Still Him, At The End Of The World.

chapter four

In the presence of frailty deals abundantly with how human nulls their guard - how they tend to  believe when facing the actual wounds. It cease the proposes of choices and stable the means to conduct firmly - it leaves with no choice.

This is my supposed frailty.

My gaze dominated to the inoperative merchandise.

Humans are nothing but tools.

There was a farmer who went to the nest of his goose to see if she had laid an egg. To his great wonder and delight, he found that instead of an ordinary egg, she had laid an egg of a pure gold.

Everyday thereafter, the farmer visited the nest, and everyday he found the goose had laid a beautiful glittering golden egg. The goose's peculiar egg turned the farmer into a rich man. But it was not long enough before he grew impatient to the goose because she only lay one golden egg in every single day.

Then one day after he finished counting his money, the idea came to him that he could get all the golden treasure at once by killing the goose and cutting it open. But when the deed was done, not a single golden egg did he find, and his marvelous goose was dead.

At the age of seven, I identified the majority of the human specimen as a tool.

A subordination of merchandise that demanded the use of dominance to negate being defective and inoperative.

"A tool merchandise." I call them.

"Shan, we're not gonna pansin Brooklyn anymore." The tool leaned closer.

"She's doesn't know how to make friends and she's creepy." The tool whispered.

"But mommy said na we should be friends with Brooklyn, Rachel." Another tool responded.

"Huh? Bakit?"

"She's extremely rich daw atsaka she's gullible and smart. Rachel, we can ask her around. They'll be no homeworks for us."

I let out a soft laugh.

Not long enough, they'll be unable to decipher the narrowed boundary. They'll grew impatient and continously ask for more than the golden eggs.

I am the goose and they're the greedy farmers. However, they will only satisfy themselves from counting their money, - I'll kill them before they'll get the idea of killing me.

I was just seven and I find the existence of some people pathetic and inferior.

BACK STRAIGHT as a sheath - a silver sheath - a golden sheath.

"Brooklyn." My father called me. The involuntary heed for my attention did not confuses me. It was instant and should be.

"This following days, I will be immensely engage with a business matter in Tokyo. Do not fail me again, Brooklyn. I dislike how your irrational matter distract my concerns and schedule." My father declared. His management to time and exertions will always be incomprehensible to me. 

"Yes, father." I answered. 

The car halted and the entrance of the school's lobby replaced the moving street my eyes was engaged seconds ago. The personal bodyguard was about to unbuckle his seat belt when father decided to intervened. 

"Let me." He said before opening his door and swivel around, already his two personal bodyguards following him. As usual, I patiently waited for father to open my door.