Published: 2025-10-05

It was Felipe’s 25th birthday, and he couldn’t stop thinking of his late mother. After all, he was the one who killed her. At the tender age of 8, Felipe turned into a demon, if only for a brief moment. It was his birthday too, and he was excited about it; he had been asking for a new toy truck, the hottest toy of 1997, and he was convinced his parents were going to get it for his birthday. Felipe’s mother, Maria, worked 14 hours a day in the town’s dry cleaning; his father, Camio, was mute and couldn’t keep a job; therefore, he worked part-time whenever and wherever he could, and took care of the house the rest of the time.

The first thing Felipe saw after opening his eyes was his father singing Happy Birthday in sign language. His father was a caring man, and since his mother worked so much, they spent a lot of time together. Felipe jumped out of bed and hugged his father. His father smiled and patted him on the head.

It was a sunny Saturday, thus Felipe didn’t have to go to school. There was no birthday party planned for him, though; the other kids at school said his father was weird, and mocked him because his shoes were old and torn. Felipe was indeed unlike the other kids; his parents made what they could to provide for him, but they could only do so much. Felipe didn’t care; he loved his parents and appreciated what they did for him.

His father made him pancakes with little pieces of fruit on top. It was Felipe’s favorite food. The day was perfect so far; all Felipe asked for was to see his mother open the door with a big box in her hands, but he would have to wait until she arrived from work after 8:00 PM for that.

Felipe stopped daydreaming. He was 25 years old again, and he was alone. There was nobody to sing happy birthday, no pancakes over the kitchen table waiting for him, nothing but the solitude that inhabited his apartment. He found himself craving those pancakes he hadn’t eaten in years.

A white onion and a jar half-full of water were the contents of his 3 cubic feet refrigerator. Felipe contemplated them as he scratched his head. Maybe these were the ingredients of a delicious and nutritious breakfast, but most probably they weren’t. Felipe had no choice but to leave the house.

The town hadn’t changed in almost 20 years. People still went to church on Sundays and congregated at the bar for a cold beer after a long day of work. Felipe knew those streets as the palm of his hand. The grocery store was one block away, past the school, and in front of the drugstore. That was his destination.

He strolled and looked down as kids played in the streets, “Summer is for the kids after all.” He thought. Some neighbors waved at him, others wished him a happy birthday; Felipe waved back and nodded in appreciation without saying anything.

“That’ll be $11.53.” The cashier said. Felipe looked at the brown paper bag that stood next to the cashier. A carton of milk, a loaf of bread, and a bag of oranges were inside. “What’s the economy getting to?” He thought as he passed the cashier a $20 bill.

Next to the grocery store, there was a bakery. Felipe stopped in front of the window and contemplated the pastries. Freshly baked cupcakes, muffins, and cookies, among other sweets, captured the attention of the passersby, but Felipe’s gaze was fixed on the birthday cakes display. He hadn’t tasted birthday cake since that day.

In the afternoon, his father baked a cake for him. It wasn’t well-decorated, baking was never his father’s specialty, although he tried. His father cut it into three equal parts and saved one for his wife; the other two pieces they ate together. Felipe could never forget the first bite of that, his last birthday cake. It was soft and fluffy, the chocolate filling was creamy and sweet. It felt like eating a cloud.

The clerk was standing in front of him, waving her hand in front of his eyes. He looked at her. She extended her hands and wished him a happy birthday. A chocolate cupcake with a birthday candle rested on her hands. Felipe took it, nodded in gratitude, and left after this.

Felipe put the carton of milk in the refrigerator, right between the water jug and the white onion. He didn’t feel like having breakfast anymore. The cupcake, which he had placed on the kitchen table, invited him to eat it. He walked up to it, grabbed it, and threw it in the trash. The memories assaulted him again.

He waited behind the door for his mother to arrive from work. The thought of her walking through that door, carrying a big wrapped box for him, made him tremble with excitement. Time seemed to stretch for the kid. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, until the doorknob twisted, the door opened, his mother was finally home.

Felipe’s face went from excitement to sadness in an instant. There was no big box between the woman’s hands. She looked tired and barely even noticed the kid standing by the door. He stared at her with disappointment.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” She said.

Camio signaled to her, “Did you remember his birthday?” Her jaw dropped; she had forgotten it.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry I forgot. Come here, let me give you a hug.” She said.

Felipe took a step back and fixed his gaze on her, his little body filled with rage, and he said, “I hate you.”

His mother’s eyes lost their light. She fell to the ground and died that instant.

Felipe tried to talk to her, but his father stopped him before he could open his mouth. “Come with me.” He signaled. He walked to the window, his son followed behind. He extended his hand, and a bird stood on him. He brought it near his face and whispered to it. The bird died immediately. “This is what we are.” He signaled to Felipe. Felipe was confused and scared, his breath was agitated, and his heart beat like a drum.

His father walked to Maria’s corpse and crouched next to it. He turned to Felipe and signaled, “Don’t look this way until I tell you.” Felipe turned his head away. A loud cracking sound echoed in the room. Felipe was startled, but he did not look in that direction. His father walked up to him, his hands were red to the forearms. He crouched and signaled, “Promised me that after today, you will never speak again.” Felipe signaled back, “I promise.” Camio started crying, “Then forgive me, my son.” He signaled, and, introducing his long nails into Felipe’s ear, punctured his eardrums. The kid let a piercing scream out.

Only minutes later, the house was swarming with police agents. They took his father away, and he never saw him again.

Felipe walked to the window, in the oak tree next to it, the birds sang and played, as if they celebrated being alive. One bird flew to the window frame and looked at Felipe with curiosity. Felipe smiled.

THE END.