Hit: A Short Story

                         Hit: A Short Story

                          

(This is just a small story written by me, for my own amusement, and it's honestly, embarassing as all heck, but still, if you like this, and would like more stories, please like, and comment.)

   

The rain hammered onto the road. Rain dripped through my hair, and down my face, where a few drops were caught by my eyelashes, hanging there for a few seconds, then fell in slow-motion onto the pavement at my feet.

    I stared at the road, my body trying to preserve the heat by concentrating to my core, leaving my hands, arms, legs, and feet cold and devoid of feeling in my sodden clothes.

      I glanced at my watch. It was only 6 p.m, but it was already dark, because of the heavy, brooding clouds.

     A bad day, for bad things.

    At last, 5 eternal minutes later, a car arrived, its glowing headlights creating a path of light through the driving rain. The black Mercedes slowed down, and came to a stop right in front of me. I hastily opened the door, and got in, and we were off again.

     "Well, you sure took your time about it." I said accusingly.

     "I'm sorry, but there were unexpected delays." Mike complained, trying, and failing utterly, to look chagrined.

     With slicked black hair, friendly face, and always immaculate clothes, he was the living dream of the perfect big-city banker.

      I eased my sodden frame around in the seat, sighing relieved.

      "I'm afraid your seat is never going to be the same again." I told him.

      "Don't you worry about that, Dom," he said cheerfully. "Plenty more where this came from." 

      "Well, lucky you." I grunted, and relapsed into silence.  

      The car engine ran smoothly, but Mike being a bit of a reckless driver, and the car speeding along the wet roads, great swathes of water sprayed from the car's sides, a bit like a speedboat on water.

       At last, I broke the silence.

       "So what's new? Has he agreed to our offer?"

       It was a while before he answered. "No. That's why they called you in."

       Instead of replying, I reached into my inner jacket pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, drew one out, put it into my mouth, and taking out a Golden Zippo lighter, lit it.

      Mike glanced at the cigarette, then looked nonchalantly back at the road.

      "I thought you quit."

      "I did," I mumbled. "But tonight...and for the image.."

      After a bit of silence, I asked: "So where we goin'?"

      "The boss staged a party tonight, as a sort of cover." Mike explained. "My job tonight is to bring you there, where he'll meet with you personally, and give you all the details." He eyed me critically. "But first you're gonna need some clothes. Proper clothes, I mean. There are politicians, lawyers, judges, and all those swell folk over there tonight. We don't want you to come in looking like a scarecrow."

     I just exhaled smoke slowly, and glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. 6:45 p.m.

     15 minutes later, we arrived at a large residence in the middle of a huge park. It was hard to tell that we were still in the city, although these were the outskirts.

     We got out of the car, climbed up the huge steps, and to the front door, amid large, Grecian-looking pillars.

     Mike pressed the large bronze bell, and a deep ring emanated from somewhere deep inside.

     A few minutes later, the door was opened by a man who looked like a banker, but was in reality the butler, and was about as friendly and welcoming as Bigfoot.

    "This is him." Mike told him quietly, nodding at me. "You know what to do." Saying goodbye to me, he walked down the steps, got into the car, and raced off.

    When he had gone, I turned back to the butler, who motioned for me to follow him.

    We walked along the kilometer hallway, up two flights of stairs, to a small dressing room, where he opened the door, and bade me enter, closing the door after me.

    I found myself in a small room, with a very large mirror at one wall, and clothes at the other.

    After some consideration, I chose a suit of the kind worn at weddings: black trousers, shined black shoes, white shirt with black tie, and an elegant black jacket. 

    Then I arranged my long hair, combing it behind the ears, and took a small look at my trimmed beard. I was looking fly, feeling depressed. Again.

    I nodded at my reflection in the mirror, satisfied, and opening the door, went outside, where the butler stood waiting, looking about as alive as a polar cap.

    "Okay." I said, and he led me downstairs, to an enormous set of doors, and opening one, ushered me inside.

    The hall was huge. There was a band playing quietly some nostalgic, Victorian tunes, to which about fifteen couples danced slowly, in the middle of the hall.

