Artificial Horizon - A César Fernando Basa x Reader story

XXXV: Spin

The continued spiral descent of an aircraft where the angle of attack of one wing is greater than the stalling angle.

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If there is something that the Americans failed to influence majority of the Filipinos, it is our almost unparalleled religious devotion to Catholicism in comparison to the Protestantism they've been preaching. However, whatever the case of religion will be, it had been evident that the eighth of December is one that majority had been celebrating, as it is the Feast of the Immaculate Concepcion, who is the patroness of too many towns, cities and provinces—and very much of the entire country. Hence, the air even in the early hours of the day has that festive feeling.

There are too many churches to actually attend the mass at, but César insists that we shall do attend the earliest mass possible at Intramuros, particularly at the Manila Cathedral. He earlier told me his reasons that ever since he entered Ateneo de Manila as a boy, all the way to his graduation in college, he and his parents attended the mass there; and to also add that he is a frequent visitor of the said church which heard too many of his prayers. Not only as a student and as a son, but as a Filipino and as a man.

However, with me telling him that I am quite unwell and still a little sleepy, he spares me and says that we better catch up then the seven o'clock mass as his parents mentioned that they'll be anticipating us for breakfast.

As the streets had been quite crowded with churchgoers and parked cars, we're forced to take a longer walk. And I didn't mind at all as César keeps a tight hold of my hand to ensure that I'll not find myself falling over due to my prevalent light-headedness for some reasons.

It is funny to assume that Elian's sickness seeps through my nerves and be brought to this dream version of me. Whatever the case may be, I know that I'll definitely be fine as César told me earlier, too, that I didn't seem to have a fever. After all, there is nothing else to worry about for I just feel a little bit tired; and I can even blame it to my deep thinking of how eerie the words of the American soldier from last dream had been.

The streets of Intramuros are much more opulent and grand in this dreamscape, compared to what I remember from that of my reality; though I don't have enough or recent memory of seeing it as the last time I did visit had been almost half a decade ago. Anyhow, with the flying blue-and-white banners associated to the Immaculate Concepcion, the festive air is apparent to the too many people chattering and laughing on their way to and from the church. It is Monday, and despite attending the masses yesterday, it didn't mean that the number of churchgoers for such a well-celebrated feast to be lesser.

Aside from the banners, the streets are also filled with rows of stalls selling varying kinds—from a series of foods, trinkets, hats, fans, clothes, wooden sculptures, books, and even religious items. One from them, definitely always present no matter what the day may be, is a newspaper stand that assures me that it is the eighth of December year 1941; just hours after that of my previous dream, almost the same thing happening after that respective night I shared with César.

César tenses up right next to me, one that I easily hinted when he squeezes my hand, too. Looking up at him as his steps slow down, I instantly recognize that it is because of the church bells ringing this time, denoting the end of the previous mass celebration and in calling for the following schedule in the next few minutes.

From my previous dreams as well, I learned that the church bells have this common effect on César already. He seems to be much more alert and suspicious when he hears it ringing ever since that notice that all fighter pilots must be on alert twenty-four hours a day had been given to them. Resulting for me to remember what he told me at that time that I first saw him, in this dreamscape, in such a way.