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WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, SEXUAL REFERENCES & STRONG LANGUAGE!
Chen got a complete lot of work experience in farming, laboring within the construction industry & helping out in a Plastics-producer, growing up in Taiwan. He first commenced working when he was 16. Back then was on a bit farm of an aunty on his mother's side. When he turned 18, he got a job near the capital, mixing cement and engaging in strenuous, guide labor on different construction sites. One & a half years later, he got work experience within the manufacturing sector. Regularly, since he was 8 years old, for several hours every month he would visit the Plastics-producing factory, watch & spend time with the workers by the assembly line. The owner used to make use of his dad & took a liking to Chen. A few workers and himself worked within the molding department where the molten plastic gets formed into cups, buckets and other gadgets for domestic use. Working within the USA by some means felt much easier to him. Taiwan definitely made him sturdy for the hustle of existence. And now with an internationally competitive training, he's privately smirking to himself, within. They say folks who come out of poverty, have the most straightforward work ethic. If there's one thing Chen has noticed since he's been within the States, is that it's one big country of opportunities it's just out there. And if folks can't see them, they're not looking the right way. All he knows is he's going to make a killing, while the killing is good.
Mohammed walks out the door. What he experienced in daunting feelings, of the future becoming more severe every month, combined, nearly upload up to his state of shock right now. This one takes the cake! He leaves the building & starts his 30-minute walk back to the ghetto he calls house.
Lami was inferior to Biodun because of Biodun's complex background:An African born & raised back house, who never learnt his native tongues in spite of his mum and dad hailing from different materials of the continent and having been schooled from nursery to junior secondary level in a German personal school, only to pursue his higher training in England. In the country Lami comes from, it genuinely is a norm to feel essentially threatened when a person has more emotional security than you, a stronger emotional composition. Basically, a more fulfilled existence deep inside, not materialistically. In the country Lami comes from, the vast majority of folks are not enlightened: They may be educated, employed & enjoy many luxuries, but have never lived a second of their lives, because to them, sustaining their extremely narrow-frame of mind, in which everything revolves around their them, is the conventional way of successfully dwelling. The word 'exposed' wouldn't want to be associated with them because it will just feel retarded! It is therefore acceptable for Lami, as a person, to overly feel inferior to Biodun, even though Lami hails from a wealthy family in his country of origin, that he often talked about. He used to tell Biodun how much money his family had, be it his mum and dad, grandmother or other family members, and how simply they used to access the most straightforward society had to offer. But whenever Biodun used to attempt and retain up, and dialogue about his background namely, a boy from a working class family in a rich school, Lami would just become irritated and feel threatened.
(The above story is a work of fiction & a reality-based dramatization. Some of the events have been fictionalized for dramatic functions. Any resemblance of the characters herein to anyone, dwelling/dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named traits herein are assumed to be the property of their respective property proprietors, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if I use one of these terms.)
How they met must have been future: It was on a bus, she entered & sat near him while he was miserable with the trials of his everyday yet by some means she caught his eye. It was love at first sight because the moment he looked at her, she blew him away. She's mixed-race half Somali, half Chinese... he had never seen any one like her! A couple of years more youthful, but that was about all his brain processed about her age. The rest of it just went gaga & joined him in thinking, 'WO-OOW!' Like many beautiful girls do, she challenged his stare, within the beginning. Be it to not feel cheap, or violated, or to front, ...whichever the case may be. He's shy so breaking the ice, publicly, he knew wouldn't be straightforward. But he had to get her, he wouldn't let her get away. So, until she got off the bus, he master-planned his pick-up strains mentally, over & over once more and drilled his motivation ready to engage. She got off, he followed her, in ways that would possibly be termed 'stalking' and met up. She looked at him pissed off, like what the hell is this guy doing, but he just stood there in a dorky posture in front of her and stammered only a few opening sentences, introducing himself. She may perhaps tell he was being sincere but scared, and thought he was kinda cute so did most of the legwork for him. She was in a rush, asked for his phone & stored her number in it. 'WAY TO GO, CHEN!', he remembers thinking as he watched her leave.
The world is not ready for Lauren.
This story is dedicated to the world's childhood, and every other folks who just want to live!
One of the adult males places his hand on his gun below his sweater & warns Mohammed with his other hand held out, 'Young man, this police business. You better sit back before you do something stupid & get yourself in trouble!' Mentally, the adolescent reneges already,... but a small voice tells him, 'GO, you Idiot! That's what they want you to do!' Pushing himself, he shouts, 'YOU ARE CRAZY FOR SAYING THIS TO ME! YOU THINK I'M A FOOL? THE ONLY ONES IN TROUBLE HERE ARE YOU BECAUSE THIS IS HARRASSMENT!' The other cop shields the subject from Mohammed & places him in opposition to the mini-brickwall surrounding the tiny garden of the adjacent property. 'Sir, this is my last warning! I don't want to have to arrest you for public disorder! Now, BACK OFF!' Meanwhile, a woman in hijab looks out the window of the house behind the tiny garden. Holding the lightly transparent, white curtains cautiously, her face bears an obtrusive shock of the sporadic commotion. 'PUBLIC DISORDER MY FOOT! I WILL TAKE OFF MY SHOE & SHOW YOU WHAT I THINK OF YOUR WARNING! STOP HARASSING US IN OUR HOME! GET OUT OF HERE & TAKE YOUR GUNS WITH YOU! WE ARE A PEACEFUL PEOPLE!', Mohammed shouts furiously within the officer's face. He pushes Mohammed back and raises his voice, tilting his head back towards his partner behind him, who's holding the 10 year old by both shoulders, 'THIS MAN IS MAKING THREATENING REMARKS WITH AGGRESSIVE BODY LANAGUAGE !' He now draws out his gun and holds it with both hands in front of him, diagonally to the ground. The shopkeeper of a kiosk quite a few houses down, steps out & stares puzzled at them. Several doors of the houses around, on both sides of the road, open with a diversity of folks coming out.
'Well, I may have never served at commencement but dropping out was the most straightforward thing that happened to me.' 'Say it, girl!' High-fives. 'Yup! You know what my mom said? She was like, I cannot trust you're throwing your existence down the drain! Now she's like, I'm still waiting for that Caribbean photo-shoot. When are you gonna send me the pictures?' Laughter. 'Oooh, your's isn't even that bad. My old ma'am just went, I don't want to house you if you're going to be a prostitute! Every time I come around to visit? I see all my discount coupons lined up. Everything, vouchers - all spread out on her bedside drawer.' More laughter. She continues, 'Macy's... Tiffany's. I thought she used to throw them within the trash! Mango... !' They all laugh out loud. Lauren goes, 'At least I know what to expect. My mum and dad advised me I'm the shame of the family and because I was waitressing for 3 years, they were assured that I had fucked up. Ever since my audition, I've been sending them emails telling how it's going they haven't replied, ever!' 'Mmh, that's when they're switchin' reality!' Chuckling. 'Aw-huh, they ain't out of that shock section yet.' 'Man , it took my dad 8 weeks to trust I wasn't within the adult industry!' Roaring laughter. 'Now and once more when I visit, he still gives me occasional sly looks.' Chuckling. 'Hey, he's just looking out for his little girl. He doesn't want his buddies jacking off to your lil' nana!' Laughter. 'Yeah, I think I heard him speaking of much less Poker nights, recently.' Chuckles. 'Mm-mmm, speaking of Tacos, those...' Roaring laughter. 'Haha, I'm serious! You see those 2 cuties over there? Are they sizzling or what?' Lauren looks over, 'Not my type.' The other two girls have a look. One of them goes, 'If them buns come with that ass standard, I'm taking me some chubby-lovin' back to the ho-tel!' Snickering. The other girl adds, 'Wooh! Mr Lanky is sizzling!' 'I think he's at least 6 inches.' 'Seven.' 'Hu-uh, it better be at least 8 when I ride it!' Laughter.