    All around them, people were standing, sitting at round tables, eating, drinking, smoking, chatting.

    I adjusted my tie, and casually followed the butler to a large, broad-shouldered man who was standing next to a blonde woman, holding a glass of champagne in his hand, and chatting amiably with another black-haired woman and a blonde man.

    I coughed politely , and he turned to me, making a sign at the butler, who left.

    "Ah! Dom, my boy, how are you? Glad you could make it!" he said, wringing my hand forcefully, and trying to break numerous bones, apparently, before turning to the man and woman he had been talking to.

    "Cora, John, this is Dominic Masters, who works for me sometimes, and is a very capable young man." Turning back to me, he introduced them to me.

    "Dom ,this is John Key and Cora Engel, good friends of mine."

    He didn't introduce me to the woman at his side, and I had a feeling that it was better that way.

    I nodded to them in greeting.

    Cora Engel smiled at me, and asked: " So how do you help Mr. Farricane?"

    I glanced at Farricane, and answered slowly: "Well, I...I solve his problems. I break them down into little pieces, that kind of thing."

    "Really?" commented John Key, smiling a crocodile smile.

    My gaze wandered the hall, then flicked back to Key. "Yes, I'm a professional who's highly paid." I said steadily.

    "But you're not American, are you?" Engel said.

    It was a few seconds before I answered: "No. Not full-blooded. But I've lived most of my life in America, and my father was American; well, his roots are in Ireland, but..."

    I shrugged. "And your mother?" she asked.

    My green eyes narrowed slightly, a completely involuntary reflex, whenever my mother came up during the course of any conversation. "She was Mexican, and died in Juárez."

    Farricane cleared his throat, and said: "If you will please excuse us for a minute, lady and gentleman, as me and my young friend have important business matters to discuss." He ignored the woman by his side.

    We walked away slowly, side by side.

    He shuddered. "God, I hate that witch. But I have a character to uphold."

    I scoffed. "Yeeah, let's not. Let's get down to business."

    "Sure," he agreed. "The subject is two hours car ride from here, in a small hotel, downtown. You will be provided with a car and the tools for the job. I want it quick and clean. If anything can be traced back to us, this war, this transaction, this...this operation is finished, and years of hard work will have been destroyed. You will receive a large (secret) bonus for this, on your already big salary."

   After a pause, he said: "OK, I'll have to go back now, and pretend I'm just as animalistic, and disgusting as them. Good luck. My butler will see to your needs."

   He left, and his butler came. A few minutes later, I'd left the hall.

   20 minutes later, I was standing at the bottom of the stairs outside, when my car for the night rolled up, a black BMW X6. The butler got out, leaving the engine purring, and I got in, without a word being exchanged between us. He closed the door, and I sped away.

   While keeping an eye on the road, I opened the glove compartment, extracted a Beretta M9 with leather-gloved hands, glanced at it, and put it on the passenger seat beside mine.

   The Beretta M9 was first adopted by the US army in 1985. A powerful and very able weapon, it was made for tonights job.

   Using the bluetooth in my car, I dialed my home number.

   "Yes, hello?" My son.

   "Hey Jamie, it's Dad. Give the phone to Mum, will you? Attaboy."

   There was silence at the other end for a few seconds, then a female voice tuned in.

   "Dom ,where are you?"

   "Yeah, it's great to hear you too." I laughed, and continued: "I just wanted to tell you that I'm working tonight, so I won't be home before tomorrow."

   She sighed. "If you must. But take care of yourself Dom."

   "I will, Jenny. I'll see you tomorrow, so go to bed, and sweet dreams."

   "Good night, Dom."

   She hung up, and I smiled in the darkness. My family was the only thing in the world I would have gladly put down my life for, and maybe that was why I was doing this job: to protect them from worse things, things could tear us apart, in more ways than one.

   This is life, pal. Do what you were born for, made for, lived for.

   I had put thin, black leather gloves on before I'd got in the car, so as not to leave any fingerprints, and was now drumming my fingers nonchalantly on the wheel, as I guided the car easily through the black, empty streets, until I caught sight of the small hotel.

