Guimo: The Albularyo in Training

Guimo does not understand what the woman in front of her is saying. Sure, her lips are moving and words are coming out of her mouth, but for reasons beneath him, his brains continue to be befuddled every time she utters something. Words, maybe, but he isn't sure.

The befuddlement spirals into a dark abyss.

He wakes up (it feels like waking up) to find himself sitting inside a house, his back cozily saddled in the sawali wall and his legs crossed on the bamboo floor, nestling his bum.

He scans the room and sees a group of middle-aged (they look middle-aged) men and women sitting the same way as him, and an old man whose face resembles a black crumpled paper.

The crumple-faced old man shoots him a daggered look upon hearing  the creaking of the bamboo floor.

" I see you're not taking our lessons seriously," the old man hissed at him with pure venom.

Guimo furrows his brows out of pure confusion.

"What is going on?" he thinks to himself.

"Who are these people and what are we doing here?" he whispers quietly to himself.

Oddly, he feels at peace here despite the confusion. Normally, this bizarre situation would render a person to go into hysterics. But such is not the case for Guimo. He is confused, yes, but he feels like now is not the right time to question the situation, not to mention the people whose eyes he find full of pure loathing.

He avoids their gaze only to meet the eyes, which upon closer inspection looks like a big black orb, of the old man.

He smiles knowingly at him, as if he is keeping a secret close to his heart. His look and smile this time is a stark contrast to the look he gave just a while ago.

Overcome with confusion, he opens his mouth to speak but the old man clicks his tongue which, suprisingly, he understands as a warning.

He swallows everything he has to say and listens as an ear-splitting scream cut across the silence he is trying to maintain.