1st Death

ALBERT HAD EMBRACED the life by the beaches. The sweet melodies of the birds singing with the rhythmic supplements of the waves; the smell of the unpolluted breeze of sand, wind and sun with the frequent intervention of some fresh-hauled seafood barbecue; and of course, the hospitality of the natives and the of the culture made his immersion feel more natural.  This wasn’t always the plan, but did it trump whatever his mind thought would be his last haven on earth. “It has only been a few 5 months but I concluded that I’d want to die here,” Albert spoke to the person lying beside his hammock, basking in the sun.  “I’ve

ALBERT PONDERED CHANGING to a pool attire. But thinking he's not going to take a dip anyway, he just went with his usual look: denim jeans and black tight-fit polo shirt for a bit of discomfort; and crocs for comfort.  As he drove through the narrow tree line, the setting sun illuminated the card in his dashboard, still having a few hints of archipelagic scent. As a close friend of the Baron’s company, this card, especially the logo has been imbued deep in his cerebral. He has vague recollections of that the first time he saw; how it reminded him of a sad piece of noodle lying on the ground trying its best to spell an “ae” in the best

Margaret had just finished tucking the Baron to in his royal bed when she noticed the sun hugging the edge off of the horizon. Before leaving, she looked around one more time to recall if she’s forgotten something. He has one of those bed princesses used to have during the medieval era. Only, it’s colored red rather than white.   The tucker just had one last remark for the tucked. "Just remember to tell Ed to put the medicines back in the correct order. Seriously, it's like talking to a wall." She was fixing the doohickeys in the cabinet. The Baron nodded.  Margaret usually had her weekdays off and that's when the other nurse, Edward, comes in. He

MARGARET FLEETILY WENT inside as she tried to hide her face crimson by the alcohol and her faux pas. She felt her heart thumping closer and closer to her throat. When it got even closer, the box-dweller croaked and she felt her lunch losing their introversion. Margaret tries to swallow them back as she stayed leaned behind the door for a few seconds until she heard the car race off. Only then did she run off to hug the toilet.  She let out one loud "bleurgh" with every fiber in her body. Margaret, in her forecast, irked and stayed in that position in anticipation of another round. But all she’d eaten and drank already got poured out during that one big effuse deinebriation. The ex-beliquored thought about how she was "unaffected by spew since 2002". 

"Iced venti caffe latte for Albert and venti mocha frappe for Marge. Light ice for the latte please," Albert ordered.   There has been very minimal talking since they left Albert's workplace and it was understandable. Between Connie’s pep squad cheer during their departure; the radio aptly playing Jason Mraz’s Prettiest Friend which Albert definitely thought was about him being the prettiest; and the butterflies in the dash on pins and needles like having kittens on a hot brick; there was so much tension. They only stopped the shush upon deciding to casually talk it out at the presence of Joe, Mocha and Ariana.  Still, they've always liked the fir