“VV, DO YOU know where this is?” one of the butlers under VV’s command told him of the latest news.
“This wretched place?” VV had never personally been there; but the countless stories about the butchery division of the old version of the company drove even him, a hitman who based his entire work ethic on Benedict Arnold: the world’s most hated traitor, to barf beaches.
“I know where it is, but I haven’t been there yet. I heard only of stories.”
He was in pursuit of a different brother and was growing restless, but something as reliable as this made his whimsical side come up to love the recent development. The added bonus of having to see Von’s expression, who he thought would be with him, after telling him of his wife barbecuing. He and his flunkeys rounded up the rest of them prancing around the city because of the treasure hunt to play one dodgeball. Only the dodgers this time would have no Sandy fi
THE LOCK SEEMED old and rusty but no matter how hard Georg pulled on it, it wouldn’t budge an inch. The night got stuck with hearing the repetitive groaning and panting of a man forcing his way out. He tries one more time after a few intervals, his hand bloodied by blisters. A hand pulled him away from the gate. “It’s no use,” he looked back to see his wife Beth, bloodied and ragged as she used her few remaining ounces of strength to pull her anxious husband back. They sat back to find nothing different than his struggles. They sweat blood and tears through the night; their only company the iron bars of their abode, their countless thoughts of escape, and in the cradle of the mom, their sweet little child.
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
"DON'T FORGET TO stop and smell the flowers, Abe!", yelled Marge as she punched the arm of Albert. Smitten out of the trance, he yelped, "Hey! What was that for?" "You're not being your usual self and it's creeping me out. Has the island life changed you?" Marge replied with her brows displaying horror mixed with concern. He suddenly got transported back where he is. With Pierre Albert’s invitation, he accepted to be a part of his great friend’s mid-summer garden tour and water party.
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
WHEN ALBERT FINALLY arrived at the pool area, he was greeted by the fifth of the hid sun and a near-drunk multitude of company workers. A lot of them were in the little gray area of not-yet-that-drunk-but-trying-to-act-sober drunk. On the left side were patches of men wooing the ladies in their swimwear; and on the right side were the ladies trying to look prude but are enjoying the attention inside. He didn’t like to be rooting for either side so he went straight to the rainbow-decorated bar. "Mojito," he ordered. Then he proceeded to whisper to the bartender a soft, "toned down, please." The bartender nodded and headed to make his drink. "Toned d
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
THE 2AM STREETS were blowing just the right wind for the windows to be rolled down. Although this also meant that Margaret's laughter can be heard through more blocks than one. Albert didn't mind though; he has heard the obnoxious laugh for what it feels like forever and now it's music to his ears; much like Aqua's Barbie Girl. He pressed the gas a bit more to savor the moment. Or maybe he was waiting for an insect to get inside Margaret's mouth. He was having fun nevertheless. Margaret was out of her sober self. "Whew! I never knew I'd be drinking whiskey. Who knew I'd be addressing my inner Chris Stapleton tonight?" Followed by that weirdly beautiful bubbly laugh.
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 effusedeinebriation. The ex-beliquoredthought about how she was "unaffected by spew since 2002".