“People in life will sometimes tell you the things they feel are best for you, but through it all you must find your own way, your own path. Duplication of another’s success is only an illusion, that of which will deliver to you nothing but false conclusion. Some advice is good but not all, so do not be left in dismay by the thoughts of others, have pride in who you are and stand tall.”
August 9th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
“As he stared at his child he asked why are they so wrapped and twisted, sitting at the rosewood table his wife bought, he then realized they were gifted. And then he shifted, into a world he had forgotten, one he had put in the pot and, watch cook until overdone, until no one wanted none. And then he said son, daughter of mine, you are my greatest gift, for a life without you, to me, would be nothing but a mere myth.”
August 8th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
“If you had wings what would you do? Where would you go? Would it be a place where rivers flow? A place where you can meditate with the birds until your heart’s content or would you just wipe it all away like polos to lent. And what other way would time be better spent, living a life with to not seize the skies, seize the day, tell me then, what would it have all meant?
Life is not a Red Bull, but loving it will surely give you wings. And that my friends would be a time well spent.”
August 7th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
“Do not allow yourself to be judged by the ones who have never tried, the ones that are too scared to let it all out, the gifts they confine. They will tell you they’re happy for you but underneath bestows envy, that of which trembles in their heart times ten, times twenty—like a Kaio-Ken. But my friends, trust in yourself, you are on the right path, you have seen it all—your future, through hyperbolic labs. And it will not get any easier, because you see the stars, you see meteors, while others only see the floor as their eyes become beadier.
Nevertheless, be strong and just hold on, can you hear it now? It’s your theme song.”
August 6th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
“These words I write are like propaganda, who’d ever thought that this would be my gift, call me Santa. And look at them now, I leave my adversaries sizzled like Fanta, then make em shake, then make em pop, and watch their heads just scramble. Eggs, no, need not you dread, I feel I will heal them all and put their envy to bed. And this my friends would be my only notion, I make potions and then spread the good back out to the people like lotion. Can you see it? Has it soaked in? You see, I have an addiction to words but I know this is no curse, no burden, for what has been written and heard in, my past and my future story. Nevertheless, love all, love yourself, and don’t you worry, in this life we were meant to be patient and never in a hurry. It is said that life is short, yet don’t be so quick to burry.”
August 5th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
On that day rain poured like no other. And as usual, people would flee like mice, that of which I had depicted them to be. However, there was no other place that I needed to go. The sound of rain calmed me, molded me, and about time I’d seen a clear day it was nothing but blinding, as the notorious Bane would say. But need not worry, he is not in this story, but another perhaps.
Next to me stood my mom. Her hair was that of crows, dark and slicked back, regardless if it rained or not. Her eyes were sharp and golden like a crispy crème doughnut, and her scent sweet like my favorite cotton candy—the blue kind in fact. She held my hand softly yet sternly as any mother would do their tatter todd. And never did she ever look down to verify if I was ok, for she was always that confident in my potential.
“You see that Oracle. Take a note of this,” said Mom. “Do all that you want in this life before this day, before it comes to you.”
During that time I didn’t understand, of course, what child would. Nevertheless, it would n’t be long before it would all make sense to me. And now years later I stand on that same rainy day like before, discouraged by the world I no longer wanted anymore. What was I supposed to do? I hadn’t found my purpose in life, and to be honest, I really didn’t care, I think. I just wanted to live my life and be free from all the judgment and titles, yet, how could any escape such a plastic world. You had to blend in, and that was exactly what I did.
You see, it had been years since I stepped into a graveyard, and for every time that I did I couldn’t help but feel paranoid and miserable all in one. Lights flickered around me and what I assumed to be mist or fog as well surrounded. Despite it all, I was too caught up in my past emotions. What mom told me had never left my mind. I wondered if she had the chance to do all she wanted, before her time to meet our maker or if she didn’t, because of me.
“Wipe those tears boy,” said a man through the wind.
It was a raspy one, something creepy, like a Camel smoking pedophile. I then asked who it was, hesitantly.
“I used to be something you know. Everyone had high hopes for me,” said the man.
I looked around. Not a soul was there, I could feel that, although, it was the graveyard after all.
“Who is it?” I asked. “What do you want?”
The wind then howled and the rain picked up, just enough to cause a flood, I feared.
“You mean you don’t remember,” said the man. “You don’t remember how I use to do that little airplane thing with you.”
