The calm night saw a bright moon peeking through the clouds; the stars resembled the

bright light of heaven piercing the veil of night. Underneath this business, like the stars, the watery
eyes of Soledad glistened upon from the window of their shanty house. Its barely hanging walls
could be needed more as firewood. Inside this far too humble abode, Soledad’s two children are
far asleep on the cold floor where only a sheet of cardboard, layered with sack separates them.

The awe of Soledad was then disrupted when she heard the familiar footsteps of her
drunk husband. As the suspense of every second passed by, the footsteps got louder and louder
until it halted at the threshold. “Soledad!” Briskly shouted by her husband, “Soledad, o-open the
door wi ye?” Soledad already knew what she would face from her drunk husband if she won’t
answer a thing and would pretend to be asleep—she would only be beaten hard. She opened the
door, and the stench of alcohol mixed with sweat entered first then the husband. With his red,
somberly hanging eyes he said stuttering, “Goo-hing ye olraddy know what to-to do.”

A few seconds after she stared her husband at the eyes, he bowed his head before her;
Soledad managed to shout her husband’s name, leaving behind a nervous repentance for it could
have agitated him. Fortunately, he jolted, woke up and headed beside the children to sleep. Soledad
remained beside the open door, still fixing her eyes at her husband and then gradually to her
unfortunate children. It was not long until a teardrop coursed its way through the worn yet young
cheeks of the poor wife. She decided, after a while, to leave her family. With the courage she
accumulated, Soledad grabbed a 500 peso bill from the pocket of her husband, which has been
peeking the whole time. She drank some water; closed the door and then went off. Leaving with
an excruciating glimpse of her children. She was crying whilst walking a path unusual to her, a
path illuminated by the hope of night, but without any idea as to where the path may lead her, and
as to where she may wish to go.

The orchestra of the night—the various chirping insects. Are now playing a special sonata,
on the other hand the clouds and the trees cleared their way on behalf of the woman’s unfortunate
soul whose tune and shade of life is somber than any note and color. But this particular specimen
is one of the most resilient of her kind, seemingly able to withstanding every tribulation God can
place on man.
 As Soledad walked the path a placid lakes’ gaze caught her attention thereby stopping
her. The slightest breeze was nowhere to be felt, this made the lake appeared as if a wide mirror
was laid across a hidden forest, and just above it is the hanging moon which imprinted its reflection
upon the steady surface of the lake. Soledad came near its bank where she sat on a rock and put
her feet into the cold water, a fish came nearby and followed that swam around it but she never
minded them. Entrenched by the lake’s enchanting panorama, Soledad calmly stared at it as she
contemplated the various facets of her being and her family.

The sonata suddenly stopped and Soledad heard a twig snapped nearby. She turned her
back and saw an approaching flickering amber light amidst the thick plethora of trees. “Who are
you?” She nervously asked as the light approached her, leaving behind immense fear.

At last the man holding a kerosene lamp on one hand and a bundle of firewood on the
shoulders supported by the other hand got out from the thick trees, and was presented with the
sight of Soledad’s almost fear petrified body. “I never expected someone to be here so late at
night”, calmly said the man, as if nothing serious happened. “So do I. Why are you here” He
dropped the bundle of wood and stood beside her.

“To collect firewood. Beside that…to see this lake. Those people out there—with all
their business and everything could need a little something of this—it can mend their—“. “Why
are you gathering wood? It’s late at night.” Asked Soledad while staring at the lake after
interrupting the solemn oration of the man, “Is it because you don’t have firewood to cook meal
tomorrow?” The man did not reply to this; thus, creating an anxious air of suspense between them.
Soledad then busted with the question: “or is it not because you love your family?” “Because I
love my family” replied the man with a hint of firm resolution. “I now see our families brought
us...but for different reasons.” “What is your reason?” upon hearing this, the plain awe she had
curled into a sorrow countenance —struggling to hold back the inner expression of grief and
torment that exploded within the female heart after the humble question was realized. Looking
down she managed to compose herself and answered with the same placidness as the lake she was
staring, “I Also love my family, with the best and wisest of my intentions, and with what I can do,
fate is not on my side—unfair—I can’t take it. I have no job but laundry, my children can’t go to
school; my husband is nothing but a gambling, drunkard stranger who sleeps at home—indeed,
it’s unfair—I have nothing…” “You still have yourself…God.” “God is not on my side, if He were
he would have helped me and have already answered all my pleading prayers…but I see nothing.”