  I braked to a stop just in front of the hotel, thought for a few seconds, then drove slowly into a small side-street, parked, turned off the engine and extracted the key. I reached over for my M9, stuck it into my trousers, at the small of my back, and got out of the car.

  I breathed deeply several times, my eyes closed, deep in thought.

  Show time.

  The street was nearly empty, except for a few pedestrians and a car every now and then.

  I strolled easily to the hotel, entered the shabby front door, and walked to the reception, where a young, tired-looking man was typing on his computer and looked up as I leaned my elbow on the counter, and smiled at him.

  Friendly. As innocent as a choir boy. A nice guy with nothing to hide.

 "Good evening." I began. "My friend checked in here a few days ago, and I've come to see him. But he forgot to tell me his room number, so if you could please give it to me, I'd be very grateful."

  He turned to his computer. "Could you tell me his name, Sir?"

  "Ah, sure. His name is Logan Harper."

  He pursed his mouth. "Ooookay, I got it. His room number is 11."

  I thanked him, and and walked to the small elevator, opposite the receptionist. I pressed the "Open" button with my thumb, before stepping in and pressing the button labelled 2. 

  A few seconds later, the doors opened again, and I stepped into the small, narrow hallway. I glanced at the numbers on the doors, until I saw Room 11, the third door on my right.

  I went up to it, and examined the lock carefully.

  This lock would be easy to open. I wondered why he hadn't checked into a larger, more expensive and safe hotel, which still wouldn't have stopped me, but at least he would have tried. But he had probably thought that it would be easier for him to remain undetected in this cramped, inconspicuous "hotel".

  Stupid.

  I took out my set of skeleton keys, and went to work.

  Within half a minute, I had the lock, and was pushing the door gently open with one hand, while drawing out my Beretta and holding it loosely, pointing toward the floor.

  I waited for noise. 

  Nothing.

  I passed inside the room, aiming the M9 with both hands at the bed, which I could just discern in the darkness, and crept stealthily up to it. A cat creeping up on a pigeon on an sunbathed lawn had nothing on me. 

  Harper was snoring quietly. 

   I reached for his shoulder, and shook him roughly, until he opened his eyes, and saw me. He opened his mouth to scream out, but when I showed him my gun, his clapped his mouth shut pretty fast.

   "Good evening, Mr. Harper. Could you please stand up?"

   Keep your voice friendly, melodic. Calm him down. Put on a show.

   He hesitated, but I shoved the pistol into his face, so he stood up.

   "Turn around." I ordered.

   He turned around. I hit him, just behind the ear. with the bottom of the pistol-grip, caught him as he collapsed like a felled tree, and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed. 

   I proceeded to gag him using a small, longish towel, which I found in the claustrophobic toilet, then took out a pair of slim handcuffs which I always carried around with me, and clapped them onto his wrists, arms behind his back, the typical stance for prisoners. 

   I unclipped my paracord bracelet around my wrist, and unraveled  the thin, but extremely strong paracord, tied one end firmly around Harpers wrist and just wrapped the other end a few times around my palm, then walked to the window, which was located above the alley where my car stood, and opened it carefully, before returning to Harper and dragging him to the open window. 

   I took a deep breath, and lifted him up, panting with the effort, and heaved him slowly through the window. I had left enough slack paracord so that he wouldn't hit the ground, just hang inches above it. 

   I left him swinging in the air by his wrist for a few seconds while I grabbed my breath, then lowered him to the ground, unwrapped the rope from my hand, closed the window, and grabbing his room key from his bedside table, left the room, closing the door behind me with a quiet hand. 

   This time, I didn't use the elevator, as the receptionist would inevitably catch sight of me as the elevator doors opened, no matter what I did. But the stairs were located at the side of the reception area, on his left, and he was much less likely to notice me.

   I prowled down the stairs, doing my best to keep in the shadows, until I was back in the reception. I scanned the room, saw the man behind the counter turn around to the ringing telephone, and pressing it to his ear and turning around.

