The End.
Jeremiah Beltran Saquing BES
It was late in the afternoon when a knock was heard from the doors of Don Florentino. When Don Florentino opened the door, a familiar face was standing in sight. It was no other than his friend Simoun – Silent and seemingly exhausted. As afternoon came, another knock was heard.
“A message from the chief,” said the guard standing by the doors. “ … by 8 o’clock in the evening,” it stated in the last line of the letter. The letter was a notification that someone at his house will be apprehended in the evening. As the guard left, Don Florentino eyed his friend laying by his bed.
Realizing the situation, Don Florentino remarked, “You don’t seem to be in a hurry”. Simoun flashed a smirk and said “you need not worry of my wellbeing, for I will not linger for much longer”.
“It is done. It is finished,” he calmy said as he showed his bullet wounds. As news travel slow, he narrated the events that unfolded.
On a wedding reception held at the old house of Captain Tiago, a bomb exploded. A panting man arrived at the scene, but it was too late as wreckage and suffering are the only sight to be seen. Basilio was too late to warn anyone of the disaster that was waiting. Civil Guards flood the site and surviving witnesses all pointed their suspicion towards a common man: Simoun.
“I did it,” Simoun claimed. “I brought a lamp laced with a bomb, it’s explosion is meant to symbolize justice. The change that is coming. The wrath of the oppressed. My vengeance”. Shortly after, he was chased by the guards. On his attempt to flee, he was shot by one of the Filipino Civil Guards and he sought refuge on Don Florentino’s house.
Shocked and confused, Don Florentino asked, “Everything happens as God wills it, but what pushed you to commit such violence?”
Sorrow and pain can be heard as Simoun answered, “if God does exist, how can he let such cruelty run rampant in our homeland. I’ve seen the innocents suffering in fear, crying for the pain to end. If God refuses to do anything about them, I promised myself I will.”
Don Florentino replied, “Violence begets violence, but if it happened under God’s will, I shall have unwavering faith.”
Simoun exclaimed, “I used to believe in the church. My father’s name was slandered. I was excommunicated. I once was Crisostomo Ibarra, and everything was taken from me.”
Don Florentino’s eyes widened in disbelief. He regained his composure and continued to listen. “I refuse to die like the rest of them, remorseless for their sins, gloating with their wealth. The explosion is a mere spark to the fire that is upon them.” Simoun’s voice grew weaker and weaker, and his pants grew stronger each breath. On his dying breath, Simoun reached out for Don Florentino’s hand.
Don Florentino uttered, “You have suffered for so long. Your pain shall be heard by God almighty. Let God quench your vengeance, and may you find eternal peace with Him.”
As he walked towards the cliff to throw Simoun’s treasure which he saw as the roots of corruption. As he witnessed Simoun’s staunch resolve, a question lingered in his mind, “Where are the youth who will consecrate their golden hours, their illusions, and their enthusiasm to the welfare of their native land?” and there at the edge of the cliff, he found his answer.