Mohammed shakes his head, 'Wooow! So, still play politics before they get help?' The girl smiles, 'Exactly, no matter how good your attorney is, once it's within the court, it's any one's game. It's simplest to just ban Asbestos altogether! If you look behind the flyer you'll see an incomplete list of everyday household gadgets that all contain Asbestos: Duct tape, baby powder, generators, adhesives, clay, paint, rope, pumps, mittens, hair dryers,... even cigarette filters! And dozens more. Everyday folks such as you & me need to be sensitized about these hidden dangers, that's why we're out here, raising awareness. We're collecting signatures to send a petition to the government to enact tougher laws in opposition to Asbestos use. We need one hundred twenty,000; so far we've got 35,000 and the space to notify them you are the bearer of the next one is riiiiiight here!' Mohammed grins and takes the pen from her stretched out hand, holds the open folder & signs his name on the dotted line. Next, he returns both to her. 'Thank you, my friend. You've just been a superstar!', she says & high-fives Mohammed. They smile at each other as Mohammed carries on his, now surprisingly uplifting, journey.
3pm that afternoon. The clients just rounded up the discussions and the assembly went fab. She's among 40 girls who'll be showcasing Uh-huh debut summer line. Wealthy arab oil princes, top athletes, only a few star-directors, business moguls and high-ranking government officials all grace the exclusive event. Much like Lauren, the girls can't trust their fortune they're all thankful to have come this far. They, Lauren included, decide to help each other out emotionally, to support themselves through the nervousness & the 'star-struck' affliction.
It's 1pm. Mohammed's at a park not far from his suburb. Eating a small portion of Chicken & Chips from a within sight chip shop. At the top of the slide he sits, dining slowly, thinking about a thousand different things, thinking about nothing. Looking at the graffiti on the park walls, he admires each expression gratefully, though he's seen them one million times. Grateful that he can enjoy every piece of artistic brilliance, for free. Yet how such genius will not be applied to the mainstream of the system of the world's so called most developed countries, he cannot understand. His intelligence is far too high for such stupidity.
Despite having 3 more outfits to wear, Lauren still can't trust her luck. Last week, audition. Today, runway. It definitely feels like a dream come true. This is it. She's finally here. Now. She's gonna milk it for everything it's value. Every available opportunity that comes up, she will sign up for. Whatever the conditions! Anything this good can only house better or comparable probabilities. Having fought the rough times she's been through, this modelling world genuinely seems like a walk within the park. Everything, she's seen before. The nagging, the back-biting, the jealous looks, the evils, the condescendence. She doesn't like the pain she's experienced, but it's pretty much like she's glad to have had it. She genuinely is a titan in this game. And this world is about to become her arena. 10 minutes up, she strains up within the queue backstage, around the corner to the runway. She pulls up the top of her corset to cowl her boobs a bit more. Check. Let's do this! After 5 girls walk on out, she moves beside one of the organizers and takes a deep breath, mentally locking in. He holds the left speaker of his headphone then places his hand up to her shoulder & whispers, 'Aa-and GO!'
Being mocked, taunted & brazenly laughed at was an atypical occurrence. It taught him to search closer ties with the Asian & Chinese community, and the African-American community, whose suburb he lives in. It hasn't always been smooth, but for what it's value, he's been accepted for who he's, and that to him is all that matters. Over the past 5 years, he's noticed a substitute in social dynamics. The Generation Y now becoming young adults, boldly seeking to make their imprint in society and striving for better welfare has modified the society, that affects a growing element of the world. To a lesser extent do folks brazenly profess their racism or xenophobia as freely as before. Now, even the least-linguistically adept, often cloak their violent bigotry with the most simplistic of diplomacies. It's like we have a new police in town & these Hot Shots are fresh out the academy. Chen struggled with both the new language & different system, within the first year of collage. Those fancy, calculator-like, digital translators he wished for every day back then. Now, he's been using a decent one for the last 2 years. His girlfriend gave it to him on his birthday - she bought it at a decreased discount charge, her floor-staff colleagues and her were entitled to, all through the price crash selling within the stationary retail chain she works at.
His 'friends' were never sued.
On her way house, she hails a taxi but the ones that drive by are taken. She'll have to wait for 20 minutes to get to the next bus, but can't be bothered to freeze that long within the cold. After quite a few minutes of pondering on the next move, she decides to walk 10-15 minutes and try her luck once more. Her phone rings. 'Gabriella Cortiz' displays on the screen. She picks the call. Her agent tells her she just got word in that one of the celebrities from the visitor list is launching a new clothing line of chic haute couture for girls. The launch-party is a star-studded event within the desert-oasis of Dubai and she or he's been included within the early casting. 'You made the list, Lauren!' Lauren screams & jumps around like she's just lost her mind. She's euphoric & dances on the pavement, not caring about other pedestrians staring. She goes back on the phone & thanks her agent loads. Gabriella gives her the details of the first assembly with the clients. 'You'll need to bring your passport, work ethic & kick-ass attitude along. Don't be past due!' 'Right. 10am sharp. Got it! I'll be there 6!' Her agent laughs, 'That's the spirit I'm conversing about, my dear. Represent and we'll stack this paper at the same time. Get a good rest. Adios, chica.' Lauren chuckles, 'Bieno, buenos noches, signora.'
A week later, after Mohammed calmed down and spent excess time within the mosque praying to God for additional guidelines, he's back surfing the web within the city library. He's been collecting information on how to go about business meetings & giving formal presentations of proposals and has written a chunk of it into his notepad. When he feels he's had enough, he logs out and prepares intensively at some point of the evening with his simplest friend in his room. The morning thereafter, he meets a friendly, middle-aged man at the Job Centre who walks him up to the third floor into his office & interviews him about his business idea. Mohammed gives a heartfelt, energetic spiel of his concept, that captures the consultant's imagination. The consultant smiles & commends Mohammed's social insight and intellectual creativity. Then he explains the motions he would have to wade through, within the mechanics of the state system, to successfully give his football foundation a trustworthy footing. After 20 minutes he rounds up and requests Mohammed's ID, which he'll run over the national database, while Mohammed fill out some paperwork. The enthusiastic, now joyful, childhood hands out his ID and obediently answers every question comprehensively.
Deep within the cavity of Chen's lungs, several dozen minuscule fibres of Asbestos, reacted out of a lengthy inactivity, spanning over twenty years, and collectively began to permanently lacerate the host's tissue that surrounds them.
Biodun always had a sturdy mindframe. He went through the Hell of chronic British racism in opposition to Black Africans, from the day he commenced collage to several years down the line, all by himself, with out ever having any family to show to. To withstand that insane madness, he had to brick-steel-wall his demeanor to pursue his targets. That would often place widespread pressure & aggravation to his human heart. Regularly, he managed to overcome great problems and social barriers, by himself, but his heart would never tell him of how much it will have suffered. The human body is not designed to be a robot. After a certain build-up of high-pressure over a period of time, it packs up. When Biodun finally returned back house to his West African country, back to his working-class family, who had supported him all his existence and he so loved, the riot was over. The pressure that was exerted on his heart to succeed in high performances, within the end carried his personal heart it had become so weakened. When he hugged them at the airport he slumped and died.
Being stunning and gaining everyone's attention is one thing. Being in between two countries & fighting your way through a third, is one other. Being frequently ridiculed by students and obnoxious professionals for being among the working poor, tops it all up. More often than not, she just wants to break down and cry, screaming & violently taking out revenge on everyone who's ever hurt her. But she nurses those feelings to herself & continues to position on the expressionless demeanor, she has mastered over the years. Having a boyfriend would be nice, a person to cuddle up to when the times are bad. That's not been an option for her though, as the majority of guys her age only want to sleep with her & older guys want to apply her as their mistress or sex kitten. Basically, the same thing. Mr Right, somewhere out there, perfectly suited for her, still hasn't found his goofy ass out of whatever labyrinth he's confusing in, to meet his princess. Lauren believes in miracles deep down inside. Modern-day existence has taught her to develop a Scram/If you try it, I will kill you exterior that serves as an equivalent to an eleven-man protective entourage unit around her.
Biodun got kicked out of his residence. He has quite a few days to pack up & leave. He's got about 200 Pounds Sterling and no where to go. He's already dwelling within the poorest element of town, but cannot think of one other alternative. There is one, maybe two components but they're not as centrally located to the city. Being like a poor slave is one thing, but he will not take away the luxury of walking house in 20 minutes or being in a position to access anywhere in town on foot. He's gonna need that much if he's to still feel a bit human. He's got back to the 'friends' who mistreated him. They exploited him because of his poverty because they may perhaps. And they're all African, like him. So, he makes up with the chief-oppressor of the pack, LAMI, and smoozes his way back into his heart. Everybody loves you when you're weak because you pose no threat and lead to them to feel good because you're lower them,socio-economically. Once you become powerful, you're enemy number one. Lami, agreed to receive Biodun back into the shared house he was not an original tenant of himself, under the condition that he would take indignation & humility as his main attributes all through his stay.