   Perfect.

   I loped across the floor, up to the counter, and discreetly deposited Harpers room key onto the counter, so that it wasn't in full view, but at the same time not immediately eye-catching, and stepped back a few steps.

   The young man hung up, and turned around, just seeing me stride up.

   "Finished so soon, Sir?" he inquired.

   I frowned slightly. "No, it seems as if he wasn't in."

   He raised his eyebrows, and looked confused. "But that would mean that he's outside, and if that is the case, where is his room key?"

   (In some hotels you always have to turn in your key whenever you go outside, in case that it might get lost or something.)

   I started theatrically, and pointed at Harpers key. "Whose key is that?" 

   He grabbed it and groaned. "It is his key! He must have gone out when I went to the lavatory, or was telephoning. I'm so sorry Sir!"

    Lavatory. Aren't we refined. I smiled benevolently. "Never mind, I'll find him. Looks like we'll just have to grab a beer in some club. Good night."

   I ambled towards the exit, and stepped into the cool night air.

   First stage's over.

   One minute later, I picked up the still unconscious Harper, carried him to my car, lay him on the ground for a second while I opened the trunk, before picking him up again and dropping him in.

   I closed the trunk, walked to the drivers side, got in, and engaging gear, drove away.

   

   Forty-Five minutes later, I slowed, as I arrived at a large, deserted field in the outskirts of the town. I bumped slowly over numerous potholes, and ruts until I had arrived at the middle of the field, and came to a shuddering stop.

   I left the engine running, got out, and walked to the trunk, unlocked it, and stepping back a pace, aimed the M9 right at his red, angry face. Seemingly he had woken up, and was probably very angry, judging by the torrent of unprintable swear words he spat at me, sitting in the cramped space.

  I let him rave, for a few seconds, then poked the pistol into his belly.

  "Shut up. I'm going to kill you."

  When he realized that I was serious, and that this wasn't some stupid teenage prank, the blood drained out of his face, assuming the colour of a dead fish.

  "You're a killer." he whispered hoarsely.

  "Right." I faked an empty, hitman smile. In reality, I felt sick. "You were going to betray us. Or should I say them. You were going to go to the Juárez Cartel, and that was unforgivable."

  He licked his ashen lips, too terrified to say anything. I hate when that happens. Every time before I pull the trigger, or stab with the knife, or choke with my hands, I always empty my mind completely; all thoughts, all regrets just vanish. My brain empties; then I take a life. I'm not even fully conscious of the act, as if I'm detached, watching myself execute a human being. 

  I pressed the muzzle of my pistol against his right cheek. He gazed at me with eyes that were sick with terror. I firmly pulled the trigger, and the gun discharged.

  Not much noise came, as a sort of seal had been created between the muzzle and the skin, and so the blast was expended into his body. Particles of unburnt powder exploded at the breech of the M9, peppering my gloved hands. A perforation of his skull was created as the projectile was fired, and the bullet, twisting and spiralling, particles of molten metal being thrown off as it traveled over a thousand feet per second, created multiple fractures of Harpers skull. The copper-jacketed lead bullet, mashed and fragmented into four pieces, penetrated left and laterally and finally lodged in the left temporalis muscle.

   In perfect unison, the slide and the barrel of the gun recoiled until the barrel's movement was arrested. Continuing backwards, the slide passed over the hammer, cocked it, and slammed against the receiver as the empty casing was seized and ejected onto the floor of the trunk. The slide sprung forward again, peeled off the next cartridge from the magazine, and forced it into the chamber, then relocked with the barrel. The gun was ready to take another life.

   There was nearly no blood or flesh on the ground, as I had positioned him so that all the gore would spatter into the car.

    I threw the gun into the trunk, closed the boot, went to the front, got in, and pressed the gas pedal to the floor

   

    I arrived at Farrikans residence a few hours later. I got out, waited at the bottom of the stairs, and waited for him..

    A few minutes, and Farrikan came down the steps, with a tall glass of champagne in his hand. He took a swig, threw the glass away over his shoulder, and shook my hand.

