Lechon, the Tale of the Suckling Pig

A greedy and mischievous pig was trotting through the thick Philippine jungle. Suddenly, he came across a child holding an apple. “Give me that apple,” he told the child, “I’m starving.” When the child refused, the pig attacked and injured him, stole his apple, and ran off as the child sat crying. The pig was so proud of himself that when he came across a small campsite, he decided to have some fun. He went into a tent, knocked over a small kettle over a flame and laughed it off. But alas, his tail came on fire and he flew into a panic. With the apple still in his jaws, he ran to and fro inside the tent, squealing and pleading for his life. His actions caused the whole tent to be set alight! The child from before approached the fire with his family as the flame died down. In the ashes, they saw a pig lifeless on his stomach, with his pink skin cooked to a golden brown, and an apple stuck in his mouth.

The Sotrytelling Soldier

Dear Mom,

            It’s really sad that I don’t get to write to you as often. This war has been getting very intense lately. I lost a few of my close friends during our last fight. The harsh rain has ruined our food, but it was mostly the new guy’s fault because he forgot to bring it inside first.

            But nothing has stopped me from being myself. Each morning, I get out of my tent and look at the sun rising, and I would remember how we would watch it together with Dad. My world remains colorful and bright, and most people would discourage that, hardly believing a rugged young soldier like me would ever have time to imagine. But that’s what’s been getting me through the war. I pretend that I’m still at the circus, sleeping under big, bright tents, and treating our horses as if they were beloved show performers. I would sing some tunes you used to play on the piano and dance a little when no one was looking. You would think that the other guys would be annoyed with all my storytelling, but actually, some would crowd around me during the late hours of the night, wanting to listen to my crazy stories, quietly enough that the general wouldn’t hear. I would tell them long, whimsical tales of travelers and deserts and huge enemies, which would always be conquered.

            I’ll be out fighting again tomorrow, and I’ll be put in the front lines, I’ve been told. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m honestly really scared this time. I remember what you told me, that I shouldn’t be afraid, and that no matter what happens, everything will be alright. If I don’t write back next month, remember, Mom, that no matter what happens to your little boy, the magic will always be there.

            I love you,

             Your son