student in the years hence. These films were Studio System Hollywood in full maximalism, adopting human and tactile scales seldom seen today.

Yet outside of churchgoers, The Robe – for its CinemaScope and genre-specific innovations – has seen its standing slip gradually over the years, no thanks to the reputations of better movies of this tradition and, regrettably, decisions to keep 20th Century Fox’s valuable past under lock and key. 20th Century Fox’s refusal to distribute their classic films more often and more widely – before and after the studio’s 2019 takeover by the Walt Disney Company (and post-takeover, I believe the situation is now worse) – is resulting in films like The Robe slip through the proverbial cracks of film history, sights unseen for younger film buffs. That is unfortunate, especially as The Robe, almost incidentally (and no matter my aforementioned criticisms of the work itself), continues to quietly wield, by virtue of being the first CinemaScope film, a remarkable influence over cinema worldwide.

My rating: 6/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

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gabriel-gabdiel · 2 years ago

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Fantasy of Evolution Chapter 5: Press Ctrl-Z to Undo

If only it were as easy as pressing Ctrl + Z in order to undo the mistakes you’ve done in your life.

At any rate, Florante is about to deal with his personal Judas Iscariot. His former best friend, Isaiah.

You can also find more chapters of my original fiction here. Please enjoy.

First | Previous | Next

Back in Fatima High, after Florante Galang dreamed another one of his strange dreams…

In his latest dream, Florante "stalked" his classmate's apartment then they fought as a pair against a shadow monster at Makati's Guadalupe Church.

In the end, although he wasn't hero material even in his daydreams (or night dreams), he still managed to find a way to do something that he could be proud of.

He stopped Mammon's Minion and undid that reality where multiple innocents died, thus saving their lives all at once.

Or maybe he didn't and it was all in his imagination.

Florante Galang shut his eyes and exhaled. Whoopty-doo. He did something heroic in his dreams. The thought made him cringe.

Still, even if it was a dream, the feelings he felt for the dream version of Jenny still made his knees weak. It all felt so real.

If only reality could evolve and match his fantasy. Alas, reality killed such whimsical notions faster than it helped him defeat the immortal crawling chaos.

But it wasn't real. It was all just a dream. It didn't really happen.

Had he really been traumatized by his bullies to the point where he used his fantasies and daydreams to cope with his daily reality of social suicide? Yeah, probably.

If only his dreams were real, then he would've asked Jenny out for a date by now. No, no. He meant he would've asked her more about Mammon.

What was that American(?) white man foreigner's deal anyway? Why'd he sic his Minion at them?

Oh, right. Jenny.

He pressed his fingers on his forehead, remembering that imagined kiss from the bespectacled beauty that was Jennifer Tolentino. The girl next door.

He let out another deep sigh. He really did have it bad for her now, didn't he?

However, he had to remind himself of the obvious. The dream version of Jenny was nothing like the real-life version of her. They hadn't interacted that way at all.

No more stalking of her. Get rid of that photocopy of her number in the yellow pages and that girl that had the same name as her from that yearbook from the 1960s or whatever.

The Mammon from his dream was right about one thing, though. Florante did act like a creep by tracking down Jenny's phone number and address from the phonebook instead of asking her about it like a normal person.

What was he thinking?

Still, once he could write and draw these ideas into an actual novel or comic book though, then that could make his strange dreams worth his while. They were compiled inside his dream journal already. So maybe.

Regardless, he woke up from the… third(?) strange dream/nightmare he'd had as of late. 'I think.'

Once again, the reset button had been pushed. Or the shortcut to "Undo" your last change on the document, "Ctrl + Z" (pushing the "Control" key and the "Z" key on the keyboard at the same time).

So everything went back to normal. No harm, no foul, right?

Still, he should really grow up by now. Abandon his idle, childish thoughts and turn his life around for real.

Soon, it'd be his fifteenth birthday.

He had no girlfriend on sight, no social life to speak of, barely any friends, but life went on, right? Right.

***

Fantasy of Evolution

An Urban Fantasy Story by Abdiel

When you press Ctrl + Z on your Windows machine, you could undo the last action you've done.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in Section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 5: Press Ctrl-Z to Undo

***

It was around dismissal time again, and Florante had time to kill before his school jeepney service came around to pick him up.

He spotted his acquaintances, the Dead Kids, from a distance walking the opposite way as him.

Florante couldn't tell because they usually wore the same uniforms, but whenever it was Casual Fridays at Fatima (when the students were allowed to wear casualwear instead of their daily uniforms), the Dead Kids wore clothes that subtly hinted of designer origins.

By the way, the Fatima High uniform for boys was brown khaki pants, a button-down white collared dress shirt with short sleeves, ankle-high socks, and black leather shoes.

For girls, it was a white blouse with a collar, sash, tie, and pleated knee-high skirt bearing the same checkerboard black-and-white pattern as well as ankle-high socks and black dress shoes.

Not that the "fashion senseless" Florante was any authority on the subject or anything. Sometimes, even on Fridays, he kept wearing his school uniform composed of the button-down polo shirt and long khaki pants with black leather shoes over black socks.

He also had a backpack full of his school books, notebooks, pencils, and ballpoint pens. Like the nerd that he was. However, even he with his bad taste in clothes could tell the Dead Kids were dressed to the nines that matched their remarkably good looks.

Then again, their mesmerizing faces looked so dashing they could've worn dishrags and pulled it off. Nevertheless, it seemed rather appropriate they'd have both money and looks.

The fact that they were unable to mix with the rest of the student body like Florante did somewhat boggled his mind, though. Many of their "haters" called them pompous pretenders at best or braggadocious snobs at worst.

They were mostly called weirdoes, to be honest.

On one hand, their richness didn't afford them any acceptance in Fatima High. Like celebrities being bullied in college by their jealous classmates because they exuded an aura of superiority that rubbed them all the wrong way.

On the other hand, Florante didn't fully believe that the lack of acceptance was circumstantial. The way their group acted indicated that they desired isolation. He just couldn't imagine how any door could remain closed by their halo of beauty.

Meanwhile, although the group of Alonzo Estanislao, Kalantiaw and Dalisay Hidalgo, Jacob Benjamin, and Francisco Celestino did wave back at himwhen they spotted him (though it was mostly Lonzo and Dalisay who did the waving), he himself opted to go alone to the nearby walking-distance mall.

Nirvana Plaza wasn't far from Fatima High. Just walk from one of the rear exits of the school towards the rear entrance near the local Nationwide Bookstore branch and you're good to go.

He felt relaxed going there even though he barely had any money himself to buy anything there, whether it was comic books or food.

He had no allowance to speak of and he had packed lunches more often than not inside recycled ice cream containers turned into makeshift lunchboxes.

He wasn't poor or anything, it was just that he wasn't rich either and private school tuition was expensive.

