The Forgotten Pearl |Philippines APH|

Chapter 12: Just a Dream?

"Isa/One."

This is the moment. The war will end here.

My freedom will be sealed.

I flipped the glass covering upwards, listening to the faint clink of plastic against metal. I hovered a single finger over the blinking red light. Is it worth killing thousands of innocent Japanese civilians just for the sake of my freedom? For winning the war?

Japan killed over a million of my people. He forced his own sister to suffer.

But he is my brother. He helped me in the past and even raised me.

My decision is final.

The black atomic bombed, previously strapped against my jet, dropped to the ground.

The past is in the past.

Clouds dissipated as the bomb rammed against the flimsy vapors of water, plummeting towards gravity's open arms.

A huge explosion flashed from the ground below. Chunks of earth and steel rose high into the sky, nearly striking me. My jet rattled loudly, a large sonic boom flying across the sky.

Dust and debris flew up and into the air like a fog of brown and gray.

I couldn't help the Japanese people. I didn't want to. Japan killed my people - the innocent civilians - just for fun. Their cries of pain and anguish, still fresh in my mind.

Screams. Cries.

. . . Then silence.

My people have been avenged.

My jet continued to hover over the city of Hiroshima, camouflaged against the pure white clouds.

A ghost of a smile graced my lips as a heavy burden was lifted off of my shoulders. The weight of depression disappeared, allowing space to breathe. I felt like a ship whose anchor was gone; finally free to sail across the seas.

My black radio cackled to life, carrying along the obnoxious voice and boisterous laughter of a certain blonde teen. "Piri! We did it! Japan surrenders-"

"Miss DelPillar, if you cannot refrain yourself from sleeping in my History class, I suggest you continue your nap in the principal's office!"

My eyes instantly snapped open, the voice of my teacher acting as an alarm. Mister Mercado stood anterior to the worn chalkboard. His black shoes tapped rhythmically against the wooden floorboards of the small platform which stretched from one side of the room to the other.

"S-sorry, sir. It won't happen again." I muttered with a bowed head, my face slightly burning in embarrassment. Mercado huffed and turned away. He lifted his arm back to the board and returned to his lecture.

The students around me were mum, most of them silently snickering. Tension and silence hung thick in the air like a palpable fog, yet still intangible all the same.

This is infuriating. I've been having weird dreams like this over the week, especially during my History class. Most of which I may recall, are merely a handful of parts, such as being in a few wars and talking to people who became my friends or enemies. But I know that they're all just dreams. Nothing more than an illusion conjured by the mind.

From what I also remember, they're mostly events in the Philippines' history. The phantasms, themselves, seem irrational and improbable. The rediscovery of the Philippines was done by Ferdinand Magellan, a Spanish Conquistador. Not some random Spanish guy with green eyes and brown hair. And no girl - dream me - was captured by said guy.