"I got this"

    The last syllable heaved an halt on the succeeding ones. He looked around like a passionate orchestra, complementing his muse with the large vine yelling at the spanking breeze. Had he own a paradise on earth?, the halted had their reincarnations in thoughts.

    A brief path led to the entrance of the magnificent three storey building with gold laced on the lips of the four edges of the building. A speos was at an isolated spot in the compound. He led a comfortable life with a daughter. Clara, his wife, was in a haste to meet death.

     He fixed the landline into its seat and resumed the grilled lamb steaks with mashed potatoes, complemented by an iced whiskey. Despite being warned how injurious iced whiskey is to heart, his choice of meal was out of the world.

     Even Lambz, the wildlifer, whose call he'd just hung couldn't talk him out of poor combo of delicate meals. But he would often chant:

     "Money will take the sickness it gives"

   Lambz had given up. Arguing with a real estate agent with loads of shares and investments was tantamount to nought.

     He'd just spoken to him about rearing a tiger. He'd always love doing his things differently. It started off when he tore his Jean on the Christmas Eve when his siblings had theirs plain. He was just twelve.

     "Just wanta be difference"

     His defence from being flogged. And he'd maintained such stances from then. Only meeting Clara eased the ego. At least, for 20 years, before Clara took a letter to death - to be read in the ears of the almighty.

     And now? No one could stop his crave. One could only suit it. He would hide such crazy stuffs from his daughter, in whom he saw the reflection of his beloved wife. The eyes that wiped his heart off decayed thoughts. Lips that weaved:

    "Go ahead and watch me pack!"

     But he was wise enough to hide this big one from her. He had said to Lambz, laboring to convince the person seeing a paranormal of a pulsing fool:

   " I'm tired of  dogs as pets. I want something new. Like rear a ..... Uhmm... Tiger! Yes! Could you apprehend one for me? Keeping it should be my contention, not yours. I'll give you a quarter of a million bucks."

    Lambz, weighing his undaunted stance of his decision, smiled and frowned his way out of the mise en scène, hoisting hypothesis of felon nuances.

    He called him few weeks later with the news:

    "I've gotten it."

     So brief. Pomsy looked at the landline once more, skeptical on what to do. Perhaps return Lambz' call and clarify what he meant by I got this...

     The thoughts were scarcely settled before his daughter danced her way out of the entrance, a speed of gazelle embroidered with the fury of tiger in her eyes.

     Immediately, he knew she'd seen the combo. He allowed her fasten to him and girded his heart for the verbal attack from his only daughter :

    "It's 7pm Dad! My birthday is in the corner. No plans for me from you!!! 😩😩"

    His thoughts were faster than his acumen. He eased the tension melting his marrow and let the suspense ooze through the saucy hose of relief. Oh my! He sighed. 

    He was glad that she neither overheard the discussion, nor took into account the meal. Probably she was beginning to watch his folly eat the best part of him.

    He ho at the chief maid to clear the combo as his hands slid across her arms, his 52 years old legs calming the surging thoughts.

    "We'll get all fixed."

    Something told him he was lying. He could feel the mist gulping the syllables. He heard an inner voice. You'll mar her day, not fix. But his ego was a fiery moon that slew the ice of the thoughts.

     He halted at the entrance, stood sideways, and watched his soon-to-be 18 years old daughter flex her delicate aura in jumpy jazz. He did suit as he shut his thoughts for the arrival of Lambz' treat.

     I'd be the first to have a tiger as a pet. 

    A last thought!

Related Chapters

Latest Chapter