My alarm is ringing. I hear her. I know her incessant rattling is for me. But what was it that I needed to get up for?
So warm is the blanket and bed in which I lay what If I let her arms coddle me a while longer.
And just close my eyes…
I sit up in a hurry. In a panic I check the time.
She reaches and gently pulls me back down
I argue with her “ let me go” I say “I have many important things to do today”
She reminds me that I am happy here
Content… ecstatic even
Oh god I’m late and I won‘t be able to make that meeting
It’s the third time I had to reschedule
If I get dressed now, maybe I -
She shuts me up and lays me down
I know I belong here now
who am I for thinking it would end up any different
*bing* A text from my husband asking me If I brought the car to the mechanic yet
One little thing that he asked me to do
just one little thing
all I do is lay here, all I do is sleep
no help to anyone
it doesn’t get better
it doesn’t go away
and the day is all done now so I might as well stay
she hugs me with a smile as I snuggle in
I am accompanied with darkness. Never walking through the sun. Lingering in the morning, to see what the world becomes. The audacious acts of humans. The flippant acts of a child. A vacation from the quiet, but silence is versatile. It slips into the crevices, and hides into little slits. Then it rises every time a lonely person happens by.
Right now I am in a phase of trepidation. An anxious way to live life. Though, I guess I am immortal, and life only comes with the ability to die. Soon, once again, there will be a red moon, and I will have the glory. But the beauty only comes from the sun's shadow. The canny, overrated sun. The kind of person you can only wish to hate, but will never try to push away.
I can see him inching closer. A nefarious grin on his face. Never knowing why I disliked him. Or why I never seemed to wave. He didn’t get that I had no rays of light to surround me, or the steadfast craters that punctured my metaphor of a heart.
For he was drawn with a smile, not a sad man that sat in his midst. So of course there was a voice of morbidity, whispering in my ears, but better had never known me, and I hadn’t bothered to say hi.
And then he finally saw me, and there grew a smile on his lips. One so sincere I couldn’t resist.
“It's been awhile since we last met,” you could hear the lack of happiness in my voice, for there was an arrogance that surrounded him. One that made you want to cry.
“It’s been awhile since you’ve met anyone,” The comment was callous.
I could see my skin starting to tingle. I was in the shadow of the sun once again.
It felt unsavory. I was helpless to generate my own beauty and authority, but when I looked up I saw something unexpected. There were tears trickling down the sun's face. A scene so unheard of that I gasped.
“You can never tell a soul,” he choked out, more powerless even than I. “I can’t disappoint the world,”
He was tired. He’d been for awhile now, but all those who saw him couldn’t look past his light, and neither could I. I had never even tried. Though it looked like the brightness that surrounded him was a shield from the world, emotions were as versatile as silence, and slipped into the light. The world would watch him cry, and he couldn’t take a break when he was tired, because the hiatus would be enough to end a life.
“Stop,” I said, as he went to wipe his eyes, “I’m in the light for a little bit longer, so just let your mind go wild”
And he did, but no one ever saw him, for their eyes were on the red moon, the sun’s shadow blanketing the craters, the sad sitting man blocking the tears. Finally, two sides of the world had met in something that could only be described as a hug. So now when you see the red light you will know that it is two friends,finally having a chance to reunite.
He stood on a rocky outcrop high above the desert floor. Once more he scanned the horizon with his viewfinder, muttering to himself.
A dry wind swirled across the planet's surface, kicking up sand and snatching at his tattered cloak. The twin suns blazed overhead, and he noted that they were nearing their apex. With mild annoyance he pulled a digital timepiece from beneath his robes. The glowing symbols confirmed that the courier was indeed late.
Teryx Prime was a hostile world where only the toughest survived. Each day presented a new, often deadly challenge, and it had been like this since the moment he arrived. It was a remote world, far from the center of the galaxy's habitation zone. Because of this, it lacked many of the comforts and technological advances that he had seen on other planets in the system. However, despite its archaic nature, like all other worlds there was one constant that he could always rely on. With this sentiment, the man's thoughts returned to the courier, and he hoped that the desert hadn't swallowed him up too, like the countless number of unfortunate souls who had perished in this unforgiving wasteland.
A metallic glint in the distance caught his attention, and he shielded his eyes from the suns overhead. It was too far away to make out, so he switched on the viewfinder once more. He set the zoom to maximum and squinted through the viewports. A hover-bike came into focus speeding across the endless sand. The man saw that the pilot was wearing the red robes of a courier which, due to the speed of the bike, were billowing out behind him. The hover-bikes propulsion engines coughed up a trail of dust that glittered in the desert air, and the man watched its progress for a few moments longer before beginning his descent to the desert floor.
