Jerald was completely baffled by what he saw. He had been bracing for a direct, world-ending collision, fully expecting the meteors to slam straight into the Earth and obliterate everything. Instead, they had defied the laws of physics, shattering and scattering in different directions as if they had a mind of their own.
A moment later, the silence of the room was shattered by the sharp ringing of Jerald's phone. He looked down to see Vincent's name flashing on the screen. His friend had clearly witnessed the same celestial chaos, but as they began to speak, the conversation took an unsettling turn.
"Hello, Cent? Why'd you call?" Jerald answered, his voice still tight with adrenaline.
"Jerald, I don't think I can make it to work today," Vincent's voice crackled through the line, thick with anxiety. Jerald paced back toward the kitchen as his friend continued. "That light on the road earlier... it was insane. It was like a massive, blinding bolt of lightning. I ran straight back home because I was terrified it was going to happen again."
"I know, man," Jerald replied, his eyes drifting back toward the window. "The light from those meteors was overwhelming. You wouldn't believe what I saw, though... the meteors suddenly scattered. They fanned out across the sky."
On the other end of the line, there was a pause. Jerald could almost hear Vincent scratching his head in confusion. "Meteors? What meteors?"
"The light you saw, man! Those were meteors," Jerald insisted, his frustration mounting. "Then they just split apart. I was shaking... it was so bright, I honestly thought I was watching the world end. I thought they were going to slam straight into the Earth."
"What are you talking about? Meteors hitting the Earth?" Vincent sighed, his tone shifting from fear to dismissal. "You're overthinking things again, man. Whatever it was, I'm just too nervous to go to work. I'm staying put in case things get weird."
Jerald gripped the phone, his knuckles turning white. Staying put. The words echoed in his head. That was what they always did. Hide in their cramped apartments, hide in their cubicles, waiting for the next bad thing to pass.
"Cent... we almost died tonight," Jerald said, his voice dropping into a frantic, breathless whisper. "Do you get that? The sky literally caught fire, and we were just sitting in our tiny, dark rooms waiting for it to crush us."
"Bro, calm down. It's over," Vincent said, sounding unsettled. "Just lock your doors."
"No. I can't do that," Jerald shot back, a sudden, manic energy flooding his veins. "I'm not dying in this concrete box. I've spent my whole life staring at screens and taking orders. I'm leaving, Cent. I'm going to the mountains. Samar."
"Are you insane?!" Vincent yelled through the speaker. "The world is losing its mind outside and you want to go camping?"
"I want to feel something real before the world actually ends!" Jerald's voice cracked, thick with a desperation he didn't know he had been holding in. "If you want to hide under your bed, fine. But I'm done."
He hung up, tossing the cracked phone onto his bed.
The silence of the apartment rushed back in, but Jerald's heart was hammering against his ribs in a frantic, wild rhythm. His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from a terrifying, electric surge of adrenaline. The idea had started as a spark, but now it was a roaring fire in his mind.
He didn't move methodically; he tore through his apartment like a madman. He dragged his old, dusty backpack from under the bed, ripping the zipper open. He threw things in blindly—his tent, heavy cans of food, a lighter, a thick blanket. He moved with the desperate, panicked speed of a prisoner breaking out of jail.
When his bag was stuffed full, he stopped in the center of the room, his chest heaving as he looked at the tattered curtains and the peeling wallpaper.
"I refuse," he whispered to the empty room, a wild, liberating smile stretching across his face. "I refuse to let my life end with nothing but unpaid bills and a rotting mattress."
Once his gear was set, he collapsed onto his mattress. He lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling and reaching his hand toward it, as if trying to touch the sky he had watched fracture earlier that day. "At least before everything changes," he whispered to the empty room, his voice heavy with a mix of dread and peace, "I'll finally get to do the one thing I've always wanted."
The alarm didn't wake him; the voice did. It was still echoing in the marrow of his bones when Jerald's eyes snapped open at 6:00 AM. There was no grogginess, no reaching for the snooze button—just a cold, vibrating clarity.
He moved through his apartment like a man possessed by a purpose he couldn't quite name yet. Showering felt like a ritual. Packing was a prayer. Jerald double-checked the weight of his pack, feeling the solid reassurance of the tent, the rhythmic clink of canned food, and the small weight of the lighter in his pocket. Every item felt like a relic for the world to come.
He was at the door, hand on the knob, when his phone buzzed in his pocket—a phantom limb of his old life.
He pulled it out and looked at the screen.
A wall of text from TL Jake stared back at him. "Where are you?" "You're thirty minutes late. Answer me." "If you don't respond in five minutes, I'm filing a disciplinary report for job abandonment."
A few moments ago, that last message would have made Jerald's stomach drop. He would have been frantic, typing out some desperate lie about a flat tire or a family emergency, his heart hammering against his ribs at the thought of a "corrective action plan."
Jerald continued walking across the street, his eyes glued to his cracked phone screen. His Facebook feed was a mess of panic, but then a new post from a major news outlet popped up, pinned to the top of his page.
[ BREAKING NEWS: THE PHILIPPINES SPARED FROM METEOR IMPACT ]
He tapped the link, and a short video started playing. A news anchor spoke over a map showing 12 red dots hitting places like America and Russia, while the Philippines remained clear.
"Experts are calling it a 'Geographical Miracle,'" the anchor's voice crackled through Jerald's phone speaker. "While major world powers are reporting massive explosions, the fragments heading for the Philippines vanished seconds before hitting our atmosphere. We have zero reported casualties. Transportation and communication lines remain open across the islands."
Jerald scrolled down to the comments.
User123: Thank God! We are safe!
Traveler_Joe: I'm in Cebu, the sky just turned purple for a second then went back to normal. No hit!
PinoyPride: We are truly blessed. No rocks landed here.