“What the hell are you talking about? And where are you? Come out so I can see you.” I yelled.
And then it happened. From behind me, dirt lifted from the ground, right next to my mothers stone, it was my fathers. I’d sharted myself, just a little, but shut up, no one was around to tell about it. I was expecting a body to come out from underneath the ground, however, inch by inch there a book emerged from it. It was large, as big as a dictionary, however, I knew that it wasn’t for a dictionary had never looked so unique.
“Oracle. I am your father. However,” said the man. “I cannot show you my face. But, I can at least give you this. It was selfish of me to take this with me in the first place.”
I chuckled. He sounded a little like Dark Vader, sorry, I mean Darth Vader—I know how you Star Wars fans get about that. Nevertheless, I walked over and reached down to pick it up. And just before making contact a hand reached up to grab me. It was bony and soggy like a wet slice of bread for it had obviously been deteriorating. It was repulsive and smelt unbearable, although, part of me wondered if it was myself.
The man, my supposed father, then laughed. “I’m sorry but that was just priceless.
“Ok that’s it I’m getting the hell out of here,” I said.
As I turned my back to walk away the book hit me square in the center of my back. It hurt a little but also felt really good. I hadn’t been able to get the kink out of my back for weeks now–who’d ever thought a book would be my greatest chiropractor.
“Take that with you and study it,” said the man. “I’m sure that you will find your purpose through it.”
“What is it exactly?” I asked.
I Knew that it was no average book. And as crazy as life already was the last thing that I needed to worry about was to carry around some cursed book. Besides, I still wasn’t quite sure if the man was, in fact, my father.
“That my child is the book of knowledge,” said the man. “Everyone in this graveyard has written down one piece of advice for the one who reads it, something they learned during the time they were still on the planet. When done they must return it back so that another deserving of it can seep into this knowledge.”
I then flipped through the pages. They were all blank.
“Hey there’s nothing in here,” I said. “Where is my mom’s advice?”
“Impatient generation,” said the man.
“Where is it?” I yelled. “I don’t have time for riddles old man.”
“Your mother, my wife, has not written in it yet. And the reason those pages are blank is so that little impatient boys like you don’t speed read through it. Every piece of information you must embody and learn from. You cannot do so flying through it. It’s not a race. “
I’d bicker with the man more, but this time got no response. And after half an hour of bickering at him, I would move along.
I put the keys in the ignition and started the car and left it in park. I was still uncertain if this was all just a dream or a reality. And ironically, the song DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC would play in the background as If someone was trying to tell me something. I started driving.
About halfway to home and I kid you not, that same song still played. Nevertheless, the drive was good, the road was clear. I looked to my right, to the passenger seat. The book was so unique that I just couldn’t stop looking at it. It jumped but I paid it no mind, I was on a bumpy road after all. But then what it did next was something I nor anyone could ignore.
The spaghetti straps that once wrapped around it started to unwind as if someone had stuck a fork into it. It opened, and from then on my life would change. The first page had opened, the first saying.
“The Graveyard. The place some say where knowledge is lost, and some gone too soon for those roads they had crossed. Nevertheless, that same knowledge remains embodied in your DNA, coded to your core like the apps in PDA’s. In my day such did not exist, leaving my mind in peace, and never in a twist. My knowledge to you whoever reads this is to live your life full and not allow yourself to drown, to feel the beat of your heart and recognize all that has been found. Ding, ding, let us begin your round.”
The book then closed back. I pulled over. I tried to open it again, but it was as if it was glued shut. As I continued to drive back to a place I would be in peace, everything I knew of life would unravel and release, the answers to questions I’d ponder.
August 4th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
“When you’d realize that you loved yourself more than you had ever thought, tears expelled from your lids like rivers by the beloved feelings you had sought. And you are now inclined once more, and forever with your authentic being, alas breaking from the suicidal chains that have always kept you from seeing. You see, your heart has always been bigger than you ever have known, however, it was apparent that you needed more time to heal the scars you had sewn. I just hope you help others with this same lesson, for not doing so would be only a selfish blessing.”
