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Chapter 8
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2024-10-29 19:42:56Sheila sat on a green bench of the Holypark, eating her snacks. Her brother's view of the city bothered her, but she didn't let his opinion ruin her love for the city.
It was Monday morning and it was rare to see anyone walking by the park, because most elites went to work to be more rich, and elites went to school to be more educated on being more rich. While dregs can't afford to go to school, or get employed, they become beggars by day and by night, or to some like Sheila, who wanders around the city, goes looking for what to take from the elites.
Roaming her eyes, Sheila spotted an hawker across the streets seated at the corners selling newspapers on a fixed newstand to passersby. She cracked into a smile, and stood to her feet, throwing her plastic chips into the bin next to her. She adjusted her blue dress and hair. As she
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Sheila sat on the bed with crossed legs, staring at the newsprint laying beside her. Her lips curved into a wide grin. "How can a man be this beautiful?" She giggled, tracing her fingers over the Charles's face on the newsprint. She reached out for a scissor, and deftly cut off his face, leaving Mr. Montero and Mr. Spielberg's. Taking up the piece of Charles face, she beamed holding it to her chest.The wooden door flew open and Michael stepped in. Sheila stagged the picture behind her back instantly.Michael planted his old traveling bag on the floor, sighing. His neck-length hair was disheveled and uncombed, sweat beaded his forehead, a shred of his grey shirt was ripped off. He looked as if he came from a clash. He turned to face his sister, his eyes tuning in different emotions of breaking down, or of glittering sadness.
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Later that day, Charles sat alone at the large beautiful garden, paved with rose beds. Shutting his eyes as in the time of meditation, he heard footsteps next to him. "What is it that you wanted to tell me, Mr Hensworth?" Charles asked, the familiar of peachy scent penetrated his nostrils. "Have you come to tell me good news or bad news? If it's good news stay, if not, depart from here. My father has put me in enough stress." Alabaster Hensworth chuckled, shaking his head. "What if it's both good news or bad news?" Charles sighed. "What do you want?" "The interpretation of your dream," he said nonchalantly, "Do you want to hear it?" Charles fluttered his eyes open and g
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Charles sat down in his study, pondering about the meeting he had yesterday with the elders of Elites organisation. They had poured out their thoughts about what they thought of him for the presidential position, reasons could be because Icelanders adored him, and that was a good image for the country, and had graduated with a PhD in politics. The whole meeting was mostly spent of political leaders speaking of his achievements, and throwing him compliments after compliments. Charles was weary of hearing their praises, and felt that walking out of the boardroom would have been the best option, but the leaders would have spoke about his impulsive act, and his father, Donne Spielberg, would have had him on the throat. Earlier this autumn day, Bryan had asked him over to watch the netball game that was taking place later the day, but he d
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Throwing the door room open, Charles vaulted himself to his bed. He was man enough, and he was not going to let a tear flow from his eyes. How devious, malicious Lucy was and he hated her as much as he had loved her. He hugged his pillow to his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw tightened, tears sting his eyes and his heart twisted that he almost felt it tear apart."Mr Spielberg, you called for me?" Constance said, bowing her head.He groaned, and took a deep breath. "What do you think, Constance? Do you think this is my fate?"Constance furrowed her brows in confusion. "What fate?"He turned to face her, his blue eyes soaked. "Lucy is married. She has a daughter and she's pregnant. She used me."
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It's her again, the girl with red hair, smiling at him!It is the first time he find it a pleasant thing to sleep during the day just to see the mysterious redhead girl, and this time the dream was special to him. He saw her face, clearly! When she smiled up at him divinely, tiny dimples appeared on her cheeks, her skin was flawlessly snowy, her hair wasn't red like crimson, but it was the most rich of browns, flaming and fiery. Her eyes, oh yes, her blue eyes were like staring into a pool of kindness. Her perfect full-lips were fruity and gave him the urge to kiss her.When he felt a hand shaking his shoulder, he didn't want to open his eyes, but continues seeing those eyes staring at him, those lips curling into a smile. He cursed whoever had interrupted his dream.“Charles!&rd
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Sheila had by no means thought she would be raided by such an unexpected quantity of money in her whole life. Being charged to pay £625 was a nightmare, and what seemed to reign in her was to find a way to escape this dilemma, but how will she do that? She took a glance towards the exit, but there are two suave men footing at the entrance as if they were conducting the eatery; there were twosome dining at the corner of the entrance, they would only seemed to be interrupted from their passionate moment just to watch Sheila been chased. And there were passers-by; anyone could try to hold her down for pilfering. She had to think of another option. "Miss Sheila, the payment needs to be made as soon as possible. You're paying on cheque, cash or swiping?" Dennis asked serenely. Sheila's jaw had reached to the ground. Why in hell didn't this man notice she wasn't an elite, but a Proletarian? But, she knew she was in trouble, hell trouble. First, she had to find a way to escape this nightmar
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Parkfields overflowed with all breed of persons that not one could fathom how affluent they appeared to be. Boulevards were restricted; shopping parades, espresso bars, and city restaurants throughout Parkfields were shut down in the honour of every elite graduating. The ballroom was then occupied by every young beautiful women and men by 6 p.m. There was a soft music in the background, playing a 1930s classical song titled 'J'attendrai' by Rina Ketty. Hundreds of gentlemen dressed up in tuxedos and women in luxurious and inexquiste dresses from high society were seated around tables adorned with golden platters, having polite conversations, drinking and mirthful laughter from every corner filled the room . In the upper room, Charles sat on a chaise, wearing a well-fitting blue water tux jacket with a freshly white pressed shirt, a bow tie and polished black shoes. Standing beside him in navy blue tux, was Jackson. "This looks to me like a nuptial and it is as if I am waiting on
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Later that day, Charles sat alone at the large beautiful garden, paved with rose beds. Shutting his eyes as in the time of meditation, he heard footsteps next to him. "What is it that you wanted to tell me, Mr Hensworth?" Charles asked, the familiar of peachy scent penetrated his nostrils. "Have you come to tell me good news or bad news? If it's good news stay, if not, depart from here. My father has put me in enough stress." Alabaster Hensworth chuckled, shaking his head. "What if it's both good news or bad news?" Charles sighed. "What do you want?" "The interpretation of your dream," he said nonchalantly, "Do you want to hear it?" Charles fluttered his eyes open and g
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Sheila sat on the bed with crossed legs, staring at the newsprint laying beside her. Her lips curved into a wide grin. "How can a man be this beautiful?" She giggled, tracing her fingers over the Charles's face on the newsprint. She reached out for a scissor, and deftly cut off his face, leaving Mr. Montero and Mr. Spielberg's. Taking up the piece of Charles face, she beamed holding it to her chest.The wooden door flew open and Michael stepped in. Sheila stagged the picture behind her back instantly.Michael planted his old traveling bag on the floor, sighing. His neck-length hair was disheveled and uncombed, sweat beaded his forehead, a shred of his grey shirt was ripped off. He looked as if he came from a clash. He turned to face his sister, his eyes tuning in different emotions of breaking down, or of glittering sadness.
