What happens when an innocent nurse falls in love with a dangerous criminal?
Meet Alejandro Russo, the Don of the West and the most dangerous criminal at Rikers Correctional Centre.
The Don has frightened even the most courageous of men.
What ha...
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"Oh daddy dear, you know you're still number one . But girls, they wanna have fun."
***
THE ENGLISH language was a complex work of art.
It was sinister in the same way that it was beautiful. Deceiving in the same way that it was straight-forward. Perhaps that was the point, nothing was meant to come easy and God forbid anything made sense on this forsaken earth.
Were we to blindly trust the person who made up all these words and sentences? Who could ensure that they were right? In a way, we were the blind sheep led to believe any information presented to us without a second thought. For all we know, there was some fragment of a man laughing at us from somewhere in the great beyond, amused at how easily fooled everyone was.
Or maybe, the issue presented wasn't that deep. Maybe it all came together somewhere that made great sense to anyone who looked into it deep enough. That was what divided scientists, historians and perhaps archeologists from regular human beings who just thought too much about different situations. They didn't have physical evidence that the professionals had stumbled upon. All they possessed were the thoughts swirling around their brain. Questions after questions waiting to be answered.
The mind was a dangerous place to get lost in.
Being alone with your thoughts was an unpleasant activity, mainly because you could run away from anything but your own mind and soul.
Was the human body and mind a trap for the innocent souls that possessed them? Some kind of twisted joke fate made?
That question would forever be unanswered.
Although one thing was always certain in this messed up world.
In the grand scheme of things, nothing really mattered. For in the end, we were all going to die. And soon enough, people would stop mourning you, eventually you'll be forgotten. Just another nameless, faceless being that once meant something.
With time, the flowers left at your grave would wither away, less visitors would stand over your buried corpse and cry, and they would have to move on at some point.
It was the way the earth worked.
You would finally be at peace.
Except not everyone would find solace in death.
For there was no true rest for the wicked *
My fingertips lightly caressed the spine of the book I was reading. The fresh smell of the pages invaded my senses and I almost smiled at the scent. Almost.
Pride and Prejudice was a cliché classic, I was two more reads away from being able to recite the book off memory. In a way I found comfort within Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy's characters. Perhaps it was the over-used but effective 'enemies to lovers' trope that had me hooked.
