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2024-10-29 19:42:56
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Head of The Table The head men
It was blurry but they could see from the shady murky waters, four man like figures, instincts kicked like mother nature programmed them, they began surfacing the waters, moving in circles with their blade like fins cutting through the water exposing their presence and indicating they were ready, ready for what mother nature was about to give back. The gray whites and hammer sharks would oddly ever intermingle in normal waters but one thing unites these beastly sons of mother nature, blood, fresh meat, human meat, they were used to the occasional bodies dumped and this normalized their thinking to knowing this as haven of abundance, where any time a body would splash in the waters, what followed, blood turreted clothes of the victim and inedible chunks of meat sinking down, the victim never to be heard of again, ever! Gift from mother nature to her beastly sons, they lied in the deep. Bloody, lifeless, heavy, carried by four men workers at the shipment of Ben’s empire, the deceased he
Head of The Table Enough is enough
In black work pants and the official safety jacket, he was in line like the rest of the co workers. Health check was an essential inevitable weekly occurrence, well it wasn’t as before like 10 years back, but one co worker was found to have taken an over dose of cocaine he was found down the docks near the shipment base down, restless, blood flowing from his nose, his eyes looked faint as his mouth was all white, he had a pulse but he was out cold, the drug was clotting his blood causing a possible cardiac arrest, they tried as they could but his nervous system had been cut from the rest of the body system, the drug had clotted his nervous cells causing suffocation to the brain and unfortunate passing on of the co worker. Since it has been a random occurrence to do health checkups and Incase any is found to have taken an excess dosage of cocaine the near medics had a handful of antibiotics that counter attack the effects and reduce fatality risks. The razor sharp needle pierced his
Head of The Table Kill them all
Chaos reigned, brooms, twigs, torn shirts swinging aimlessly in the air, screams and a unified psyched energized chorus, “Justice for Peter!”, It went on again, again, and again. Divided in two, one side, sweating, tired but still pushing on, fired up by the will power for justice, sopranos, basses all unified, male female, in their luminescent orange work overalls that portrayed them as the justice seekers, they cried all aloud, the sun beating them hard mercilessly to force them to back down, but they couldn’t , if the sun can’t stop them can man do? The co workers had turned to protesters, jackals born to wolves with the bravery of a lion, the toughness of an injured buffalo fighting for it's life, and the courage of a honeybager. Enough was enough, time they paid, “justice for Peter”, Robins dream was framing it’s crust into reality, co workers stood there, No! They said repeatedly each louder than the last. Under the shade, staring right across them, they had their fair amount
Head of The Table Not yet over
His knees were still sore, he felt his neck break from it’s spine falling his head down, his head itself had a slight stream of blood flowing from his skull, down his ear, right through his bushy beard and down his neck, throwing his legs like some pissed off toddler, screaming “ Let me go!”. Struggles, but the lock was tight, trying to fall himself to loosen the grip but still tight, Risa talked to him at least he tried but the mood Mila was in, not even he can calm him down. So he just had to hold him down, and that wasn’t easy either, Mila was feisty, he was determined to go back, break him in half if he had to, if it wasn’t for the strong masculine biceps locking back Mila… he would have been on a rampage like an injured wild black bear, angry, dangerous. He couldn’t take it, not anymore, ever since he witnessed the cold murder of Peter by this tyrant, his had more than enough nightmares. Why! He could hear an echo in every dark corner, dejavous of Peter still in his stained blo
Head of The Table No one is spared
Clang! The cold metal case hit the large rusted blue crate, sore, dragging himself backwards shuffling he got his share of the transpired chaos, but he had it better than the other two. One lay there, unconscious, his face disfigured from launched raining fists, his skull had cracked and slight blood tinkled drop by drop, he had it worse than all them, the chaos came at him hard! The third, leaned back, nursing his not one but now two bullet wounds, one through his arm another below his gut near his left upper thigh. He was fading, he tried as he could but it was flowing, the second bullet cut through a vein, and boy! He the blood continuously flowed gulp by gulp. He kept pressure on it which reduced this critical condition temporarily, but the more blood kept coming out the lesser conscious he became and slowly his head lowered, his eyes fading, his breathing was reducing and with gravity, bam! He collapsed heavily on the brick floor, blood mapped from below, soaking his cotton clot
Head of The Table Chaos again!