At the widespread central fountains of the renovated market square, two youths about his age, are handing out flyers to passers-by.The majority of them courteously receive the hand-outs but as is within the world, quite a few dickheads reject them rudely, making obnoxious grimaces. Like everyone knows they don't take flyers, who are these youths to denounce the golden rule? The girl, wearing a yellow shirt, with 'STOP THE MASS MASSACRE OF ORDINARY PEOPLE END WIDESPREAD ASBESTOS USE' printed in bold, widespread, purple letters, locks eyes with Mohammed & smiles, stretching out her hand. Mohammed smiles back and reaches out to take the flyer. Impulsively he thinks, 'White supremacy is evil but how can I be a racist when I'm accepted ?'
Chen. 28, element-time, Taiwanese undergraduate majoring in Nano Technology & working full-time in his mom & dad's food outlet in Los Angeles. He's the oldest of his 4 siblings, all of whom are girls. This had him become a stronger, protective particular person. The under-dad of the family. Chen works weekdays within the family business & 20 hours on weekends in a pizzeria as a delivery cyclist. The money he earns in tips, his mum and dad have inspired him to position right into a non-chequeing savings account. So far, he's accrued $8000.
The next day, she arrives at the 5-star hotel at 8am & waits within the foyer until the assembly commences. On her phone, she tests her Facebook, posts only a few Tweets, then listens to her iPod the rest of the time. Looking at the existence of the business taking place, she can not help but to wonder, 'One day, I will be here! And then, it'll be me walking around VIP, with porters carrying my Louis Vouitton travel bags!' She shakes her head and smiles for a minute then goes back to her world of great mixes of even better music.
Now speaking quieter, 'That's why they call us Arabs, even though we're Persians, but do they care?' Swallows. 'We're all Sand Negroes to them!' Wonders, 'I've never ever even been to Iran. All I know is my house-country. But I'm both!' Shaking his head he says, 'So how the hoot can they treat me like a bloody pig in my house?' Downs the last sip of soda and crushes the walls of the can with both hands. Holds it in front of himself and goes, 'If this can is racism, institutional racism and imperialism this is what I think of it!' He places the can horizontally between his palms and squeezes it at the same time. Then looks at it from different angles. Throws it to the ground, while saying, 'Allahu Akbar!' Mohammed stays silent for a while and just focuses on nothing, on everything. Afterwards, he find his resolve, 'I can't stop them from being racial to me & negating my existence, but I can prevent it from happening to others like me. Someone has to do something. Someone has to take a stand. This tyranny must stop!' He slides down and chucks the drumsticks-bones within the small lunch-field and into the bin by the entrance gates.
He ponders, 'I'm sure graffiti artists don't mind giving their art to the ghettos for free, but what's innovative about a labour market if it leaves actual proficiency out within the cold and quite promotes absurdity: A handful of mostly white, male painters who draw a line across a canvas, point a gun to themselves and then have their insanity hailed by all the critics as avantgarde, leading-edge art?' He shakes his head, grabs only a few chips & takes one other bite at the drumstick. He looks at one other graffiti-covered wall, then glances at them all, around the park. 'And what does the government say? That they're vandalizing public property which costs a complete lot to wash up. Well, maybe if they provided jobs/opportunities within the first place, there wouldn't be so many ticked off youths, who feel omitted, neglected & make themselves noticed only by messing other folks's stuff up!' He sips from his soda can. 'Let me be affordable, only a few millions is a complete lot of money for only a few Euros in art source.' Then he screams out, 'BUT NOT AS MUCH AS SOCIO-ECONOMICALLY EXCLUDING US FROM OUR OWN COUNTRY!'
In that period, Lauren got her wound taken care of: The mild grey powder was removed from the burnt flesh & the wound was disinfected, cleaned, temporarily stitched & dressed. Anoushka got the piercing underneath her thigh taken care of. The medic looks at the girls' top strung around it. She then glances at Lauren being in her bra and places 2 and 2 at the same time. Dressing the wound, she says, 'This bleeding is from a important artery.' She looks at Anoushka. 'Your friend saved your existence!' Anoushka looks at the medic but is simply too shaken to reply whatever. In her thoughts she says, 'I know!' When they get to the health facility, Lauren's vitals get weaker. The medics rush her on the gurney through the corridor inside, the medical doctors on standby outside the main entrance transport Anoushka off the ambulance and into an operating theatre. All three items run after them then stay within the waiting room. It takes 20 minutes before they get the first report. A young doctor comes out of the operating theatre and tells them Anoushka will be pleasant. They are relieved and hold each other's hands & pray for the most straightforward.
Time goes by. 5 minutes. 8 minutes. thirteen,... it seems to be crawling. That fire must have charred their time in there as well, 'lead to it doesn't feel prefer it's going as fast as it usually does. When you meet a person and you get to know each other you click, you connect, you have a laugh and times flies. When you risk losing a person, it doesn't matter how much you hope & pray, time just takes its time. 21 minutes go by. 24. In the twenty seventh minute, a firewoman tests into the waiting room and tells the girls that lead to of the explosion was a leaky pipe at the mouth of a gas tank that got incinerated near the central heating boiler. The blast was contained by the internal walls separating the utility chamber towards the back from the rest of the dwelling room. 'The whole building may perhaps have come down. You're lucky to be alive. Have yourselves checked out and get some rest quickly.' The firewoman wishes them well then leaves.
Biodun already got so messed about from dwelling within the UK that he did not mind anymore if he had to lose out a bit: He no longer cared about the pettiness of a superficial everyday existence he just wanted a roof over his head. So he moved in, into the basement of an old, crickety house because there was no spare room available, Lami moved into the last one. The basement was a dark, humid place with pipe fittings, old bricks, coal-covered walls & more cobwebs than a spider lair. Huge bins, rats & creepy crawlies he did not want to annoy being to, filled half of the space. There was enough dust in there to kill a miner off respiratory illness and combined, may perhaps make the sand on a beach sneeze. And so Biodun hustled all through the day and returned at night. Going to bed after they'd all watch TV, being passively stoned from their Marijuana smoking. The basement was only about 3 feet high so he always had to hunch into it then crawl onto the mattress laid out for him, tuck under his duvet, look at the widespread, portable heater heating up the cold room lastly, then fall asleep hoping God would retain him safe from whatever dangers he occupied the place with.
Life within the village of a rural area in Taiwan, where he was born & raised in, has stark differences with existence within the USA. L.A. is one big city and his place of birth definitely doesn't have as many skyscrapers & massive highways. Where his future will lead him to, he has no idea, but he'd like to retain up a correspondence with his family and feature his girlfriend with him. His phone vibrates. He just approaches a waiting streetcar. He tests his phone it's a message from her! Must be good karma. He texts back as he boards the vehicle. Deletes & re-composes several times. And then: SEND! Dinner, DVDs & sleepover is organized for tonight. Chen & his girlfriend, Lian, catch up with. They work hard & don't stop saving. Using what they've got to do what they can, they progress towards their dreams, with every unmarried day.
His dad is a taxi driving force & works many of overtime to cowl the bills & secure a bright future for the baby girl. The bulk of the cash having said that has ended up with the utility providers, the landlord, the local council & the taxman. Not exactly a particularly affluent household. Not being materialistic, Mohammed doesn't mind that; he has the identity & affinity of his neck of the woods. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the opportunities for young, immigrant Muslims... not being there. So he drifts: He opens his mind up to the world and becomes a common at the town library, reads the magazines & browses the Internet. Wikipedia becomes his favourite website & he takes an interest in Middle Eastern & Asian cultures and their historical affects. As time goes, he stimulates his intelligence so much after only a few months that he decides to launch a football foundation for talented Asian tots, that educates them on their continent's cultural diversity & empowers linguistically in an Asian language, other than their native personal. Brilliant idea heaps of enthusiasm & boundless imagination. Mohammed wants to apply this organization to integrate abroad youths deeper into French society & in turn show Christian, white French a positive side of their neighbors, value supporting.
