The Kiss of the Sea Skimmer - By Cedric Allen P. Sta. Cruz

Written By: Cedric Allen P. Sta. Cruz

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the enthralling short story "The Kiss of the Sea Skimmer," Cedric Allen P. Sta. Cruz weaves a tale of mystery and adventure. This captivating narrative is part of the esteemed Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Set against a backdrop of cultural richness and mythical charm, the story invites readers into a world where the ordinary meets the extraordinary. Sta. Cruz's work stands out in the Short Story category, offering a glimpse into the life of Francisco as he navigates a world filled with wonders and unexpected encounters.

About the Work

"The Kiss of the Sea Skimmer" is a lyrical exploration of adventure and self-discovery. Cedric Allen P. Sta. Cruz crafts a narrative filled with vivid imagery and cultural motifs, drawing readers into a world where reality blurs with fantasy. The story's mood is both mystical and contemplative, as it delves into themes of longing, transformation, and the allure of the unknown. Rich in atmospheric detail, Sta. Cruz's storytelling invites readers to contemplate the beauty and mystery of life beyond the familiar.

The Kiss of the Sea Skimmer

Original Submission by Cedric Allen P. Sta. Cruz

The Kiss of the Sea Skimmer

The day the perya arrived on a scorched afternoon was the first time Francisco saw fish glinting like silver coins and caramellos that were both sweet and viciously spicy. The convoy had been travelling for five days across the jungle impasses before they reached the secluded barangay. The young men of the town had been warned to stay away so as not to be tempted by the sensual dancing of the fire-worshipping dames. Francisco heeded no warning as he, Andres the Baker’s boy and Chua of the jewellers family emerged from beyond the cogon grass, following the sound of laughter and joyous trumpeting.

“So this is what the world smells like,” Andres declared.

“What should we do first?” Chua asked.

“My father told me the women always perform just before midnight next to the card tables,” Andres replied.

The air this night was thick with the scent of slow-smoked meats and simmering chocolate stews. People gathered around the gaming table, tossing coins at coloured squares and placing bets on the roulette of fate. Pinned on a wooden board were bags of milk pastillas, dried fruits and various amulets blessed by medicine men. Chua jostled for position and produced a pouch of coins he took from his mother’s dresser, along with a bejewelled pendant he hoped to bet on in the games. He stationed himself there, intent on staying until the evening expired or the rest of the crowd were all at least twenty pesos lighter. Andres began his hunt for the dancing girls. He paid no mind to the barbequed lizards and the fire breathers tossing their bolos into the air. He secured a seat in front of a make-shift stage, awaiting his chance to see a woman from the southern provinces for the very first time.

An entire generation had passed since these games had been seen in the province. The fever of political uprising had overtaken most of the young men in the region who pledged their allegiance to the enigmatic revolutionary candidate, following instructions to attack municipal buildings and “liberate” the farming communities from the oppressive rule of the hacienda owners. San Sebastian was one of the last to hold out against the violence. The farmers still sheltered in the huts next to their fields and the carabaos still lounged unbothered in the shallow pools left over from the wet season. For the moment, the bakers and the barbers could guess colours side-by-side and the weary husbands could vanish into a crowd to gamble away this year’s earnings from the rice harvest.

As he observed the attractions, Francisco found himself fixated at a red tent in the center. The cloth was worn and tattered. Faint screeches and howls escaped the walls as undulating shadows danced into otherworldly, alien shapes. Piercing through it all was a low humming that pulled him towards the tent.

“Enter! Señor Calungsod’s Menagerie of the World. Five Pesos per Person” the sign read.

Francisco entered cautiously. The smell of hot paraffin filled the space. All around him were rusty cages and glass containers containing creatures with backward-facing limbs, pincers where wings and arms should be and half-mammalian, half-reptilian faces crudely together into rotting chimeras.

“Welcome, welcome, iho!” cried an old mestizo emerging from the darkness. The man was gaunt from the long journey across five provinces. His fingernails had regressed into fearsome talons and his teeth had all but fallen out from years of smoking two bundles of tobacco a day.

“I am your humble servant! Just five pesos for the chance to see the darkest corners of our world” he said, waving his arms as if casting a spell.

Francisco handed him the first payment of the evening. He first inspected a canine - looking creature pacing in its cage. It had a long, gracile body with black stripes going from its mid-section to its rump. Its muzzle was longer than that of the mutts that looked after their farm at night. As it opened its jaws to yawn, he marvelled at its enormous maw which he thought could finish two of his grandfather’s prized fighting cocks in one bite. Every so often it would rear up on his hind legs, using its long tail to balance itself.

“Poor creature,” Calungsod remarked. “They are almost completely gone. They are said to steal sheep in the middle of the night and they are said to be bloodthirstiest of all the creatures on their island.”