    "Thank you very much, Dom. The DEA, FBI, CIA, and many other people will all one day be grateful for you. We've just successfully infiltrated the cartel, and flipped some informers, and Harper was the only one who had been informed about this Black Ops. He would have been the cause for many deaths, and of one of the largest cocaine transportations in history. He had to die."

    I nodded, then ordered. "Destroy the car and whatever's in it completely. No trace can remain. You know what to do." 

    He nodded, shook my hand once more, called the butler, told him to first drive me home, then to torch the car completely.

   

   As soon as he'd left, the inevitable guilt and reasoning set in. I told myself that I had done what was needed; what had been necessary. I had killed a man so that better men could live. It was that simple.

   I opened my eyes, and saw the butler driving up in a new Volvo, and stop in front of me. I reached out slowly, opened the back door, and got in. The car accelerated, and I'm back on the road; to my family. My wife, my son, my home, my life. I was still alive. Another mans life had ended tonight. I cowered down,feeling like I was gonna vomit, the bile rising up in my constricted throat, my stomach knotting together.

    The never-ending horizon stretches across the windshield, its infinite expanses filled with countless, twinkling stars, all looking down, and wondering. Wondering about us, about me, maybe..or is that very narcisstic?

    I contemplate the heavens, hoping that one day, God won't turn away from me when I need him the most, when I stand at Heaven's Gates, and he just turns away. Because I wasn't deserving. Of his love, of his mercy. I hope I will never see that day.

    

       

     

My Favourite Quotes (Part 1)

               My Favourite Quotes (Part 1)

(These are SOME of my favourite quotes ever, in no particular order.)

1. "The two most important days of a man's life are the day he gets born and the day he finds out why." Mark Twain

2. "You know that it's there there, but you just don't know where- but just because you can never reach it doesn't mean it's not worth looking for." The Phantom Tollbooth

3. "What's the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient...Highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it's almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed- fully understood- that sticks; right in there somewhere." Cobb, Inception

4. "Memory can change the shape of a room, it can change the colour of a car. And memories can be distorted. They're just an interpretation, they're not  a record, and they're irrelevant if you have the facts." Leonard Shelby, Memento

5. "Beneath this mask there's more than flesh. Beneath this mask is an idea, Mr.Creedy, and ideas are bulletproof." V for Vendetta

6. "They say we only use a fraction of our brain's true potential. Now that's when we're awake. When we're asleep, we can do almost anything." Cobb, Inception

7. "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight

8. "A man who stands for nothing will fall for anything." Malcolm X

9. "Be peaceful, be courteous, obey the law, respect everyone; but if someone puts his hand on you, send him to the cemetery." Malcolm X

10. "I don't even call it violence when it's in self-defense; I call it intelligence." Malcolm X

11. "A person less fortunate than yourself deserves the best you can give. Because of duty, and honor, and service. You understand those words? You should do your job right, and you should do it well, simply because you can, without looking for notice or reward." Jack Reacher, Nothing to Lose

12. "I don't want to put the world to rights...I just don't like people who put the world to wrongs." Jack Reacher, 61 Hours

Top 5 Best Non-Fiction Books of 2016

Top 5 Best Non-Fiction Books 2016

Note before Reading:  The books of the earlier list are not included here, as they're already there. This list is a new and independent list with no real ties to the older one, meaning that these books aren't better than the last ones. These are all books I've read in 2016. A list for 2017 will come probably at the end of the year.This is a countdown from least to best, with a commentary on each.

5: Zodiac by Robert Graysmith

Zodiac is a non-fiction book written by Robert Graysmith about the unsolved serial murders committed by the "Zodiac Killer" in San Francisco in the late 1960s and early '70s.

Originally published: 1986

Genre: True crime

Adaptations: Zodiac (2007)

An excellent and in-depth account of the mysterious Zodiac killer, who terrorised San Francisco in the '60s and '70s with his brutal murders and taunting letters to the police, newspapers, and the public. I also watched the movie, which was also excellent, and both are very similar, but the movie left out important details from the book, while concentrating more on Graysmith himself, and on his private life, more than the book. So yes, a very good read.

