No Mas

Ernesto stood wiping the sweat off of his brow, holding a piece of cardboard that passed for a cap—a meager form of protection against the raging midday sun—in one hand, a machete in the other, and a forlorn look on his weathered face. After having served four years as a servant in the Limcauco household to pay off his late father’s debts, he was told that he needed to serve four more. “You still owe us interest”, they told him.


He glanced at the machete, the front gate that lay open, and then finally shifted his gaze to the people lazing about in the courtyard. The family had guests; the famed Dys of Binondo came over for lunch. Still in a daze, Ernesto saw images of bright crimson on pale yellow.

He calmed himself.

“No.”

And then took the first step to freedom.