When Bamboos Shoot

This is another feature I wrote in 2006 or 2007. I’m not sure what form of literary piece this is, but I just wrote it. It happened in real life when I was a sophomore in high school, and it’s quite traumatizing I should say.

I hope you enjoy it.

I. Bamboo is the King?

Bamboo trees abounding in the nearby community were helplessly burning again, consuming their way up to charred remains. They cried. They whined in agony indeed. Blasts...

I could clearly hear the reverberating pops of the king grass from my safe nook inside the queued tricycle. Were they the king? They were the king no more, not in our place. Strange it was not as kaingin and excessive burning of unwanted weeds were normal scenes to behold. Another music of the rustic kingdom passed by my very ear.

Was it a minute? I waited impatiently for the motorcycle outside the gate to rev up when suddenly a hubbub was sensed all around. The blasts...they were getting closer.

Bamboos stood high for they never walked. Yet, they were approaching nearer and nearer.

Panic superseded the nonchalance in every face. Aling Upeng shut close every window of her eatery. Scores of sputtering tricycles including the one I was into scurried to every direction but the burning bamboos. They all cleared the school parameters but I was left, nervously standing yet clueless. My mind was shrouded with the smokes and dust belched by the roaring wheels.

"Run!" one clamored.

At a snap, I found myself scampering back to school together with a throng of feet. The shaking of the ground shivered the last strand of my calmness as strike of panic began sinking in.

The bamboos seemed to follow the trudges as if the wind swayed their lanky length towards our direction. They were getting nearer, and nearer. The sound...

II. The shaking of the ground.

Everyone was struck with panic. Hordes of students were running for their lives. Janette and I were inside the laboratory room, hiding under a table. My cousins were already safe in a vehicle, waiting to ply the distance away from there. The plants that Madam Notarte loved so much were now lying flat on the ground, probably lifeless. The bamboos were still rumbling. Cries...

Stumping, running, jumping from one room to another. The ground was shaking, filled with clamors of helplessness.

III. Rain

The soldiers and NPA rebels now ceased fire. The latter fled to the woods, escaping the fang of law. Soldiers also left the school vicinity, leaving the traumatized students behind. No words from them. No anything.

The rain couldn’t wait. It dropped its first tear, and some more. Downpour...

Alas! Home is waiting. Drenched, tired, but at last, the bamboos finished crying.