The waitress looks at Lauren in her bra. [Coughing] 'If I were a Lesbian, I would so do you.' 'What makes you think you're not going to?', wryly replies Lauren. 'Because there's a hickie on your neck.' Lauren chuckles & places the spinned top gently below the injured thigh. 'I'm here on business & last night we picked some guys up & got a bit crazy.' The waitress smiles. 'But don't act all innocent with me. Is that your iPhone over there?' The waitress peeks over. 'Someone's definitely sprung.' The waitress looks away. 'Ex,... still fucking... I dunno what we're doing.' She watches as Lauren wraps the top around her thigh. The place is gradually becoming an inferno and the temperature is rising. In some materials, the roof is caving in further into the dwelling room. 'Guys are like bargains.', Lauren says tying the final knot. 'There's always something better out there!' The waitress just looks at Lauren. 'Listen, I do not know why you're being so nice to me but I wanna thank you for all you've done.' Lauren looks at her. 'You're welcome. But thank me later because I will take you up on that Flaming Hooker!' She strokes back the waitress' hair, 'What's your name, babe?' 'Anoushka.' Lauren smiles. 'OK Anoushka, in leading-edge-human spirit, everybody has left us here to fend for ourselves. This place looks prefer it's pretty much coming down and the firemen haven't arrived yet. Let's, go!'
France Has A Beautiful Diversity. Fight Racism Against Non-White French Natives !
10 minutes later, they gather the energy to walk and go be with the waitress, Anoushka. Halfway down the path, Lauren's phone rings. Her handbag is still around the shoulder of the girl she left it with & the model forgot all about it. She grabs the BlackBerry out & shows the two other girls the screen. They huddle around it, shaken to be accessing Lauren's phone under such circumstances. The girl holding the phone touches the screen and opens the SMS from sender 'Mom & Dad'. They try not to cry as they wade through it. It reads, We've realized our mistake in never believing in you sufficient. Forgive our old-fashioned views. We can't wait for your first visit house. Love Mom & Dad xoxo
Frankfurt. Lauren just wrapped up a high priority photo-shoot for a corporate provider of stationary & office equipment. She and quite a few other girls had a blast playing 'boss' and 'chief execs' in a complete floor of a downtown skyscraper belonging to a Russian billionaire. Gabriella just got advised, that the customer will book the complete team once more for subsequent shoots for their online/catalogue promotions within the coming months. The team is excited, the girls high-five each other. Before returning to their hotel, they go for to color the town purple a bit bit and let their hair down. They take a taxi to the city centre then proceed their purpose of only a few, innocent drinks. A small dwelling room with saucy purple-neon colors looks cozy. Standing by the entrance is a bald, 6ft5, 250 lbs suited/booted 40-something year old, observing them approaching. He opens the door and welcomes them in. They giggle as they unashamedly undress him with their eyes.
Mohammed looks startled. 'Wow!', he says, 'Is there no cure for it? Maybe medicinal drug or something?' 'Little is known about Mesothelioma but more is known about Asbestos. Diagnosing Mesothelioma is tough because its indications can fall under different types of illnesses. Treatment is for the very rich. It's so expensive, most folks who have had it, couldn't afford it, so suffered and died. Some go for to go to specialized mesothelioma legal professionals to sue the establishment they got afflicted in & use the payout for millions to cowl their medicinal drug costs, if they get lucky.'
The cop finds nothing & turns him around. 'You see all these residents?', he points across the road, prompting Mohammed to take one other look, hesitantly. 'They're all disturbed or upset, and it's YOUR fault. You think some of them wouldn't mind seeing you get arrested for causing a scene for no obvious reason? ANSWER ME!' Mohammed nods, tears now flowing down his face. 'Part of being an adult is understanding that you you're not the only one who has problems, my friend. Taking out your anger on others & not assessing a scenario before you act on it, is wrong! Now, I want to trust that you're a good boy who made a dumb mistake. I'm going to tell myself that letting you off, is the right thing to do BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO PROVE, RIGHT?' Mohammed wipes some tears away. He nods once more. 'That's exactly what I knew you'd say because you are GOOD! Now, go house, drink juice & get some rest. You'll feel better afterwards. Get outta here!' Dejected, Mohammed slowly crosses the road amidst some locals whispering to each other & quite a few quiet insults. Getting house, he runs to his room, shuts himself in, drops to the floor & cries.
'What's this?', he asks. 'It's a petition calling for the international ban of the active use of Asbestos in industrial and domestic products. Asbestos is a mineral that's extracted from mines. It's popular in industrial and commercial use because of its versatility in product creations & high resistance to heat. It's lethal to people because the fibres that break away from it are straightforward to be into the body by inhalation and lead to a rare malignant cancer, called Mesothelioma. This illness commonly grows within the lung cavity, around the heart & abdomen and gives the bearer up to 2 years left to live after diagnosis, generally. It's a time-bomb because it takes decades before it shows the first indications.'
By the end of the year, Chen's mum and dad' food joint booms and expands right into a neighboring location. It's taken over by his mom, who's hired only a few excess workers on a full-time basis. Chen shuttles in between both department shops whenever he helps out. At the end of his studies, he emerged simplest not only in his class but within the history of the course running at the collage. He got an overall grade of 90% and commanded the respect of his course-mates, especially the ones who never took him seriously. Such is existence because the underdogs rule!
Under frightening conditions, Mohammed was interrogated for a full two hours. When they covertly acknowledged amongst themselves that they had no hard evidence to nail him, that he was telling the truth and they must have made the arrest in error indeed, they released him half an hour later back into his holding-cell. After that, they called his mum and dad & advised them when & where they must pick him up the next morning. Mohammed's father was infuriated and shouted he would take legal actions in opposition to the station & the complete force. The officers at the reception desk gave him several attorney numbers to start off from. Given the fast unfolding of the incident & the obtrusive similarity in looks of the suspect & Mohammed, the squad is confident they will be exonerated of their fault and ordered to make an official apology to Mohammed in writing. To protect & serve involves these things and if such mistakes have to happen within the interest of the safety of the rest of the community, then it's a small price to pay.
He folds the flyer into his pocket. 'Unbelievable!', he ponders, 'Baby powder?' His thoughts go to his little sister and her potentially establishing Mesothelioma. 'Who's gonna pay for that? The supermarkets? The manufacturers? The government?' As he arrives at & walks into the city library, he exclaims mentally, 'Crazy!'.
She steps to the stage & runs off. Bright lights. The glitz and glamour. Smooth music. The expressionless look she sporting activities to get through existence is paying off: She pretty much feels like she's not trying to not smile at all. A huge, long runway and a ton of seated guests all around, gazing her every move, scrutinizing every inch of her you're-likely-not-gonna-wear-this-to-work outfit. She loves it. Maybe her inner narcissist is coming out, but no particular person ever gave her any meaningful acknowledgement, not even a brief notice, so this must be nature's way of making up for it. Lauren struts and man, does she show them what she's working with. She moves confidently and sways her hips side to side, as smooth as a feather lightly blown by the wind. She's transferring fast but it feels like she's in slow-movement. It's pure surreality. A girl from the backside, who everyone always taunted, is now the commandment of the attention of the cream of society. Fall back! As the night draws to a detailed, all the items walk at the same time down the runway and show the guests the complete collection, one more time. Then the fashion designer, a senior woman, walks out, holding the hand of none other than, that's right, Lauren! The crowd cheers and gives a standing ovation. Lauren tries not to get emotional 'lead to it feels a bit too much for her. The couple walk smiling passed the folks, relishing the thunderous applause. Lauren looks at the guests and recognizes only a few A-list celebrities cheering on. If this is her entry into the mainstream, it's one she'll never fail to remember.
Fast forward 8 days and the international fashion just occurred. It was a raging success. The critics loved it, the guests were wowed, the designers secured several juicy retail contracts, the employer got paid, the girls are buzzing & Lauren is over the moon. She's had an informal encounter backstage with a worldwide-famous photographer who's keen to work with her on a photo-shoot for a customer within the luxury actual-estate business. From then on, she books her calendar pretty much out. Singapore, Paris, Milan, Rome, Athens, Shanghai, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro, New York, Doha, Canberra, Cape Town, Marrakesh, Buenos Aires, Miami & Moscow all fill her schedule, making her employer VERY happy. In only a few months, she makes an affect on the emerging-starlet scene. Below the radar, she's one of the industry's simplest-kept secrets. As she ticks off in her to-do list, new shows spring up. And she just maintains cashing in. Is she rich? No, but she's not poor either. She's entered a new rat-race and even if she doesn't progress to any extent further, she's happy being where she is because she finally feels like she's commenced what she's supposed to be doing. For the first time in her working career, she feels an overall sense of belonging. And boy, does it feel good to have compatibility in.