Eyes wide open, a sympathetic figurative expression masked his face, on his temple drop by drop leaked blood, tinkling down in streaming slight lines through his back head and down the brick floor, a hole was punctured in the center, and there he lay lifeless, still as a rock, as silent as death. He looked down, pleased with his accomplishment, glad he got rid of the troublesome tick of it’s back. The muzzle had cooled down, despite the recoil having slightly shocked Brian, he was still fit when most likely it would have drained the little he had left. From six down to three, Brian stashed the gun, the sudden cooled muzzle gave a tingle as it came into contact with his waist, untucking and covering the arsenal of death. But after this is when he came back to his senses, that’s when he became aware of his suddenly rampant environment, he had killed a martyr and now the chaos unveils itself, this time as a whole!Smoke from tires set a blaze, rioting screams from co workers suddenly t
Head of The Table Kill the head not the muscle
Blinding lights, fidgeting on a stretcher, “Help me!” He screams turning from side to side, blood leaks like an unplugged filled sink, “Shots now!” The head doctor shouts worriedly, nurses rush him in the intensive care in the far room of the 50 floor hospital, his in pain, a lot of pain but still within the pain ripping his nerves, the agony eating up his veins, he was not finished yet, they will pay all of them but till then five shots of painkillers lights out imposter. Masked, green gloves, stitching kits on the side, bundles of cotton cool, red every where, he lost a lot of blood if they didn’t close it up soon he may be gone, this daunted the doctors and nurses. One hour, two… they finally came out, gloves soaked red, sweat on their temples, overalls dispatched in the dirty laundry container, the head doctor neared whom he thought were the closest relatives to the patient after all they wore worried faces and waited eagerly. “His safe, we have covered up the wound. Give him a
Head of The Table Press hive
A week now and still the cries are heard, we want justice! They scream, chant again and again, each day fueled them to be more vibrant, it was for their generation they were told, so no sleep no rest it was just riot, riot, riot. The headmen had it all planned, they psyched up the people, planted the notion that this was the only way they could get back for all the cold killings, so each awakening day, under the hot scorching sun, they would gather by dawn, start their consistent and protests, till noon they wouldn’t budge food supplies were brought by masked well wishers dedicated to their cause, and till dusk they would go back and wait for the next day to do it again. This consistent bugging, the bickering from these two penny worth people was too extreme to now turn a blind eye, so the government had to come in or else it won’t be Ben’s empire that will be on the rioters list.SUVs buzzed in day by day, headlines were the same every day, it was always, “Today’s news on the docki
Latest Chapter
- Head of The Table
Awake
This man who saved him, who made him the man he is from the immature boy he was boy, who made him be the living example of from rags to riches, at this moment he had the guts to brush this away and end his messiah without skipping a beat, without no hesitation, without remorse in his heart. But the countless death toll proved he had no heart, proved that yarn in his head had killed the man and made him the vessel of chaos and pain, the man died ages ago only demons floated inside his shell. Staring at him like his previous victims he increased the weight on his finger, the pressure on the trigger till eventually… “Click!”, is this broken, he wounded scanning the death tool in hand to confirm his suspicions. No bullets, the magazine was empty the echo sounded, but why, he wondered, he was lost by the turn of events like why threaten his sister with an unloaded gun, did he love her? Were they together? All these filled the gaps but still it couldn’t make the full sentence. As he tucked
- Head of The Table
Crossfire
“Faster.” He cursed, even with a HeadStart Brian managed to catchup to his men and out pass them, “You good for guns only, your feet are mere Pinocchio sticks.” He rebuked them highlighting the facts in comparison to the mahogany fragile softwood barks he assumed built Pinocchio. But he was right, upper wise, they had bulging muscles, chisel shapes, but down, their legs were low on stamina, speed and toughness, he now understood why women complained about the bed performance of men with mishandled, unmaintained, let loose legs “Pathetic!”, he cursed boosting himself onwards without the excuse of a team behind him. “Wait.” He paused, there was something odd, it took him ten minutes to notice the behavior, they were running in circles, the ten minutes he marked the direction he went and noticed the mushroom he passed moments ago, the dying tree he tripped on, the baby sticker one of his men dropped from his SMG, “Shit!” he cursed his men arriving at the same time he dawned this. “Let’s
- Head of The Table
The Barian Ghosts
The ghosts of the Barian ancestry they called the haunted abandoned chapel. Years ago, it was told of the story, carried from mouth to mouth on the man who was chased away from the house of whom they called the Messiah, how evil overpowered good. The month of giving, it was the month priests fattened themselves on the offerings of their congregation, “For charity.”, they preached though it was their bellies fundraised to meet their gluttonous needs. Amongst them was a believer, from his ancestors, the line of grand parents to the first man, he believed that this chapel was the house of the supreme being, “Father!”, he would pray every day, before dawn and hours after dusk he would recite. Barian he was named after his birth right ceremony, his parents were of the tradition and of the foreign religion, rich in spirit and wisdom but their richest was the grassed thatched dome rooftop, their cubical shelter they called home, and like true religionists they were satisfied. Barian like hi
- Head of The Table
