2023-07-18 19:51:12
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Head of The Table Warm welcome!
Three clear glass shatter proof shielded the equally circle windows on each side of the plane, three on each side, all could be seen, the sky blue as it was, clouds all puffy, dots of what could be assumed as houses, green everywhere were confirmed as the dense canopy thousands of kilometers below. Beige and cream decorated the inner walls, walking on brown fur carpet, four seats placed in two’s, one facing the other opposite sides one pair on the left another on the right, big dense white cushioned seats the more luxurious kind but not too classy just those comfy to give that comfortable feeling and absorb the stress. In between these seats, crafted to the wall of the soaring mechanical 4 passenger machine, hand craft furniture the more brown crystal but a little darker than the carpet, often acts as a hand rest for those fond of gazing through the window, it’s enticing connection with the décor of the wall made the space more peaceful, some positivity energy lingered monks may say.
Head of The Table What just happened
Murder, that’s at least 50 years that’s first degree, third degree that’s around 40 years so doing the math that’s 90 years, adding public harm and government property destruction that’s around 5 million fine and 20 years jail time, so judging by the looks that’s 100+ years jail time. That was the verdict awaiting the new third party, Mr. Ben, in court that daunting day. Hell started when he step foot on his mother soil, and now it was just getting worse. Alone, with no attorney to stand up to him he sat on the assigned bench alone, cuffed, wrists aching, back sore as of the constant forward lean back at the station, in the cruiser, and here in court, but his physical problems were the least of his troubles. Dazed and confused like a shark flipped to it’s belly in subconscious mind still trying to draw the dots of the caging in barbed wires that were fatal to rip him to shreds, Ben just glared at the ceiling of the court, studied the embroidery of the judge’s bench, the eye catching
Head of The Table Time for change
Tear down those curtains they are all dusty and peasant like!... You… I want those windows clean and I better find my car washed or else… who left the coffee maker uncovered!... Reinvention, old torn down, years in the making replaced, it was time for change and about time because this was historical embodiment of the Hitler reign, no more past crap it’s boring, predictable, time his own reign stood up. With the notion of remaking everything from the ground up, construction workers worked overtime day and night, taking shifts and 20 minutes break after every four hours, against the WHO health care program but within Brian’s turf throw that bullshit to the trash. Whereas the interior was renovated full time, clear expensive glass widows, digitalized security systems, modern automated doors, a pool wide enough for a trailer to park and depth sea divers are authorized, was in work outside. Simply put there was nothing short of the constant daily vibration of mechanical engines, the tox
Head of The Table Loyalty or reputation?
No calls, no emails, not even a f*****g whisper in the air of just what the hell happened, it was just…silence… all communications were cut. Sure at this point they all drew to conclusions, he bailed on them, no he back stabbed them, no probably his sick or there is some troubled delays, both pessimists and optimists clamped in groups of two’s and three’s enclosed in the boardroom meeting room although with no furniture just broken woodwork, rotten timber and wrapped tangled bundles of rusted binding wire. They gave ideas each based on their base of view and surprisingly was no idea was not possible all had a chance that maybe it was true, so they murmured, threw insults to those who rejected and praises to those who said aye, to spice up they went the old fashion way, the old tradition hand count, “all in favor raise your hands…”, but unfortunately it was all short of time wasting and a premature child play because the man of the hour walked in. He walks over dead skulls, a mighty s
Head of The Table On your own
4 layers of concrete, a feet high, 3 walls, those on the side built and gave birth to more identical, the other faced the east with only a small high placed cube like hole with four smelted in iron bars each two finger sized thick, the entrance, a half foot wide automatic cell door, around 10 bars equally spaced with extra lead making it impossible to cut well unless you have a chainsaw. Now that’s one cell, from ground floor to around three more blocks up, and around 10 cells per block, add another four similar blocks that makes…yah that’s more than 50 cells and each cell has two inmates that’s more than 100 inmates. So the Madagascar Penitentiary State Prison houses all these and still incoming inmates and adding the staff members, wardens, doctors, the owner of this rehabilitation state, that’s around 200 people in this 100acre institution. Now imagine, all these inmates, 100+ to be rehabilitated members of the society, break out, mayhem, chaos to nothing short of insecurity and c
Head of The Table Doctor you high
“Suicide…me suicide…you high doc cut down the weed it’s messing your work now.” Ben chuckled slightly as he took another sip of Alfred’s afternoon latte, mhhhh! He sighed gladly as he inhaled the steaming wave like vapor circling around the white office coffee mug labeled Big D. Me, kill myself, his as high as f**k! Ben chuckled again only this time inwardly, but based on the circumstances and turn of events it’s either his high or I actually did try to kill myself. After he recollected himself and still dazed by the sudden new environment, the drawers clamped together in wheels, needle wrappers scattered all around the bin at the edge of the door, capsules in jars gathered and placed on nailed wooden benches on the office walls, so if he makes it all up, his in the prison ward. How did he get there? Well Alfred explained it to him, everything, the ferocity, the chaos, the ear disturbing shrieks, the constant cursing, all of it…but somehow he still was in disbelief and instead of tal
Head of The Table In the oven
Gabapentin…Albuterol…aaaah! Here it is epidural steroid injection, old man Giddy was back, inmate number 402 he was referred in the system, just like all fellow men in orange he too was a felony regarded by the government as an A class offender. And just like any other man he had to satisfy his monstrous erotic behavior, but this wasn’t the States penitentiary where inmates could call in their partners and help themselves out…hell no!...here only two ways to help yourself out, one, if option A fails sure you can use the alternative hole, and by that is every being has that butthole for excretion purposes but here that wasn’t the only purpose. Sensitive nerves around the hole ensure that if it was used for other purposes apart from the assigned excretion it guarantees the same satisfaction a vagina would give. So that’s the first option though not every inmate was a fan for it, see in prison more so this one… having a d**k shoved inside your butthole deprives your manliness, basically
Head of The Table Cobra
Diphenhydramine…aka the death pill…down the streets many local crooks went rampage robbing man and child, beggars weren’t safe and if any one brought a scuffle…pooof! They disappeared…so cops too feared crooks. But an old dictator…was it Hitler…law can be bent not broken, so the crooks were bending a malleable concrete enforced unbreakable brute force of strength and intelligence. After a month of chaotic gangster and crime regime cops were no longer the nice guys…sometimes if you can’t jail a crook how bout killing them…no that’s illegal how bout making them disappear, that’s not against the law is it? So one by one, crooks were cuffed and brought in stations crowded in cells fattening them like a cow in spring. Coffee, they loved it, two hours after a crook was arrested they would be escorted in king style, waist carried ruthlessly and violently barely on the ground with your tip toes and rushed being swung like a bowling ball smashing desks and walls till barged in the inspector off
Latest Chapter
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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