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2024-10-29 19:42:56
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Head of The Table Bail or Surgery
A stable pulse, more regular wave forms than the inconsistent one weeks ago, the doctors were glad, same to the nurses and Mist too. When he was brought in they were all tensed, he had lost much blood, worse was he was unconscious, so he needed blood and fast, luckily he was group AB so getting a compatible donor was less stressful, moments later he was out of the ICU. But still he was under critical condition, the bullet wounds had injured some critical tissues and cut some crucial nerves, so if ever the hostler machine was interfered with or any dripper was moved from it’s place by an inch, he was back in the ICU and this time he maybe not as lucky. Now that is the first brother, the one who was lucky to take some few blows and two bullets, one for his bravery another for more emphasis to the first, he lay in ward 4B, still unconscious however he had a stable breathing, there now is the second one, the other brother to be more specific. What was his name again, yah Risa.Opposite
Head of The Table Angry badger
His fist thumped impatiently the middle sized table, every second he would glare at the clock nailed on the wall near the inspector’s office, a guard would pass gladly he would wear the fake smile to prompt them to move on, he saw Mist leave without a word presuming he went to get the money and just any second he would walk in those open rusted brown doors and slap the officers at the reception with their bail cheque and bam! His free. But it was now ten minutes and his eyes glued those doors, a mother with a child, a father with faded clothes and tattered laptop bag, an average teen with swollen lips and black swelling eyes, he presumed that the one who followed afterwards was he, but no it was just a normal citizen coming to seek justice, some to frame others, who cares Mist wasn’t coming back. He was in disbelief, when the guard roughly cuffed him and shook him up as he dragged him to his cell, he still was in shock, “My lawyer is coming back!” He would scream as he became more re
Head of The Table Think fast
Faded blue painted walls tattered in random patches to make it all spotted white, four florescent tubes hang, two dangling by one electric cord instead of two some feet from each of the two cells, but thank goodness they weren’t working why would they the guards wouldn’t waste their dime on some busty tubes screw those inmates they took themselves into those cells so let them drown in the oblique pitch darkness that was kept alive by their heavy breathing, singing of crickets and the moonlight that scattered down via a small transparent cover on the roof. Each cell was double the size of the normal cell a normal suspect was put in, the bars were aluminum plated with steel cored at the center of each bar so if one thinks of cutting those bars they have to cut the 5 aluminium-lead alloy coating then cut through the steel and still by then he will still be trapped. You maybe out of the cell but you are still locked in the badgers room, the room itself was military designed, with only on
Head of The Table See you in court
Frustrated, disappointment drew his face, no one talked to him, not the guards not his own men no one did, if anyone had an issue they were told to come back later, or that he was sick, some who kept persisting were told the matter as it is, the inspector isn’t in a mood to talk at the moment so if you are hungry for insults and emotional torture be my guest his office is straight ahead. This turned many, they all sighed out disappointed, even the law gets angry they wondered as they ought to take their problem elsewhere or bury it till he was in a welcoming talkative mood. In the truck they hiked a ride in, he bit his lower lip, gazed on the jungle, the leaves of the dense canopy, the sweet sound of nature, soothed him from erupting his anger on the slightest issue, but when he step foot in the noisy busy city, he clicked in disappointment and cursed under his breath as he insulted the air for being filled with industrial fumes as he coughed slightly, he cursed the cars for having n
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
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- 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