Happy readings and stay tuned for tomorrows short story 🙂
August 3rd, 2018 by Patrick Starks
“I forever see beyond these skies, reaching out to the galaxies in which we prophesize, all in the hopes that there be a god or an angel to compromise for our sinful thoughts and I, just can’t take it anymore, for there’s still more to this life that is to be adorned. And even though we’ve become torn, formed and scorned by the past and the present in our hearts, still, we must hold our reasons to the why, why we start. Our start on living our lives to the fullest, as we jump in front of one another, dodging away all of these conformatist bullets. And yes, call me weird, I might not speak your lingo, and I always get this tingle to why you always ask, why am I still single? However, need not worry, I am blessed to just be alive and have the life I have, you should probably go worry about your own, here’s a tip, become the tree and not the sap.
And as I remain in this lab like a diabolical genius, watch me ride these blessings away, like Alladin, to mars to Venus—we are all so much more, I just wish you could see this.”
July 29th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
Heroes. What if I was to tell you that the person that sat next to you at work was, in fact, a hero. What would you do? What would you think? What would you feel?
Oh, right, they couldn’t be. It’s impossible. That’s at least what you tell yourself, however, it is sometimes the impossible that can be quite possible. Yet, you have never succeeded in such, so how could they? How can they become so iconic? Well, first one must drop their assumption that that person is beneath them or equal. Titles mean nothing in this life. Rather your that person’s boss, older brother, father, co-worker, it doesn’t matter, they are them and you are you. And the differences tell.
You see Bronson was just a young lad fresh out of college. And over time he’d gotten his masters in Law, however, none would have believed at his firm that he was so much more than meets the eye. Day after day, Bronsan’s co-workers spoke of bridal showers, baby showers, trips to places most would have never considered a vacation, nevertheless, Bronson always remained to himself for there was a mission at hand. Now don’t get it wrong, all of which I speak of is what most of us live for in this life today, however, not all are destined for such things, can we agree?
Bronson wanted to be more than average, it coursed through his veins after all, and the idea’s of living behind a picket fence was just old jibberish to his generation, at least it was for the ones that felt life to be more. In fact, his father was his own boss, who owned his own tennis shop, that of which he used to help kids in need off the streets. And the money he made from such he used to get those same kids through school, and the list would go on. His mother as well held her own business, selling jewelry she made from scratch, and there was no doubt about it, she adored the finer things in life. And like his parents, his grandparents were the same for they were the ones responsible for embedding such drive into the DNA of the family tree. And at the end of it all, they all wanted to see a greater life for all. It was apparent that heroism and the fight for independence flowed through Bronson’s body faster than venom from a black mamba, and it was this he would seek no antidote for. Who would?
In such a plastic world that he lived, Bronson would forever hold doubt in his heart. From the half-naked photos on Instagram, to the cars people drove, to the number of trips you went on, to the people you knew—it was all any cared about or valued to choose—all the things that they wished they could be or do. But Bronson was never known to be a fanboy, not in the slightest, and if he was, it would be geared more towards himself for his love seeped more graciously than the sap from an oak tree.
So many of the gifted. So many overlooked by the aroma of false icons, Bronson thought. And little did the fans of these icons know that in the end they only cared about the money, more so themselves at the end.
“I don’t want to be a role model, I just want to do what I love,” said a Celebrity.
Hmm. They would not be wrong to feel this way. Nobody in this life is responsible for no one but themselves. However, if you’re going to stand at the top of the mountain, if you’re going to expect people to follow your lead, bets do it with good intention—something more than the money in your wallet for this is not fulfillment, this is only death. But of course who doesn’t want to be wealthy and have a better life for themselves? But what one does with that wealth will depict if they are truly a hero or a villain in the making, and it is this that is most important for money only amplifies who that person already is.
Even though his mother told him that he couldn’t, Bronson always felt that he had what it took to save the world. It was a mom’s duty to see her child out of harm’s way. Bronson’s mother had seen it all, and she just wanted to make sure that her child was not taken advantage of. To her, everyone was a suspect till proven innocent.
And there Bronson sat in his worn out computer chair, drawings on the walls of his cubicle as he sipped on a cup of tea that he hoped would bring him closer to the perfect antidote to this life we live.
“That Beyonce was so amazing, she’s such an incredible woman. I could never do what she does,” said a woman from behind.
Bronson’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull. It was the one thing he hated—negative talk—about oneself. People who believed that they couldn’t be as great as the ones they admired sickened him. Everyone had what it took to be something great, in his eyes.