He then approached a balding creature with a long, banana-shaped beak sitting miserably in a rusting bird cage. Its crooked neck craned as it turned towards Francisco. Its naked, wrinkled skin and dark flesh reminded him of a plucked chicken of the Oriental breed.

“A rare old thing! It was sold to me by a trader on his second trip to the Dark Continent where its kind attack the boat-faring natives as they cross the river,” Calungsod remarked.

Francisco could only feel pity for the creature with its folded up wings.

Next to it was a serpent with glistening scales curled up neatly into a ball. The circular markings on its iridescent scales twinkled as the light from outside struck them. It reared up at him, tracking his movement before tucking its head back into its coils.

“Do not let that thing enter the water under a full moon! Its kind devoured the other six. We cannot afford to lose the last one we have,” Calungsod declared.

In the far corner, he spied a box cloaked in a red sheet. He noticed movement from under the sheet. The smell reminded him of fresh tilapia from the Sunday wet market. There was that humming again, softer this time, as if baiting him to come closer. He approached slowly, only for Calungsod to materialize behind him and whisper in his ear.

“Have you ever been outside of the barrio, iho?”

“No, Manong. I know that there is a big city one hour away from here where my family sells our corn and goat meat.”

“You must get out and see the world, iho! There are wonderful and terrifying things, beautiful and mesmerizing for a young boy like yourself,” Calungsod declared.

Francisco was silent for a moment. The box suddenly shuddered. The humming grew strong again. Calungsod approached the shrouded box and pulled away the red sheet. Inside was a girl that looked to be about Francisco’s age. It was filled with a milky-white water. The room was overtaken by that rancid, wet market smell. Her skin was as milky and pale as the water she was submerged in. The half-naked girl turned over and locked eyes with him.

“Three pesos if you want her to yourself,” Calungsod whispered from behind.

Francisco reluctantly took out his coins. As Calungsod exited the room, he pulled up a stool and sat beside the tub. The girl sat up, and for a moment it seemed as though her eyes glazed over into an inky black before returning to brown.

“Boy, will you please accompany me to the river?” she asked. Francisco did not answer.

“What is your name?” he asked in kind.

“My master calls me Marikit,” she replied.

“My name is Francisco, son of the goat herder,” he replied.

“Are those the animals with horns and fluffy hair?” Marikit asked.

“They have horns but usually their fur is thin so that they don’t get too hot,” Francisco replied, bewildered by the question.

“Perhaps she spends most of her time here,” he thought to himself.

He took note of her sparse clothing, having nothing but a torn kamiseta to cover her figure. The water she was kept in was rank and white foam had accumulated on the surface. Her ears were tucked close to her head in a strange manner such that they were barely noticeable when she faced him.

“Would you accompany me to the river, Francisco?” she asked again.

“Do you need something there?”

“I want to go home,” she said.

“Where is home?” he asked.

She described a city of jagged corals beneath the sea in the North where the people lived in underwater caves and farmed colourful beaked fishes instead of goats. Their days began with the setting of the sun, when the rising cold waters brought squid from the ocean depths, singing to each other with the rhythmic songs that people mistook for whale song.

She hummed softly. Francisco recognized it as the sound that lured him into the tent.

“You sing beautifully,” he said.

“My Ina taught it to me. The whales taught us before her,” Marikit said weakly.

“Back in your province?” he asked.

Marikit only nodded.

“How did you get here then?” Francisco inquired.

“It was the season of the crabs. My Ina and I were close to shore when a group of men surrounded us. I don’t know what happened to her, if she is even alive,” Marikit replied.

“If I helped you, what would I get?” he asked.

“We could see the world, Francisco. We could skim the seas together,” she said beguilingly. She put a hand to his face. Francisco froze.

Calungsod suddenly came bursting back into the tent.

“If you wish to see her again, you’ll have to come back at midnight,” he declared.

Francisco took his leave and left to find his friends. Outside, he spied Andres frozen in place in front of the dancers. He gawked at the writhing motions of the girls as if tomorrow the world would return to the dirt. Chua was invested in his game. He had amassed a fortune that would secure a month’s worth of pastillas from the bakery. The perya was now bustling with gamblers and wives on the hunt for their wayward husbands. Francisco found himself surveying the exotic smoked meats, awaiting midnight. As the performers retired for the night, Francisco saw Andres waving to one of the girls entering their tent. Chua sauntered towards him, victorious and 100 pesos heavier.

“I see you have found your prize,” Francisco said to him.

“So has Andres,” Chua said.

“The world is full of many wonders, my friends!” he announced, head held high as he marched towards with the conviction that he was at last a man.

The night was growing colder. They decided to console themselves with bowls of champurado from one of the vendors. For the moment, they did not think of the harvest or the ire of their parents come the morning.

“Have any of you ever thought about leaving the barrio?” Francisco asked.