It was fine. He loved window shopping on an empty stomach. Well, not really, but the mall did serve as his safe haven from his droll and friendless school existence.

He remembered when he first ventured alone into the mall instead of going straight home from his school service. Trips to the mall for his family used to be special events. They had to go to all the way from Pasig to Cubao to eat out, get groceries, or watch a movie.

Now, he could hang out in places like arcades or peek at a few pages of comic books at bookstores to his heart's content instead of staring blankly at a wall, waiting for the school service to pick him up and take him home. Daydreaming of adventures with the Ninja Turtles or the X-Men.

If he could get extra money from his parents, like spare change from buying art supplies or home economics requirements, he could give himself the occasional mall treat.

An ice cream cone here. A doughnut there. Maybe even some supermarket turon (caramelized fried banana rapped in spring roll wrapper).

Or maybe a few rounds of the latest iteration of Street Fighter, with him usually succumbing to the third character during a one-player game. He sucked at versus mode since he couldn't practice at the arcades for too long.

This was what a friendless dork like him had to look forward to, honestly.

Maybe one day, once he had a job and his own money, he'd have a fun-filled day buying comic books, playing games at the arcade, or going to the movies in his lonesome. However, as a student with barely any allowance, this setup wasn't bad at all.

It sounded depressing, but only if he had to share his experiences with anyone else. He actually loved going to Nirvana Shopping Plaza in his lonesome.

However, today, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone kept an eye over him, which made him feel paranoid.

Did his bullies spot him again, like the last time? That one asshole with his girlfriend clinging unto him once smugly asked him if he was on a date after spotting him walking alone near the food court. What a bastard.

He couldn't spot any of his usual tormentors right now though, who had opted nowadays to go with the more passive-aggressive approach to bullying him.

After a few more minutes of being a listless mallrat, he went back to the parking lot and spotted his ride back home, which was his designated school service jeepney.

***

On the eastern border of Metro Manila, the highly urbanized city of Pasig City existed under the cover of smog clouds and the infamously polluted Pasig River, which it shared its name with.

To its south, it was bordered by the cosmopolitan center of Makati. To its north was Marikina. To its west was Mandaluyong and Quezon City (where Fatima High was). To its east were the municipalities of Taytay and Cainta in the Rizal Province.

Pasig was also known for its raging floods during typhoon season, by which it could've gotten its name from. The city had floods that were "Mapagsik" or "Mabagsik" (in English, it meant "Raging", "Fierce", or "Aggressive") which eventually evolved into "Pagsik" or "Pasig".

Usually, the private jeepney service fetched Florante and a couple of others from their private school so they could go home safe and sound on behalf of all their parents, who paid them a monthly fee for the convenience.

However, the jeepney's open-air windows also gave them to get a good whiff of Metro Manila pollution for good measure.

Florante covered his mouth with a handkerchief. No point in getting sick and triggering his asthma again.

The sky remained hazy, its blueness sporting an ashen tinge to it as though muted by the city smog. The wind in his face thankfully disappeared as they went to a standstill.

The classic late afternoon traffic jam in the metro. Only the Bangkok Jam could rival its ubiquitousness in Metro Manila.

His new school was about 4 miles or about an hour away from his home in Pasig City. His former school, which only offered classes up until Grade 6, was instead 13 minutes away or about a mile away.

Thusly, it felt like it took the jeep forever to get him home.

As they sluggish traffic wore on, Florante's mind started wandering.

His mother was the typical strict Filipina mother. Domineering, almost. He could never talk to her about anything. Their relationship was complicated. She wasn't the hugging or healing type of mother. She kind of scared him most of the time, actually.

Sure, she perhaps had her own things to worry about, like how he kept on hearing about her own domineering mother-in-law—his grandmother from his father's side—but he dreaded her wrath as much as she detested his grandma.

His mother also for the most part looked like her sisters or his aunts... of course... while Florante himself looked like one of his cousins or uncles when they were younger. They all shared the same almond skin, black hair, and sharp, dark brown eyes.

She was in stark contrast of his father, her husband, who looked somewhat like he was of Chinese or Japanese (East Asian) descent but was actually a Filipino himself. As strict and boisterous as she was, his father was the exact opposite.

A relaxed and chill engineer who tinkered a lot around the house, doing quick fixes from their pipes to their ceiling to save them thousands of pesos from having plumbers and electricians do their work for them.

By the time the jeepney school service arrived at his home, there was a drizzle of rain. It soon became a downpour when he got inside the house. Just in time.

It was already June, after all. Rainy season. Also, the month of Florante's birthday.

He'd have another birthday spent with his family. He had no friends to invite over the house for dinner. No parties with his compatriots drinking beer either. He never even tried beer.

He had heard that taking in too much alcohol could compromise his breathing as an asthmatic. Not that he'd ever tried.

Besides, he was a minor. Even though he had heard of several of his classmates drinking a bit of the bubbly themselves.

He was used to having a simple feast of spaghetti and a liter of Coca-Cola as his only birthday splurge. Tuition for his private school was expensive and in the Philippines, the school year started in June.

So his birthday had to be as simple as possible during tuition month, which was also his birthday month.

***

After Florante got home to the Galang Residence in Pasig, he went straight to the television set to catch the tail-end of whichever anime was airing in the afternoon.

He hated how as a kid, when "Thundercats" was a big deal, he always ended up seeing the end credits whenever he tried catching it on TV.

Ditto with "Rainbow Brite".

When he finished with that attempt at entertaining himself, he took his bag and went to his room.

Before doing his homework, he changed into a shirt and baggy shorts as popularized by the G.O.A.T. (Greatest of All Time) of 1990s basketball, Michael Jordan. He also read a bit of "Paradise Lost" by 17th Century English poet John Milton for good measure.

And when that gave him a headache, what with his short attention span and the hard-to-read long-form poetry, he had the Cliffnotes version help him summarize and analyze each passage.

At the back of his mind, he chided himself to do as much effort on his math homework as he did with his "extracurricular reading" of this book for the sake of creating his own comic book story.

Nevertheless, while he was wandering around the mall earlier, alone in his thoughts, he thought about Mammon's intentions in his dreams.

As a demon, he obviously tried to tempt him to go all out and transform into an Ophanim, perhaps to the point of becoming a fallen angel and turning into a Minion.

However, for what purpose? To add him to their demon horde? Their "Pandemonium"? What were they trying to achieve, awakening Ophanims and corrupting them to become Minions?

The thought kind of excited him a little bit. He'd been struggling to come up with a plot for his comic book or original story, only for his strange dreams full of his male power fantasies and coping mechanisms to hand him such a plot on a silver platter.

He should really make more detailed accounts of his dreams in his dream journal from now on.

While also making sure never to allow his classmates, especially his mostly male bullies, to know he was keeping a dream journal like a 6-year-old girl still having tea parties with her dollies.