“Better to die trying than not at all,” said Bronson. “You could if you’d just stop…”
And just like that, Bronson had caught his tongue before getting himself into an awkward situation. One of which that could possibly get him fired, however, he laughed. They would be doing him a favor.
They say in life you should always start your days off positive. That positivity along with the faith that you bring will gain you a step closer to your destiny. Although, such is easier said than done. With so many irrelevant thoughts swarming around his mind, from nine to five, it would be too hard to ever fully turn blind from thought, that being the negative ones.
As much as he wanted to shed some light on the ignorance of the ones around him, he was taught by his father that heroes must keep their identity a secret, for the ones around them could never truly understand the sacrifices they make or the trail of blood they leave behind. And loneliness would be at the peak of it all—no more clubs, no more girlfriends, no more parties—just themselves and their gift—the only reason to keep moving forward, to stay alive.
But of course, Bronson had always felt such from birth, and it was this he was never afraid of. To hear his own thoughts, to help the blinded, it was all that moved him faster than a can a of Rockstar.
Beyonce, Oprah, Bill Gates, James Patterson, even Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, he thought about them all and the journey’s they took. He looked at the timeline and then became anxious. Waiting for another ten to fifteen, to twenty years, to be big enough to make an impact in the world was something he felt he hadn’t the time for. Something had to be done now. But little did he know that patience was the key to it all.
“If they believe in what we believe, then together we can heal the rest of the fallen,” said Bronson. “If they believe what we believe in, then together we can rejoice, we can be one, we can find our calling,” said Bronson.
And months later Bronson would finally quit his job. His first task was to build a team, however, had no friends within his circle that cared enough—mediocrity was their only mission in life. And for hours on end, Bronson worked towards ideas that could make the world internationally a better place for all. He was, of course, American, nevertheless, he never believed in turning his cheek from the whole world entirely. Yet, on his forty inch LCD, others would disagree to that notion.
“It ain’t our problem. Why should we have to help them?” said a woman on Komo 5. “They need to help themselves. Besides, we have too many problems in our own backyard that still need to be addressed.”
The woman had made a few valid points. But in order to get aid from others, you as well have to give some aid for anything to ever get solved. It is the circle of life after all. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch your back, the saying goes.
We as humans were better than that, Bronson thought. Yet I knew better than he, that he was more than just the average human.
Running footsteps above him then sent vibrations through the ruff. The wall to the right side of his bedroom thumped from a slow to a fast rhythm, and then stopped at the sound of a howling man and woman. It was a Friday night, Netflix and pizza. A marvel show sounded it good, so, he settled for “Black Lightning.” He was never really a fan of DC Comics, however, a so-called witty man made him aware that there was a lot of knowledge that could be taken from a hero’s journey, regardless if it was DC or Marvel. Homework had to be done.
Time went by fast. It was 1am at night. Bronson was now halfway through episode 6, season 1 of Black Lighting. A scream then pierced from behind his front door. More thumping went around but this time he was for sure it was nothing sexual. He then ran to his door tripping over the cord to his lamp. He pulled himself back together and peeked through the eyehole hesitantly. It was a man and a woman.
Crusted hands gripped tightly around the woman’s neck, while all life that the good lord put into her spewed out. She fought but then the man fought harder. Bronson opened the door.
“Hey! Let her go,” yelled Bronsan.
The man smiled. He threw the woman to the side like a ragdoll and then turned his direction towards Bronson. His teeth gritted, along with veins that bulged out of his skin more than a bodybuilder on steroids. He sweated profusely, and the stench of evil emerged from that very sweat like a homeless man in a sauna, if possible.
The man then sprinted towards the door to Bronson’s apartment. Before Bronson could react the two had gone through the door to room 3-406. The man’s weight was now on top of him, and just like the woman moments before, hands wrapped around his neck like a boa constrictor. All life, all fight that he’d been given since birth was now being pulled out of him. Days of becoming a hero were not looking so good. But then it happened.
A power that not many heroes nor superheroes have seen. Not even the great Stan Lee. No, this one was unique in its own way. Through his turquoise t-shirt red glowed from underneath. His eyes didn’t glow, his body didn’t glow, no part, except for his heart. It was like being on a thousand energy drink high or insanely in love, comically.
“What the hell?” said the man.
His arms began slowly reversing from Bronson’s neck, and not long after Bronson would give the man a chin check. The man flew right through the entrance they’d come through. The man then pulled a gun from his back. He fired a shot. He’d hit his target.