10 minutes go by and he sees the first few leading-edge buildings, jewellery department shops, upper-end clothiers & fashionable restaurants. In his black Nike hoody, dark blue Puma tracksuit bottoms, black Nike Shox & blood-purple New York Yankees baseball cap worn backwards, he doesn't feel self-conscious about his appearance or think he's out of place. He's fallen past that and doesn't give a damn anymore. With his hands in his pockets, he walks with a confident swagger, unafraid of his house his society tries to restrict him from. He glances on the road & sees a wide vary of supercars, lined up within the parking spaces. Lamborghini Aventador. 'I thought that car isn't out until next year!' Maserati GranCabrio Sport. Brabus CLS. Triumph Daytona, in front of a Ducati naked bike. Drophead. Jet-black Novitec Rosso F430 Spyder. M6 convertible. Nissan 370Z and open-roof Evoque Stretch with a muddy Scott Sparks Limited mountain bike in between. Mohammed stops for a while & admires the vehicles.
Seconds later, the guard of the fancy eating place storms out & apprehends Mohammed. He pins him down then drags him up to his feet . Somehow, Mohammed snaps out of reality for a moment: He cannot trust what just happened. He looks shocked at the security guard, who demands from him, 'Let's see some ID!' Then he snaps back to reality and powerfully pushes the guard back, in one short burst. 'I'M A BLOODY FRENCH, YOU IDIOT!', he screams at him. Some of the guests, at their tables behind them, fret at the sound of the scream. The guard steps back to him, 'I'M WARNING YOU, YOUNG MAN. I have already notified the patrol team and you better adjust to me if that you have to remain out of trouble!', the guard threateningly points his finger in Mohammed's face and carries on yelling, 'NOW SHOW ME SOME ID!' Mohammed smack the guard's finger out of his face and fees into the guard once more, getting more livid. 'I'M FRENCH! I'M FRENCH! I'M FRENCH!', he now begins to stream tears down his face in pure anger. The guard this time resists & grabs Mohammed's arms, attempting to throw him to the ground. Mohammed though is filled with rage, that comes with temporary insanity and begins punching the guard's torso in fast, successive hits, from the neck to the abdomen. They increase in power and sustain painful injuries to the guard, more intense with every blow. The collective guests behind start off panicking and move away from their tables, towards the outside windows of the eating place, but Mohammed unknowingly blocks out everything else happening around him & just hones in on his target. He screams on, 'I WAS BORN AND RAISED HERE, I'M FRENCH! WHY SHOULD I SHOW YOU MY ID, YOU RACIST, BLOODY MORON?YOU CANNOT TAKE MY FRENCH-NESS AWAY FROM ME! I'M FRENCH!' About 30 feet away, 2 armed policemen haste towards the scene and draw their guns out. 15 feet away, they stop and yell, 'FREEZE!' Mohammed meanwhile is crying in his rage & doesn't hear a word as he punches the security guard on the ground, whose face has now turned right into a bloody pulp. The adult males open fire of a round each. Mohammed is hit within the back below the shoulder and around his kidney and is catapulted forwards, to the ground. It's a pain like no other & he's not sure what happened to him but his instincts take over and he gets up sloppily and takes only a few steps in an try to sprint away from the hazard. The policemen step forward and pump a combined 8 bullets into the 19 year old French childhood. Mohammed defencelessly imbibes every unmarried shot and gravity with his momentum slam him down to the ground, with no remorse.
The time is now fours years down the calendar. Biodun's opened-up chest from the autopsy has given the information needed. His lungs contain an accumulation of asbestos fibres/residue, the material commonly used in old piping. Given that the coroner was advised that he had spent only a few weeks within the basement of an old house, it adds up. Some of the fibres were also found beneath the membrane protecting his heart. What stood out the most was just the widespread volume of thick dust & a black powdery substance, pretty much like powdered tar, built up over widespread materials of his lungs and in some important arteries. What his lead to of death is, is now conclusive: Biodun died of a fatal combination of asbestos fibres tearing the lung cavity furthermore to acute environmental poisoning that obliterated lung tissue and corroded important arteries. His heart may perhaps not cope with the surplus in blood, crucial to alleviate the ailing organs and was already dealing with a weakened output, due to the abroad particles within itself causing permanent injuries.
Meanwhile, 3 firemen from the outside run towards the panoramic window, swing their axes and break into the glass. Lauren struggles with the pressure on her wound but continues marching on, step after step. 'Keep going... you can do it!', her mind rallies her. Both girls are streaming tears down their faces, but Anoushka's still crying while Lauren re-instates her demeanor. Half way across the blanket. The firemen have now damaged through enough glass to climb through the hole within the window and get the girls out. Irratically-blazing flame-tips are being whipped worldwide within the the girls' bodies but they soldier on. A fireman is in. They're past the flames! He rushes to them and grabs Anoushka off Lauren's arms. He turns and hurries back to the damaged window. Once they start off getting Anoushka through it, Lauren, several steps behind, blacks out & collapses. The firemen outside look through and yell, pointing inside with panic. The fireman inside leaps to Lauren, lifts her up in one swoop and gets her out the fire-storm. She's still conscious but has a weak blood pressure. 2 gurnies are rolled over right now and the firemen place them onto it. An oxygen mask is have compatibility around Lauren's lower face & both girls are carried into the same ambulance. The items have been watching the rescue from behind the police line and haven't stopped fretting for Lauren. When they see both the waitress and Lauren stretchered into the ambulance, they dump their one-night stands, run to the EMT and insist on going along. Two of the girls ride shotgun, while the other, carrying Lauren's handbag, jumps into the back cabin with a medic. They rush off for 12 minutes through the city, weaving in & out of traffic with the driving-dexterity typically associated with race cars.
This day is over.
34 minutes since the first information. 37. Finally, at the 40th minute, a doctor comes in and approaches the girls. They've all been crying and their cheeks glitter semi-dried tear-streams. They stand up and meet him. The senior, in his 60s, with a painful look on his face, looks at the girls and says, 'Your friend is a fighter! She suffered a deep 2nd degree burn to her lower forearm. It resulted in a substantial volume of blood loss. There were significant traces of a powdery material rubbed into the wound. We discovered it had entered a main artery in her arm, which directly caused blood-poisoning. She inhaled many of smoke, which greatly burdened her heart. She fought to remain alive, vehemently. However, her heart may perhaps not bear the additional pressure from the blood-poisoning. She slipped right into a septic shock and never made it out. She died 2 minutes ago. But she fought to the death!' He pats the items by the shoulder, 'I'm sorry for your loss.' As he leaves, the items pretty much simultaneously start off crying. They hold each other and sit back down. They do not know what to do, what to mention, where to go. They. Are. Distraught.
They met for a date for a date the following weekend and the rest just took off from there. Her name is Lian & was born in New York but her family moved to Detroit quite a few years later, before residing in L.A. when she was 16. He gives her a sense of stability, she maintains him at the same time. They're kindred spirits with spectacular differences. The world they live in is fast-paced. Their world is in accordance with a challenge. They grew up quick to attain the maturity that enables them today. They're older than most of their age-mates, mentally but are not genuinely into mingling with their seniors, whose conservativeness often feels off. It's hard to have compatibility. They match. That harmony is needed between Taiwan & China. If only China & Taiwan may perhaps get along.
Britain is a scenic country with a very endearing culture & heart-warming folks. In Britain, racism towards Black Africans is covert. Therefore, my apathy towards the country's quite a lot of racists is evident, likewise. Since I did not mention specific names of institutions & places or blatantly identify folks of focus, the finger can also not be directly pointed at it. Very British!
Half an hour go by and Mohammed's been studying a complete lot of information on the Asbestos use worldwide. Once it got too depressing for him, he switched to the exotic sporting activities cars on symbol directories online. It's early evening now. He logs off and leaves the library. 'I'll check those cars out once more on the way house.' He walks through the market square & looks at the spot where the canvassers were, but they've left. 'I'm only interested by her, to be honest.', he goes on thinking. 'She was have compatibility!' Not long after and he's within the uptown element of the high street. The cars are visible already down the road. He gets excited. '700 hp, 0-62 in 2.9 seconds!', he's getting closer. Looks to the snowhite Aventador with all-black rims, ahead. 'That must be an experience!' Meeting up with the cars, the restaurants & bars around got livelier. Even the rich enjoy happy hour. He stands next to the Novitec Rosso F430 Spyder and crouches near the front wheel to peer at the headlights.
