PROLOGUE
"Dude, magazines just arrived. Fresh from the market. . . Another set for those solo beach shots."
A blade of the knife I am holding slowly grind to the wooden table I was sitting at.
When was the last time you felt life was at peace and fair?
"Could've been fresher if you were innit, yeah?" Laughters of young men echoed within a parameter.
None.
Perhaps, never.
Every living born in this world has the capabilities of fooling their minds into thinking that they have the control over peace and fair. The consequences stretched to differences among minds to the point that fairness and peace in general has become controversial.
With one play of tantrums to convince Mommy, you little self would've gotten your favorite toy; one large bang on the chalkboard, your classmates' mouth are tied; one presence of a traffic enforcer, the roads would be free-crash zone; or, one switch of candidacy, your country may have attained peace and sovereignty. That's how it is. No matter how small things are, you can always achieve fairness or peace being talked about.
But then, everything doesn't really matters. You Mommy told you that you couldn't have your favorite toy because she's financially unstable enough to give you your wants. Your teacher would've told you that there are other homeless kids that deserve the spot you're sitting on than you do; if only all the things you did is to blabber things during her class. Your President must've told the citizens that there's a battle around and bloods are scattered everywhere, but someone has to be ignorant unless it doesn't interrupt their own peace of their own world.
There's no certain small peace or fair. Yet, not everything revolves around you so who the fuck would care?
No, maybe not you. Maybe not your siblings. . . But certainly me.
"Shut the fuck up, Harper, or you'll get your head off with a knife," A humorless voice retorted before the figure sat beside me. "But seriously, Sam. Put that knife down. A table isn't a nice object to show off your graffiti skills." He gave me a pity glance before returning a dark one to the group just one table across ours.
I didn't talk back when they started to react like crazy highschool teenagers picking up a fight in the cafeteria. I stayed on my seat, legs crossed, and hands playing with the knife as it carves down the wooden table I was sitting under the sun.
"But your sister literally slayed that beach photoshoot with Vague, though. Praise for her skills, Laxamania!" Another bunch of laughters filled the small village we were staying.
Last day of work sucks. Why would they even let us live in this place when they could've just deported us back to the headquarters immediately after the mission was done?
Ah, mission. . .
I subtly glance over the American soldiers. One ginger man in his service uniform raised a magazine, opened on one specific page that revealed my oldest sister - beach in the background, her whole body floating on the crystal water of Boracay, and wearing a floral two-piece bikini that compliments her glass skin.
I could only leave a small smirk.
Her life was so peaceful judging over that one photoshoot. She is a Filipino-based model, currently on her peak after numbers of agencies reaching out for her.
Harper flipped the page again before amusement covered his face. Like what he saw the next page was so interesting, every soldier on their table became intrigued. He pointed to the magazine, "Oh look who's at the other page. ." His voice trailed before showing who he was pertaining to this time.
