John was astonished that his wife would ever try to belittle him, but in front of their son as well. He was mortified. Leaping out of his chair like a cheetah to a gazelle, and grabbed his wife. “How dare you speak out against me, the man of this house makes all of the decisions, and as you’re not in possession of that position you will have no say in this matter, respect is what you will learn. And keep your mouth shut! If anything didn’t go my way, as according to my profession, I took it like a man, got on and worked through it. You better listen to me, whatever I say goes, the boy will do as I say . . . . . and nothing else.” Then, with the firm palm of his hand, he struck her down. “You’ll know your place! Just see what I do to you.” Then in a fired up rage he left the house, but without taking the car or keys, he had nowhere to go. Or did he?
Not with all the luxury off a bed, a quilt or a house, Sammy was a homeless man, who liked to lay his head down on the park bench in the middle of the street. All to his name, a jacket, a pair of ragged boots and a cardboard box, the only shelter he has, and ever has had. Although this was not the best life there ever will be, this bench and the cardboard box was a god send, a saviour to him.
Every night he lay up against the back, tumbling and turning till he could find a comfortable spot, which he may lay there for the entire night, a concept all too familiar to Sammy. Every night he sat, looking up at the stars asking himself, how he ended up on the street, how people have been so lucky to have a warm place to live, and what he has done to deserve all he has been made to suffer. Was it that he had hurt somebody, was it that they were better than him, or was it just that he was unlucky, that no matter what he had done, or will everything he does be cursed. “How do I get to this state?” he wondered. He asked for a sign that may help him see thing more clearly or something that could help him get from the streets and into a warm place of living. He has been asking for the past 33 years and still no reply.
Then it came to him in a flash, “I know how to end my misery, I know how to solve this mystery” then he got up leaving his cardboard box, jacket and bench, which never before he dared to do, and ran off into the distance. Where was he going?
Across the street, in the darkness, there had been a new superstar addition to the line up. Paul Mertayga, a classic, overpaid footballer. With no respect for the surrounding neighbours, he parked his 5 cars along the surrounding properties. Not because he didn’t have enough room on his drive which he did, not that he had a problem with getting them onto his property but because he thought that he was better than everybody else there, earning more money and having a bigger statues. He did this because he could.
“Just park my last car up there, they won’t mind. Well what they going to do” in a pompous over-confident accent. As he walked back inside, he complained about the weather, he complained about people, he also complained about the way he has to drive on the other side of the road. Nothing was ever good enough for him even though he had everything; the millions on pounds in his bank account that he couldn’t spend even if he tried, the luxurious house which he had just purchased to add to his portfolio of thirteen, the endless amount of named clothes, which only come from the most expensive of shops and that is just the start.
As the superstar walked into his pool area, through his replica of ‘arc de triumph’, he was hit with the smell of chlorine. With no concern about the clothes he wore, although they were quite expensive, jumped into the heated pool. “Much better” he sighed. He then shouted at the top of his lungs, “slave, slave, sla....” before he could reach the third time of shouting this insult, as it were a normal day to day nickname, the maid of the house entered, back straight, neck up and ready to receive orders. “Get me my tailored suit ready in my quarters and Ferrari warming up at the door in two minutes, no longer. I want to go.” As the maid stood hesitant he screamed, “Now!”.
He had spent no longer than two minutes inside the house before he had become bored. It wasn’t that he had friends or family to talk to, keeping him company. He had already pushed them aside, and was too stubborn to ask them back into his life. Because of all his money and royalties, he expected them to come grovelling. But he was to shallow to see that life doesn’t just rotate around money, it doesn’t rotate around him
So out of the pool he leapt, walked to his dresser where his suit had already been, washed, pressed and ironed. Taking twenty minute to get changed this was ten times longer than the time it took him to get bored of his new house.
He strolled out to the front of his house, where expecting to find his Ferrari he was amazed that his staff had not followed his orders to exact specification. What more amazed him was that they had over twenty minutes to get this job done. “Where is my car, I don’t see it” in a sarcastic and belittling way. “I’m sorry to report sir but, it seems your car has been stolen, but if it is any consolation, all of your staff are resigning as from now.” All of his staff stood around the little guy, who had lot of courage to say this to such an intimidating character. “How is that a consolation” he replied, bewildered. “I said if”. As all nine members of his staff walked away he furiously, bounced up and down, running around in the exact same place, like a chicken with no head. He order them, “get back here now, where is my car?”