Jerald let out a long, shaky breath. A weight he didn't even know he was carrying lifted off his chest. If the news was right, his parents and siblings were fine. The country wasn't a war zone.
"So it's just a light show here," Jerald muttered, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips. He looked at his packed bag. "If the buses are still moving and the country is safe... then there's really no reason to stay in this apartment."
He turned off his phone, feeling for the first time that his "unlucky" fate might finally be changing.
Now? He just felt a profound, heavy tiredness. He looked at the words—disciplinary report, office policy, unexcused absence—and they looked like a dead language. Jake was screaming into a void that no longer existed. He was a man worried about the upholstery on a sinking ship.
He didn't even bother to lock the screen. Jerald just let out a long sigh, slid the phone back into his pocket, and stepped out the door. The office rules were a cage he'd already outgrown. His destiny wasn't behind a desk, and it was never his destiny to just face a monitor for the rest of his life.
Stepping out of his apartment, Jerald felt the weight of every stride on the pavement. This wasn't the usual hollow trek to the office, moving like a zombie among the masses; every movement now had a distinct weight and direction. With his gear cinched tight, he headed toward the bus stop as the morning light began to bleed between the high-rises.
The trip to the pier was a blur of passing cityscapes. The smell of the salt air, the shouting of the porters, and the looming silhouettes of the ships—this was it. The point of no return. Once he boarded the ferry, he finally let his body collapse into a seat to rest. He found a spot where he could stare out at the open water.
To be honest, the fare to Samar was steep. It was a massive dent in his savings, but the cost didn't phase him. He was past the point of counting pennies.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime pivot.
Some would say he was crazy for throwing everything away just for a camping trip. But for him, this was the first time he actually felt alive. He wanted to feel it all—the grueling burn of his lungs on a steep trail, the biting chill of the mountain air through the tent walls at night, and the raw thrill of the unknown waiting in the peaks of Samar. All the "adventure" he had denied himself for years because of Jake's deadlines and corporate fear—he was going to take it all back now.
As the ship began to pull away from the dock, he felt the tightness in his chest finally dissolve. He was leaving behind the world of Excel sheets and disciplinary reports. By the time this vessel hit the shore, the old Jerald wouldn't be the one stepping off.
The ship moved slowly across the deep water. He stood by the railing, staring at the waves, but his mind was back in his apartment. He couldn't stop thinking about his bills.
"Damn it," he whispered to himself. "How am I going to pay for anything if I lose this job?"
Fear started to creep into his chest. He couldn't stop thinking about the life he was leaving behind—his unpaid rent, the electricity bill, and all the responsibilities he was abandoning. For a moment, he panicked. He actually thought about turning back, calling Jake, and telling him he was sick to ease his anxiety.
But then, he felt it again.
He was almost defeated by fear again because of the loss of his job. The "normal world" of offices and bills suddenly felt small and gray compared to the path ahead.
"This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance," Jerald told himself. "I've spent my whole life being afraid of late fees and my boss's emails. Not today."
He reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and turned it off. The screen went black. No more frantic messages from Jake. No more banking alerts. No more "obligations." Just him and the ocean.
Ahead of him, the mountains of Samar appeared through the clouds. They looked dark, green, and wild. He didn't know exactly what was waiting for him up there, but he knew he couldn't go back to being a slave to a cubicle.
He was going to hike, he was going to camp, and he was going to find out what that voice wanted from him. Even if he ended up with zero pesos in his pocket, for the first time in his life, he felt free.
Jerald was overwhelmed with joy the moment the jagged, emerald silhouette of Samar appeared on the horizon. A massive, unbridled smile spread across his face, stretching toward the heavens. He felt a fluttering sensation in his chest—a raw, giddy excitement that he hadn't felt in years. To him, the island wasn't just land; it was the finish line of his old life and the starting block of his new destiny.
When the ship finally docked, Jerald stepped onto the pier with a spring in his step. He immediately began approaching the locals in Palompon, Leyte, asking for the quickest path to the mountains of Samar. To his surprise, the locals shook their heads and chuckled. He learned then that he hadn't actually reached Samar yet; he was still in Leyte and would need to find a bus stop to catch a ride that would take him across to the neighboring island.
Slightly embarrassed by his mistake, Jerald scratched his head and let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. He wasn't bothered, though. Time felt different now—less like a ticking clock and more like a river he was simply floating down. He nodded his thanks and began walking in the direction they pointed.
Every gust of wind that brushed against Jerald's face brought a profound sense of peace. For the first time in years, his mind was quiet. There were no deadlines to meet, no boss to fear, and no bills to worry about. He carried only his gear and a newfound freedom that felt light and intoxicating.
As Jerald walked toward the bus stop, life in Leyte seemed to hum with a normal rhythm that felt surreal given the events of the previous night. Children played in the dirt, their laughter echoing through the air, while street vendors peddled fresh vegetables, their voices rising in a familiar, rhythmic call.
In a quiet corner of a small shop along his path, a newspaper sat on a display stand, its headline screaming in bold ink: "FALSE METEOR? Is this the celestial body witnessed by the masses?" The report detailed how these "meteors" had appeared simultaneously across the globe—slamming into Russia, China, America, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Laos, Dubai, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Thailand.
The paper sat there, a chilling testament to a world-ending event, but Jerald didn't even glance at it. He simply kept walking, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the green mountains of Samar met the sky.
After a few minutes of walking, Jerald finally arrived at the bus stop that had been pointed out to him by the locals in Palompon. Every step he took away from the pier felt like he was distancing himself from the ghost of who he used to be. The dust from the road swirled around his boots, but he didn't mind; for the first time, he wasn't rushing to beat a time clock or dodging a supervisor's gaze. He stood there, waiting, a lone traveler among the few locals.