The rest of the afternoon and evening became a blur.

His Dad got home after fetching his two elder sisters from college at the University of Sto. Tomas. Then it was dinnertime. They ate his Mom's specialty of pork adobo (meat simmered in a mixture of garlic, soy sauce, and vinegar).

He couldn't bring up the fact that he was getting bullied at school to his parents, which apparently was typical of bullied kids.

No one wanted to be a victim of bullying or admit to being one.

What would they do to help fix it anyway? Knowing his Mom, she might even blame him for the bullying, bringing up that he was a disrespectful child.

His Mom, bless her heart, was such as stereotypical strict Asian parent. He was also petrified of her more often than not—more than his bullies—particularly when he came home with bad grades.

He didn't get beat up for them or anything, but he did get an earful of lectures from her. The beatings came when he answered back or "disrespected" her somehow, as she put it.

She had quite the fiery temper. Her arsenal of weapons included tsinelas (flip-flops), the nearest wooden spoon, a walis tingting (broom made from the thin midribs of palm leaves), or a walis tambo (broom made from the flower stalks of Tiger grass).

Had he mentioned that he had a complicated relationship with his mother? Because he did. Confessing to her that he was being bullied was the last thing on his mind.

She might somehow make it about him disrespecting her or something. No way did he want to trigger that ass-whupping if he could help it.

In contrast, Dad was more of a congenial fellow. The good cop to his Mom's bad cop. He never hit him and Florante couldn't remember the last time his father became angry or lashed out at him.

He could have heart-to-heart talks with him. It was much easier with him than with his contentious Mom that reminded him more of Cinderella's Stepmother whenever she got into one of her "moods".

However, he also couldn't outright confess to him about the bullying. It was too embarrassing. Shameful. Like he was too old to still not have friends or to still get teased by the boys in his class.

He did mention to him about having to deal with the jerks in class though. So he subtly told him about the bullying without telling him he was being bullied. If that made sense.

***

After dinner at the Galang Residence…

Once everyone in the family settled down and went their separate ways, with his parents going to their room, one sister going to the TV, and another sister going to the phone, Florante planned his approach to his father carefully.

After chancing upon Dad going to the kitchen to fetch a container of cold water to drink, Florante asked his question.

No, not about bullying. It was about the Dead Kids.

"Dad, do you know anyone named Celestino in Pasig? Or Hidalgo…?"

His father blinked at that. "Can't say that I have. I don't even have coworkers named like that. Hidalgo is the national artist, right?"

By the way, Florante's father was a mechanical engineer who worked at a factory for a multinational company. And he meant "Felix Hidalgo" by national Filipino artist and painter.

"How about Benjamin? Estanislao?" Florante pressed. "Back in Makati, did we know of any Tolentinos?"

"Whoa, whoa. Settle down there, kid."

Dad scratched his the freshly shaved stubble that would've formed into a beard.

"I might've had a classmate named Benjamin, but that's his first name. I've heard of Father Estanislao who marched with Jose Rizal during his final walk before his execution. There are too many Tolentinos around to say that I know the same Tolentinos you know."

Florante sighed then smiled. "Thanks, Dad." His father always obliged or humored even the silliest of his questions. He answered them the best he could. 'He really is the best.'

"Why are you asking me this? Are they the names of your friends or something?"

The son awkwardly laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

Dad ruffled Florante's head. "That's good. Make more friends in school, son."

The heartwarming exchange made Florante divulge something he normally wouldn't. "They… the kids… they're a little different. They don't seem to fit in at school." Unsaid, he added, 'Like I do.'

His Dad pulled a seat and sat with him, setting aside the cold water bottle he fetched from the refrigerator for now.

"Did I ever tell you about how your cousin punched a kid who was messing with him at Fatima? He got suspended and the school faculty even called your uncle to the principal's office. But the kid never messed with him ever again."

'If only I had the guts to do that,' Florante thought. He said, "I don't think they'll ever fight back or anything, but it's messed up that they don't fit in. They did nothing wrong. Who cares if they're a little weird?"

Dad nodded. "When it comes to bullies, it's best that you show them who's boss from the start. The more you let them get to you the more they'll mess with you."

Florante then realized his father was subtly giving advice for his own bullying after bringing up his friends.

However, he was so pathetic he could only dream of blasting his bullies to kingdom come, which was even more messed up. Now that he had considered the consequences of such actions, he'd rather just embarrass them a little bit. Like his cousin did to his bully.

Punch them once to have them leave you alone for good. Or even pull a prank. No need to kill them or anything!

Good thing it was all just a dream. Once it ended, he faced no consequences for his actions. Or so he kept telling himself.

Like he'd just hit the reset button on his game console to go back to the main menu or the first level. Or hit the Ctrl + Z shortcut on the family's personal computer, undoing his mistakes on the MS Word document or MS Paint bitmap.

If only he could hit "Undo" all the way to the first day of his freshman year at Fatima, then that would be peachy. Alas, reality didn't work that way.

Backpedaling a bit while also denying he was being bullied, Florante said, "Those guys seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves more often than not. Some of them are my classmates in the Art Club, even."

"So they act just like you, huh?" said Florante's father. "You also keep to yourself a lot. Which is perfectly fine, son. It's a good thing you've found friends who match your personality, Florante."

"Yeah, I guess, Dad. Birds of a feather, am I right?" he said, now wishing to change the subject.

They lapsed into silence before Dad got up, grabbed his water bottle, and said to him, "Good night, son."

He in turn said, "Good night, Dad."

After a little while, Florante himself got up from his seat and went to the TV to watch whatever it was his sister was watching.

He was already sleepy by the time he started on his math homework, which he considered finishing while traveling to school on his school service jeepney.

***

The rest of the week proved uneventful. No new fucked-up dreams about him murdering classmates or battling eldritch abominations with his newest crush, Jenny Tolentino.

No Mammon. No Minions. No Ophanims. Just… vibes. These alien concepts all started fading in his subconscious like dreams and nightmares were supposed to.

He got used to the routine of his classes and being at least civil around classmates that tolerated him at best while whispering devilish rumors about him behind his back.

Oh well. He did promise the Jenny from his dreams to forget all about the angel and demon nonsense to live out his normal life.

However, try as he might, he couldn't forget those fever dreams where he moved as swiftly as the wind and destroyed everything in his path like a U.S. missile strike.

In reality, during P.E. (Physical Education) class, the classmates he got paired up with learned not to pass him the basketball and to step quickly in front of him if the other team attempted to exploit his unathletic asthmatic self as their weakest link.

Florante did his best to get out of their way or serve as an extra body to clog passing lanes when he wasn't being benched for other, more skilful basketball players.

However, he noticed something was amiss.

Jennifer Tolentino hadn't come back to school since the last time he got into contact with her.

