❝In which a celebrity dials a random number in hope of finding one last thing to make him smile before he commits suicide at the end of the month.❞
"I'm going to commit suicide in one months time."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"It can't be t...
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The parking lot was not an area of the school to be taken for granted. It was a place strictly reserved for cigarettes and loud conversations as the students attempted to give themselves the illusion that the brick building they were leaning on did not exist.
This, of course, meant that there were plenty of onlookers to witness the expensive growl of an engine as it rolled into the parking lot. The driver of the car, it seemed, had calculated just the right speed and angle in order to perform a perfect drift turn into the foremost parking space.
Cigarettes and conversations dropped all at once, each person sceptically eyeing the black sports car that was so obviously out of place. The sunlight glinted off the roof in such a way that some were forced to look away, leaving the outline of the exorbitant piece of machinery stained in their minds. In this school money was not something that was easy to come by, thus causing the vehicle to stick out like a diamond ring amongst a bunch of beaten up iron.
This parking lot wasn't exactly the harbouring place of sports cars.
Especially not cars with, "CALIENTE", written on the number plate.
The door swung open without so much as a breath from its anticipating audience.
A black foot emerged first, followed suit but a tall body decked out in the same dark shade. Glasses shielded his eyes as he slammed the car door behind him in such a way that the gathering crowd flinched at the sound.
When he walked the crowd parted for him, hushed whispers evaporating into silence as they did so.
