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My
heart is still pounding at three times its normal rate, my mouth has become
drier than the Gibson Desert and my feigning calmness has become as predictable
as the San Andreas Fault. And
all this because of the envelope that my oldest friend handed me, in total
spontaneity and in good measure. My
first question was "Why" but instead I found lips mouthing the word
"Congratulations", then giving him a hug and asking "So
who is the lucky lady?" His
response I can only describe was of 'total shock'. "Jo…
the whole world knows, from Argentina to Zimbabwe… are you sure you haven't
been living in a shell?" he asked mockingly as he cocked his head to one
side. I'm
sure the whole world did know. But I didn't know. Perhaps I never took notice of
what the tabloids said, although ironically, I worked for this crooked industry. But
despite this, I still love him as my closest friend, and I wished him well. And
I'm happy that he found someone who could share her life with him, and in
return, he could happily share his. But
no matter how happy I am, there's a part of me, which keeps gnawing like an
annoying little puppy dog. And no matter what I'm doing I can't help but feel a
part of me has died. Why is that? Brian frowned as he studied
the article from GN magazine. "Where is all that negative energy coming
from?" he wondered aloud as he devoured the story about the little lost
puppy who couldn't find it's way home and eventually died in the cold. He checked the author of the
article. No mistake he confirmed as he read the name "Johanna Osment".
After Brian had left
California a few weeks ago, Jo had promised to keep in touch, promising also to
"make show" at his wedding in September. And since they hadn’t had
the opportunity to take this promise into action due to their busy schedule, he
had picked up a copy of the magazine left in his cluttered dressing room and
began reading her column. Little Bobby was a
boisterous little puppy full of life and loved dearly by his owners. While
chasing a yellow plastic ball on day in the owner's garden, he lost his way… "Did she break up with
someone?" he wondered aloud as he walked out the room, absorbed in thought. "You know, talking to
yourself is the first sign of insanity" a kind voice stated humorously.
"In which case, I believe AJ has already reached level three" the
voice added cheekily. "Thanks for the
reminder, Howie" Brian smiled meekly, looking up. "Curtain call in
ten" Howie reminded, as Brian followed, greeting the familiar faces which
had become part of his extended family; dancers, choreographers and other
officials and last, but not least, his group members. As time flew by, Brian
soon forgot the nagging thought plaguing him previously and began to lose
himself in the familiar concert routine and hype of performing in yet another
city. Johanna
picked up the slinky green dress and held it up against her. Furrowing her
eyebrows, she critiqued it carefully, scrutinising it at every single angle.
Although she was never one to dress up, she had decided she'd better wear
something other than her traditional pants suit and dress shirt and wear
something a 'little more feminine' (as her mother constantly reminded her) to
Brian and Leighanne's wedding. "I
don't think this is right" she frowned at the back of the dress, where it
was hanging down her back a little too low. "Is there anything a bit more
conservative?" she asked the woman dressed head to toe in traditional black
and looking as tough as a headmistress for a strict boarding school. "Conservative?"
she queried like she had never heard the word before. "Exactly how
'conservative' would you like the dress Ms?" she asked arrogantly. "Well,
I'd prefer it if it at least cover my back, not just my butt" she replied
somewhat fed up with the woman's lack of manners. The woman shot her evil look
of disapproval, then walked off in a huff to fulfil her duty as a sales rep. Johanna
took in the luxuriously and elegantly decorated room, complete with it’s own
crystal chandelier which bounced back glossy and soft hues of pink, green, gold
and blue from the sun penetrating rays. A decaying, but well maintained oak-made
grandfather clock stood proudly as one of the bigger decorative statements in
the high classed arena, drenched heavily in profanity and audacity. Out of
the corner of her eye, Johanna spotted a smaller, wooden statue of a proud
horse, standing in all its glory, strong, but alone. He seemed neglected of care
as dust accumulated like a thin blanket on its wooden body and on display only
because no one could be bothered discarding or giving the horse a well deserved
home. "Ms,
I've got this lovely..." the sales representative returned clutching yet
another backless gown, this time in pale orange, ignoring what Johanna had
previously requested.
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sayamaru and 'Bittersweet Rhapsodies' 2001-02 No
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