It had been a week since he last talked to Jenny. On the phone in real life and at Guadalupe Church in his dreams. Or did both things happen in his dreams?

Every day, he watched anxiously for any sign of her. The hawk-sized butterflies at the pit of his stomach made him wonder if she wasn't able to revive from her untimely demise in his last dream.

Only for him to mentally slap himself and chide that his daydreams or nighttime dreams had no effect on reality. Jenny was probably absent for some other reason.

He'd been hanging out with the Dead Kids again lately, acting as their gopher. Nevertheless, he couldn't get Jenny out of his mind. How could he? She was gone!

It'd be much easier for him to follow her advice and forget about this Ophanim business had she continued going to Fatima High and acting normal herself.

Then he could at least pretend that his psychotic massacre of his classmates and failed attempts at heroism against fallen angels or demons hadn't really happened.

In English class—as headed by the no-nonsense Mr. Benigno "Noy" Borabo—Florante took his accustomed seat at the back of the class, near the windows overlooking the streets outside.

They got a pop quiz on English grammar involving Subject, Predicate, Object of the Preposition, and so forth, which only made him wish they'd do more required reading.

He'd at least watched the film/TV/animated versions of "Tom Sawyer", "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", "The Odyssey", "To Kill a Mockingbird", "The Great Gatsby", "Lord of the Flies", "Animal Farm", or "Of Mice and Men".

Or read the CliffsNotes versions of such and many other classics. Reviewing grammar rules was as boring as reading the phone book.

Regardless, he felt more comfortable with school lately than ever before.

He had reached some sort of closure or homeostasis (thanks, Ms. Del Mundo's Biology Class) with his nightmares involving classmate murder and choosing between becoming an angel or a demon.

Ha. Closure. He sounded like the family of a missing person that finally found out the grisly fate of their beloved.

In regards to his real-life bullying situation, he had instead reached ennui (thanks, Webster's Dictionary). A feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.

Maybe it was this lack of catharsis and boredom—from the impasse he and his bullies had reached since he decided to bite the bullet and snitch on them—that led him to dream such horrid dreams.

By Friday, he wondered about whether or not he should give Jenny a call. He had her number for real, after all.

For all he knew, she had already dropped out of school.

He tried not thinking about the nerdy girl, but he couldn't completely suppress his anxiousness that he'd been somehow responsible for her absence, as absurd of a thought as that was.

Florante Galang slept a dreamless sleep over the weekend due to the soft June rain and even softer thoughts of the bespectacled Jenny.

He might've finished his weekend homework by then but he neglected to read up on Social Studies, leading him to cram at the last minute for the upcoming quiz while riding his jeepney service to school that fateful Monday.

It felt a bit nippy outside so early in the morning at 7:30 AM or so, before the school assembly started.

He got cursory acknowledgements of his existence from several classmates by Monday morning, after getting off his school service ride and making a beeline towards his classroom.

He also dealt with small talk on whether or not he was able to finish the homework before they proceeded to talk to their own actual friends and ignore him in his lonesome.

The morning was cold but at least it wasn't raining. The school assembly proved uneventful. Still no sign of Jennifer though. Was she absent again?

The different classes then headed to back to their respective classrooms in order to proceed with the first subject of the day.

***

Another day, another boring class.

Florante had Araling Panlipunan (Social Studies) for today, as covered by Mr. Neil Nepumoceno. Neil was the jokey type of teacher with a strange goofy charisma to him whose signature outburst was "Aye Caramba!"

Yeah, like Bart Simpson's catchphrase from The Simpsons. Quite the character. Mr. Nepumoceno encouraged debate and rapport with his students during every topic he covered, from the Philippine Revolution against Spain to World War II.

Florante's blood ran cold as he remembered something.

Neil was the teacher that got in his way during his dream massacre of his classmates from First Year St. Francis.

Oh yeah. Galang had turned Mr. Nepumoceno into a splatter on the wall. Like something out of a horror B-movie. Or a Mortal Kombat "Fatality".

He pushed such dark thoughts deep into his subconscious mind. He promised the dream version of Jenny that he'd forget about that dream. Or all his dreams since then. So he would.

With that said, a certain someone—a classmate of his—still didn't give him the time of day. Not that any of them did, but this particular one hurt him the most when it happened.

Galang still felt awkward being around Laura Reyes, but that was to be expected.

His first high school crush remained upset about that "nude drawing" incident when he didn't actually draw her nude! He was using a rough sketch and shapes to construct her body before adding details and clothes, dammit!

He had hoped he wasn't as subconsciously psychotic as he suspected he was, what with him dreaming about killing Laura (albeit in a moment of duress) just because she didn't return his affection and all.

For weeks since the incident, they avoided each other like the plague even though they were classmates. It even got to the point where Florante could've sworn Laura got bothered by him avoiding her before she could avoid him.

Yes, it was ridiculous, not to mention egotistical, to think that he could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible, even. And yet he couldn't stop worrying that it was true. At the time, anyway.

That little twinge of annoyance from her gave him a small spark of hope that he still occupied Laura's mind somehow, even in the form of a pest.

Better that than be ignored altogether.

However, now Laura was but an afterthought compared to the glasses-wearing girl in Florante's literal dreams.

Florante held his breath at the door, peering here and there of any sign of Jennifer Tolentino, but it seemed she wasn't around. He exhaled and went to his seat.

Jenny then followed him from behind, talking about yearbooks and phone calls or something.

Wait a minute.

"Jenny?" he blurted out.

"Flor!" she said in return. "Oops, you told me to not call you that! Sorry!"

"No, it's all right. I don't mind," he reassured. "What was that about phone books?"

"Oh, I was just askin' why you called me from my house last time," she said with the sweetest smile as she brushed a single lock of hair from her face.

He gulped and explained himself, saying he found it interesting that he found another Jennifer Tolentino in an older Fatima High yearbook, stuttering all the while.

At the back of his mind, he told himself to calm down. This wasn't unusual. Jennifer had talked to him before. She didn't cut all communication from him like Laura did. She'd always been friendly to everyone.

She wasn't friendly beyond logic like the dream version of her that invited him into her apartment after finding out he essentially stalked her though.

Still, he couldn't remember one person where she had beef or drama with in their class.

She lingered by his desk till the bell rang, which left his heart aflutter. She then went to sit by her actual seat while Mr. Nepumoceno finally arrived to start the class.

He considered hanging out with Jenny some more but thought the better of it.

This wasn't the Manic Pixie Dream Girl Jenny. Even a nice girl like the real Jenny might lack tact to let him down gently if ever he became one of those overly friendly boys that hung around the girls a bit too much.

However, as class began, Florante realized he had another problem in his hands.

He couldn't stop staring at Jenny. He tried to be slick about it too, but he knew she knew he was watching her. This made him overcompensate and avoid gazing at her ever for fear for him creeping her out.

