When I think of carnage, I think of all the unthinkable ways in which humans have inflicted pain and suffering to another human being. I remember how three masked vigilantes shot someone’s brother in the skull, twice in the abdomen, once on the right arm. She was doing laundry. Then, I think of how his sister screamed, who lived across the alley, then stared in disbelief as she watched her brother’s life slip away. I imagine the pool of red, warm blood gushing out the gunshot wounds, but never mind it. Maybe dear brother still has pulse, he still feels warm, right? Maybe he can still be treated in the run-down public hospital.

They called him a drug addict, a pusher. She admits that, but the term “addict” is too much. Dear brother is younger than her. They’re close. Whenever he’s troubled, he would confer with her. “Napilitan lang naman siya,” she said. Her brother indeed sold illegal drugs by the milligrams. Not a lot. Just the ones in small sachet. The ones that barely cost ten dollars. He did this, not because dear brother is evil, but because it’s the only way dear brother can feed his lovingly partner and their son. You see, her brother has asthma. You see, her brother has always been the weakling in the family. But this does not mean that her brother can just neglect his family. Believed me, dear brother has tried other, “legal” sources of income. But she admits that dear brother sold shabu in the dark alleys of the city.

“Sinabihan ko naman po siya na itigil na iyan,” she went on. “Alam ko naman.” She knew her brother’s day job is dangerous and illegal. But it was his only way of making ends meet. I sensed his sister’s unease. The sharpening of their contradictions has only become more apparent. She’s just being a good sibling. Economic realities have pushed her brother to sell shabu. Dear brother was killed by the Honorable Former President—the one who promised to kill all addicts within three to six months from taking office. This’s the same president who made killing his electoral platform; this’s the same president whose killing platform was endorsed by most Filipinos who propelled him to power.

To this day, she has not determined her brother’s assailants. There were CCTV cameras pointed at the precise place where dear brother was shot. Alas! Conveniently, the surveillance cameras weren’t working that high noon of October 12, 2016, when dear brother was shot at close range by three masked men, while his sister was doing the laundry, who then screamed and stared in disbelief. Her dear brother—the weakly, sickly brother—is now a dead brother.

To this day, the carnage of October 12, 2016, remains etched in her memory. She holds onto them, even if it means remembering all the inhumane human acts perpetrated during that butchering. Rest in peace, dear brother.