Seven Deadly Cardinals

His devotion to the surrounding life was admirable. He was the perfect neighbor, the really appreciative son, great friend, the irreplaceable worker, the most pleasing person on a train, the nice helpful stranger and the biggest hearted human one could possibly ask for. Friends were absolutely loving him - he was the host of dreams. Every meetup, gathering, event or simple tea time was always requested to be hosted by him. He managed to please every person attending. Each of these events were leading to his increase in popularity. Girls were in awe from his gallantry and mindfulness of them. Ladies kept on asking him to become their boyfriend, lover, best friend. There were even ones so desperate that proposed - but he kept on saying that no matter how fond he is of them, there will be a better suitor for the amazing ladies they are. Each day after long work he’d come to his studio flat on the tenth floor with a fantastic view towards the river that separated his housing block and

Another end of day for the “Dame Rose Atelier”. The doors are locked from inside, sign flipped to “closed”, the show room is cleaned up. The only person left inside is tailor. In the back of the atelier, with rows of fabric, shelves of buttons and neatly organised equipment on the table, near the sewing machine, a tailor sat on the chair. The fitting mannequin wore a draft for a suit jacket. Phone dings, Richard notes down another appointment on his phone. He took out the notebook and signed into it the time and name of the new person. The new person suggested by Collin, friend of Richards, was a famous male actor and big celeb. “Although Collin said that the man requires a suit for Gala, it’s just odd he’s eager to get it here.” - Richard spoke out. When there was no one around, Richard had a tendency to talk to himself. Well, anticipating troublesome customers was to be looked forward to. The next day began as usual. The assistant came in to greet any customers, help them a

“Don’t forget to water irises!” - Father loudly remarks from the porch, as I stand further out in the garden. Instead of shouting a reply I simply wave a hand. I can hear him clicking his tongue, from all the way out here, as he dropped his hand in that dissatisfied gesture at me. “Asshole.” - I mutter under my breath. The hose sprinkles the water over the flower bed, the evening is letting the heat of the sun die down. It’s quite the odd heat in July, but still, it makes me enjoy it as it goes. “Alois!” - The old lady Margaret that lives up on the third floor waves at me from the balcony. “Evening!” - I reply to her with a smile. “Come get apple pie, once you finish! I baked a lot!” - Margaret giggled and went back in. She’s by far the nicest lady I’ve met in my life. She is easy to be around, so very relaxing and nice. Unlike my father, for example. The old man is bossing me around a lot, yet I’m alright with it. I get that he’s doing his best in his own way, with over the to