What was wrong with him? Dammit. He pulled the same thing the first time Laura rejected him over that misunderstanding with the drawing. With him not staring at her and all. Or ignoring her beyond reason.

Susmaryosep. He wouldn't be surprised if Jenny started avoiding him too.

Anyway, he should pay more attention to class. They were covering the Martial Law years or something. He hoped he crammed about the right topic for the quiz later.

The good news was that Jenny, the real Jenny, had begun talking to him more, like she used to before his unfortunate falling out with her group due to Laura thinking he was a creep.

The bad news, if it could be considered bad news, was that he kind of missed having memorable dreams and fighting against nightmarish monsters beyond human comprehension.

He could deal with those dreams better than his awkward reality of teenage infatuation.

***

Much later, during lunchtime…

As Florante walked out of class along with the rest of his classmates as the lunch bell rang, the air glistened with a light rain. The cold wind bit at his nose. His cheeks.

A light sprinkle fell from hesitantly overcast skies that still shone of daylight. Silvery slivers of water reflected bits of rainbow sunshine as a result.

Dammit. He should've brought an umbrella with him but he forgot again.

Meanwhile, his head got lost in those clouds, wondering how to best approach Jennifer while a part of him screamed at himself to stop making a fool of himself over his newest crush.

Sometimes, discretion was the better part of valor. Sometimes, the only way to win the game was not to play.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" Florante heard someone from behind him say, which he soon realized was Alonzo Estanislao. Huh.

Florante smiled and began to nod, but he then hesitated and said, "We'll see. I might skip lunch."

Lonzo kept walking as he spoke. "Sure. No prob. Still waiting for your girlfriend to get back?" he teased.

"Shut up. She's not my girlfriend. Stop being weird," Florante hissed at Lonzo, looking around him for any sign of his classmates. They might overhear and spread rumors again about his crush, just like with Laura.

"Okay, okay. I'm just kidding," reassured Alonzo. "So did anything good happen? You're smiling more."

Gah. Was he that obvious?

"She's back already," Galang murmured it so softly it sounded like an afterthought, hoping Lonzo would miss what he'd say, only for him to cringe when he heard, "Congrats, man."

The drizzle became a squall, and Florante's mood became as soggy as a wet sock The more it rained the soggier it got and the worse his unease grew.

He considered locking himself in the library again on an empty stomach instead of eating with the so-called Dead Kids like the social outcast that they were.

He checked his wallet. He had enough spare change for a soda, at least. And maybe a bag of chips.

He entered the cafeteria, which was on a basement level of a building separate from their high school building. The grade school and high school buildings shared the same cafeteria.

The sun flooded daylight inside the cafeteria basement through a series of chain-link fences that served as the wall that separated the area from the nearby park and the grassy soccer field.

The soft squall made the grass glisten in the sun. During downpours, whole islands were formed on the field amidst the flood of puddles, mud, and sludge. Like a miniature archipelago.

Florante scanned for the Dead Kids' table in the corner of the cafeteria out of habit. Then he froze where he stood.

There were six people at the table now. Excluding Florante, because he hadn't reached there yet.

Huh. Six people.

The usual five were there: Alonzo "Lonzo" Estanislao, Kalantiaw "Kal" Hidalgo and his sister Dalisay, Jacob "Benjo" Benjamin, and Francisco "Kiko" Celestino.

The sixth one was a familiar face, though. It was Jennifer "Jenny" Tolentino.

Florante took out his asthma inhaler and took a puff as soon as he started making those familiar wheezing sounds.

***

Alonzo Estanislao called after Florante Galang after spotting him.

"Yo, Flor!" Lonzo said, which made "Flor" wince. "What are you standing around for? Come over here!"

As Florante did just that, he wondered what was Jenny doing over there.

She'd finally got to school after a week of being absent, but what was she doing with the Dead Kids' table?

Galang looked down and away from the table as soon as Jenny stared at his direction. His ears felt hot. He told himself he had no reason to feel self-conscious. It wasn't as if he did anything wrong, after all.

"What's with Florante?" Florante heard Dalisay ask, which made him finally pick up his pace towards the table before he embarrassed himself any further in front of the one group in the school that hung out with him.

The dainty Dalisay asked once he got there, "You okay, Florante? Do you need to go to the clinic or something?"

Benjo sniggered and needled, "Maybe he's constipated. He needs to take a massive dump!" which prompted Lonzo to smack him upside the head while in the background, Kal harrumphed and called them both idiots.

"You're so gross, Benjo," admonished Dalisay.

He felt his body jolt when he heard Jenny ask, "It's not your asthma acting up, is it?"

Galang reassured her that it wasn't the case, revealing his handy inhaler in his pocket. "Not asthma." He shook his head vigorously. "I'm fine," he reassured, scratching the back of his head. His wheezy breathing belying his reassurances.

Once his eyes met with Jennifer, he muttered, "H-Hey. Fancy meeting you here."

Jenny smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. "Likewise, Flor. I'm back, I guess?"

Florante smiled in spite of himself. Laughing nervously, he changed the suhject. "I think I'll get a soda today. Any of you need anything?"

"Just soda?" asked Jenny. "It's lunch, not recess. Eat something."

"Aren't you hungry, Florante?" chimed in Dalisay.

"Actually, maybe I do feel a little sick," Florante said, looking at the floor and his dirty shoes. "Um. I mean, I don't have an appetite right now."

Lonzo, who now looked scuffed up from his roughhousing with Benjo, grabbed Florante by the shoulders and sat him down the bench of the lunch table. "Then sit this one out. I'll fetch everyone their lunch and buy your soda."

Florante gulped and nodded his thanks while handing the money to Lonzo, who elected to be the group's gopher for today.

Jacob and Kalantiaw also volunteered to come with him to help out holding the lunch trays.

***

Florante waited for the trio to get their food along with the usually studious Kiko, the wallflower Goth Queen Dalisay, and, well, his classmate Jenny, whom he ended up sitting beside with thanks to Lonzo's prompting.

Damn that Lonzo.

He had nowhere to look and he somehow didn't feel like talking at length to Jenny right now.

Also, when he looked up across the table, he ended up staring at a stern-looking Celestino who looked more like a teacher or a college student than someone from high school.

The studious Kiko barely talked at all, even though he was viewed by the rest of the school campus as the leader of the Dead Kids.

His batch's likeliest Valedictorian or even Salutatorian was this socially awkward nerd. Who knew?

Francisco hadn't even gone to college yet and Florante could already swear he'd become the Summa Cum Laude, if not at least the Magna Cum Laude of his year of college graduates with ease. He just exuded that kind of academically superior aura.

"What is it?" asked Kiko, his eyes meeting with Florante's as he looked up from what he was reading (Advanced Calculus).

"HUH? Oh, nothing!" said Florante. The last thing he wanted was small talk with Mr. Battle of the Brains himself. "Sorry for staring."