At this moment the silence ceased as the insects continued chirping on. The man in his
concise manner said, “You still have a life to live, be thankful.” “Alife of misery, that is.” Replied
Soledad to the man’s feeble remedy. The man manage to say the least he could, “Please go back
to your family—I see that you left them, they need you like how mine needs me ”I—I don’t—you
don’t understand.” Stuttered Soledad amidst the mellow solo of cicadas. This impression left
behind a wise sigh to the man. About half a second had passed by but Soledad’s anticipation for
the man’s reply filled in the moment, but not a word was heard from him. She turned on her side
and got puzzled but not in any variation of surprise and fright, to see that the man standing by her
side was gone along with the bundle of wood he earlier dropped. She continued thinking of the
things she said, trying to realize every fragment of lacking and available wisdom in it as if the man
was still talking to her.

The fine features inside the benevolent organ of this specimen hold no distinction from
most of her kind. Though corrupted by fear and dislike, the essence of faith, motherhood, resilience
and determination that once dominated still lingered her soul—waiting for phantom choice and
use.

With eager phase Soledad walked her way back home. She opened the door with resolute
hope within and found her family just as she left it—children sleeping like angels; husband snoring
with a blanket of cold air, and an open window. Soledad returned he husband’s money and peaked
one last time at the stars before closing it with a general air of thankful gratitude and anticipation
of the goodness of tomorrow.

A brilliant play of the morning soon started to perform amidst an unusually gloomy and
foggy stage. Light, the messenger of hope, came in from the back of the mountain and performed
a dramatic display of righteousness and purity to clear away the ambiguity of the morning fog and
free the life out of the dismal disposition of the cold morning. Soledad managed a humble breakfast
for her family—boiled eggs and rice. Not long. Her children woke up and smelled the aroma of
their relatively sumptuous breakfast smoking under the spotlight of the sun’s rays entering the
perforated roof. Shortly thereafter, the father, Peño, followed.
 “Let us pray.” Articulated by the mother with an earnest curl of a smile while everyone
was gathered on the table. The husband did not care in any of this, so he ate right away. Yet the
children with their juvenile faith prayed on.

With the mean over, Peño with his fighting cock on hand was sauntering in his way
to a cockfight when Soledad said to him with an enthusiastic tone, “Peño, the town fiesta is
today…come!” A disillusioned anticipation hovered as she saw her husband respond with a stolid
face that passed by and pretended to not hear the words of the wife—words carefully thought
beforehand. The incessant shouting of both spectators and gamblers reached Peño’s ears, so he
hurried his phase. When he finally arrived, he saw everyone leaving (some were holding their
unfortunate breathless cocks). He remained there standing until everyone was gone, looking like a
ridiculously frustrated child holding his marbles and too late for the game.

Meanwhile, the town carnival was alive with so many people, and the want of Tristin
and Camilla to play a game of chance was until dry looks for they had nothing but their clothes
with them. The mother alongside them could not do anything but to stare and feel sorry for her
children. “Don’t worry mother will make it up to you next time.” Tristin understood his mother
and provided her with a wise smile. “Let’s go home mother.” Right after the last of her words
were articulated. Camilla’s eyes gently closed; blood started to dripple on the dirt from her back,
and she fell—a lost bullet hit her hear. Soledad screamed for help but everyone just looked and
gathered around them. “Please help us, please! Sir, ma’am—please!” Tristin pleadingly cried to
everyone around, but no one dared to lend a hand.

Soledad stood beside her dead child with immense grief in her exhausted, dry and
stolid face. On the other hand, Tristin reluctantly threw every shovel of dirt at his sister’s grave.
Aside from the large acacia tree looking under them, the two were the only witnesses of the
ceremony.