Lasang kalawang. Ganun ang lasa ng kasalanan.

I was sitting at a 7-Eleven sa kanto ng España, watching the rain wash away the grime of the city. Sa tapat ko, may lalaking nanginginig ang kamay habang humihigop ng kape. He looked normal to anyone else—a tired salaryman, maybe overworked.

Pero sa paningin ko? He was rotting.

May itim na usok na lumalabas sa balikat niya, wrapping around his neck like a noose. It was the heavy stench of betrayal. Cheating? Theft? Or maybe something worse. Whatever it was, it was screaming to be eaten.

"Boss, ayos ka lang?" tanong ko. My voice was raspy. Dry. Uhaw na uhaw na ako.

Tumingin siya sa akin. His eyes were hollow. "Gusto ko lang umuwi," bulong niya.

I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Makakauwi ka, Boss. Iwan mo lang 'yan dito."

Hinawakan ko ang braso niya. The contact burned. Agad na gumapang ang itim na usok mula sa kanya papunta sa balat ko. It pierced my veins like icy needles. Ang sakit. Putangina, ang sakit palagi. It felt like swallowing razor blades meant for someone else's throat.

Napapikit ako as the darkness left him and entered me. Nakita ko ang memorya niya—isang babae sa hagdan, tulak, dugo, takot. Murder. Not betrayal. Murder.

When I opened my eyes, the man was crying. Tears of relief. Gumaan ang pakiramdam niya. Nawala ang guilt. Nawala ang bigat. He stood up, looked at me confused, and left without saying thank you.

That's the deal. They get to live without consequences. And I? I get to keep their ghosts inside my head.