For a student supposedly only 3 years older than him, Celestino gave Galang the vibes of a someone much older. Like a college professor. Or a CEO. Or a high-priced attorney. Any full-grown adult with loads of money, power, worldly experience, or influence.

With a raised eyebrow, Celestino returned to his book and commented, "Take the hint, kid."

'Take the hint…?' Florante thought, only for him to realize that Alonzo probably already talked to Francisco to about him and Jenny.

Dammit, you guys. It wasn't that serious! He didn't even remember telling any of them about his feelings for Jenny either! How'd they figure things out?

Minutes later, he got his soda, which he sipped slowly. Or maybe he should sip it faster so that he could excuse himself and leave.

He could even play his asthma up and escape to the clinic for the next hour.

However, he told himself to get a hold of, well, himself. Why should he run away?

To make way for their lunch trays and lunches, Florante took the opportunity to move away and give room to the rest of the Dead Kids, with him sitting on a separate table with his soda.

Eventually, he decided to permit himself to glance beside him. If Jenny glared at him for staring, he'd have the resolve to go to the nurse's office and skip class for the rest of the afternoon.

Or complain about the upset stomach he was literally feeling right now. Like the coward he was.He wouldn't be lying either. He had butterflies in his stomach the size of eagles, it felt like.

He looked up in time to see Dalisay and Jenny laughing at Benjo's antics with Lonzo.

This reminded him of how the Dead Kids charmed him into their group in the first place, actually. They were social outcasts like him, but they chose to be so. They showed him it was okay to be different.

They liked keeping to themselves and didn't care how they looked to others, which Florante respected a lot.

The most abuse Florante got from them was them using him as their gopher or getting his name wrong. Even Benjo, their one member that reminded Galang of his classmate bulies, never went the extra mile when teasing him.

He never felt like any of them dehumanized or degraded him. Or treated him like the "other".

They didn't treat him particularly well or superbly, but even their mere tolerance of him was leagues better than the treatment he got from his own classmates as the resident weirdo of the class.

Florante heaved a relieved sigh at Jenny getting along with the rest of his so-called friends. Or even acquaintances.

His heart twinged with jealousy at the sight too. Made him wish he was closer with both the Dead Kids and Jennifer.

What was he even worried about again?

That he'd ruin another friendship because he caught feelings with Jenny like he did with Laura, so he'd start acting all awkward and creepy around her?

Nah. He had no need to fear. He simply just had to deny his silly crush with Jennifer so they wouldn't end up cold and distant like him and Laura Reyes did.

Even if this was good as it got, he'd be fine with it.

This was his path of least regrets.

If there was an event he wouldn't "Undo" with a magical "Ctrl + Z" command, then it would be him meeting his friendships/acquaintances, the Dead Kids.

***

Aside from the playfulness and banter, something seemed different between the Dead Kids and Jenny Tolentino from the rest of Florante's classmates that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Their infectious positivity seemed like something out of a commercial for menthol cigarettes or saltine crackers, thought the bemused Florante.

No wait. Mentos. They acted like they were in a Mentos commercial!

Something about them seemed almost surreal. Or unreal. Like a performance.

He examined Jenny the most. Not because he was enamored by her, of course. Well, maybe because of that too.

Jenny's glasses glinted in the daylight of the open cafeteria. Her skin was pale, but it looked practically tanned when near the porcelain or marble statue skin of Dalisay, who truly lived up to her name. In Tagalog, "Dalisay" meant "Pure".

Hell, compared to her, Florante's skin was practically wood-colored.

Florante averted his eyes from Kal's sister by reflex, knowing full-well of how extreme Dalisay's overprotective brother behaved around people who stared at her or even tried to talk to her (like Lonzo, who was supposed to be their friend).

Meanwhile, Jenny's pink lips pursed into a cute pout as she and Dalisay teased each other over… something. Her hazel eyes sparkled with her flushed, blushing face.

What was about her that seemed strange to him? Was it his imagination? He pondered, staring at Jenny, trying to isolate any changes in her expression.

At the back of his mind, he idly wondered if this Jenny had the same memories as the Jenny in his dreams. The one that saved his life twice. The literal girl of his dreams. Did reality match his fantasy?

"What are you staring at, Flor?" asked Lonzo with a snicker, and Florante knew that the cheeky bastard already knew the answer to his own damn question.

At that moment, Jenny's eyes flashed to meet Florante's.

Instead of merely looking curious, she gave him a harsh stare. Like a warning of some sort. Her sharp eyes belying the smile on her face.

Florante dropped his head, letting his curtain of hair bangs cover his face. During the instant that their eyes met, he could've sworn.

"Flor…?" Lonzo beckoned again.

Florante could've sworn that she recognized him. No, wait. That didn't make any sense. Of course she'd recognize him. He was her classmate, Florante.

No, no. What he meant was that her eyes glowed the same way it did in his dreams.

Her look of recognition wasn't because she recognized him as Florante. It was because she recognized him as Archangel Gabriel.

He had promised in his last dream that he'd forget about everything, but here he was breaking that promise once more. Even though honestly, he couldn't help it.

How Florante surmised all that from a simple glare, he couldn't tell you.

Or maybe he was just in denial. His constant staring must've finally got on Jenny's nerves, leading to her glaring at him.

Lonzo whispered, "Is your girlfriend staring back at you too?"

Florante palmed his face. His cheeks felt hot to the touch. "She doesn't look angry or anything, does she?"

"I don't know," came Estanislao's unhelpful answer. "Maybe stop being a weirdo and talk to her like a normal person?"

"Stop calling her my girlfriend then," Florante begged. "She's probably the only friend I got in class. You'll just weird her out."

"Sure thing, buddy. I'm just teasing," relented Alonzo.

"…So she's not angry?"

"Ask her yourself, dumbass!" Lonzo put Florante in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over the top of his noggin. "Jeez, no wonder you're bullied so much! Grow a spine!"

***

Mustering up the courage to talk to Jenny, Florante sat beside her and talked. Like the good ol' days when he, her, and Laura first met.

He asked Jenny without looking at her, "Where have you been?"

She thought for a minute. "Oh, around."

The coy answer made him second-guess himself. If he referenced his dreams about her in any way, would she confirm them as real?

No, that was stupid. "Were you sick?" he asked.

"Maybe a little. Like you. I'm fine now, thank you for asking," she answered.

"Oh. That's good to hear. I'm glad," he said.

"It's been cold lately, hasn't it?" she said. "No wonder everyone is getting sick nowadays."

"Yeah. But sunny other times. Like the weather's bipolar or something," he said.

"I know, right? Like it couldn't make up its mind," she said.

"Did you get contacts?" he then blurted out unthinkingly.

Puzzled by his unexpected question, she answered, "No. I'm wearing glasses."