“No!” yelled the woman.
For the moment Bronson could feel the burn of the bullet just two clicks away from his belly button. His heart now glowed more radiant than ever, sending energy down to the hole in his stomach. It flowed like nothing anyone had ever seen, like a bucket of paint to a wall perhaps.
“What are you freak?” said the man. “Doesn’t matter. A bullet to the head will surely solve the problem. Say cheese,” the man smiled.
He fired another shot but this time missed. He then reached back over and picked up the woman who obviously should have left moments ago, but we all know how these stories go.
“Step back!” yelled the man. “Or I’m gonna send something pretty to the man upstairs..”
Bronson then took a step back. He feared for the woman’s life. He’d never been in this sort of situation before. The sounds of djembe drums pulsated from his chest, something like that of Jumanji, however, know wildlife came through the walls. Anxiety from when he was a kid, he pondered. He hadn’t taken his meds in years that’s for sure.
The man now let the woman go. He took his left hand and then gripped his left pectorial harder than a bald eagle would do a goat. That was real right? Another story to tell perhaps. Moving on.
The man dropped down to the floor, pulling down all the decor to the window next to him. All was history. The woman ran over to the man and then checked his pulse. Luckily for Bronson that she was a nurse.
“He’s still alive,” said the woman. “But he will need medical attention asap.”
Bronson was still silent. He was in awe. Was it a dreamed? He wondered.
“How did you…” said the Woman.
“Yes!!!” yelled Bronsan. “Yes!!! I mean I knew I had a gift, but holy shit. What am I? How did I get this? I gotta think of a name for myself.”
With her jaw dropped to the ground the woman would slowly pick it back up, backing away from the man like a startled feline. Sirens now echoed from outside. Red and blue pierced through the window glass.
“Did you call the cops already?” asked Bronson.
The woman then raised her cracked iPhone as if she was giving a toast to his heroicness. Nevertheless, someone did. And that’s where I come in.
The room became dark for only a moment. The woman would be removed from the scene as well the horrid stench of the heartfelt man if you catch my drift. And for the first time that was where me and your dad stood, eye to eye.
“Did you guys fight?” asked a young woman. “Was it like Rocky and Apollo? Like David and Goliath? Like Godzilla and whatever he fights all the time?”
Oh, my dear if we did trust me I would not be hear with an angel such as yourself, at least not hear on the ground.
But that was the day me and your dad would work together. I had always searched for someone like him, but in the back of my mind still couldn’t believe how real he was. I taught him everything I know about life, just as I have taught you.
That was the day the Superhero we all know as “Heart Attack” was born. That was the day your dad became a hero. I only tell you this now because you are older and you have a right to use your gift however you’d like. But let this be a warning. Use your gift with good attention. Most importantly, be humble.
Here your father left this for you to have before he disappeared. Maybe you’ll find your as he had once:
To whoever reads this, may your heart fill the emptied
“I have been told I cannot save the world, only myself, but ignoring such in my eyes would have been a bad hand to be dealt. Superhero, me, yeah possibly, however, I feel that in all of us, but can you see?
And It’s a fact. I have a heart too big for this cage that bestows in my chest, but I’d rather be out there fighting then letting thy soul be to rest. Crawl, walk or run, its all the same, I don’t do it for the fame, but only for the peace, we must regain.
They call me Heart Attack, feel my name beat through yours.”
July 15, 2018, by Patrick Starks
There I stood over my Hollywood mansion, over the balcony, sipping on what I would call one of the strongest Martinis to ever be made. The weather was perfect, the morning even, yet the world was not enough, not for me at least. Although, the anonymous beauty that lied on my cloud filled bed would make me feel otherwise—like a pile of leaves she was, like mother nature herself.
I had been called on many assignments in my youthful years, however, it seemed my time in my prime had run out. There isn’t many in this life that can say that they’ve had a license to kill, but for a man like myself that was nothing challenging at all, not in the slightest.
There, of course, were many years before my time when such men achieved this. And first of those men would Sean, the original of us all, the OG, the very one who taught us to fight for what we believe, no matter how much our doctors said no.
Sean was quite the character you see, especially with the ladies, that of which I had heard he was somewhere in Russia chasing love, and none have seen him since. However, ask enough women of this man and you will surely find him soon enough. One would have never thought that an old geezer like he would be into the Simpsons, but he was. And trust when I say if one was ever to put a butter finger in front of this man, it would, in fact, your finger. And the list would go on, undoubtedly.
