BORN AGAIN

Chapter 1 : My rival

Jesus replied, "Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.
— John 3:3

The giant poster on the Louis Vuitton's window display is strikingly hideous. The repulsive lips and the brown eyes of the model which are printed on the poster are unbearable. Published in the Vogue magazine once a month, the picture of that distorted creature invaded the Du Pont Neuf street neighborhood. His portrait was similar to the Fountain of Marcel Duchamp and was cheaply bought by spinsters. I hope you never bump into him in the Chat qui pêche street because you would have no choice but to smell at his made in Africa perfume. By the way, he secretly does smoke the poop-scented tobacco after the Versace's men fashion show in Paris and leave it on the benches. That guy does not even know how to hold a mere cigaret or how to correctly swallow an ecstasy pill. Despicable...

Unfortunately, common people usually mimic the elite and endeavor to look like the outstanding and famous people of this era. He was one of them and wore lavish oversized wool coats, thinking that his skin-color would hide from the spotlights. Ebony was the specific word to depict his outlandish complexion. Besides, he was always chasing after Olivier Rousting for a same-colored friend in the fashion industry. What a pipe dream ! Even at the Balmain festival in Paris, a lot were longing for their feet to wear the high glamour neon heels of Jim Choo and expected for their boobs to be the guinea pig of a bejeweled chain link top paired by Creative Directors. Nonsensical. Plus, his fantasy of walking hand in hand with Emi Ratajkowski should be erased in the twinkling of an eye. He would never have the chance to touch her skin. Such a plain man would try but fail. He attempted to persuade women of all kinds to abide to his vicious desires and obstinately mark his territory on them, tattooing the letter S on their neck. He pleasurably loved hitting on all sorts of women, gracious, pompous or delicious, only for the purpose of dominating. The more he uttered ''hey'', the more they answered ''Aïe''. I remember eavesdropping one of his discussion on the phone :

'Maribelle, Macarelle, oops, did I get it wrong ?'

'Unbelievable ! If a man is not capable of pronouncing my name, he would not be capable of satisfying the woman I am ! '

'Sor...'

Tuh-tuh-tuh... The phone call tragically ended up in this amazing way. Nevertheless, the aftermath was a succession of disappointments, mixed with some mojito in the morning and a cigar party at nighttime. Actually, he created an account on Tinder, fantasizing over fake auburn haired women, Irish young adults who were living in remote locations of France and well-to-do foreigners to forget about his mediocrity. A mere routine in his daily life.

His siblings called him Robert Johnson Junior, even if, I suppose, it did not fit with his face. The 27 club would probably welcome him in a few years. Seth Abdou, hence his official name, will, I hope, join them as soon as possible. Apparently, it needed only some drops of their stinky blood and a long-length signature on the BILL OF SALES FOR ONE ETERNAL SOUL to be a part of this cursed cycle. They had legally sold their souls to join a sort of sect, the Brotherhood. Nonsensical, again. Believe it or not, he became my rival after stealing my fame.