“What? This is the mansion that you mentioned that is worth millions?”
“But it’s a friggin’ dilapidated cluster of bricks!”
“Looks that way, sir.”
“Oh my….GOD!” I ended my call to the Lord with a shout; I thought it could release a little of my frustration. Geez, if I could count on Lord for my prayers, I’m going to ask for this ruins to be what it’s supposed to be – a mansion. Walls covered by creepy plant crawlers and roof that would leak if it rained. That did not look like it was worth any money to me. I slapped my face with my palm, and looked at my butler with disbelief.
“I’m supposed to take over these jenga blocks that may fall on me anytime?”
“Truth is,” said my butler, “You have already taken possession of this place. It was not like this…” He pointed his finger in the direction of the mess that I couldn’t look at for more than few seconds, and continued, “It was caused by you.”
“Me?!” I couldn’t believe what he said. How could it be me? “Tell me about it.”
“Sir, when you went into the deep sleep that would take months before you wake up, this was what happened that got you into that state of coma. You might’ve no memory of what happened, but fact be told, it was because of you.” He said patiently.
“Now, let’s forget about the culprit and his motives. What should we do now?”
“We can rebuild it.”
“Rebuild?” I asked.
“Yes sir. And perhaps in the course of doing it, we can reinforce the foundations of this mansion.”
“Stop calling it a mansion. I feel sick when I hear this word…and the sight. They don’t match.” I mumbled in disgust. “So how long will it take for the guys to start work on it?”
“When you are ready, sir.”
“Tell you what. Get them to tear this whole thing down, and… do you have any recollection of how this place looked like before this?”
“Nice. We’ll tear it down and rebuild it to what it was. Brick by brick.”
“That’s a good idea sir.”
“And that foundation you mentioned?”
“We’ll do it the way you deem fit. That corner you say?” I took my chances and pointed at a random corner I recalled was the South East wing of the disgusting mansion.
“South-east corner. Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s do it, Alfred.”
“Yes, master Wayne.”
Andy Lawson is the average man on the street that you’ll not even trouble yourself looking at him if he passes by you. He’s sensitive to bullshit, and he hates mediocrity in most people. He is the author of his self-published book: Facts and Fiction of Fengshui: Facts that Masters are NOT Telling You. He doesn’t have Facebook or Twitter, because he hates to be associated with people who tend to be passive-aggressive online, but he does have a very limited set of vocabularies, terrible grammar, a twisted mind that makes himself God in his own twisted world and an ability to communicate with people who wish to be his friend.