Genre: Fiction

Humongous—that's how I described those majestic creatures. Flying in the sky with fins spanning the horizon, diving in the clouds with songs vibrating to the stars, and swimming towards the twilight as their lavender skin glitters in the colorful universe.

"Do you know what they are called, Denden?" I asked my little brother.

Only I could call him that. At the age of five, he still finds it hard to pronounce every letter in his real name 'Rodel'. To make it easier for him, I've been calling him 'Denden' ever since. I lightly pinched his nose out of habit. I used to wipe his nose with my hands whenever he had a cold. That gesture of brotherly care later became my love language between us. It was something that made me sure that he was there—that he was real.

"No, Kuya Brian (Brother Brian)," he giggled.

"They are called whales," I explained. I turned back to the sky with a smile on my face.

I always take him to the shore every afternoon. We would lay on the sand as I described to him the whales in the sky. This is our sacred place, a place only we know.

Our life was never easy. We were poor. Our parents died when I was young. I never got to go to school. I was fifteen when I had to take care of him. I ended up being a fisherman, just like my father. We never had a radio or television. To make up for our circumstances, I made sure to bring him to the shore every sunset. There, I would fly him to our own universe. The sand was our couch. The sea was our blanket. The ever changing sky was our movie screen. Then I'd tell him stories that would transport him to different places, as if we were both flying in the afternoon sky.

I strived to be a good brother. Oh, I wished I could have been more.

One time, he was sitting on my shoulders as we strolled along the beach. I would hold him carefully as the salty air brushed through our skin. He would wave his hands like those flying whales in my stories. The appearance of the north star marks the start of our favorite show. I gently sat him down on the sand as both of us looked up at the sky.

"There's one already, Denden," I shouted.

I was pointing west, where the red sun is about to set on the silver horizon. A whale in the sky was in front of us as it emerged from the clouds. It was swimming slowly as more of them arrived.

I looked at Denden. He stared carefully with his round eyes, as if slowly searching for that vast emptiness in front of him. I saw him close his eyes. He was whispering as if he was praying that he too could see the whale in the sky.

He then opened his eyes again, scanning every corner for those majestic creatures he so longed for. I saw how his lips frowned. His eyes begged for him to return to the world I've created—the world he never wanted me to be alone in.

"It's fine, Denden," I sighed. I brushed his hair with my calloused hands. I slightly pinched his nose before brushing his cheeks. In his eyes, I could see the reflection of a sad man. I rested my hands on the sand as I turned back to the sky. "You don't have to force yourself anymore to see them, Denden. I know that you can't actually see the whales, even though for me, they are real."

We both knew that I had schizophrenia, a condition in the brain that affects the senses. In my case, I could see and hear things that were not real.

I would always earn just enough money for our meal. Sometimes, I would get help from the local government and private sectors for my medications. Though I knew that I was mentally ill, I made sure that Denden would always be at the top of my list.

I would rather lose reality than my brother.

"Denden," I whispered. With each passing hour, our feet touched the waves. "It would be awesome to live with a healthy mind, wouldn't it?"

He smiled just like he used to. Then he began scribbling in the sand. He would draw stick figures of our family, all holding hands. As always, the waves would erase them in front of him. He would keep drawing as I vented to the wind.

"I wish in our next life we could go to school. I've always wanted to be a painter or an artist of some sort. It would be great if I could draw all of these. I wish in our next life we would not be this poor. Being able to eat three times a day would be enough. I wish that life would be kinder to us next time, right, Denden?"

I was embracing my knees. My head was between my legs as I watched the dry sand below drown in my tears. I don't know if Denden could truly understand what I was going through. I confided in the wind, hoping that my innocent brother did not understand any of the things I said.

I would always cry beside him. He reclined his head into my chest as he wrapped his tiny arms around my waist. I never truly knew what he was thinking. But with his small gestures, I felt that he never wanted me to be left alone in my own world.

The next thing I knew, the money I was earning was no longer enough to bring food to our table. I could not bear to see my little brother go hungry, so I started using my medication funds instead. Months passed, and my condition worsened.

I spent more time away from home during my psychosis to keep him safe from me.

I died that same year. I was fishing in the middle of the night. The things I saw and the voices in my head amplified. I fell off the boat and couldn't swim because I was hallucinating. The next thing I knew, I was dead the following day.

When I was still alive, I did ask some private individuals to take care of Denden if anything happened to me. That was probably the wisest thing I did.

Decades later, he grew up very successful. He is now the president of his own company but still lives a humble life, just like I taught him. His clothes are plain and his car is simple.

I saw him enter the preschool after giving his courtesy to the guards. He walked inside the room, trying to find his youngest son.

"What do you have there?" he asked his child.

He found me after I was done drawing a masterpiece. On my sheet of white paper are magnificent scribbles of golden clouds in the afternoon sky. There are stars drawn on top, while a vast cerulean sea lies at the bottom. In the middle of it all is a humongous whale, flapping its huge fins as its lavender skin glitters in the twilight.

He was stunned as he slowly looked at me, his now three-year-old son. In his watery eyes, I could see the reflection of a smiling child.

"Denden," I cooed. My little hands pinched his nose.

I don't know if he could recognize me. I just recently learned how to talk. I did get reincarnated, but in a way I least expected.

Maybe when I made my wish that day, the sea, the wind, or perhaps the whale in the sky was listening after all.