Panit is the local word for skin. It was the name given to him by his father and mother.
It is not a common name. For who in this world will have a skin for a
name? but for unknown reason, he got that name and he lived up to it
with its significance.
He is a feeler. Like skin, he always reacts to a stimulus, such as cold beer and
warm fish soup.
His world changed from bad to worse when his father and mother
quarreled everyday about money. What he saw was broken glasses, plated
flying out of the window and landing on hard pavements, all broken into
tiny pieces.
He walked away. He stayed in our place since he was my cousin and relatives always support each other.
He was short. There was scar on his face which looked like a miniature dragon.
He did not laugh much. Like those who are tortured by a broken family background
he was always silent facing a wall. I invited him to the sea but he refused.
Papa scolded him one day for forgetting to tie the carabao which
escaped and was no longer found. He packed up his clothes and went back
to the place where he was born.
After a week, we were invited to three funerals. It was a bizarre thing to think about.
He killed his father, then his mother, and then he killed himself.
That was the tragedy of Panit.
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