"Oh yeah," he mumbled, wishing the earth would part and swallow him whole. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

She shrugged with a confused smile. "It's the same eyes I've always had."

Man, what was this conversation even about? Talk about awkward.

After a slight pause, Jenny asked, "…Sooo were the rumors true? Did you or didn't you draw Laura Reyes nude?" while adjusting her large, bug-like spectacles in a way that honestly only she could pull off.

"What? NO! I didn't…" Florante raised his voice, but he then trailed off lamely. His voice sounded sad, even to him.

He soldiered on though, pleading his innocence. "I-I was doing a rough sketch! Can you tell her that it wasn't a nude sketch but a rough sketch? The guys who told her it was nude were just messing with me!"

"Really? Show me," she said before taking out a pencil and notebook from out of her purse.

"What? You mean right now?" he asked.

"Why not?" she countered.

Why not indeed. So Florante recalled the anatomy lessons of Art Class and did rough sketches of what initially looked like a naked woman. He then added details like a blouse, skirt, glasses, and shoes to the full-body sketch.

"See? It was all a big misunderstanding!" he said, only for his jaw to go slack as a blushing Jennifer beside him told him, "I didn't realize you were going to use me as an example!"

He looked down and sure enough, he ended up drawing Jenny. "I-I can explain…!"

"I'm just glad you didn't turn it into a nude portrait! My boobs aren't that big!"

"OF COURSE NOT! To do that is sexual harassment!" he yelped, which made Jenny laugh.

He felt his heart twinge at the sight for sore eyes. Her giggles sounded soft and enchanting. Like wind chimes on a gentle summer breeze.

"I was joking, Flor!" She looked at his sketch of her. "Wow. Not bad."

"Eh, it looks a bit cartoony," he said, criticizing his own sketch. "Like an anime sketch. I could've done better."

"Just accept the compliment, you dork!" she chided.

Florante chuckled at that. "You know what? You're an okay gal, Jenny."

This made the both of them go silent. That line was what he said to Jenny before he proceeded to massacre the rest of his classmates.

"You're an okay gal, Jenny. Don't go to school today. For your own good."

A flood of memories—well, false memories that didn't happen anywhere else but his dream—almost overwhelmed Florante.

Him becoming a roaring typhoon of vengeance against his bullies before facing off against an angelic Laura. His tandem fight with Jenny against a spaghetti monster, where he discovered she was also an angel.

His visit to her apartment. Their confrontation with Mammon. Him managing to defeat the crawling chaos. None of that happened yet Florante remembered them all as if they did.

***

The group went their separate ways. Florante was about to head off to the library himself, killing time like always until the late afternoon bell rung for their next class.

However, what Jenny told him before he went off gave him pause.

She looked him in the eye and said, "You promised."

…What?

Before he could speak, she invaded his personal space and said, "Don't break your promise."

She then turned around and left, as though she didn't just say something cryptic and disturbing to him.

"Jenny…!"

"Hmmm? What is it, Flor?"

He hesitated answering. Did he just imagine her say, "Don't break your promise"? Was she gaslighting him? He then said, "I'm okay with it."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm okay with you calling me Flor."

Jenny tilted her head to the side and smiled. "Okay."

His mind spun from confusion. Had he made up the whole exchange before just now? She acted perfectly polite. Like the conversation they had about promises and breaking them never happened.

Or maybe she meant some other promise he couldn't remember breaking?

He had half the mind to believe that the entire exchange was from his own imagination. It was his subconscious mind taking the form of Jenny, warning him not to pursue the madness that was his questionable dreams.

Because the minute he started believing that everything he'd dreamed up until that point was real, that was when Jennifer would give him the same disgusted stare Laura gave him when she had rejected him.

Maybe he really was going out of his mind, dreaming up scenarios where Jenny was his Damsel in Distress and he served as her super-powered Knight in Shining Armor, rescuing her from eldritch abominations and whatnot.

Just like Mammon said. Maybe Mammon was no demon. Instead, Mammon was his common sense. What was left of his sanity.

On one hand, he should be glad all this murder, mayhem, and destruction using fantastical or cosmic powers happened merely in his dreams instead of irreversible reality.

They served as his own Ctrl + Z or Magic Slate that undid what could've been permanent mistakes.

On the other hand, he also wished he'd have dreamed up being a social pariah and the butt of everyone's jokes in Fatima High. He wanted to redo that part of his life as well.

Then maybe once he woke up every morning, he'd instead be greeted with friends and cheers as well as belong in a social circle not rejected by the rest of the school campus.

Undoing the destruction of a shadow monster or sentient Italian dish wasn't a problem Florante could relate to. His inability to form healthy relationships with his peers was.

Hell, if only he could Ctrl + Z his entire childhood. Now that was an even cooler superpower than the Light Array.

"…Galang? Florante Galang?" someone called out to him in the middle of his introspection, thus interrupting his inner monologue.

Who was it? Who dared interrupt the great and powerful avatar of Archangel Gabriel?

Oh. It was him. One of his bullies. Not one of his worst bullies, mind you, but one of his bullies nonetheless.

His bully that used to be his friend before he went with the flow of the rest of the class.

His personal Judas Iscariot. The Brutus to his Julius Caesar: Isaiah Pascual.

The guy whose head Florante blew apart in the murderous fever dream, to be exact.

***

The two former friends kept talking and walking as they went to their late afternoon class.

"Florante," said a sweaty Isaiah, who rubbed his hands together.

"Pascual," said Florante, who wrinkled his nose.

"Hey, buddy. Been a while since we've talked, right?" said Pascual with a hesitant, crooked smile.

"Yeah, I guess." Galang shrugged, eyeing the door to the classroom. "What do you want?"

On the asthmatic's part, he probably smiled the same disingenuous smile as well to keep up appearances of politeness. What did this snake in the grass want anyway?

Florante vaguely remembered Isaiah as one of his few classmates that stood by him when he was being teased by his bullies.

Up until it Isaiah started getting teased himself, so he threw Florante under the bus to save himself.

Galang's first impression of Pascual when they were still cool with each other was that he had the vibes of a Golden Retriever. Or maybe even a sea otter, with that big nose of his.

Once inside the classroom, Florante went straight to his table, with half the mind to ignore Isaiah altogether. He merely half-listened to him at any rate.

"…Look, maybe we can continue this later. Okay, bro?"

"Sure. Whatever."

Grimacing, Galang remembered the swift kick to the testicles that Pascual gave him in his dream, thus "forcing" him to blow his head apart with his dream powers.

Should Florante condemn the guy for something he did in a dream though? No, he condemned Isaiah more for his betrayal of him in real life.

Regardless, the students settled down for Biology class for their section's Science subject that afternoon.

His Science teacher was a chirpy twenty-something named Ms. Isabelle "Belle" Del Mundo. The tall, slim teacher had a signature faint, singsong voice that was hard to miss. She sounded like a character straight from "Sesame Street". Or "Batibot".

