The Count of Saint Augustus_Giovanna's First Decision_The Man Who Came From NoWhere_Unfulfilled
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The Count of Saint Augustus
I inherited a title handed down through about 8 generations. By the time it reached me it was worn pretty thin. Any money that had been attached to it had been spent. The title was meaningless. It brought no discounts or special deals. Use and misuse had taken their toll. I am broke. Flat broke. Not a dime to my name. My pension arrives on the 2nd of each month. By mid-month I have eaten my way through it. So part of the month I live and eat like a king, and the other part I starve. I live on leftovers. Leftovers are not that terrible until they start turning green. To be left without leftover...
Giovanna's First Decision
Mr. CarboneThe florist’s daughter wore fawww.onedoor.ccded baggy clothing and slouched in a way that allowed her to effortlessly disappear if an anxiety-inducing event were to catch her by surprise. Indeed, she evidently worked hard to make herself unknown to any casual passersby, but clumsiness often found a way to ruin her efforts. Such was the case as she slipped through the frost-coated bakery doors and collapsed near Cairo Carbone’s table with a yelp. “I’m—ah, sorry,” She whispered, hastily attempting to recompose herself under the public eye. The few other people in the bakery easily dismissed her and...
The Man Who Came From NoWhere
The man who came from nowhere is what we called the mysterious man who moved to the red house at the end of our neighborhood.The red house at the end of our neighborhood has been abandoned for five years. We always thought the red house will remain abandoned, but we were wrong.One day out of the blue myself and the entire neighborhood saw moving trucks driving up the road. We all went outside and saw the trucks driving to the red house.Like the nosy neighbors we are we went to investigate our newest resident or residents.Cape Jackson is a small typical Northwest town. The majority of us have l...
Unfulfilled ambitions
The minute I heard about their plans to live with their daughters abroad, I knew I would soon be unemployed. I dreaded returning home and finding means to support my family in the rural areas, my sibling with school fees and my welfare. Since I was fifteen, I had been a housemaid for my father's younger brother and his wife, Baba and Mai, virtually a surrogate daughter. Martha had migrated to South Africa, with the elder one Ivy, now in the UK. None of them would ever come back, although they came separately on their annual visits before Covid. With each visit, there was no guarantee they wo...