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Head of The Table Surgery success
The engines cooled as the wheels made landing a frictional screech afterwards, most preferred their navy suits though they differed in their shirts cause some wore powder blue some white, with black carrier bags strapped to their backs, finally they sighed as they gave a heavy breath of the Madagascar air, nothing like polluted free air they chuckled. They were to have a surgery elsewhere in Canada but when a client offered a much more whooping wholesome of money, the plane changed coordinates and an hour later, they stared out the dense jungle of Madagascar, monkey’s swinging, birds singing, mother nature is so wondrous, they sighed as they drove for their destined hospital. Dressed in blinding white overalls with swinging nametags around their necks like loose dogs with their leash, doctors welcomed the foreign surgeons with ginger cookies and some home made tea, gladly the surgeons munched greedily this small but mouth watery snack, they were used to supermarket food, but this was
Head of The Table Drunken apology
Tension, fear, more fear, he wasn’t settled it’s been two hours, should he call the cops? No cause they will make things much worse, but what should I do, he pondered, throwing blind fists on to the echoed walls, groaning aimlessly, kneeling and dusting his recently bought pants, he did what he could to think of something. Ten minutes after the surgery he was driving tensed because he hoped for the worst from that surgery, they cut a vein by mistake, the anesthesia machine goes off, he daunted all possible results that just maybe Mila will not make it out alive. The haunting images of Mila on his death bed his gut ripped open, tissues exposed, a faint nauseating smell from his decomposing body, flies circling, patches of skin fading, he felt nausea from his throat, he swallowed the puke back in, drive, drive, he stepped on the gas he zoomed like a maniac he just became. Despite being the optimistic guy, the one who thought the positive even if they were out weighed by the negatives,
Head of The Table Pep talk
Brown, or is it yellow, whatever the color it contained it’s more clear water like liquor, firmly clutched on the neck, despite being out cold the grip was firm, finger by finger till it was loose, the cranky scent from the beer bottle made doctors eyes watery, this was some beer Brian got hands on. Well now what about the holder of the Bees beer bottle, body collapsed, left hand laid on by his chest, right hand outstretched, mouth wide open opening the cave of locked up morning breath and bees beer, drool patched on his cheek, eyes shut, snoring was he, no he was breathing heavily but weirdly when shook, when shrugged violently whereas his ear drums are bust by yells to wake him up, he still was asleep guess his one of those learned fellows call heavy sleepers. So the only way he was to get up was he be left wear out his sleep, till then he was lay on the waiting seats at the far corner where his stench would be aired out, at least those in the ward will be at least peaceful. His
Head of The Table Bygones be bygones
Sip, another sip…wait when was my coffee over, it took him some time to realize his coffee cup was dry and for the last five minutes he was sipping air, but it was expected the man was in deep thought and same time shocked and confused, he just came to his senses that he actually went on his knees and apologized, his ego, his pride, was it numbed by the alcohol and caged silently by the liquor that he was shameful enough to do such a thing. He bit his lower lip, hands clenched together, elbows leaning on his knee joints, his head balanced by his fists, should I go there and beat them up, should I take back my apology, should I… all should I thoughts raced in. An apology wasn’t a physical object you can snatch back and beat the one you gave, it was emotional and you can’t take away emotions, so Brian the tyrant, was confused, tensed anxious, his ankles were shaking making a consecutive knock of three intervals per second. Just a stone throw away, he actually had visual of it, that is
Head of The Table Plan B
Peace…no that’s too optimistic cause there was still doubt by each one, so truce call it…maybe that’s the word for it truce because yes the cabinet members were locking horns with their temporary boss, and yes they had no trust in him, but for the sake of the business or at least for Ben’s sake, they just have to play by the book, so yes truce it is. A week later the knights were discharged and it took them long enough because in that one week hell was burning up, worse was if any of them show a flick of odd health issues it’s back to the ward. In the board room or that’s what they called it though it wasn’t structured as one, a rosewood customized table was at the center, at the far walls, piles of broken woodwork and pointy dangerous steel bars, all dusty and dark where mice sheltered themselves and other pestering miscreants seek cover, open arm sized windows let in fresh air accompanied with the sun’s warming heat, despite the already lightened room by the sun’s rays, a dangling
Head of The Table Let the man drink
Rusty metal handle, large hallow cylindrical encase, filled with today’s special or everyday special Blue cake liquor on the house. One mug, another and another, he gulped one after the other groaning as it gave a burning sensation down his throat, grinding his teeth as he forced air through his clamped creamy jaws, touchdown the landing was heavy as the liquor settled with the rest devoured ingredients inside his filling belly. He hadn’t foreseen this bullshit, his day started off well, the normal routine bouncing bossing around the station, listening to cry’s of widows, whacking some scumbags caught in last night’s bar fight down the alley, it was just going well he gladdened his self. Ring! Amidst his physical therapy with some law breakers in the good cell, an amateur teen had poured liquor on the deejay’s laptop and vandalized his mixer, well he was getting some beat-up but at least he wasn’t paying the fine but his body was getting it hard. Saved by the ring, bloody everywhere,
Head of The Table It’s a date
“My name is Zod Kong, chief inspector of south blue police station here in the south of Madagascar. Recently, there has been a fiery protest here at the docking stations and a lot has transpired. Unfortunately, many lives are lost, many sent to hospital and lots of public property damaged. However, I have done my research and find the people aren’t as guilty as they may be portrayed by other senior people I the government. They actually are the good guys and the menace behind this is…” Mr. Zod pauses as he thinks of how to fitly place and describe his second character. Cruel, no too gentle, devil, no too harsh, as he chooses and filters his vocabulary that puts the frame to his character, he nods and gasps gladly as he continues. “…their boss. They call him a tyrant, a man whose barbarism has fueled and lit the flame to this outraged and uncontrolled wild fire, Mr. Brian, is the man behind this. I have witnesses who will attest before a court of law and comply to stand trial against
Head of The Table The court it is then
Natured and hardened by the streets, woke up as a fake brother to a millionaire drug lord, ever since fond of wearing the more casual clothing like simple sweat pants, jeans, less suits and tuxedos, this occasion prompted him and circumstances forced him to wear the more office clothing. Powder blue, nah too loud, how about white, yah white will do. Evaluating the classic and expensive diverse options of cotton fabric shirts he settled for the white long sleeved shirt as he sensed it was more official. For the suit he went with the Britain taste, more of the similar classic grey suit but more heavy on the grey touch, and of course he couldn’t ruin this fashioned lineup by some whacky slacks that turns this respectable and desired attire into a more clown and more joking charade, so the man led by his taste in the classic Kingston fashion chose the fitting classic grey trousers matching with the suit, so eventually when the man stared in the body height mirror, man was fashionable exq