Cautiously he navigated his way down the outcropping, knowing that one slip of the foot could spell disaster. He slid down the last few feet of rock and his boots sank into the soft sand. The hover bike was drawing near, and he could hear the whine of its engines. He waited impatiently as the courier covered the last few hundred meters that remained between them.
The hover-bike finally arrived, and the courier cut the engines, banking to a halt and spraying the man with rocks and sand. Annoyed, the man approached the rider whose face was covered with a sand helmet that matched the deep red of his courier robes. Without saying a word, the rider reached into the bikes storage compartment and withdrew a paper bag. He handed it to the man and started the hover-bike up with a loud roar. Without so much as a backwards glance the courier sped back off into the desert.
When the dust had settled, the man opened the bag and took note of the items. It contained two soft tacos, nachos bell grande, two beef chalupas supreme, one cheesy gordita crunch, and plenty of hot sauce. An alert popped up on his wrist comms that read: "Your DoorDash order has been delivered. Please rate your delivery and don't forget to leave a tip for your Dasher!"
The man smiled, closed the bag, and turned to begin his ascent back up the rocks; to a place where he could enjoy his meal in peace and admire the harsh beauty of this desert world.
"You're about to ruin a perfectly good friendship."
Her last comment to me before she took her fourteen year old daughter with her on vacation. She was headed south, Atlanta, Georgia, to visit family. No one has heard from her since.
After three days, the police went through their procedures. Both Georgia and New York states had been notified. The school had been asked by the police to make certain that they be informed the moment that the daughter was seen.
A week turned into two weeks, then a month, then two. Each time I speak to any of her friends, they have no new information to add. Her family down south said that she stayed for a week, then that she was driving back to New York; sight seeing along the way. Her work by now must have been distributed among the people that she manages.
Life continues in the way that it does. Soon, she would become a memory. People have to get on with their lives.
I thought that we were better friends. What a selfish thought on my part. We never discussed dating exclusively. That was a conversation on reserve for when she got back from Georgia. I honestly felt at the time that we had a chance at being happy together.
Her daughter and I seemed to be getting along. I remember vividly the look on Genevieve's face when she had mentioned wanting to go to that restaurant that serves the four hundred dollar stakes, how Amada looked at her mom and exclaimed, "Four hundred dollars!"
I had tapped Amada's shoulder and said, "For a piece of meat."
We paused then. Burst into laughter and leaned on each other for support. Genevieve had stared, not knowing how to react.
I can only imagine that she felt happy that her daughter and I were getting along. Confused that it had happened so quickly. Afraid because the possibility of permanence with our own relationship was becoming more of a probability. Afraid as well because both she and I had been in prior relationships that were supposed to be permanent, but ended.
Our first coffee date had been a blast. We talked for three and a half hours. The only reason why we had to stop was because her daughter called her, reminding her that she had to go home.
"I didn't know that you have a curfew."
"Apparently, I do."
We had laughed at the notion that the tables had turned. The teenager scolding the mom When I suggested that we get together again soon, she replied with, "Definitely."
Later that evening, when I had returned home, just before I took off my coat, I received a text thanking me for "an awesome date."
Three other outings later, we were still talking for hours at a time. The excitement of the new? Had we really connected so deeply, so quickly?
"Where did you go?" I stare out of my window at the night. Eleven storeys below the traffic on the parkway flows steadily. A horn blares; her face disappears. I sigh and notice my own eyes staring back at me in the reflection on the window.
I need a distraction. All of this not knowing isn't good for me. I need to exercise.
What if you're hurt or trapped? What are you doing to keep yourself and your daughter safe? I'm too distracted to exercise. I'll go for a run.
Somewhere, near a quiet town reminiscent of decades past, under broad, clear skies, and amidst oaks and aspens shedding their leaves once again, a woman named Melanie arrived at the lake. There was nothing particularly striking about her: middle-aged with thinning hair and sallow skin, who had no ambition nor strive in her youth, and now reported to an office as a secretary for a large insurance company that cared neither for its clients nor its employees. Her life was dull: unremarkable, planned out, methodical, predictable.
She had never felt any significant desire to be daring or spontaneous, instead choosing to settle down into a mundane but sufficient life. However, something changed yesterday. Melanie had seen a picture of the lake the day before in a discarded travel catalog on the sidewalk close to her home, now hundreds of miles away from where she stood. On a whim, as if it was almost calling to her, she had booked a flight to Vermont and immediately set out to see the lake.