“Many times. There is no future here. Besides, just think about the girls out there waiting to be wooed from their balconies!” Andres remarked.

“I am not sure if the songs your father used to sing would work on these foreign girls. That said, there is no future for us here. I have no plans to spend my life placing jewels on trinkets or plucking mangoes from the neighbor’s tree,” Chua joked.

“We can join those missions overseas! We can fight for our independence,” Andres exclaimed.

Francisco dwelled on Chua’s words.

Hours later, the tent was beginning to swell with the bodies of curious old men. Francisco and the boys managed to squeeze through. Calungsod emerged once more, this time in a dirty black robe, waving his hands uncontrollably and turning to the crowd.

“People of San Sebastian, our troupe has travelled far and wide in the world. Tonight, I give you a creature who steals men from their crabbing boats. Her song can drive men of the clergy to insanity with a single note,” he rattled on in the tongue of the natives.

Calungsod pulled off the red cloak and revealed Marikit sitting naked in the metal tub, surrounded by glaring men enjoying their roasted faces. Calungsod poured a bucket of water over her. Her limbs began to contort into horrendous shapes. They could hear the sound of bones snapping as needle - like protrusions sprung out of her forearms.. Her jaws split open at the hinges as two fangs sprouted from her mandible. Her eyes became an abyssal black once more. Her legs melted into one another, until a long serpentine caudal appendage curled up inside the tub. Marikit let out a haunting shriek that echoed inside the tent. The men inside the tent began to convulse with desire, dropping their roasted nuts and falling to the floor in agony. Several had to be pulled back by their wives. Francisco felt the song rattle his body but willed himself to stay standing. Calungsod ran back behind the curtain in shame.

As Marikit fell silent at last and the crowd began to dissolve, Francisco jostled his way back to Marikit’s side. Francisco approached cautiously, observing the otherworldly appendages disappear from her body. She was for the moment a young girl again. The transformation had clearly sapped her. He recalled the shuddering of the grown men, like their spirits were fighting to break free of their prisons.

“You have seen my true form. Would you still come with me?” Marikit asked.

“My mother needs someone to take care of her when she is old,” Francisco answered.

Outside, he could hear Andres and Chua calling for their friend and the furious wives scolding their husbands for embarrassing them in front of a crowd. Suddenly, the murmurs erupted into panic. Shots rang out in the crowd. Most fled into the fields or hid in the tents. Chua dropped his winnings and immediately rushed to find his friends. Andres found himself entering the tent of the dancing girls. From beyond the cogon grass, a youth brandishing an old Spanish bayonet emerged in tattered clothes.

“¡Viva la República!” he shouted.

Francisco knew what the battle cry meant. The revolutionists had arrived at last to free San Sebastian from its peace and isolation. He wasted no time taking off his shirt and clothing marikit. He summoned his strength and lifted the girl in his arms. He ambled his way to the river and rested her down onto the banks. Behind him, the creatures of the menagerie were crossing the river and fleeing into the jungle. The dog - like creature he saw locked in its cage was paddling across the water, its stripes melting into the water as a trail of ink. The balding creature was desperately flapping away as if it was learning to fly for the very first time. The colourful snake slipped gracefully into the water, its scales glinting under the moonlight.

“Thank you for saving me, Francisco,” Marikit said.

“Where will you go now?” he asked her.

“Back to the corals. My Ina is waiting for me” she replied.

“Will I ever see you again?” he asked.

“You can come with me and swim with the whales together.”

Francisco gazed into her eyes as the abyssal film glazed over them once more. She pulled him forward, laying a kiss on the boy’s lips for the very first time in his life.

“So this is what the world feels like,” he said to her before his own eyes grew heavy. He recalled the games and the smoked meats, Andres’ dream of courting every woman on Earth, Chua’s insane luck at guessing colours, and his mother’s warning to stay away from the dames. He felt the cold rushing over him and the low humming of Marikit’s singing.

Pushing through the chaos, Andres and Chua yelled out for their friend. They followed the prints to the edge of the river. Once more, they called out to Francisco but as the crowds dispersed and the smoke billowed behind them, all they could hear was a humming in the night that filled them with longing for the world beyond the cogon grass.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar celebrates diverse voices in literature. This prestigious event invites writers from around the world to share their unique narratives and poetic expressions. With categories spanning poetry, short stories, essays, and creative writing, the competition fosters a global community of writers, encouraging creativity and cultural exchange. Participants showcase their talents on an international stage, contributing to the vibrant tapestry of contemporary literature.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Cedric Allen P. Sta. Cruz for sharing "The Kiss of the Sea Skimmer" with us. Your storytelling has enriched the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, offering readers a glimpse into a world of wonder and imagination. Thank you, Cedric, for your contribution, and we look forward to more of your inspiring work.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.