The following morning, both Mohammed's mum and dad & his baby sister come with his simplest friend, his father & uncle to the police station. It turns out a robbery at a liquor store occurred not far from the place of arrest, in which a shop assistant was stabbed, lost a complete lot of blood & now lies in a coma, in Intensive Care. The officers had been patrolling the street at the time of the incident & rapidly caught up with the fleeing culprits. The youths dispersed into the side alleys, while some jumped over fences and ran through random houses. The patrol team of 5 break up, with two breaking apart to chase two separate robbers, the driving force keeping up the pursuit on the road, and the other 2 officers chasing a medium top, slim build , fast & nimble, hooded thief. He was wearing a black sweatshirt, dark tracksuit bottoms & running shoes in all pretty much matching Mohammed's appearance. He disappeared around the corner by jumping right into a fenced garden, fast-crawling into the corner with the perpendicular fence demarcating it from the neighbors, and lied on his side, as close as he may perhaps to the garden fence, with his arms & legs fully stretched out, then held his breath.
Walking down the street, he feels a stronger sense of empowerment and much less of a feeling of helplessness: 'I can if I want to. I only have to position my mind to it.' 5 minutes later, he's pretty much house. Turning into the cul-de-sac he lives in, three figures in front of the house on the corner across the road, catch his eye. He recognizes two them they're the same undercover cops that once searched him, at the start off of the year. Looking at the third figure, he becomes appalled, thinking, 'What the... that's 10 year old youngster!' Mohammed hesitates for a moment, then runs towards him. 'WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, HUH? WHAT IS WRONG INSIDE YOUR HEADS?' The adult males look surprised at the angry approaching teen. Mohammed steps onto the pavement and waves his arms violently, yelling in spite of being terribly terrified. There's no doubt he's shivering but they won't see it from his tracksuit.
Lauren. 21 year old Norwegian/Latvian, remarkably attractive blonde free-spirit, waitressing in Toronto, aspiring to be a model. Lauren is quite smart & hated by many younger women, for obtrusive reasons: Their boyfriends can never retain their eyes off her. She contends with draconian clients who treat her worse than slaves, jeers & insults from the unemployed/under-employed childhood of the poor neighborhood she lives in, crap pay & inflating dwelling expenses. It has compelled her to make her mind hard & her spirit indomitable, though she often feels helpless & defeated. Lauren is a lovely particular person who loves love, classical/folk music, nature, surfing & libraries. Put her in either & she's free. The big city with its expensive everyday existence makes her no exception to the pinching to the pinching poverty commonly plaguing a significant volume of its population. But Lauren has a dream & in spite of acknowledging it's taking her longer to fulfil, because the criss-cross maze called existence compelled her cope with all the unforeseen events it's thrown her way, she's not giving up on it. She'll just have to enter the modelling world tougher, colder & more cynical.
After his commencement, on a lovely, picture-perfect summer's day, Chen & Lian held a small reception & got married. The guests included folks from his neigborhood, co-workers, some course-mates & friends from collage, quite a few past employers, family some of who visited from both China & Taiwan and well-wishers. The couple were emotional at the same time as they were getting married. When they finally embraced each other and had their first married kiss, the crowd roared in jubilation and gave a thunderous applause. They hugged & stayed hugged for about a minute and just savored the moment: The end of a trying era full of struggle and sacrifice had at last come and a bright, shared future of the rest of their lives had just begun.
Looks at the old see-saw next to him, within the centrally located playground of the park. 'This is likely from 1970, and they expect our tots to play with it!' Takes some more bites off the drumstick. Says, 'You know,... why is it then, that Dutch folks, who visited South Africa for trade within the 17th century,... *BURP*... ended up staying,... I'm sure with out visas,... and then settled down, hijacked it 'til the past due 20th century, put the native inhabitants of their personal bloody country under apartheid, that the West at that time supported,... never got expelled like the Romanis and are now universally accepted and famous as white South Africans? Imagine what would have happened if the Romanis did the same here!' Continues chewing, begins to bop his head slightly as he cheers up. 'I guess when you're white, whatever goes!' He pulls his nose & spits to the side. 'Anything goes,..', he says as he picks the last few chips left and places them in his mouth.
The waitress returns with a smug grin, albeit not quite over her confusion yet. On handing out the drinks, Lauren asks, 'Spent the money yet?' The waitress replies chuckling, 'I bought quite a few bottles for the night.' 'That's my girl!', Lauren replies, high-fiving her. One of the items holds her glass up and says, 'Make sure you get a bottle with a long neck because it has its makes use of once it's empty.', twinking her eye at her. The waitress laughs as she turns and leaves. Lauren peeps at the two guys once more. 'Listen, Mr Lanky is likely gay or a playa.' 'Why do you say that, Lauren?' 'Because he's attractive!' Laughter. 'OK, I'm going in.', a model says, as she pats her hair. 'Watch my swag!' They erupt in laughter once more while she walks off. 'Shake those hips, girl!' 'Strut your stuff!' 'A few days since the last show and she or he's still walking like a model.', Lauren jokes, 'That's commitment.' Her homegirls crack up. 'My girl's likely paranoid there are proficiency scouts worldwide, ever since she made her audition that got her 'til here.' Laughter. 'Paranoid? Nah, homegirl I bet is self-obsessed like what. She'd wear make-up & get her hair done, just to take the trash out. But hey, I can vouch for that!' Laughter. 'Same here!' 'You know that includes me!' The Lauren says, 'Aw, you're only so biting my fashion.' Roaring laughter. A couple of minutes go by until the fourth model returns with the two, now blushing, guys. Their faces are blood-purple & they're so excited, they're pretty much drooling on themselves. The girls try not to laugh out loud, in spite of looking at each other & understanding what they're thinking. They greet each other & introduce themselves. Lauren excuses herself to the restroom, letting the girls watch over her handbag.
Students, young professionals , unemployed youths, senior citizens, a dad with his tots behind him, a lady in a wheelchair. Put them next to each other and you may perhaps comply with the colors white to dark brown on a spectrum. The cop with the youngster taps his colleague and tells him, 'Stand down, I got this!' In the same movement, he walks to Mohammed, grabs him by the collar & shoves him to the parked car by the kerb. Standing right in front of his face and now raising his voice, he says, 'Now listen up good, boy. The way it stands right now is YOU provoking, verbally assaulting & inter-personally harassing a police officer on duty. We are now legally entitled to take you in and charge you with several counts of gross public disorder for which, if you are convicted, you can serve a prison sentence. I do not know what's gone into you but that boy you think we're searching is a lead witness of a burglary that happened just up the road. He can positively identify all 3 criminals, who broke right into a lonely pensioner's house, assaulted her and stole her electronics & mobile phone. We were nearly to jot down down their description when you, drama-queen, decided to theatrically aggravate this largely quiet area. Now, to ensure you're no further threat to the community, I'm gonna have to frisk you as a precautionary measure. Turn around and put your hands on the roof!' Mohammed turns around and in disbelief places his hands on top of the sedan. His eyes begin to tear up. Some residents across the road give him disapproving looks & go back inside. A few giggle & call more of their family members to lo & behold. The rest just stare on, empathizing with the childhood. Like seeing how restlessness drives an idle particular person too far.
Patiently his mum and dad listen to him when he explains his idea but caution him to go about it sparsely, so as not to trust every particular person he meets along the way. The following morning he intends to go to the city centre & search recommendation on how to commence his start off-up at the job centre. That same night, he walks to his simplest friend's house to have dinner & watch a DVD. Shortly before arriving at the block of flats he lives in, he notices his shoelace is undone. Next he hears a siren approaching fast. He looks back & sees quite a few armed police officers running at him with their guns aimed at him. They scream, 'FREEZE!' in an explosive urgency, then pounce him onto the concrete ground. They frisk him from head to toe. The content of his pockets are 5 Euros, a mobile phone, a wallet with an ID card, a bundle of keys & a folded-up piece of paper labelled 'business plan'. They cuff him in spite of his haggling protest, while his simplest friend and his family come out of a block's entrance. Seeing Mohammed being dragged to the police van, his simplest friend runs after them & screams 'HEY, WHAT THE...? STOP THIS CRAP NOW, MORONS!'. One of the cops turns round & with a stern face threatens to arrest him as well if he doesn't back off. Mohammed maintains on shouting at the officers, asking why they're doing this when he did nothing wrong. The other cop just throws him into the steel cage within the back of the police van, slams the doors shut, then enters the vehicle at the front. Mohammed's simplest friend, slowly breaking out to tears, quietly speaks out in incredulity, 'What the...?', as he watches the adult males start off the vehicle & turn out the parking space. Standing within the middle of the road, he watches the van zoom off down the road, leaving only its brake-lights blur out into the night.