The drive through the forest to get to an open area of lakefront in her old, rented Ford had Melanie grasping the steering wheel with wet palms, her nerves fringed with anticipation for a reason she could not quite place. Thoughts raced through her mind as she reflected on the past twenty-four hours. Hastily booking a flight and departing with only her purse and a coat, she now realized, was something absurdly out of character for her, something that she would never have imagined herself doing. “Why?” she wondered to herself. Why did her heart pound so rapidly within her chest? Why did she desire so strongly to see this lake? As she drove through the forest with her empty stomach and stale clothes, she found that despite her rash choices, she didn’t seem to care.
Finally, after reaching a secluded part of the shoreline, she abandoned her car and hiked up a short way till she stood on a small, cliff-like ledge. The strong blue currents lapping against the rocky shores of the lake entranced Melanie as she stared at the rhythmic movement, almost unable to take her eyes away from them. “How beautiful!” she gasped aloud to no one. From where she was standing, she could see the expanse of water spread out far and wide under the cloudless sky with the occasional cluster of oak trees scattered along the shore. A thought quickly flitted across Melanie’s mind. She remembered that the travel catalog had depicted many groups of families and friends laughing and traversing the water in boats, but where were they now? No cheers of laughter, no creatures swimming beneath the surface, and not even the songs of birds were present. The water was beautiful yet barren. A heavy, leaden feeling settled in her chest before her mind suddenly cleared and she remembered why she was there. “To see the water, of course,” she exhaled with a grin.
She stood on that small ledge for hours. The sky grew darker and the temperature cooler as night approached, yet Melanie had no urge to leave. Everything in that moment felt completely right- her underlying hatred of herself and her unexceptional life soothed and disappeared as she listened to the waves crashing against the rocks below her.
Suddenly, in the dimming light, a flash of movement in the water caught her eye. “What was that, there, in the distance?” she thought to herself, her pulse quickening with concern. “A hand? A child’s hand? Oh god, was someone stuck here all this time?” Without hesitation, she suddenly began making her way down the steep ledge, tripping and stumbling over rocks in the dark. Loose stones seemed to evade her feet as she sought stable ground, cutting her calves and causing her to wince in pain as her ankles twisted and bent at unnatural angles. She didn’t care. She needed to know what she saw. Finally, she stepped into the lake. One foot at a time, she trudged into the cold, inky water, gasping from the pain in her wounded legs and seeing her blood create red swirls in the water she left behind her. She didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Further and further she went, as if in a daze, unable to stop as she felt the frigid water rapidly rushing up her body.
Whatever she saw in the water, she could see no longer. There was no hand, no child, no one on the verge of drowning in the dark. There was only Melanie, now struggling to keep her head above the water, coughing and sputtering as the lake water seemed to tug her further out. Her heart felt like it could nearly explode with panic, yet Melanie could feel her fear being placated by a strange, muddled state of mind. Something wanted her to go deeper, yes, deeper into the water below. She could feel her body protesting with all its might. Somewhere deep in her mind, she could hear cries of “No! No! Please, no!”, yet the urge to comply with that inviting feeling overpowered that small voice of consciousness, so far off lost in the sea of her thoughts now.
At last, with an unnatural sense of calmness, Melanie allowed the desire of the water to slowly sink her to the bottom of that frigid, dark lake.
All we left behind
Maybe years or months passed by, I don't count anymore. Your voice is still in my head, and the way you made coffee in the mornings, then came and woke me. You're still here in my dreams, you're still mine in my dreams, sometimes it's like another reality. I don't know if it's better or worse, since you left, I'm questioning everything.
You left here your scent, maybe the only reason I can still smell it is that I still buy your favorite candle, even though I don't really like it. I bought the candle yesterday because I missed you a little more than usual, and that scent is you. It's just as refreshing as you were in the mornings.
I have to leave this room too since I know you won't come back. I left all the windows open for you, hoping you would fly in, like a bird, like that burd you caught so carefully one day. Why was I even waiting for you? You can't come back to me anymore, you're a ghost now.
I packed my bags, and I'm ready to go now. I have to leave everything behind too. Everything is just a memory now, there is no reason for me to stay here. It was harder letting you go than I ever thought it will be. We went through so much together, I knew you for so long, I thought it gonna take forever to let you go, but I did. It was hard, it broke me, but I let you go.
