Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Four of your men?” He scoffed. “They were my gotdamn younger cousins! More blood on your payroll!”
“Doesn’t matter. You proved how ungrateful you were, boy. After all I have done for you over the years.”
“I didn’t ask you to do a damn thing for me. My father did, and he did so behind my back. You did it not to help me, but so I’d owe you one day. You must think I’m a fucking idiot. I’m not rollin’ over for anyone, especially not a psychopath who sends men out to murder families on Thanksgiving, then pretends to be Santa on Christmas.”
“Don’t you stand there and act all high and mighty! You could’ve turned down my help, but you didn’t. You’re no better than what you’re trying to pretend you’re not. A cold-blooded killer. You were a gun for hire. You were willin’ to work for those yuppies, but not for your own grandfather doing pretty much the same damn thing! I would have paid ten times more, and there’d be no trace! You did that to spite me!” Grandpa tossed his cane on the floor with a big crash and jeered.
“…And you did it so sadistically, too. Rubbed it in my face. Lennox, in spite of all of that, I know you’re one of the pure ones. Deep down. You have such a beautiful soul.” Pretty little things… “You want to do the right thing. You want to be loyal.” Like a good little dog… “So, you think long and hard about what’s on the line.”
“If I come from your bloodline, how pure, righteous and loyal could I truly be?”
Grandpa sneered as he got in his face. “I will take your dead mama down, and you right along with her. I will have you spend the rest of your days practically under the prison, and then drag your mama’s tattered, tramp skeleton out of that lopsided grave in that piece of shit country of her’s, set it out under the blazing sun, and let the crows fuck her pelvic bone until it turns to dust! Her final act of servitude as a lady of the night.
Don’t.
Fuck.
With.
Me!
Now, you fetch, and roll over and play dead. Only messin’ around with me, you won’t be playing for long, boy. It’ll be for real. For eternity. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Lennox, but you just remember this: Every dog has its day…”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A Rose Garden and a Sprinkler
Nadia reached for the tissue on her nightstand, brought it to her nose and dabbed at the trickles of snot forming in her nostrils. She could feel the dry sting of her eyes, certain they were red without seeing her reflection. Taking a deep breath, she flipped to another page of the book…
…And this is why a woman, who created the entire world, sees herself as a mere speck of nothingness. A woman has forgotten her place in the universe. She’s been programmed to do so. She has allowed herself to be used without reciprocity. She’s allowed her ideas and inventions to be stolen, without apologies, compensation, and reparations. She’s allowed herself to be reduced to dust, told she is here to only serve, when she is the main addition and supreme. She’s allowed herself to be taught incorrect information, incorrect morals, incorrect standards, all so that it may please the one that is incorrect in his mindset. She has been taught to worship the one that is physically stronger than her, but emotionally weaker. The womb is the center of life. Not the seed. We are mere sprinkler systems to their garden. And deep down, we know this.
Men, we have fooled ourselves into believing our own lies. If you lie often enough, you begin to believe it yourself. So somehow, along the way, we, the sprinkler, convinced womb-man that WE are the garden. We did that.
We did that through our laws of the land. We did that through warping the true intent and word of God. We did that through calculated lies, manipulation, and brute force. Women form soul attachments to men, and men to women, but women bond harder. It’s because they are nurturers, but it also puts them at a disadvantage, making them easy targets. So then we essentially tell an ocean that she is nothing more than a muddy puddle.
I hate to tell you fellas, but we are not the creator. We are merely a part of creation, and yet, we have placed our feet on the womb-man’s neck. We come from her. Not the other way around. The sperm does not have the same mission, abilities, and duties as the egg. The egg existed first. It is inside our mothers, grandmothers, daughters, aunts and female cousins when they are created in their mother’s womb.
Therefore, if you think about it, we all are older than our birth years because we should start counting our existence from when the egg was formed inside our mothers. A part of us was already in existence. We were not yet human, but the blueprint was drafted. Being fertilized and being whole are two different things. We know this, though. Somewhere deep inside of ourselves, we’ve always known it, and that is in fact why we collectively treat our women the way we do.