Kabanata II: Marcus (Completed)

Chapter 1

MARCUS

It's so bright.

I looked outside the window of my carriage and felt the warmth of the sun on my cheeks.

My thoughts were broken when I heard a giggling sound from the kid sitting in front of me. He stared at me curiously as I looked back. I then saw the odd faces that his parents were giving me.

His dad apparently assumed I am a good-for-nothing hitch hiker, given the situation that I looked like I haven't bathed for days and my clothes are all wrinkled. I saw the old guy held his kid's arm as if trying to silence him from attracting too much of the suspicious guy's attention.

I just smiled.

Unfortunately, these situations happened a lot, especially when I am in the mood of traveling alone and escaping my eternal tormentors...i.e. my persistent assistants and hoard of bodyguards.

Armed with just a candy bar, my wallet, personal phone, and the clothes behind my back, I usually set off with my isolated escapades of touring the countries were I am currently settled.

This year, I was designated by my father to watch over the main firm, TheArtShop, which was located at the heart of downtown Florence.

For the past three years, I have been under the helm of my father and Tito Francis as they tried to reform me and mold me to the best person to take over the family business.

I think "try" is the key word.

True, I have been instilled with this kind of responsibility since I was young. 

True, I never run away from any of my obligations.

And true, I am still a rebel at heart.

(Flashback)

I remembered that six years ago, I even dared to fight my apparent destiny when 

I questioned my father on why he did not just make my older brother, Joaquin, as his successor.

He just laughed at me.

The nerve of the old guy laughing at a young man's demise.

Then, he patted my back and told me, a twenty one year old, to accompany him for a drink.

Flabbergasted, I agreed.

We went to a bar that offered hard drinks. Never in my life had I drank that much after the night was over. My father just kept on talking random things as the bartender kept on feeding us random drinks.

"Son," my father began. "Have you ever noticed my wrinkles multiplying every minute?" He asked.