Secrets unveiled
“Not much time… this condition may be permanent I’m afraid.”, the doctor dropped the disheartening news, “he may live with it but it will grow at a slow rate so maybe till his eighties will it be the size of a tumor.”, he concluded tying the note on his death receipt. His immature stupid decisions brought this condition, this unexplainable criticality, he recalled his struggles blinded by the love for his sister that he paid no attention to his own. In his initial hell life, when his sister was admitted amidst his scuffles and struggles for money, he attempted to rob the grocery saleswoman down the alley. He had planned everything knowing his sister’s bill was due the next day, he was aware of his victim’s behaviors, “First the fruits… then the wooden boards…” his scanning paused, “…Yes then the money.”, he gladdened his self, locked on the purse, its insides were unknown but it clinked with each swing. Starting his speed from far, he burst his left hand stretched as he neared his v
- Head of The Table
Blood is Thicker
“Who am I fighting for?” he questioned angrily, his brutal side took over, his left both hands roughly clutched on her bloodied white shirt, “I said who do I fight for!” he screeched this time colluding her with the wall, her spine was at its limit, her body enough of the brutality. As she gathered the last of her energy to answer the simple question, her last question, she recalled the ordeal, how her so called husband assaulted her beyond humane reasoning. “How will I tell him?” she tensed, after she gathered herself from her drowning self she called a cab, boarded, paid and with no instructions she told the driver, “Drive.”, in a light weak voice. “He will know eventually better I tell him myself.”, she reasoned, still healing on the sudden blunder she just did her thoughts were in a whirlpool of confusion, “But will he understand? I’m his wife he will have to.” She consoled herself again, “I’m more valuable than her sister.” She bragged amidst the torment, this courage braved her
- Head of The Table
Madman
“When will you be back?” she asked half conscious, “Soon.” He answered hesitantly, how could he answer something not even he knew the answer, a year, a decade, a day, he had no clue, al he knew was the only way out was through that door and once he was out, he was closing the one behind him till… well till forever he guessed. Forever was limited though, after a month or so she was released from hospital and like all alone women out there with tycoon brothers she was moved in the remote west of the island where few people lived the conditions unlike the rest of the island were dry, hot and desert like in some seasons. There with a built home courtesy of her brother, she began small growth development, visiting the upper region more warm than hot she ventured in the weaving sector, then gaining the skills the salon department within her lifespan of her youth she had enough skill to make her self-employed, an employed or an entrepreneur, she just had to choose. Ben and Brian took care o
- Head of The Table
Hostage care
He glared on the vast blue calm waters, the soft winds and gentle sun touches erased the reality, the previous night front seat row witnessing death juggle them like pins in a circus show. It was hectic, terrifying and self-enlightening, Brian became open that nature was the only thing he couldn’t control, at least the only thing he figured. After their escape from their death givers a near month at sea they were approaching the island’s shore, after conquering and wiping Ben’s power like it never existed, they docked welcomed by their remaining mercenaries who survived in one piece though some in crutches, walking sticks and wheelchairs. “Welcome home.”, he greeted, the second in command who was now first since his superior was blown courtesy of Mist’s giveaway gift. “Call this my home and I will end you.”, he hissed slapping the gestured hand cursing as he slithered by, followed by his remaining crew, the captain, and the disrespected mercenary left to feel the deep thorn of lookin
- Head of The Table
On Top Again
For his brother and himself he had to do it, he didn’t want to but did he have a choice? No, he didn’t, he wished it would have never come to this point. To the shackles again and this time heavier ones, tighter ones, this time maybe death can save them or relieve them at least. Like the game he normally played he stared at death again, it smiled at him, they smiled back because Ben knew how to pull the wire just at the right moment, and once again death failed to get him, a whisker close but not close enough for the death cheater. Mili seconds before Lee fired Ben clicked his detonator and just then the tables turned for the third time, and probably the last time. Underneath the doom weapons went off, the unlucky men at the top were the unfavored by the look. One detonated between two, the force blew their face clean off to atom pieces only their neck downwards was intact, another close to an unsuspecting culprit behind his back blowing half his back off melting it from his upper back
- Head of The Table
One Sided Loyalty
He cried for the third time, and history proved he rarely did. The body count was off the charts, first Ben’s committee ghosted a whole docking security guard, Eliz returned the favor but hers was more straight to the point. However, this time Ben’s tears weren’t of what happened but what was to come, what he knew if happened he will be dead both emotionally and physically. So let the wheel turn back, some playback on the betrayal saga, the fleeing, the death scenes, all of it. Ben disclosed to the knights, Mila broke down in the inside, Risa glare towards the fire summoned the deepest locked emotional valve he caved deep within, and there both the two brothers a tear flowed one on the right for one and another on the right for the other. But they were in the middle of a war, a war that will take more of their lives if they had a grieving season, they had to man up, soldier on, “Yes they died,” but grieving was the one thing the befallen bishops would want them not to do. With the ig