Second, was George, and not George of the mighty jungle if that’s what you’re thinking. Nevertheless, George could swing on any bullwhip better than Indiana Jones himself, if one asked him to. But I won’t say much about George, for the queen was never fond of him. Although, I can’t really talk, seeing how I was told to never step foot in England again. But that is another story to tell.
Third, was… wait for it, wait for it… Roger. And again, do not be silly, this is not Mr. Roger from yours or my neighborhood. I’m talking about the “Roger,” the one man that made Sean choke on his martini for the first time ever, however, it was his own fault for ordering it wrong in the first place. It’s supposed to be shaken, not stirred if your reading this Sean.
Roger, like Sean, was also quite the ladies’ man, but of course, we all wielded such extravagant charm. Let’s just say we all had a way of making a woman’s you know what go OCTO for cocoa puffs if that even goes together. But don’t judge me, it’s the only metaphor I could think of.
And out of us all, Roger was always Q’s favorite. I mean, come on! He got a bloody golden gun for Pete sake, and his Christmas list would get even more ridiculous over time. Still, to this day Q says that Roger found the gun on a mission, but I know that that’s a bunch of rubbish. But martini revenge was sweet—Q’s burning eyes would show this.
On top of it all, Roger was the highest paid, he had all the money, while the rest of us only got so much as a penny to spare. And just the thought of it breaks my heart, I just never got the chance to tell her how much I really felt, how much she was, no, is my heart. However, I am a Bond, and that will be no one’s concern but hers and I. Live and let die, you gotta live and let die, Roger always says’s. But who was he trying to be? The next Tony Robbins. Heavenly, that would be the day.
But let us move onto the main star of us all, the fifth element, not Bruce Willis, but my older brother and not from another mother, Pierce—the man with the golden eye, although, they were contacts, to be honest. Pierce, in my opinion, was the best of us all, however, he never really got the credit he deserved. Roger would always come in second place next to Sean, but come on, he was never as good as my brother, and if you disagree, then tell your own bloody story then.
A knock on my door.
“Hello, anyone there?” asked a man.
I couldn’t tell for my vision was blurred. The man was in a nicely tailored suit, hair slicked back but not too much, teeth as white as salt, hair dark as pepper, wielding a watch so fancy it could’ve changed the weather. He was tall, six foot I believe, and by the looks of him, I knew exactly what was about to go down. Although, he did look familiar but I didn’t have my glasses at the time to verify. The only good thing was that he knew not of my whereabouts, my advantage.
I then put down my martini by the balcony bar. And behind it grabbed a gun that probably wasn’t really necessary for one man, but exceptional to make all think otherwise of entry into my castle. The woman in my bed, of course, was still asleep, still naked, about as naked as a peeled banana to be frank. There was no time. I took the blankets and wrapped it around her like a burrito, a picked her up and then laid her down in the walk-in closet. She was beautiful the way she slept, however, a future for her and I? That would be another story. I cannot see it but have always felt it. Nevertheless, I had my reasons to turn the other way.
Hard knocks hit the door, and the door handle twisted and turned. I fired a shot of my long-barreled .44 Magnum, the Smith and Wesson model, 29 revolver, just like Eastwood’s. The gun nearly blew off half the door. And within seconds a British flag would be waived from behind it.
I then dropped my guard but just a little. I got a better look at the man.
“Pierce,” I said. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“Me? You mean what the hell are you doing, you nearly blew my head off. And you wonder why the queen kicked you out of England. Jesus.”
I then gave Pierce a look that of which he knew to shut his mouth. And without any further delay, we went over to the balcony bar for there was much to be discussed.
We played our usual game of Texas Hold-em Poker. Unfortunately for me, Pierce was one of the best I’d encounter in my life.
“So did you hear?” asked Pierce.
“Here what?” I asked.
Pierce then took his Macanudo Cigar and put it out on a glass filled with rocks. And what a waste of a perfectly good Martini, I thought.
“Daniel’s got a new movie coming out,” said Pierce. “The talk around town is that its gonna break the charts, possibly make all we have created look like garbage, literally.”
