As the first episode of the Philippines Graphic Literary Workshop (PGLW) slowly came to its conclusion on February 28, we knew that we had one more thing that we can offer our bright young fellows: a starting platform for their creative endeavors. Here, we present one of their final outputs from the workshop. We also asked them to provide an artwork that they think best represents their stories. Read on.
The salty midnight breeze whistled past her ears as if begging her to go back to the reception. Can a broken heart break even more? It felt like hers would. Both the moon and stars looked down on her with pity.
She can’t go back, she won’t – not to the warm smiles, the heart-felt greetings, the look of love shared between families and lovers. It was torture enough that she stayed during the wedding. Thirty-two minutes of the reception was more than enough, at least that’s what she told herself.
Her feet dug onto the wet sand as she looked up at the dark blue sky. The bitterness of the wine lingered in her mouth as she stared at the void, spending what seemed like hours hearing the waves crash on the shore. Her feet inched their way to the waves, itching to drown herself under the violent crash.
“There you are,” a voice said. She didn’t have to look back to know that he was the groom.
“Here I am,” she whispered.
A familiar bark resounded through the empty beach, and soon a wet nose was sniffing her hand. The labrador was big – bigger than the puppy they bought a few years ago. She could remember the day they went to Pasig, in Tiendesitas, and bought the pup. They had one rule that day: whatever pup came to them first would be the one they adopted. And when the labrador pup came to his arms that day, he wore the biggest smile she ever saw.
Bigger than the forced smile that he wore earlier today.
“I was looking for you,” his whisper barely heard over the waves crashing.
She gave him a glance and saw him cradling a yellow shoe, her yellow shoe. She knew she threw them away, she didn’t know where, but she did.
It was a comfort to know that no matter how far she threw them away, a piece found itself in his arms.
It ought not be a surprise to know that he recognized it, seeing that he bought them for her a few months ago. It was a third year anniversary gift, and it was the pair of shoes she had been eyeing. One morning, he made her a hearty breakfast and with the syrup-covered pancakes was an expensive-looking shoe box. She remembered squealing like a school girl and fiercely kissing him on his mouth. One thing led to another, and soon they found themselves entangled in the sheets, just like the night before.
Kisses and hugs and lost promises were all but a blur, like a memory kept for far too long.
“Go back inside,” was all she said.
“Please,” he begged. “This wasn’t my choice.”
She bit her tongue until she tasted iron. Of course, she thought. Choice had nothing to do with the matter, this was his wedding, and she was nothing more than a smudge to the fairytale, the happily ever after.
The labrador wagged its tail as it looked at her, and she gave it a final pat.
She will never know if he met his parents’ decision with fierce refusal, but she knew this, he requested two things for his wedding: his labrador and his ex-love. Without these, he would never have agreed to get married to the bride his parents chose.
She mustered every ounce of courage she could before she turned to look back at him; and there he was, standing handsome and lean and fierce, her knight in shining armor, and he looked at her as if someone had stabbed him in the stomach.
Good, she thought. May he live in despair.
And she forced herself, with every fiber of her being, to walk past the man she once thought would be her entire world.
Once she was out of sight, he carefully placed the shoe on the shore before going back inside to his new bride.
The salty midnight breeze whistled past his ears as if begging him to go back to her. Can a broken heart break even more? It felt like his would. Both the moon and stars looked down on him with pity.
Winona Jeanne Cruz (W. J. Cruz) is a writer drawn to stories about love and memory, and the quiet moments that shape who we become. Her work often explores longing, identity, and the tension between belief and disbelief – blending realism with emotional introspection. Influenced by both contemporary and classic literature, she writes with a focus on atmosphere and character-driven narratives. When she isn’t writing, Winona is usually reading, observing people, or collecting fragments of moments that eventually find their way onto the page.
Artwork details: Credits to Duncan A. Cruz, the author’s brother
Note by the author: There’s a funny story about the artwork. My brother read the short story ‘Shoe’ and asked me, “Well? Where was the other shoe? And who got it?” I told him that I didn’t know. So, in his head, the labrador searched the shore and got the other shoe. After seeing his artwork, I asked him, “To whom did the dog give it to? Was it to the man or the woman?” He replied, “Does it matter?”