4: El Narco by Ioan Grillo

El Narco: Inside Mexico's Criminal Insurgency is a non-fiction book of the Mexican Drug War written by Ioan Grillo. 
Originally published: September 2011
Page count: 336
Genre: Non-fiction
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

A deeply researched analysis of the cartels and their trade, violence, culture, and tons of other things. It is brutal, but still entertaining, and a definite read.

3: Cocaine by Dominic Streatfeild

Cocaine: An Unauthorized Biography is a 2002 non-fiction book about the history of cocaine, written by Dominic Streatfeild and published by Diane Publishing Company. 
This book is about the history of Cocaine itself, starting from its roots at the time of the Spanish  Conquistadors, to its present problems in the world. Well written, with a touch of dry humor every now and then, Cocaine is for everyone who wants to know what cocaine actually is, and some crazy stories along the way.

2: Amexica by Ed Vulliamy

In the last three years more than 38,000 people have been murdered in Amexica - the area of land that forms the border between the US and Mexico. This is both the busiest and most deadly frontier in the world, studded with guard-posts, infra-red searchlights and heavily armed patrols.Across it unfolds a war that is scarcely reported - a war that's being fought, with thousands dying and millions of lives blighted, so that Europe and America can get high.In Amexica, acclaimed journalist Ed Vulliamy explores his own love-hate relationship with the place and its people, while investigating the causes and consequences of the war and its impact on the everyday life which somehow carries on around it.

This book, unlike El Narco doesn't concentrate so much on the trade as on the normal people and their experiences who live around it, and especially on the border. A poetical, beautiful, brutal, and compelling read.

1: The Autobiography of Malcolm X

One of the most, maybe the most impressive, deep, symbolic, deeply felt, and passionately written autobiography I've ever read or ever will read.

Malcolm's character, intelligence and faith is made clearer with every word he says. His amazingly inspiring story, from the deepest and filthiest ghettoes to his Pilgrimage to Mecca, is filled with symbolism and lessons for everyone. But be warned: this book is for marture audiences as it does have inappropriate material. For Further information, go to my parents guide of this truly wonderful true story.

"El Narco:The Bloody Rise of Mexican Drug Cartels" by Ioan Grillo (Review)

"El Narco: The Bloody Rise of Mexican                        Drug Cartels" Review

(Before I start, I just want to say that I will post both posts on this blog and videos on Youtube more often now, as I've left the boarding school.)

Basic Info:

In El Narco, Grillo takes a close look at the Mexican drug trade, starting with the term "El Narco", which has come to represent the vast, faceless criminal network of drug traffickers who cast a murderous shadow over Mexico.

Originally published: September 2011

Author: Ioan Grillo

Page count: 336

Genre: Non-fiction

Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Goodreads Rating: 4/5 from 2,391 votes.

Review: Excellent but bloody study of Mexicos Cartels is well researched and written.

Drugs.Violence.Cartels.Religion.Culture.Torture.Economy.El Narco deals with all of these,and more. Not only does it deal with all these topics, but it manages to string them all together, to make each one relevant to the others in some way. It can be confusing, with all the different characters and facts, but if you concentrate, it's worth it. Deeply researched, enganging and written from the heart. this book is a definite win, although stomach-twisting in parts, as Grillo relates the relentless and bloody rampage of the cartels, making this book NOT for kids.

El Narco is divided into three parts: History, which relates the rise of Mexicos Criminal Insurgency; Anatomy, which describes and analyses the trade, and Destiny, which looks into the future and suggests different ways with which to gain peace.

But be warned: this book is extremely disturbing in parts, when describing the merciless violence of the Sicarios. 

My rating is 8/10.

