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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 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 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 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 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 The Players
Life is just like a game of chess, a knight may behead the king or a rook may slaughter the bishop. Simply put your move, right player right place checkmate, wrong player wrong place game over. Ben’s life didn’t differ from a game of chess only he was the player and he controlled the players on the board and the board itself you wonder? Well, it was his territory of course. Then there’s the opponent Brian. He was a man who took advantage of every weakness, exposed it to the fullest and made sure he hit where it hurts. He was the one opponent that took the best out off Ben and proved to be the greatest of all opponents he ever faced. So these two players were the mind behind the game Head of the Table.From scratch, when there was nothing but thick dense rainforest and diminished undergrowth, there Ben built his empire. Up the East Coast of Madagascar, spanning 800km wide and a km long coastline strip, all activities here were under one man, yes, this was Ben’s turf, his empire. Ben
Head of The Table The Other Side
Remember Ben’s situation where his trouble is spending money, well there is another person who would trade even his life for such. Picture this, you earn less than 100 dollars, your sister is in a comma, some gang lord is up your ass to get back his money he loaned you, and worse cops have kept you on the wanted list. Hell of a situation right? The last thing anyone would wish to be in. Well, someone was in this condition and God! Life was hitting him below the belt. Down to the south coast, there in a small but expanding village was Brian, the unfortunate person in this situation. It started when his sister had a fever, he gave her some herbs because getting medical checkups was costly and to do so, they would go hungry for about a week. He worked at a garage but not as a mechanic but a tool boy, he was the servant for the mechanics when they were at work. After a month, his sister collapsed while going to fetch water, luckily she was rushed to the hospital but on an old rusty mot
Head of The Table The Ambush
“How many minutes left?” Ben questioned, “Just five boss, we’ll be there in five.” answered the diver. Shipment had just docked in Korea, they were down the south coast to pick up the payment. Reuben seemed tensed and Ben noticed. “ feel something isn’t right, like why the south? We never made payments there.” Reuben retorted, letting his worries get to his head. But Ben thought, why the south, it could be an ambush? Recently, the Koreans have tried to take them out of the market by buying shipment twice more than others and reselling with a different label. Be cautious! A stern warning ringed in his head.Taking caution they corked their mini guns, and stashed right in the middle of the waist and the hips gripped by their trousers. Breath in, breath out, there they were Lin and Wu, the Tang brothers of the Tang dynasty. They were their buyers from the beginning and invested a fortune in this business.“There, five million in cash,” handing two black, leather briefcases, “the r