User talk:Gil samaco jr

Moments before the terminal of Cagayan de Misamis was demolished, the 

street peddlers had evacuated from the site to Agora, where a larger, better, well equipt facility was constructed to erect a centralized terminal. The pines near the public theater had not cracked the flooring then, but the foundations of the old terminal cracked more than the usual since, a demolition team had battered it for two days and three hours. The old concrete, scattered in the surface of the earth, had covered the irregularities of the road and two days after, the asphalt that evened it, buried as well the memories of the old place, thus, the past was simply torn down in days and hours, that no one ever paid a simple regard, or care, or laid respect to the stories and trivialities of the place that was once the center of human activity in Cagayan de Misamis. The families who owned the eateries in the sidewalk opened their caserole every thirty minutes in disbelief, and the aromas that filled the interior of the utensils remained, contrary, as early as seven in usual days, people would race over for viand and it kept them busy unlike the day they sat and wondered how everything changed. Fifty years and almost seven months, when the old scene of eateries were covered with buildings that fairly earned well with business, the once busy corner near the old terminal had lost its meaning. It was a place frequented by policemen, and during the evening, the transformation became even more dramatic when the lights faded and new colors of the city emerge in the outskirt of unpredictability. It was just a simple corner of course, where the games of men and young women suddenly collide in an idiocy blindfolded by guilt. There were establishments close to that corner, and for reasons, visited by the famous personalities. The aroma, along with the unfolding time and what the people called development, ommited the simple realities of what was the people, and a new form of reality blossomed with the sickness of generation influenced by the adventures of sexual fantasy, precipitated by the aloholic trance that's addicted to mundane pleasure. It was vivid, some unimaginable vices that are too harsh, and the insensitivity brought about by a failing world. No one remembered the terminal, and it's meaning slowly drowned with the flood that shocked the whole city three days after the new year of 2009. Barely a week after, another flood in the eastern part of the city devastated schools, homes, establishments, and the highways swam like crawling flouder in a sand of mud and garbage. /////////////////////////////////////////// The people in Mindanao are not ready. A boy who once earned by shining shoes in the terminal clearly recalled, that it wasn't like it before, and that it was filled even with greater magic; the parades of

Buting measured the distance of the waves that travelled in the lake and saw that it seemed endless from the harbor, he used his hand to cover the blinding light above his eyebrows and from there, he could see a figure at the other end of the lake, like a thin, slim, fire from a scented wick. "It's like a fire in the night." He said. And by the time he spoke those words, the fire moved closer, closer, like it was rowing nearer to his stance and held him for a moment-burning a deep curiosity inside him that stimulated both heart and mind. When the union of his emotion and intellect had him investigate what moment had caused his passion, he forgot what kind of feeling it was, but recalled how to capture a moment and live for a moment. But it was more than passion; it was indeed a fire that's hotter everytime he blew it, out of question, that it captured him although he denied. When the face of the fairy that waved his wand before him, he could barely speak a word and he hid his breath that smelled alcohol out of his astonishment.