Greetings Your Majesty. Have I a story for you? This is the heart-warming tale of the world-renowned Muhammad Hussein. Yes. We all cherish his story of immigrating to the United States in 2028 as a refugee and going on to become the greatest mixed-m...
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he next morning, Muhammad's mind responded to the stimuli flowing into his opened eyes by thinking first of putting Boris into a concussion with his fists. The master bedroom was dark, because the curtains had drawn themselves shut during sunrise. In the silent unlit room, his second thought was to make contact with his family.
Muhammad said in a deep voice, "Call Parents." Still no ring. God is protecting Mummy and Dad, he whispered. This bullshit delusion allowed him to again focus on his obligations tonight.
"Genius. Turn on morning relaxation music and open the curtains." The curtains separated and the room illuminated as an oud played. After stretching like a lion, Muhammad tossed away the sheets and swung his feet off the bed. His heels sunk into the soft carpet. He heard a bubble popping noise and on the smart window was a message, read aloud by MGM Grand's digital ambassador, "Good Morning Muhammad. Would you like breakfast this morning?"
Muhammad walked to the bathroom, where the same video and same message appeared on the smart mirror.
"I'll have a rolled omelet with spinach and feta cheese. Orange juice and sourdough bread with grape jelly. Send my breakfast order to my crew." His words were written and the order submitted to the chef, as well as a receipt sent to his brothers and friend. Muhammad sat on the toilet seat to piss. The music paused and a voice with Muhammad's accent spoke, "Incoming call from Williams Manager." Muhammad said, "Yes. Answer."
"Morning."
"What are you doing? I didn't wake you did I Champ?"
"No." He stood up and cleaned himself, as the toilet automatically flushed.
"Oh. Could you open the door? I'm outside with Taylor."
"With Taylor? Sure. I'll be down." Muhammad bounced down the feathery steps and opened the front, black door.
"I just woke up." Williams stepped out of his sneakers and instructed Taylor to remove her shoes too.
"Morning. You sleep well?" Williams was slow in his speech and shy in his movements.
"I guess," Muhammad answered, as he rubbed his eyes. They walked into the kitchen. Scumbag set a drinking glass under the refrigerator spigot. A tinging sound of ice pelleting glass was the only noise.
"Where's everyone else?" Williams was frowning.
"I dunno?" Muhammad's big brown eyes looked away from his glass swirling with aqua and scanned the penthouse, "Sleeping." Muhammad sipped his ice water and noticed Williams looking down and tapping his big toe into the slate floor.
"What's wrong?" He finally made eye contact with Muhammad.
"Muhammad. I have something to tell you and your brothers. You have to hear it from me."
"What's wrong?" Time slowed down for Muhammad. He felt his stomach drop to the rock floor and sink right through it, like an anchor to both time and space.
