2023-08-01 16:01:08
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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
Head of The Table Just a talk
Constitution act 44B…circumstances an inmate can be released under heavily armored and guarded security, “When visiting a family relative” page 456 out of 1k plus pages, on the right leaf at the far right in bold. Many think that since this act is in the law book, means it’s effective like inmates, so when an uncle dies…or an aunt…or at times an uncle to a friend of your father’s brother…complicated ties to basic blood bonds, inmates cook up new family bonds every day sending countless paper scribbled notes filling the state prison owner Mr. Mark office with a pile some of baby child hand writings, some readable some not. That’s the thing with the law…if every day this act was passed across this mountain of demands every day then the prison may run out of inmates since every day they would be taking planned trips to long lost relatives who in most cases they don’t f*****g, so there’s a catch a hook that makes all these inmates hard work of scribbling they’re two year old English adding
Head of The Table Bull fighting
Yanagi Sang, founder of the Yanagi crime society or how he likes to call it the white pigeons quite a funny name many think, but that’s because they don’t know just how this name came up. Well no different from Cobra, Yanagi too started from the ground the only difference was unlike Cobra who never knew wealth till he turned five, Yanagi was the lineage of a befallen prince. His father, Klaus Sang, a foreigner encrypted his foreign ways with those of the Korean was deemed unworthy after helping the Sang family build a billionaire dollar earning business monthly thanks to Klaus’s idea on the best way to go around selling drugs in the inhabited places of Middle North Korea. Pigeons…weighing less than an average sized LED remote, with an average population 80% of the country’s pigeon in this area alone meaning on every tree parch, treetop…one was bound to see a puffy, feathery, two side eyed creature hooting over and over. Now that it’s proven pigeons are twice the population of the inh
Head of The Table Year of The Sparrow
13th October 2004, the day his jail time turned on him, what he mirrored as a paradise far from the world’s troubles…no rent burdens, no food bills, no power outs, what else could he want…but that was the thing he had everything and what the devil won’t give he takes, and he doesn’t ask. The annual Year of the Sparrow, a once in every decade celebration where the red necked spawns gather from the deep forested coast of West Netherlands descending the unbelievable 100km mile migration over the sea and the scorching deserts to eventually make their conspicuous landing in the mid-October for the end result of the past ten-year erosion period. After the rivers end up reducing as the daunting dry times near specks of magnesium mixed with slight ammonia sparkling crystals are left behind and clamping year-after-year they eventually form lumps of irresistible salt nutrients. A risk worth 100km journey, but if one was a sparrow, they would do the same it’s like an invitation to the Queen and
Head of The Table Bad news
Sky blue gnome around a hand size tall, red hard covered historical 1000 paged book titled, “The Last of Man” some inches from the gnome. A little further, well wooden picture framed memory one wore a red shady flowered linen dress, on her lap her offspring in a ninety’s outgrown thin grey pajamas showcasing her God gifted gums a year old her teeth yet to sprout. Clamping her shoulders on both sides hands held gently like handling a bubble, growing upwards the manlike features emerge biceps, triceps, the thick neck muscles, all grow to the man like big sized jaw its beard shaved to a small smart gage, to the huge pearl eyes between the extended nose up to the bald head its veins visible from the earlobes to the fore head, zoom out this picture… meet Mrs. Mariam Gunner- the one in red-, first born child Gideon Gunner-the young toddler-, and lastly the army muscled husband and father Mr. Joe Gunner…the picture encased the whole Gunner family. These three objects populated the wide 12-i
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
