Welcome morning!!!!
It all started from an annoyingly bright morning, my girlfriend just left me after an argument over trivial matters. According to her, I don't pay attention, cherish, or love her. In my opinion, life is not just about being loved, loving, or having sex, or all three.
Humans also have to work and earn money for their livelihood.
Love has never been at the top of my priority list or even in the top ten of my life's goals. It's a different story if love could be eaten or monetizable. Alas, I do not hail from a lineage of billionaires; I am simply a struggling individual living paycheck to paycheck.
Unfortunately, that smart girl disagreed with my opinion. Love has made her foolish. She preferred to cry. Not to mention, she left a terrible storm trail in my house. Some things were broken because she threw them, chairs overturned, books scattered, and almost everything was out of place.
My house was like a broken ship—hit by a storm named Chrisna. My wise advice for today, if a woman is angry and crying, run away to save your life. The longer she sees you, the more things she will throw. And the deeper you have to dig into your wallet.
That is, if there's anything left to dig out.
In the afternoon, a young package delivery guy knocked on my door. I had seen his arrival from the house window since he parked his motorcycle in the yard. I always hoped that the beautiful girls would be the ones delivering packages to houses. There's nothing wrong with getting a beautiful smile from those beautiful creatures created by God and brightening the lives of suffering men, especially on annoying days.
I always support women's emancipation.
Opening the door for the package delivery guy, the young man glanced briefly into my messy house and then handed over a delivery receipt along with the package with a suspicious look on his face.
"I am a hot-tempered person," I said, signing the package acceptance letter and glaring at him. "When my heart is unhappy, I will destroy things or hit anyone randomly."
Fear immediately adorned his face, and he quickly fled. I myself smiled cynically while slamming the door. I am not the type of person who enjoys destroying things and finding myself having to spend money to buy them again. Or hitting people and ending up at the police station. I'm the type of person who gets hit and runs away to hide without doing anything.
Maybe I'll curse seven generations... then forget about it for my own well-being.
Sitting on the sofa, I opened the package which contained two letters, a small, antique-looking key, and a cash check. The first letter was a cover letter from a law firm. They wanted to use my services to create a biography book about someone named Alex Bolton.
A strange name, clearly I don't know him. My hand reached for the smartphone on the table to search for that name on the internet. Perhaps he is someone who is aspiring to be a member of parliament or president. After waiting and searching for a long time, it seems that the famous Mr. G****e didn't provide much help in giving clues and information about him.
The second letter contained a handwritten copy from the law firm's client requesting the official creation of the biography. The letter was anonymous, making me suspect that the author of the letter is Alex Bolton himself requesting the creation of his biography. However, there is always a possibility that a child, wife, family member, or someone else wants to create Alex Bolton's biography. Especially if someone named Alex Bolton has passed away.
Another strange thing is that the letter writer requested that in the making of the book, the names of locations, places, and related companies be disguised. I realize that this will be a book of true stories that will be criticized by many people.
Okay, I am indeed a freelance writer who sometimes writes for newspapers and magazines. But, until now, I have never felt like making an offer to create someone's biography book. Although a few times I felt tempted to offer services for creating a biography book for wealthy individuals or famous politicians, especially when my finances were in decline.
In reality, up to this moment, the book I wrote and sent to publishers has never been published. I sat while staring at the amount on the check, which according to him was for the work and accommodation costs during the book's creation.
How could someone trust me to create a biography book, with a cost that can be said is not cheap—just about one year's living expenses—and we don't even know each other?
On the cash check addressed in my name, there was a signature in the name of Michael Lee as the account owner. Perhaps, he is the client who wrote the request letter. I flipped the check back and forth, looking for signs of a fake check. Lately, there have been too many fraudulent schemes carried out by irresponsible people. Including some of my mischievous and playful friends. Hoping I'd be a fool in the bank and laughing at me afterward.
Perhaps only the bank personnel know the authenticity of this item.
The next hour, I returned from the bank feeling incredulous and with my savings account increased. I looked at the calendar hanging askew on the house wall, in the upcoming week, I have no events or appointments at all. If I'm honest, I don't have any plans or commitments for the next year either. I live quite isolated, like famous writers, or writers whose books don't sell well.
My eyes glanced at the backpack lying outside the wardrobe. A pitiful item bought with the dream of a long journey but ended up spending a lifetime in the closet.
Maybe this is the right time to go away for a few weeks, avoiding the storm named Chrisna.
As I've said before, I am not a storm chaser or a storm pursuer. I am a storm runner, someone who flees like lightning when seeing storm news on television even if it's still far away. I grabbed the bag, packed clothes, and just left. Leaving my house in a mess. Even if I tidy it up, when the storm doesn't find me, it will wreak havoc on the house again.
Seeing me makes her furious, not seeing me makes her furious too. Women...