Ah, yes, again, Daniel. The one man, no, the second man next to Roger, Pierce just couldn’t stand. I couldn’t blame him, he literally took his job and made more money off of it then all his films combined. It was a dagger to the chest, something I knew that he very well would not let rest.
“I’m going to call Sean and Roger. We all need to have a meeting about this,” said Pierce as he dialed them from his watch.
“Wait. Hold on, what about the rest?” I asked.
And Pierce gave a grin that of a Pomeranian. It was hysterical. Before I could even conclude what Pierce was planning there sat Sean and Roger at the table, along with the random women they’d bring.
“Nice of you to bring more company fellas,” I said. “How are you?”
And immediately I was shut up. I had forgotten about the sleeping beauty that lied in my closet. There she was, milky skin like Ben and Jerrys, and yes she was just as sweet as such. She was still fully naked as we all watched her glide to the refrigerator like Tinkerbelle herself, to grab what appeared to be an apple juice. I was surprised. I didn’t even know I had any but when you’re a man as wealthy as I, whose ever got time for grocery shopping.
“Nice of you to bring company,” smiled Roger.
I blushed and said nothing else afterward.
“So, let’s get started shall we,” said Pierce. “Who in here know’s where Daniel is shooting his big movie? This is now the time to speak up. It’s vital that we all know.”
We all looked at each other clueless as Alicia Silverstone. Yet, the woman on Sean’s shoulder would say otherwise. She got up and ran to the bathroom. I looked at the beauty with the apple juice in hand, and yes ladies you got me, I don’t remember her name. Give me a break.
The woman in the bathroom knew something, I felt. I then gave the woman whom I do not remember a wink and she would know exactly what to do next. As for us men, we continued to play.
“Goldfish!” yelled Sean.
Everyone in the room looked distraught. We had all forgotten how old Sean was now. Alltimers maybe? Who knows.
“Anyways…” said Roger. “Why exactly are we doing this again, I mean, I have done a pretty damn good job. I have no regrets. Just because…”
“Stop right there Roger,” said Pierce.
The room was silent, and for Sean, no one had a bloody Ace. It wasn’t that kind of game but an old man was an old man, and so, we let him dream.
Glass shattered in the background, scratching and clawing, and heavens only knew what else. I thought it was Blofeld’s cat, but he was supposed to be dead—that cat was old as dirt. Unless Sean had something he wanted to tell the room.
I then ran to the bathroom. The beauty was down for the count, yet still looked as gorgeous as she did before. It kinda turned me on. But no, down boy.
“Christ! What the hell happened?” yelled Pierce.
“That woman, that whore of Seans knew something,” I said.
Sean smiled and pulled out his phone.
“Children I swear. Let the old man show you how its done lads,” said Sean.
He spoke into his phone and said, Russian Love. His phone started to ping and the rest was history. Not long after we all sat in the back of his Rolls Royce.
“If I may ask, Sean. But, how exactly where you able to track her,” asked Pierce, and then Roger.
“Yeah, I was wondering the same.”
“Well, she and I were fooling around the other night and you know,” said Sean.
“No. I don’t think we do,” I said.
“Relax gentleman. Bonds are meant to have fun, are we not?” said Sean
No further questions your honor.
We followed the woman around a corner and through an alley. She was slowing down. Her breast, I mean, her breath was heavy all of which again turned me on like a vampire in the night, for I could see every pump of blood from her neck to her chest being used for restoration.
A gunshot went off. And the woman was down just like the sleeping beauty from… wait I remember now, her name was Lavender, Barretta Lavender. Suck it, ladies! Moving on.
The shot came out of the blue, we looked everywhere until Roger had finally spotted him with his smoldering looks.
“Hey! That’s my bloody golden gun!” yelled Roger.
“Son of a…” paused Pierce.
Sean, on the other hand, was too busy pulling an object out of the woman’s butt. Comes to find out that’s where he’d put the tracker the whole time—dirty old bastard he was indeed.
At the top of the fire escape of a six-story building was the man of the hour or the day I should say, Daniel.
His eyes were as blues Alaskan waters, chin brawled enough to break any man’s hand if hit the wrong way. His suit was the best of them all, never ever getting so much as a speck of dirt on it and if it did, it was easy to get rid of by just a fell swoop.
“Tag,” said Daniel. “You’re it.”
And from then on we all knew it was game on. We all needed to stop him, but there lied a woman no longer with a tracker up her butt, our only witness.
TO BE CONTINUED