Plots and Covers

The Prince Is Not Dead (1)

Title: The Prince Is Not Dead

Genre: Humor

Plot:

"Answer me!" I demanded bravely.

"I can't concentrate, you sprayed me with that ghastly thing! Really, what did I ever do to you?" he asked, incredulously, still on the ground.

"Why were you in the bins?!" I insisted.

"Because I'm a piece of trash! Listen, I really can't explain right now, I think I've gone blind."

♕♕♕

The news of the death of Gryffin Hawthorne, Prince of England, known for his rebellious ways, reaches headlines all over the world, including Kara Thomson's newspaper.

Kara was having an average night, working as a janitor for a five star restaurant that she has big dreams of actually cooking in the kitchen for.

The last thing she would've expected was to find the Prince of England in the trash bins.

So, as it turns out, the Prince is NOT dead.

And Kara has to deal with him.

Cover(s):

First Chapter/excerpt:

It's not every day that you find a supposedly dead Prince of England in the trash outside a five star restaurant in Las Vegas.

Of course, before all of this happened, it had been a perfectly ordinary day. I was working late at the restaurant, and was ready to leave as soon as I emptied out the trash.

I walked through the dark and empty kitchen, dreaming of what it would be like to use the expensive, stainless steel equipment and wear a black apron. Maybe even put on a chef's hat.

A real chef's hat, not like the hot pink one that my grandma got me for my seventh birthday.

I bagged up the last bag of trash and tossed it over my shoulder, locking the door behind me.

I walked out into the cool night air. The smell of cigarette smoke filled my nose as I stared out into the bright night lights of a city that never seemed to sleep. The honking of cars zooming past the restaurant echoed into the dark air.

I sighed and watched as my breath formed a visible cloud in the air.

I walked with the trash bag in tow to the bins. I tossed it in carelessly, eager to get home.

But something stopped me.

With the amount of time I'd been working as a janitor at the restaurant, I knew that it wasn't typical to hear a yelp when you threw in the trash.

I turned around and slowly, cautiously walked back to the bins. I reached into my bag and pulled out my pepper spray, arming myself in case I was in the presence of a murderer or a rapist.

My heart racing, I reached in and pulled up the trash bag that I'd just tossed in.

Immediately, whatever had made the yelping sound let out a loud sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the thing sat up and looked me straight in the eye. "Thanks, it was getting rather uncomfortable in there," it said in a thick British accent.

I did what any sane person would have done at that point - I screamed.

The person leaped out with some difficulty and hurriedly put his hand over my mouth. "Shh," he whispered. "Don't make a sound."

I slowly and discreetly brought up my hand, which was holding the can of pepper spray. Squeezing my eyes shut and taking a deep breath in, I elbowed the guy in the stomach and quickly whipped around and sprayed him.

"Oh, fuck!" he shrieked.

"Who the hell are you?!"

"In the bloody Prince of England, who the hell are you?!" he answered, keeping over on the concrete.

"Now is not a time to be making jokes!" I replied, my heart leaping in my chest. I could feel it beating in my teeth. " Who are you and why were you in the trash bins?!"

"Aaghh, it fuckin' stings!" he shrieked.

"Answer me!" I demanded bravely.

"I can't concentrate, you sprayed me with that ghastly thing! Really, what did I ever do to you?" he asked, incredulously, still on the ground.

"Why were you in the bins?!" I insisted.

"Because I'm a piece of trash! Listen, I really can't explain right now, I think I've gone blind."

I frowned and stepped a little closer to the boy, lowering my pepper spray. As I lowered myself to see him properly, I made sure to warn him. "Don't even think about trying anything on me, I've got more where that came from!"

"I don't doubt that," he muttered, his hands rubbing at his eyes.

"Let me see them," I said. He removed his hands and I stumbled back at the red and puffed up face that was staring back at me.

"W-what the fuck?!" I said, examining the all too familiar face that had been plastered in all the headlines for the past week.

I would have recognized Gryffin Hawthorne, Prince of England, in any situation, even with those puffed up and bloodshot eyes.

Then, it dawned on me. This guy was supposed to be dead.

So what the hell was he doing in the trash bins?