Two days later.I walked in a quiet small town. A place with a cold breeze and lots of trees along its main streets. The residents seemed quite friendly. Following the address written on the cover letter, I arrived at a clinic that looked more like a two-story private house. Several patients were seen queuing inside. Long story short, I met the clinic owner named Claire, her full name being Claire de Violeta. She welcomed me warmly into her office, which smelled of medications, of course, after I explained the purpose and goal of my visit."Who asked you to write Alex's biography?" asked the mid-forties woman. Her eyes looked black and clear. Her physique was not too small, nor too big. However, something about her and the look in her eyes made her seem strong yet gentle. From my experience, only mature individuals who have been through life's rough waves emit such strength. They have extraordinary resilience and give a calming feeling to those around them."I don't know," I said hone
Around 1980A girl dressed modestly looked nervous as she walked past several male and female students, entering a prestigious university where she pursued a nursing degree. A year ago, she wouldn't have imagined being able to continue her education at a university given her family's economic situation. Especially at one of the prestigious universities with tuition fees that made her heart ache."My mother will kill me if she finds out," she whispered softly.The only thing that kept her going through high school was attending a public school with very low fees. The money to pay for her school fees came from the leftovers of her part-time job after deducting her family's living expenses.Four months ago, a representative from a university visited her school and offered scholarships for one semester to a few outstanding students. The university only offered scholarships for the nursing department, as it was a newly opened department. Somehow, she became one of the three recipients chos
"She's always alone. She says she's waiting for the right time to go home. She never stays with anyone. Always alone.""On a late night like this? Did the girl mention her reason?" Alex muttered to himself again. What kind of parents let their daughter wander around until late at night? Ahh... parents these days, I just don't understand.The Captain shrugged as he opened the car door for Alex, "I don't know. Maybe there's an issue at her home. When the time comes, she always walks home alone.""Is her home nearby?" Alex got into his car in the passenger seat, leaving his wheelchair outside."It's about six kilometers from here. At least half an hour to an hour's walk," the Captain folded Alex's wheelchair and lifted it. He walked to the back of the car to put the wheelchair in the trunk and then moved to the driver's seat."Why doesn't she take public transportation?""Maybe it's a money issue," the Captain explained lightly as he started the car's engine. He quickly pulled the car ou
The first commercial product created by Alex was a type of floor and bathroom cleaner. His product cleaned faster and better than other cleaning products sold in stores. Praised by his mother and family, Alex became too excited and made many bottles of cleaning products, so his mother had to tell Jackson and Lily to bottle the liquids and distribute them for free to the neighbours. This was just to get rid of the strong-smelling liquids.The product instantly became famous as the Bolton Family Floor Cleaner. Lily received candies and cakes every time she distributed the product, and Jackson, along with Michael, started quietly collecting money for every repeat request for their cleaning liquid.Since then, Alex began creating various other products and never forgot to add other ingredients he believed would improve his products. He called it improvisation. Alex made cleaning liquids, shampoo, bath soap, and other products. Some products completely failed and had to be dumped into a sp
The first commercial product created by Alex was a type of floor and bathroom cleaner. His product cleaned faster and better than other cleaning products sold in stores.Praised by his mother and family, Alex became too excited and made many bottles of cleaning products, so his mother had to tell Jackson and Lily to bottle the liquids and distribute them for free to the neighbours. This was just to get rid of the strong-smelling liquids.The product instantly became famous as the Bolton Family Floor Cleaner. Lily received candies and cakes every time she distributed the product, and Jackson, along with Michael, started quietly collecting money for every repeat request for their cleaning liquid.Since then, Alex began creating various other products and never forgot to add other ingredients he believed would improve his products. He called it improvisation.Alex made cleaning liquids, shampoo, bath soap, and other products. Some products completely failed and had to be dumped into a sp
Claire tried to concentrate her vision on a reading book under the dim light of the garden lamp.She stared at the hanging lamps above the dimly lit corridor of the west wing, some of which were broken or never turned on for cost-saving purposes. It would have been better for her not to be in this place.The main building in the middle or the east wing should have been her best options. However, the main building always had a lot of people passing through.She never liked crowds. As for the east wing, it required a small fee to enter the cafeteria there. Thinking back and forth, she decided that the quiet west wing was the most suitable place for her, despite being a bit dark.At nine o'clock in the evening, she began to pack all her books into a cloth bag and started walking out of the university into the deserted streets.Some public transport vehicles passed by, and she could only watch them go. It had been a long time since she could enjoy that luxury.Every coin she saved for tra
The university became the only place for her to be alone.There, she could also study and work on her assignments, which was much more comforting than at home. Tonight, Claire found something that caught her attention in the west wing corridor.Among the dark hallway and the rarely opened room doors, her eyes spotted a new announcement paper stuck on the big wooden door of a room in the west wing."Old LibraryOpen 17:00 – 22:00"Claire stared at the announcement paper for a long time and tried to read the writing inside it once again.She knew the university library was located in the main building and always closed at 17:00. How could there be two libraries in one university?Curiously, Claire pushed the heavy door in front of her.Bright light immediately flooded in, and she entered a large room with neatly lined wooden tables. At the back of the room, there were tightly packed bookshelves leaving very little space.A fat old woman sat at the reception desk near the entrance.The w
That evening, the rain was pouring heavily outside the library.The air felt very cold outside, Claire felt so hungry and found it difficult to leave the warm library room just to enter the cold hallway to eat a small piece of her leftover lunch burger.Her eyes were fixed on Alex, who was busy working on sheets of paper on the table.Summoning her courage, she quietly took out a worn plastic package containing a cold, slightly crushed burger from her bag. Claire always took her lunch burger and cut it in half. One half for lunch and one half for dinner. She brought the food under the table.With her eyes still on Alex, her other hand slowly unwrapped the paper and plastic wrapping very slowly to avoid making any loud noise.She was sure the professor wouldn't notice her. Her heart was pounding, her stomach growling, and her mouth watering.She quickly raised her hand and slightly lowered her head to take a bite of the burger. Her eyes glanced at Alex, who still didn't notice her, an