The daughter of a well known maestro in the Baryo Apas stands like no other. Her crown of glory kisses her shoulders; its shiny waves emphasize her rounded jaw, and a pair of deep-set eyes that catch little light and a bunch of sinful scenes. The lips are lustful red and her smooth fair skin bares her mixed racial ancestry. In spite of the sweet admiration of most of the locals, Delia seldom speaks. Men are pleased whenever they hear her mutter a word or two. She is a familiar face in every gathering but can only be found in one corner with her abanico. Often, she is seen staring blank at a space while everybody chats and dances.
Her mother died, and she was left in the care of the maestro. When you look at the two, you might mistake them for lovers, since maestro’s features are not too old for Delia. Except that they always walk far from each other and the locals never saw Delia speak to him. Whenever the maestro arrives, she stiffens. Beads of sweat appear in her forehead, close fist. Her face turns pale from pink.
Everyday at around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, people walking around the maestro’s tisa-roofed house, hears Delia playing piano. She is good. She plays slowly, savoring each note like she is riding on the music. It is beautiful, yet haunting and sad. Then she shifts, starts playing harder, and an undercurrent of anger rushes through her music with intense passion. Loneliness, sadness, anger… she is an amazing musician.
When Father Clock strikes 6 at night, there is silence. Maestro is home. Delia starts to serve him like a slave to her king, like a puppet to her creator. When the maestro devours her, she writhes in pain. Every night she is terrified. When lights are off, her nightmare begins.
This was one of my writing activites in our Creative Non-Fiction class with Mrs. Theresa Espiritu. Our professor shown us a picture of a woman (image above) and she asked us to create a character based on the picture.
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