Sylvie Maradona: The Story Of A Monster

Chapter 1: The new Minister

{Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here}

  You want to know what happened? Sure, I'll tell you but I don't know if you are able to handle or understand this story. What? Yes I understand and of course you have every right to know... But it's really complicated. I can't explain in just an hour. It took me years to understand everything that took place back then. It might hurt you.
  She didn't hesitate for a minute. She wanted to know everything.
As you wish. I'll tell you everything.

   So here starts a story that is worthy to be told. A story that most people, unfortunately, forgot. It doesn't contain fairies or dragons. Not even princesses and fancy gowns. We are in the second decade of the 21st century. And we are talking about humans, who could might be one of all of you. It's a story that I am a part of. But allow me to tell you who I am when this storytelling is done.

  The "Monster" was a human most people didn't even believed existed. The deadliest assassin in the entire world, counting more than 100 murders in less than two years. No one knew their Identity. Whoever tried to reach them was found dead with their tongue missing. Whoever knew wasn't allowed to say her name. The police knew, the government knew, the FBI knew. Everyone knew who was carrying the nickname "Monster" but no one was planning to go against her.  She was a monster in disguise. Disguised as an angel.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, one of the biggest night events for New York city takes place right here. In front of our eyes"

  The street was full of any kind of people. Audience, paparazzi, police officers and reporters. Countless voices and lights, flashes from cameras and huge lamps were making the night looking like a day.
"What a great night to be here. General Maradona will arrive any minute soon."
Such an elegant event under the night sky in the centre of New York city. They were all waiting for her arrival impatiently.

  A black, luxurious car pulled over and its door opened. And there she was. Everyone turned around to look at her. A lady in her late twenties, long brown hair styled in a low ponytail and dark brown eyes, dressed in a black suit which compliments her well worked out body. She was not really tall, which was one of her biggest insecurities, that's why she was always wearing high heel boots. A stubborn aura and a cold yet narcissistic expression drawn on her face with her eyebrows slightly lifted. This was Sylvie Maradona, the general, the business woman, the politician.