I still didn't drove since the accident, I couldn't. Who knows what could happen if I drove again? Maybe I would go after you, maybe I would send someone to you, which I can't handle again. One innocent person died because of me, which is more than enough. They say it's not my fault, but then who else's is? If I look more closely, I could've seen the other car, if I looked more closely, you're still with me.
I have to leave everything here. If I don't you gonna be stuck here, but you need to rest. I just need one more moment here, then I never gonna talk to you again. I love you. I know I didn't say this enough, while I could, but I really love you. Goodbye, my angel.
Don’t Leave. Please.
Rushing through the alleyway, I routinely checked to see if they were catching up. They were.
Forcing myself to run faster, I could barely hear the sound of my shoes hitting the concrete as it was getting drowned out by the heart pounding in my chest. “Faster, come on, faster,” he repeats, practically shouting. Looking behind again, I see his eyes seeping with desperation.
We continue running while surrounded by brick buildings, never seeming to reach the end. Their calls get louder, my breaths get shorter. I slow down a little, allowing him to catch up with me. We exchange glances and he can tell that I’m in pain. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re friends with someone for most of your life.
The road starts to get closer and closer, giving me a little bit of hope. Slightly wincing as my feet stumble over a rock, I keep going. The thought that we might succeed powers my legs which are yearning for rest. With the end so near, I start to go slower, not thinking about anything else but sleep. He notices this and slows down until he’s right next to me. “What are you doing? We’re almost there,” he questions me.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” I tell him, taking short, sharp breaths in between some words.
“Come on. Once we finish this, we’re done. We’ll be able to get out, for good this time,” he says and starts to run ahead again. I nod and hold back the tears, just like how he taught me to. My brain yells at my legs to pick up the pace, but they don’t listen, almost stopped at this point. The road is so close, and yet I remained paralyzed.
“Go. Go and give it to them. Then you’ll be able to live the life we always talked about,” I yell ahead and stop. “Don’t worry about me.” He stops as well and rushes back to my side to try and help me move again. “No, stop. Please just go, you’re so close,” I tell him.
“I. Am. Not. Leaving. You. Got it?” he says, pausing in between each word. I jump as I hear their boots hitting the ground and lessening the distance between us and them. I look up at his face and can tell that he’s plotting something.
“What are you planning?” I ask. He just shakes his head.
“Promise me you’ll get out of here, ok?” he says, more so telling me than asking.
“You have to promise me that you’ll get out of here.”
“I-i promise, but you’ll get out of here too. R-right?” I trip over my words. He stays silent and pushes me towards the road. My body goes into flight mode and sends me running away, away from them and away from him. ‘Please say he’s following,’ I think to myself. When I finally reach the end I look back, expecting to see him right behind me. However, he hasn’t moved from where we were before, which concerns me. I can slightly see him reach into his pocket and then hold his hands out in front of his chest. He’s pretending to have a... “N-no!” I shout. He looks at me and his eyes are urging me to go. I want to stay, I don’t want to leave him. But apparently, my brain has another plan because I move backwards and turn the corner.
Then I hear the gunshot.
And then come the sirens.
I pull the hood of my jacket over my head and shove my hand into my pants pockets. “I thought you said you wouldn’t leave me,” I mumble, finally letting the silent tears flow.
The Last Good One
Death, long enamored of his mortal charges, watched them ceaselessly. He loved them, in his own way; the way an immortal, ageless being unconstrained by time and space can love the tender existence of a finite and flawed creature. He loved them like the fragile things they were. He was buoyed by their triumphs and burdened by their losses. Their quirks and strange habits brought to him a sense of wonder, though at times he could be heard clucking to himself, not unlike a broody mother hen, as his charges were up to something one might describe as 'no good.'
But...all things considered, they were largely good. Their love could be unconditional, boundless, unending even in the presence of Death. It was often he would come to call and, beckoned closer by the waning cadence of their heartbeats, would feel the pull of their devotion to one another. There existed between all those who were loved a cord of spider-fine silk, nearly invisible and stretched tight between them as if to keep them from his hands just awhile longer. The taut string would sing with his gentle tug, plucking from it a singular word, an imploring and tremulous, “Stay.” And often Death allowed it, for just a while longer, because he loved them.