Ms. Del Mundo walked around the room, took attendance, and then had them move single file to the laboratory room at the second floor.

From there, Pascual kept following Florante.

"Gerry and the others finally let up on you, huh?" was the topic he chose to break the ice with. Goodness gracious.

Florante grunted. "More or less."

"Glad to hear it, bro."

'Uh-huh. I bet,' Florante thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Galang ended up with the reputation of being a snitch in exchange for his bullies to leave him alone, but at least now their bullying wasn't as bad as it could've been. He didn't appreciate the passive-aggressive digs though.

He also didn't want to have this talk with Isaiah. He instead wished he could've paired up with Jenny as lab partners. To talk to her more.

To ensure to her that he wasn't going to break his promise. No wait, the real Jenny didn't care about that. It was the Jenny in his insane mind that told him to lay off the daydreams and fever dreams once and for all.

When they got to the lab, Ms. Del Mundo had them separate themselves in pairs.

This was usually Florante's worst nightmare since nobody in class wanted to pair up with him, the social pariah. However, he hoped after his interactions with the real Jenny that they'd pair up this time.

However, instead, he got stuck with Isaiah, who insisted on being his lab partner for the day. What was up with him today?

Their Biology teacher then proceeded to distribute a microscope and a box of slides on each table. The room buzzed with conversation as they prepared the materials.

As Florante and Isaiah worked as lab partners like the good ol' days, when they were still buddies, the latter continued his small talk.

For his part, Galang kept his eyes away from the lab doors, doodling all sorts of sketches on the back of his Science notebook. Like a short comic of Freeza and Goku battling it out at Planet Namek.

"Wow. You just sketched all that out without thinking, huh?" said Isaiah.

"Yep. Just like before," said Florante without looking up from his notebook.

"You never change," said Pascual, which almost offended Galang.

Florante groaned. Instead of hearing the musical voice of Jenny, he instead got stuck with his former best friend's nasally whine. Stuck with the backstabber who saved himself from a social suicide pact and got himself new friends.

Well, maybe his new friends could help him out with whatever problem he was having!

In the corner of his eye, he saw that Jenny and Laura had actually paired up as lab partners instead, with them seated to the desk right in front of the teacher's table.

Laura looked stunning as usual—a showstopper for sure—but Jenny stole the show as far as being the apple of Florante's eye was concerned.

Her side profile remained friendly and open even when looked at from behind, her mouth open with a slight smile on her flawless lips.

Her glasses framed her dazzling features beautifully, like there'd be something missing without them.

She had a pretty nice figure from Florante's vantage point too. Both she and Laura had shapely hips, thin waists, and uh, wide hips that couldn't be hidden even by the folds of their checkered skirts.

He palmed his red face at having such lewd thoughts about his classmates.

"Ah, so you've moved on from Laura Reyes to Jenny Tolentino, huh?" asked Pascual, which got on Galang's nerves.

"Shut up," he murmured, which made Isaiah laugh.

"Bingo! I was right, wasn't I?"

Florante sighed. "…Is it that obvious?"

"Bro, you couldn't stop staring at her empty desk when she was absent last week and now you couldn't stop staring at her when she finally got back."

Jeez. Florante should be more careful and not wear his heart on his sleeve.

If his other bullies caught wind of this, he'd never hear the end of it. Or maybe they already knew and were biding their time to use this info against him. Dammit.

Thankfully, the soft-spoken Ms. Del Mundo began class at that very moment.

Florante tried to focus on her words as she explained to the class what they'd be doing today in the lab.

The slides inside the box were out of order. The lab partners had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the different mitosis phases they represented then label them one by one.

They couldn't use their Biology books. In 20 minutes, she'll be coming around to check who got everything right.

Galang already studied (crammed on) this topic and Pascual, if memory served him correctly, had the lower grades and lazier study ethic (work ethic for studying) between the two of them.

So by his calculations, he'd be doing most of the work while his partner did most of the talking.

"Prophase," said Florante after studying one of the slides he magnified to 40X via the microscope briefly.

"Say, Florante…"

"What? Just down 'Prophase' for the first slide, Pascual," he ordered as he slid another slide under the microscope.

Isaiah did what he was told, letting Galang do most of the work. He didn't even bother double-checking.

"How much do you remember about that stormy night?"

"Anaphase," Florante murmured. "What stormy night? I don't remember any storms."

"How to you spell that?" Pascual asked, and Florante obliged him.

"A-N-A-P-H-A-S-E. Anaphase."

"Okay, thanks."

"No problem."

After a brief pause, Pascual's voice went even quieter than before when he continued speaking. "The storm you caused. The one where you ran amok. You don't remember any of it?"

Florante blinked at that. Did he hear him right? No, he must not have. "Third slide please."

Pascual handed Florante the third slide and sighed. "So you don't remember, huh? I should've figured as much."

"What are you talking about?" asked Florante, feigning ignorance while his heart beat began rising in his chest. He then said, "Interphase," after glancing for a few seconds at the microscope.

"Enterphase?" asked Isaiah.

"No, 'Interphase' with a Letter 'I'. Still spelled with a 'phase'. P-H-A-S-E," clarified Florante, before probing, "…Well?"

Pascual wrote down the label and said, "It doesn't really matter if you don't remember." He chuckled. "Would you believe you blasted my face off with light bullets a few days ago? Like something out of a Sci-Fi or martial arts movie, man!"

Florante took his eye off of the microscope and snapped his head in attention towards Isaiah. He felt lightheaded after doing so.

The two were about done with the activity. At the corner of Florante's eye, he could see both Laura and Jenny were already finished with their own slides minutes ago.

The color from Pascual's own face drained the same way it did when facing off against an angrier Florante in his fever dream.

"Oh shit. You do remember, don't you?"

'No. No way. There's no way my dreams are real. There's no way I literally killed my bullies in my dreams, only to press 'Ctrl + Z' and 'Undo' what I did!'

"Susmaryosep," Florante Galang murmured under his breath, wishing he could "Ctrl + Z" this exchange just now.

***

To Be Continued…

Everyone wants to be able to just press Ctrl + Z on their proverbial keyboards in order to undo any careless mistake they've made, whether it's an errant brush stroke on MS Paint or a typographical error on MS Word.

However, reality doesn't work like that. You can't take back what a careless thing you've said a few seconds ago that may or may not end friendships or break bonds. You can unbreak a dropped mug. You can't unspill spilled milk, no matter how hard you cry.

Farewell, Abdiel

#fantasy of evolution #isaiah pascual #florante galang #jenny tolentino #ophanim #angel #gabriel #raphael #philippines #ctrl z #undo #fictionpress.com #original fiction #urban fantasy #saito yakumo #shinrei tantei yakumo

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