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Chapter 9

Author: Angel Mickaella
last update Last Updated: 2024-10-29 19:42:56

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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    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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    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

  • Dreams Apart   PART 2: The Mysterious encounter

    CHAPTER 11: It was noon, and an exquisitely bright and clear spring day. Clumps of building and snatches of parks looked through the clouds like dim islands rising out of the sun arrays. Wallace was a market town, and verily was the opposite of Lowtown. Second-rate, who were considered to be neither rich or poor, but a middle-class people making a living in Wallace. Luckily for them, they were sometimes accepted to do what elites do. They could afford what they could, rather than the ploleterians. The rich, the second-rate and the poor lived very close together but they rarely visited each other's territory. The proletarians' quarters were sharply separated from the sections of the city reserved for the Elites and the middle-class, uncommunicating and opposed

  • Dreams Apart   Chapter 10

    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

  • Dreams Apart   Chapter 9

    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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