Oh, the good ones were always the hardest to take. Not because Death was frightening or malevolent because, really, Death was neither of those things. Dying could be, of course, but Death...was like slipping away to another room from an overcrowded party, one where the good cheer is choking and the revelry a miasma and the small talk almost metastatic. It is the studious defection away from the noise, a flight from the clammer of those busy with the brilliance of living, through the door that allows you, finally, out into that brisk night. Death is the first inhalation where your chest burns with the cold of it, your face stings with the chill of it, and beneath a sky tossed heavy with stars, you are free. You are at last unbound, undone from the mortal coil and unleashed into the endless. Death had always been fond of an Irish goodbye.
When Death would arrive, punctual to no fault and precise to the second, it meant we must close the book, shutting for good its well-thumbed pages and worrying ourselves no more at how the story might end. For here our end stood, not at all as we pictured. Perhaps it was just the finality of our own conclusion, of our brightly burning final chapter now extinguished, that made the thought of Death so fearsome. To gaze upon that countenance meant we had arrived at the terminus, end of the line, time to depart. It meant that all we had dreamed about, hoped for, wished of…all of the things that could possibly be had already been and there were no more things that could be….Perhaps this was what made Death so maligned to us, made us dread his attendance and resist his attentions.
The heart of Death was heavy, as he understood he must now take The Last. He knew it must be done and he knew where he would find her, as sometime before Death had claimed that which was most dear to her, the Last One's most Beloved. When Death had come for her Beloved, he had felt the familiar ache, the pull of the silk, heard the trill of the string. But it was all sharpened, almost too painful to be near, and when Death leaned closed to listen, he had understood. The Beloved had known that with his parting, the Last would truly be alone, the singular mortal soul left behind in a world that had very nearly finished dying. The Beloved wanted nothing more than to remain here beside her and he had often hoped that Death would come for her first so that she would not be alone, that she would not end her days only waiting for his return, but even Death did not decide these things and so he had come for the Beloved first.
Death had taken the string in one hand, lamenting in his own silence that he must mar the gossamer sheen of it, that he would quell forever the sweet, familiar song of it. The Beloved had kissed the Last one more time and, taking her face into his hands, pressed his forehead to hers, desperate to memorize the face he had loved in life and would carry with him now into Death. He looked once more into her eyes, finding them empty of guile or malice and full only of love, and here Death had quieted the aching in his heart. Death gifted him with stillness, allowing the Beloved a moment of memories in place of the terrible knowledge that she would be alone in a way that no mortal soul had ever been. It was just a moment of kindness, but it was enough. The Beloved was taken back to the day when he and The Last were first brought together, and the memories that should have faded with time like well-loved toys were still vivid, kept vibrant through the unexplainable sorcery held by all the things we cherish.
It was when the Beloved had wrapped himself in these moments, saw himself with his hands cupping the sweet face of The Last, that Death had taken him by the arm, severed the ties that held him to life, and they had simply stepped away. It was in this hushed lacuna, after the last lingering echo of a single word had withered away into nothing, that she had become The Last.
Now, Death had come for her. Settling next to the small soul who had been left behind, he wondered at how such devotion had endured in a thing so slight. Death was forever enthralled of them, these good ones, and he marveled at the strength that nestled in such frail beings. And they were frail, weren’t they? The eyes of The Last had once been dark and shining, lined with bristly lashes and quick to chase the form of her Beloved to whatever far reaches he might venture. Now they were dull, milky orbs that could make out only shapes, the vaguest of forms that were all some variety or another of gray shadows. A dying world emits little noise, and this was perhaps a blessing, as her hearing had almost entirely deserted her as well. It might have been less cruel if it had gone completely, as sometimes The Last was certain she heard someone calling for her, very faintly and from very far away. She would rise, stiff joints shivering to hold her thin body upright, and she would twist her face towards the sound, hoping to catch it on some rising wind. But it would fade away, always, as if it never were, and likely, it hadn't been and she would lay herself down gently, once more sheltered in the place where he had left her, and she waited. It was here that Death had found the Last, still waiting for whatever it was that would bring her Beloved back to her.
Death reached out to trace the graying fur that speckled the dog’s muzzle, following its path from her nose across her cheeks to where it finally spread out like the wings of some snowy moth to encircle her eyes. As he did so, The Last lifted her head, an enormous task with what little life her body still held, and laid it across his knee. Death placed his hand on her head, feeling the angles of her bones and the lightness of her being, and heard the labored drumming of her tail against the ground. Once, twice, and then The Last could do it no more. She only gazed up at Death patiently, her heart, so soon to be stilled, comforted to no longer be alone. Death stroked her head, and she closed her eyes, and as the time between her breaths grew longer and longer, he knew it was time.