Amazon UK Link:https://www.amazon.co.uk/El-Narco-Bloody-Mexican-Cartels/dp/1408822431

"Uncle Tom's Cabin" by Harriet Beecher Stowe (Review)

           Uncle Tom's Cabin Review

Basic Info:

Originally published: March 20, 1852

Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe

Genre: Novel

Country: United States of America

Characters: Uncle Tom, Simon Legree, Miss Ophelia, more

Adaptations: Uncle Tom's Cabin (1965), Uncle Tom's Cabin (1918),Uncle Tom's Cabin (1910)

Review:

So I've finally done it: I've read Uncle Tom's Cabin after first having bought it 3 years ago. And my opinion on it is mixed: For its age, it's not too bad, but has several points which I either don't like or don't agree with or whatever; the feministic implications can be felt often, and always make me feel uncomfortable. Then we have the extreme religious implications, which nearly make this a sermon instead of a novel. And as Malcolm X also said, the stereotypes of the stupid, loyal, pacifist Uncle Tom was too much for me: although Stowe was against slavery, she obviously still didn't see Africans as an equal race, and her ignorance of Africa and its people are often visible. Also, this book never describes any of the brutality or death of slavery, which I feel is essential if you want to write a book about it. 

So my overall Rating is 5/10.

"The Phantom Tollbooth" by Norton Juster (Review)

     The Phantom Tollbooth Review

Basic Info:

The Phantom Tollbooth is a children's fantasy adventure novel written by Norton Juster with illustrations by Jules Feiffer, published in 1961 by Random House (USA). It tells the story of a bored young boy named Milo who unexpectedly receives a magic tollbooth one afternoon and, having nothing better to do, drives through it in his toy car, transporting him to the Kingdom of Wisdom, once prosperous but now troubled. There, he acquires two faithful companions and goes on a quest to restore to the kingdom its exiled princesses—named Rhyme and Reason—from the Castle in the Air. In the process, he learns valuable lessons, finding a love of learning.

Review:

The Phantom Tollbooth is undoubtedly the finest children's book I've ever read, although I would recommend it for kids 11 and up, as younger children won't get the puns and the wordplay, and will just wonder what everyone's laughing about. Its positive messages are too numerous to relate, but I'll try later. 

For now, let's just concentrate on why this book is so hilarious. As I said little children will find it hard to understand why it's so funny, but older ones will. The book's hilarity isn't in the usual jokes as found in other books and movies, rather it lies in it's play on words and pure craziness that's so funny. For instance, it transfers idioms and metaphors to reality, for instance jumping to conclusions, having to eat your own words, biting off more than you can chew, and the list goes on forever.

But at the same time, The Phantom Tollbooth doesn't just make you laugh, it also makes you think, as there's tons of symbolism to be found here such as that most people come out of the Sea of Knowledge completely dry, and a few come out completely soaked. The Positive Messages can be best summed up by CommonSenseMedia's review of it:

This book is driven by the view that learning is not only good and fun, but also a moral imperative. In the "Appreciation" foreword added in 1996, Maurice Sendak points out that it was actually compared to the robust Puritan spiritual tract Pilgrim's Progress for its "awakening of the lazy mind." The book begins with main character Milo thinking that life is boring and the pursuit of knowledge is worthless, but by the end, Milo has both the interest and the tools for learning, and a considerably more upbeat outlook.

Being dedicated to advancing the pursuit of knowledge, this book is fairly packed with educational material and clever perspectives on it. Wordplay and math problems are strewn exuberantly, along with commentary on social ills wrought by ignorance and mental laziness. Many of the whimsical characters Milo encounters along the way invite readers to look at long-held assumptions in new ways -- e.g., the airborne Alec Bings, who thinks Milo must be quite old to have his feet touching the ground already.

Yup, that about sums it up!

If I ever get children, I'm going to give them The Phantom Tollbooth and Holes to read as soon as they're old enough (although it is worth saying that Holes is more suited and appropriate for teenagers), as this book answers all the questions frequently asked by young children: Why should I learn this, will I need this in life, this is boring and so on and so forth.

So my OVERALL RATING is for sure 10/10, and an absolute must-read for pretty dang near everyone.

Top 5 Influental Books of 2015 (Part 2)

        Top 5 Influental Books of 2015 (Part 2)

Note before Reading:  The books of the earlier list are not included here, as they're already there. This list is a new and independent list with no real ties to the older one, meaning that these books aren't better than the last ones. These are all books I've read in 2015. A list for 2016 will come probably at the end of the year.This is a countdown from least to best, with a commentary on each.