At a complex eating place right behind him, some guests sitting at their table, outside by the pavement, notice Mohammed & become irritated. A 50-plus woman from the group gets up & talks to the guard at the entrance, discreetly pointing her finger at Mohammed. The guard nods repetitively, then the girl returns to her table. The guard looks through the glass windows of the doors into the eating place, then leaves them unattended & walks to the pavement, staying quite a few feet away from Mohammed. Standing in front of him, Mohammed has no idea of what is going on behind him. The guard maintains a sharp eye on the childhood, with the type of look that would make you think Mohammed just psychically broadcasted to everyone within a half mile radius that he was gonna jack an expensive car in broad daylight. Mohammed strolls slowly up the high street, once in a while looking into the car windows. The guard takes out his mobile, dials a number & makes a call. After 5 minutes, Mohammed leaves the place. Decides to wade through through the city centre to the library and read up about those cars.
What were once two highly-endangered components on his back have now become his entire body. He's losing his consciousness, but his mind manages to slip some thoughts through, 'Got... stand up. Can-can-not... give up!' A gentle soft voice in a mild but bright shining mild appears right before his eyes. His body continues to writhe and contract within the indescribable convulsions. Soothingly to his senses, it tells Mohammed, 'It's OK. I am here with you now. Let go.' He shall we go.
She places Anoushka's arms around her and lifts her up. A set of burning ceiling tiles suddenly drop at the end of the bar counter, in front of them, blocking their way out. 'Don't panic!', Lauren tells Anoushka as she places her back to the floor. She gets up, looks around, opens only a few lockers below the bar, then cusses out loud, 'DAMN!' Anoushka lifts her voice, 'If you're trying to find something to position out the fire with, there's an old fire blanket above this cupboard here.' Lauren steps to it & reaches up but can't get to it. She looks by the side door, then stops trying. She rapidly fetches a pair of the stacked-up beer crates & piles them on top of each other, at the base of the cupboard. They're not very secure, and wobbly. 'Damn it!', she thinks, 'In & out. Let's go!' She firmly places her first step along the edge and powers herself up with both arms stretched out. Finally she reaches behind the top edge and pats along the upper surface frantically. A package, lean like an old laptop, is felt under her right hand. She desperately grabs it, turns around & jumps down, off the crates. Anoushka coughs profusely. 'Hold on, we're gonna get out of here. Just sit tight!', Lauren exclaims. Anoushka nods her head but maintains on coughing. The room is turning right into a blazing furnace. The flames have risen several feet high and the CO2 is choking the oxygen out of the atmosphere. Breathing is getting an increasing number of difficult & Lauren knows this, but still she continues to tell herself that they must make it out alive. And so, she ameliorations her breathing rhythm to one deep breath to 3 short ones then e-x-h-a-l-e.
Biodun. 26 years old, broke, flirting with homelessness. Been kicked out of 3 of the last shared flats he lived in and day to day fared worse within the thick racism to Black Africans he was exposed to, that is universally famous as normality within the British society he lived in. Already spent 5 years, getting to know & working here. Pumping more tens of thousands in Pounds Sterling in abroad direct investments into the country, than collective British (under-educated) expatriates ever did themselves, within the same period, in Sub-Saharan African countries. He came open-minded, keen to experience the world. He experienced all shades of racism known to mankind. Now he's hatred-filled, mentally dangerous, anti-social, progressively posing a menace to the safety of others & himself. Viva Britannia!
The clock just struck 3pm. Chen is on campus, within the library. He's been getting to know hard since 12 noon. He gathers his notes & journals at the same time and exits the building. It's examination time so the buzz of the campus has extensively died down. Pockets of small corporations of students still spring up, here & there. Probably of folks who are in collage for the socializing. Must be such social butterflies, they prioritize the experience above the training. In comparability though, the library has become the assembly place of most. It's always a bit off, seeing folks who are known to go like once a month to the library. They've got a sense of fish out the water. When you're within the actual world, those consistent, close-knit community events are a complete lot more sparse & not as open to whatever. University in that respect genuinely does give an unparalleled experience.
He looks around the park, it's empty. Going back to his thoughts, 'But wait, I forgot, our dermis is darker and our roots, which they say is the main indicator of heritage, do not come from here. Not that their's do either, but interestingly that's irrelevant.' He speaks out while munching on only a few more chips, 'I wonder,... Romanis,... or Gypsies as they're racially called, have been in France since the 15th century. The FIFTEENTH bloody century... and they're still not French!' Grabs some more chips & munches with his mouth half open. 'Over six hundred years here and we still can't give the brethrens nationality!' He takes one other sip. 'They're interestingly claimed to be from Northern India quite of Eurasia, maybe because that makes it easier to expel them off their bloody land within the first place!'
Mohammed. 19 year old, football ace from Iran. He's 3rd from 4. His two older brothers have left the family nest, a combined ten years ago & have found wives and settled down. The oldest returned to Tehran, to raise his tots there, in spite of reneging on the benefits he may perhaps offer them by staying in France. The baby sister is still under ten years & the active care of the loving mum and dad. Mohammed lives within the nest, keen to get out, though the reality facing him, becomes more daunting every month. Young, Muslim, unemployed, not in collage though intelligent & restless from the social neglect of immigrants/foreigners do not make him appear favorably to regional security. Living in a largely Islamic community, his friends, cousins & him have had to cope with their affordable share of anti-Islamic, social discrimination within the Western 'War On Terror', locally. Consecutive stop-searches from plain-clothed policemen on a common basis are just some of the ameliorations they've had to position up with. There's one thing Mohammed loves doing, which transports him right into a worldwide of sheer happiness. He's been kicking a ball since he was 3 and hasn't stopped playing Football ever since. He's got skillfulness, is agile & has incredible tempo. It's evident he's talented & everybody he plays with, tips him to play at a important level one day. For some reason, that hasn't happened.
Live
Once within the Ladies' Room, she washes her hands & restyles her hair a bit, within the reflect. Suddenly, an explosions bangs and the building is jolted by the blast. She loses her calm but doesn't panic. Immediately she tests if she's OK from head to toe. She is. She then runs out but sees an incredible fire cloud right within the middle of the dwelling room. It's spread to the bar and seems to come from the ceiling. 'This house must be caving in.' The path straight to her friends is blocked by piled up furniture & blast debris. However, the side-door of the bar is open-wide and leads directly to the widespread window. She may perhaps shatter it, once there. She makes a run for it.
Mohammed feels a substitute in his mood. Can't figure it out. Sort of... dunno. He rubs his eyes then, curiously, a bit making a song bird lands about 2 feet away from him, on the wooden construction supporting supporting the slide. They look at each other for only a few seconds. When you look nature within the eye, you feel a phenomenon. It's solely different from looking people within the eye. When you look at raw nature within the eye, it places you back into your place. The bodily place you genuinely belong to, not the invented one people created, within the bastardization of the Earth. The bird breaks eye-contact. Mohammed stays still, careful not to scare the companion away. 'It's like that song', he thinks, 'where two strangers meet but their spirits dance with each other.' The bird looks around then glances up. Another bird, of comparable size but different species, lands close to her. Neither the 1st bird nor Mohammed move. For a moment, they look at each other then the birds look away once more. 'If only people would possibly be this way. Where no politics exist.', Mohammed thinks, as he gently smiles, relieved to get nature's remedy. 40 seconds later, the 1st bird leaves, tweeting a soft melody. A minute later, the 2nd bird leaves. 'Thank you!', Mohammed says in his heart. He bows his head, closes his eyes and speaks to God in prayer. The he looks at a wall whose graffiti says 'Indomitable'. His heart fills with resolve once more. 'It's not over.', he thinks then quietly says, 'I will not stop dwelling!' He makes his way out of the park and strolls to town, via a detour to the high-end element of the city centre.
