Boulevard Novels & Stories

The gates fell soon after. There was a mad rush to enter the city of Muzagah and destroy every living human. Having being in suspense for hours; anticipating and visualizing what they desired: the rape and the sharing of treasures; they drove in furiously into Muzagah with the intention to kill and destroy properties. Suddenly, the sound of a trumpet filled their ears. It was a signal to stop. Prince Habeb had ordered a trumpeter to send the desperate soldiers his message. It wasn’t yet time for the killing game to begin.

This world is a weird place, you have an arduous time here to figure out who is your friend or who is… the foe. Between my clumsiness, we ended up in the black Porsche Macan. The traffic on the road and the haunting honkings were so nauseous. I couldn't even liberate myself from what happened a couple of minutes ago and Alyssia’s rash driving gave me another reason to pray to God as I could see my end. “Spiacente, Tesoro. It seems to be a bad day for you. Just close your eyes, keep on praying and don't forget to breathe,” she said.

CHAPTER SIX Wednesday, 24 March, 1869 The closed cart rattled its way through a set of heavy iron gates. Ellen peered out of the small side window. Her insides quivered as she took in the leafy trees and a sliver of clear blue sky. She whispered its name: Belle Vue. An exotic sound so full of promise. Then came the first view. She gasped at its beauty, like a magical palace. It was so large, she couldn’t see where the two wings of the mansion ended.

We had past the cemetery and all its winter trees. Beneath the snow was a grass covered field, hiding all the decaying bodies in the ground. We drove past the snow coated Fossie Street, and past the city hall when Grandmama rolled her eyes, showing her disrespect towards society. Fossie Street was the main road in the city, passing the town high-school, mall, and grocery store. A lot of teenagers walked around it.

Soft sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting a colorful dance on the polished wood floor. "I enjoy listening to music alot," he confessed, his eyes reflecting his passion. "It reflects my feelings and understands my pleasure by piercing through my soul. Would you like to try playing an instrument?" He asked. My heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and trepidation. I chose a violin, feeling its smoothness under my fingertips. With his guidance, I held the instrument and produced my first tentative notes. The sound filled the room creating a moment of pure fascination. As we continued exploring the mansion, he showed me a garden, where vibrant flowers bloomed in carefully

I admit. “I’m taking you to brunch,” he insists. I follow him out the entrance and into his car and he drives off. We arrive at the brunch place he mentioned. I had no idea a place like this existed in the city. It is well hidden, but packed wit people when we walk in. “Right this way, sir,” a waiter says as soon as he says us. He takes us to a table at the far end of the large space, with a card that says ‘reserved’ sitting on it.

Mansterville Part 1 ~Waverly~ It was around the end of October when the convoy of moving trucks rolled up in front of the gated old mansion that sat just across the road from us. I had heard them coming down the private drive, gears grinding & shifting. I was actually very impressed they had managed to maneuver the huge 18 wheelers down the winding narrowed pig trail. I stopped halfway up the stairs rushing back down to the sitting room as fast as I could.

He says this with a conviction that chills me. The car leaves the main roads, enters a maze of narrow, silent streets, lined with high walls and discreet gates. Here, the air itself seems different: heavier, laden with the scent of old money, of power hiding behind sober facades, of well-watered secrets. He parks with surgical precision before an austere entrance. Only a patinated brass plate, discreetly lit, betrays the place: "Le Cénacle". A name that smells of conspiracy and exclusivity.

Fallon was one of them… She shivered. *** He’d left her in a garden. Walled, roughly the size of a school bus, it had a winding path that led to a bench set under a shady fruit tree. A small pool provided a place to gaze. Pear trees had been trained against the walls, alternating with a pink flowered vine she couldn’t identify. Flowering bushes alternated with herbs and mixed flower clusters, providing washes of color. Well-clipped grass formed a soft carpet between the flowers and the walls.

Crowned with steep mansard roofs, the buildings and their angled slopes formed repeating patterns that ran along the boulevards like carefully arranged scales. Miguel studied her carefully. “So luxury does not tempt you?” “It tempts everyone,” Bobby admitted with a small smile. “But it shouldn’t change who you are and it certainly shouldn’t control you.” Miguel leaned back, amused. “So I may have brought the wrong companion to Paris.” She laughed out loud at that.