Writing in short bites

Son of The Pitch


(For Jay)

The Pitch – Epilogue

The king is dead. Long live the king.

Max sat beside a small cairn of rocks on top of a hill overlooking Metro Manila. In the far distance, the looming Makati Citadel burned. Fortunately, the smoke was blowing northerly so he could see the burning tower like a torch amidst the glass towers of the business-commercial district.

Burn it all, he thought, burn it all down to the ground. It was a fitting tribute for his father.

He tapped the small stone cross that marked his grave, making it vibrate. His father had the heart of a cherubim inside him. And because of this, he had a voice that could outride thunder as well as shake loose a feather from a bird.

Like his father, Max shared in the power of the Pitch: being able to find the resonance of the universe. But unlike his father, he did not only rely on his voice. Rather, he could tap, knock, bump, punch, or kick with certain intuitiveness to make anything– or anyone– vibrate like a tuning fork.

When he was growing up, spoiled with the wealth of his father, he would use his power as one would use a toy. But then the revolution came, led by his uncle, his father’s brother. And then his father was killed. Now all was left was him and his father’s legacy inside him.

He loved his father. But in the end, he killed him. Not his uncle, his father’s brother who had rebelled against the power that corrupted his elder sibling, like Abel finally striking back at Cain. It was him.

As a paean to his father, Max stood up and raised his voice to the sky. And the whole world shook.

The king is dead. Long live the king.

(First published Wednesday, September 24, 2008 at 8:45 P.M.)


One response

  1. Pingback: The Pitch « This is 15 Minutes

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