The next day, it's a well-known scene: Mohammed sits on top of the slide within the middle of the park. His face looks like he's had the existence sucked out of him. Eyes are droopy. Been crying most of the evening. What pain! Intuitively, he turns his head left and sees a widespread black butterfly with yellow stripes/dots on its wings. The black is brilliant & it looks beautiful. It flutters across the playground, stopping at every flower along the outer edge. This it continues, in a rush that doesn't seem pressured. The happiness to live, definitely exists in this animal. Mohammed watches it play, dance & celebrate the day with out worrying about the next moment. It ameliorations course & lands on Mohammed's knee. With his legs stretched out, he looks at it. The Butterfly slowly moves its wings up & down, not transferring from its new landing place. It display its sheer beauty in all its glory, in a personal exhibition, just for Mohammed. 10 seconds later, the Butterfly leaves, to the excitement of a new adventure.
5 minutes later, the consultant, with a disheartened look, returns to his desk with the ID card & a print-out. He tells Mohammed that since he had obtained a prison record, in spite of only being issued only a few hours previously, he would not be eligible to access state support within the establishment of his business. He explains in detail how convicts & felons are assessed under a different set of rules, by which he would not be in a position to be provided the assistance that was explained earlier. Then he apologizes sincerely, being aware of a set of protocols crushing a young man's dreams. Mohammed's face turns pale. He looks blank onto the print-out. Quietly, with a breaking voice, he tells the consultant of how the case is still pending & his dad getting ready to sue the police and that the force famous their wrongdoing & his innocence. The consultant, disappointedly but firmly insists there's nothing he can do & apologizes once more. Mohammed bows his head and rubs his eyes. He looks out the window, looks at the consultant, then nods his head. The consultant reaches right into a drawer of his desk & selects a business card. On the back, he writes down his personal cell number, gives it to Mohammed & insists that he call him as quickly as he can get the case overturned. 'I may perhaps give you some assistance, but as it stands now, it's beyond my position.' Mohammed nods once more & braves a smirk. They stand up & walk to the door. They shake hands, the consultant pats him on the shoulder & urges him to remain hopeful because he's a bright, young man. 'Hang in there, buddy!'
The place is busy , upwardly-mobile professionals occupy en-masse. Three different guys glance as the girls sit around a central table, but they're genuinely noticing Lauren. A waitress comes by and asks what they'd like to order, indifferently. The tone of her voice is one Lauren instantly indentifies with because it's one she'd put on, over ther years. Not giving a damn genuinely has its way of revealing itself. Lauren laughs to herself as she takes off her scarf, while her colleagues organize the drinks. When they've made their wish, they look at Lauren, and the waitress turns to her, too. Lauren modestly makes eye-contact with her, then reaches into her purse and pulls out a employer-new one hundred Euro note. She requests Sex On The Beach and holds up the bill, then sticks it in her shirt pocket. 'I'm a waitress, hunny. I used to love the job just as much as you do. Never give up on your dreams!', she says. The slightly-more youthful waitress looks at her in awe as the colleagues start off laughing aloud. One of them says, 'Ah, would possibly as well. We're leaving tomorrow anyway.', and reaches into her jean pocket, pulls a Hundred note, stretches her arm out towards her boob & also sticks it into her shirt pocket. 'Haha! How come I never got such cool clients in college?', one other model asks, who reciprocates the gesture with a broad smile on her face. 'Because you dropped out and did not get to serve at commencement.', the fourth model of the quartet interjects, as she separates her Fifty notes from the Hundreds. They all break out in laughter. The waitress takes the Hundred note given to her and just looks at the girls for a while, partly confused. She then turns around and slowly walks away. Lauren hollers, 'The sooner you get the drinks, the larger your tip will be!' The girls chat away.
You therefore, my son, be sturdy within the grace that is in Christ Jesus. - Timothy, 2:1
About 4 seconds later, the the police officers came running around the corner, then accelerated tempo. Mohammed, only a few yards ahead, was standing back upright after crouching. Only just taking only a few steps, he turned and as he looked back, he heard 'FREEZE!' & saw a leaping officer horizontally positioned mid-air, with his arms directly stretched out at him much less than 2 feet away, then was rugby-tackled brutally to the concrete pavement, violently tumbling over only a few times at the same time. The other gun-toting cop joined the party 2 seconds later & pointed his barrel over the back of Mohammed's head: He did not lower his firearm until Mohammed was cuffed. 3 of the robbers were apprehended that night, with the assistance of 2 additional high-speed, performance patrol vehicles, a Special Anti-Robbery Task Force unit of the city's Elite Urban Warfare Commando Reserves. One fugitive remains at widespread who's now additionally also being looked for by a police chopper, equipped with infrared/geo-thermal mapping gadgets & highly touchy sonar-amplifiers. No employees have so far been injured within the manhunt.
Being in both, Chen knows the difference. His type are few, it genuinely is luck finding & getting along with them. They socialize perhaps once a quarter or much less, work a complete lot of element-time hours, study hard & are usually more responsible juggling existence than their fresh-outta-house peers. It's a fluke, because they may hardly meet, be on different campuses, be of different ages and/or not get along. However, collage trains for each. It genuinely is a existence-altering institution if the scholar allows the exposing experience to take place. Chen is fortunate to have the opportunity, he knows it will serve him well for the rest of his existence. He's not sure whether or not he'll get a high-paying job with many of perks & international travel but he's quietly confident that what he will study from his course, the relations with lecturers, staff & his uni peers will aid him in his achievement of his personal measure of success, which is realizing his dream.
As she rips the field open, she realizes the blanket is so old, it's begun to dissolve powdered crumbs along the edges. 'This stuff must have been made before I was born.', she thinks. 'Whatever!', she snaps out as she hastily grabs the complete cloth out and unfolds it. Every second, she is conscious, counts now. The fire blocking the path to the window, burns violently in full wrath. She runs to it in only a few steps, then throws out the fire blanket over the fire, holding it at the corners. A splash of liquor where she stands, causes her to slip & edge he forearm into the flames momentarily. The scornful, blistering fire shows no mercy & meltingly tears off a chunk of flesh from her lower forearm, near her elbow. Lauren gives out a unmarried, incisive scream and throws herself flat out backwards to the floor. Anoushka yells out to her, beginning to cry, fearing the worst. With her eyes squeezed tightly & grinning her teeth, Lauren doesn't even bother to peer: She knows it's a bleeder. She thinks amidst the cringing pain, 'You've come this far, you've got a choice: Stay, and die here or continue,... and live on!' The words echo in her mind more than one minutes, 'You've got a choice' 'You've got a choice' '...stay or continue...' Her eyes open, tears pouring out. 'Come on, you bimbo!', her mind orders her. 'Every wound can be healed. GET UP!' And she tumbles until she leans on her forehead& knees, then gets up. Anoushka's crying becomes audible once more, she's holding onto her injured thigh, wailing continuously. Lauren staggers over to her, then kneels beside her and asks, beaten down, 'Did you miss me?', looking at the flames ahead. 'Magic carpet truthfully worked!', she observes. 'GET US OUTTA HERE!', Anoushka yells in her face. Lauren places her arms underneath Anoushka's thighs and around her back, once more. 'You got it!'
A pandemonium ensues at some point of the place. Some are hurt and bloodied but no particular person seems to be worse off. 'Thank God!', she thinks. She jumps over a bunch of crate stacked on top of each other from the blast, then moves to sprint on. Instantaneously, a static figure shows up from the corner of her eye. She stops a second and looks to the floor below the bar's wall-cupboard. She recognizes the face, though she is now afraid: It's the waitress! She goes over, falls to her knees, holds a hand & lifts up her face. 'Hey! Kid, are you in a position to hear me?' The groggy waitress is semi-conscious and glimpses at Lauren. 'Mm-mmmh,... where, what happened?' Lauren's elated. 'Erm, word has it you took an order of Filet Mignon & Flaming Hooker... and it was your first time!' 'Damn', the waitress smiles, 'Should have never downed those bottles.' Lauren examines her body. 'Um, I'm truthfully straight but for you I'll make an exception!', the waitress says. Lauren crack up, surprised she's truthfully calming down under the pressure. 'Really? I may perhaps have sworn we made a connection.' 'That's likely the Flaming Hooker in you.' Both grin at each other. 'Right, from here to your hips, you're pleasant... does this hurt?' 'AAAAH!', the waitress screams in writhing pain. 'OK, good answer.' 'Are you sure you know what you're doing?' Lauren holds the injured thigh and asks, 'I think so... this is your ankle, right?', then takes off her top & twists it around itself, in front of herself.