So they sat this way, Death and the dog, in the backyard of the house on a planet in a world where nobody lived anymore, only this little soul, tired and on the precipice of the end. Death listened and was surprised. For the first time in all time, he had no need to quiet a restless mind. He had no need to bequeath the mercy of memories to her. She was waiting. Only waiting.
Death reached for the string as he had always done, expecting her to cling still to life and this grizzled world because it was all she had known, but this time, it was not the word ‘stay’ that sang out across the universe. There was no mournful beseeching, no doleful imploring. It was only her name. It was clear and brilliant as it rolled across the void, cutting through it without hesitation and she heard it. For one brief moment, unfathomable to we who can be ushered away by Death, the entirety of the universe existed only as her name.
She would wait no more. Her Beloved was calling her home. And so she went and she was no longer the last.
And so our world was emptied of its last good soul, and it was only the lingering ripples of our dying that prove we ever lived at all. All was still and quiet as Death thought of the dog, missing quite suddenly the weight of her head laid upon his knees. Death felt very empty and he sighed, but there was no one to hear it.
At noon on July first, everything stopped. In that instant, everything in the universe became permanently stuck in place.
It happened on a golf course whilst playing a round with my brother Michael. Our weekly hacking excursion was therapeutic; a chance to swap stories and ponder what advice our father might give, if he were still alive.
The morning was clear, but now storm clouds and thunder was approaching. It was getting closer.
"This looks bad, we need to leave," Michael said. I knew he was right, but I was winning. As if to prove his point, winds picked up suddenly and the cloudburst hit. We ran for cover under a nearby oak. As always, he was right.
The last thing I remember was the blinding flash.
I woke up on the ground, soaked to the skin. I sat up and was relieved to see Michael sitting in the golf cart nearby. But something was wrong, he wasn’t moving. At all. Nothing was moving, everything had stopped. I wiped my eyes as I stared. Raindrops hung motionless in the air like a film on pause. Overhead a bird was suspended mid-flight and my brother sat unblinking, a stone statue with a look of surprise on his face.
“Michael! Are you OK?” I tried to shout, but no sound came out. My throat went dry as panic rose; surely this was a nightmare? I closed my eyes tightly to make it go away, but it didn't.
In the distance a lightning bolt was stuck to a flagpole and cars on the freeway sat parked. I tried again to force myself awake, but it didn’t work.
I looked down and saw something familiar: my body. It too was perfectly still, lying face-down on the ground.
As I entered inside the auction house or maybe I should call it palace cause the outside view was breath taking. I believe that it used to be a castle or something back in the century past or more and now it became a place where people, rich and billionaires can have an expensive party or gala with the finest wines and alcohols with cigars only the greatest.
Inside the building, the view was way much more beautiful and velvet. Candles on the wall, statues of soldiers in the corners and in the middle shields and arts. I imagine rich ladies and gentlemen talking, drinking the expensive wines and the waitresses going here and there offering drinks and food while other billionaires having cigars on their hands. Ladies with old fashioned dresses talking about who cheats who, who got a divorce and yet still showing their pity faces to other women. In this building I can imagine ladies with taste on good men or ladies that are looking at the most dangerous mafia guys because that type of men is what they go after.
I now, as I try to keep picture another life, I here someone talking and I come back to reality, only to see a guy who tries to offer me a glass of champagne. I smile at him as I take one and before I try to thank him he leaves quick with an awkward smile on his face.
With my one arm fulled by the finest champagne, I keep walking to find me a place to sit. I do hate to talk in this fake people who believe that because they have money, they can buy you too with the funniest flirt lines you could ever hear. As I go to find me a sit, I spot a beautiful, good standing man staring at me. His total dirt black hair makes a perfect pair with his dark eyes and suit. He still staring at me as he takes a sip of his drink and other men still talking to him but he keeps staring at me.
Great! Another probably billionaire man who shows off his money and power to others and maybe thinks he can have every girl he wants. Why would I bother to profile me anyway? It's not even my type of guy. He probably has a bimbo, giving her money to buy her dresses and anything she wants. The more I look at him, the more I get annoyed.
I finally found a chair to sit down and the auction was only 5 minutes away. I was very nervous, I needed to take this rose no matter the cost, otherwise I would lose my head or worst any other limb of my body or I would end up dead. People like Fernando don't like to lose, oh but when they do, you could be found dead in an ally or in an accident and him getting away with that. I can't believe how I became one of his puppets but I have to do this perfect or else I'll be dead.