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Head of The Table The interrogation
The room was pitch dark, a dimming bulb hang in the middle of the room, below luminated it’s limited light around a circular form leaving the rest of the room in darkness, all lay in the shadows. There was dead silence, but later was more less by the pestering crickets, making their chorus linger in the wind. Strapped on an ergonomic, metallic chair, hands cuffed behind the back rest, legs strongly tied to the front legs seat by firm sisal ropes, impossible to tear unless maybe you were stronger than Hercules, he lay unconscienced. His head all dusty, blood dripped drop by drop, his black pollo shirt was all dirty and stained, it’s top buttons ripped off exposing his hairy chest, his trousers were all tarred and the charming black texture was no longer charming nor visible, on first sight you may presume him as some madman. But he was in the room, the Truth chamber, so sooner or later he was going to turn insane and if he doesn’t he will live to remember this experience till he dawn’
Head of The Table Laying low
Ben was pissed off, still in shock, he was in disbelief, how could they have caught the wrong person. The knights weren’t pleased either they just tortured an innocent man, Mila was rueing every moment and the cries of John saying he didn’t know we’re haunting him. He felt his consciousness’s being eaten inside out, the guilt, the cries, both knights were cursing every painful experience they put John through. Ben had to make it up to John, he lost two fingernails, has one premolar less, and just had a bullet burst through his left knee, Ben knew it would take more than money to bring John to listen let alone forgive them. “Take him to the hospital, have the best attend to him, I will take care of the bills.” Ben uttered addressing the knights who were heads down in regret, but they gathered themselves and in a minute or so they did as asked. They were to put their head back in the game, they had a mole amongst them, he was of greater threat than the Tang brothers.“It wasn’t him.”
Head of The Table Being a king
A seat with a smooth gold plated outline bars, the soft cotton seating in black and white spots, the legs crafted in the replica of the king of ancient Egypt seat, the seat for the worthy it was known, not every rookie was privileged to lay their hands on it let alone their asses. Only two people ever sat, Ben when building his empire, and Reuben when Ben chose him on his behalf, and now Brian, call it luck or consider it destiny but this seat was the last thing Brian thought he would ever possess as his. Brian was loving the life, all that multi millionaire business was his to manage, well at least for the time being, unless something else makes it otherwise. On the glass like office table lay shipment papers, he just signed to authorize the government that they had legally exported ‘timber’, even the government was his puppet, he loved the life, he savored every second with each puff of his freshly lit Canadian cigar. He was expensively dressed, a 15000 dollar tux, a gold pocket wa
Head of The Table The head men
It was blurry but they could see from the shady murky waters, four man like figures, instincts kicked like mother nature programmed them, they began surfacing the waters, moving in circles with their blade like fins cutting through the water exposing their presence and indicating they were ready, ready for what mother nature was about to give back. The gray whites and hammer sharks would oddly ever intermingle in normal waters but one thing unites these beastly sons of mother nature, blood, fresh meat, human meat, they were used to the occasional bodies dumped and this normalized their thinking to knowing this as haven of abundance, where any time a body would splash in the waters, what followed, blood turreted clothes of the victim and inedible chunks of meat sinking down, the victim never to be heard of again, ever! Gift from mother nature to her beastly sons, they lied in the deep. Bloody, lifeless, heavy, carried by four men workers at the shipment of Ben’s empire, the deceased he
Head of The Table Enough is enough
In black work pants and the official safety jacket, he was in line like the rest of the co workers. Health check was an essential inevitable weekly occurrence, well it wasn’t as before like 10 years back, but one co worker was found to have taken an over dose of cocaine he was found down the docks near the shipment base down, restless, blood flowing from his nose, his eyes looked faint as his mouth was all white, he had a pulse but he was out cold, the drug was clotting his blood causing a possible cardiac arrest, they tried as they could but his nervous system had been cut from the rest of the body system, the drug had clotted his nervous cells causing suffocation to the brain and unfortunate passing on of the co worker. Since it has been a random occurrence to do health checkups and Incase any is found to have taken an excess dosage of cocaine the near medics had a handful of antibiotics that counter attack the effects and reduce fatality risks. The razor sharp needle pierced his
Head of The Table Kill them all
Chaos reigned, brooms, twigs, torn shirts swinging aimlessly in the air, screams and a unified psyched energized chorus, “Justice for Peter!”, It went on again, again, and again. Divided in two, one side, sweating, tired but still pushing on, fired up by the will power for justice, sopranos, basses all unified, male female, in their luminescent orange work overalls that portrayed them as the justice seekers, they cried all aloud, the sun beating them hard mercilessly to force them to back down, but they couldn’t , if the sun can’t stop them can man do? The co workers had turned to protesters, jackals born to wolves with the bravery of a lion, the toughness of an injured buffalo fighting for it's life, and the courage of a honeybager. Enough was enough, time they paid, “justice for Peter”, Robins dream was framing it’s crust into reality, co workers stood there, No! They said repeatedly each louder than the last. Under the shade, staring right across them, they had their fair amount
Head of The Table Not yet over
His knees were still sore, he felt his neck break from it’s spine falling his head down, his head itself had a slight stream of blood flowing from his skull, down his ear, right through his bushy beard and down his neck, throwing his legs like some pissed off toddler, screaming “ Let me go!”. Struggles, but the lock was tight, trying to fall himself to loosen the grip but still tight, Risa talked to him at least he tried but the mood Mila was in, not even he can calm him down. So he just had to hold him down, and that wasn’t easy either, Mila was feisty, he was determined to go back, break him in half if he had to, if it wasn’t for the strong masculine biceps locking back Mila… he would have been on a rampage like an injured wild black bear, angry, dangerous. He couldn’t take it, not anymore, ever since he witnessed the cold murder of Peter by this tyrant, his had more than enough nightmares. Why! He could hear an echo in every dark corner, dejavous of Peter still in his stained blo
Head of The Table No one is spared
Clang! The cold metal case hit the large rusted blue crate, sore, dragging himself backwards shuffling he got his share of the transpired chaos, but he had it better than the other two. One lay there, unconscious, his face disfigured from launched raining fists, his skull had cracked and slight blood tinkled drop by drop, he had it worse than all them, the chaos came at him hard! The third, leaned back, nursing his not one but now two bullet wounds, one through his arm another below his gut near his left upper thigh. He was fading, he tried as he could but it was flowing, the second bullet cut through a vein, and boy! He the blood continuously flowed gulp by gulp. He kept pressure on it which reduced this critical condition temporarily, but the more blood kept coming out the lesser conscious he became and slowly his head lowered, his eyes fading, his breathing was reducing and with gravity, bam! He collapsed heavily on the brick floor, blood mapped from below, soaking his cotton clot