5) A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn 

A People's History of the United States is a 1980 non-fiction book by American historian and political scientist Howard Zinn. In the book, Zinn seeks to present an alternate interpretation of the history of the United States. 

Originally published: 1980

Author: Howard Zinn

Country: United States of America

Genres: History, Non-fiction

Nominations: National Book Award for History (Paperback)

This is a meticulously researched and very well written alternate history of the US, showing that it's history is not all glory and banners, but a careless, un-empathetic, and often cruel history, although sometimes you can see the obviously left-wing attitudes and belief of the author, so it should be carefully read.

4) A Long Way Gone by Ishamel Beah 

A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier is a memoir written by Ishmael Beah, an author from Sierra Leone. The book is a firsthand account of Beah's time as a child soldier during the civil war in Sierra Leone. 

Originally published: February 13, 2007

Genre: Memoir

Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Country: United States of America

Nominations: NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Literary Work - Debut Author

A heart-breaking, brutal, compelling and passionately written memoir of a young boy drawn into a bloody and merciless civil war, who lost his family and friends, and with the wish of being part of something strong was drawn into the army, where he started killing people, getting so high on drugs that he stopped sleeping and eating properly, and who then had to live through his nightmare of rehabilitation in a country where nothing was secure or stable. An absolute must-read for anyone who can stomach the bloody, brutal, and sometimes grisly reality of boy soldiers.

3) The Road by Cormac McCarthy

The Road is a 2006 novel by American writer Cormac McCarthy. It is a post-apocalyptic tale of a journey of a father and his young son over a period of several months, across a landscape blasted by an unspecified cataclysm that has destroyed most of civilization and, in the intervening years, almost all life on Earth.

Originally published: September 26, 2006

Genre: Post-Apocalyptic fiction

Page count: 287

Adaptations: The Road (2009)

Characters: Burnt Man, Man, Thief, Woman, Boy

One of the saddest and unique books I've ever read, this masterpiece will hold you on the edge of your seat. Although it is set in such a dark, evil, and dangerous world, it still gives hope, saying that love and belief can still survive through the harshest conditions. Although the gore isn't often here, when it does come, it's stomahc wrenching, especially one scene which I will guarantee you will have trouble reading. But never-the-less, it is still a masterpiece, and is also an absolute must read for anyone who has lost hope in beauty, God, love, the world and about everything else. 

2) The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein 

The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism is a 2007 book by the Canadian author and social activist Naomi Klein. In the book, Klein argues that neoliberal free market policies (as advocated by the economist Milton Friedman) have risen to prominence in some developed countries because of a deliberate strategy of "shock therapy". This centers on the exploitation of national crises to push through controversial policies while citizens are too emotionally and physically distracted by disasters or upheavals to mount an effective resistance.

An international best-seller by the author of No-Logo, this book reveals harsh truths about the rich blue-bloods who are sucking blood out of the poorer middle-class, which are so confused or blind that they can't fight back. 

1) Brainwash: The Secret History of Mind Control by Dominic Streatfeild

Brainwash: The Secret History of Mind Control is a 2006 non-fiction book published by Hodder & Stoughton about the evolution of mind control from its origins in the Cold War through to today's War on Terror.

Preceded by: Cocaine: An Unauthorized Biography

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Nominations: Samuel Johnson Prize

One of the best books on the subject, Streatfeild writes clearly and engagingly, although you should be careful in reading it, as his views are very hard to understand sometimes, demanding multiple reads. It's a clear 18+ with strong depictions of torture, electrocution, rape and so on, which can be painful to read. But still, an absolute must-read. 

Amazon UK links:

A People History of The United States: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Peoples-History-United-States/dp/0062397346

A Long Way Gone: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Long-Way-Gone-Story-Soldier/dp/0007247095

The Road: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Road-Cormac-McCarthy/dp/0330468464

The Shock Doctrine: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Shock-Doctrine-Rise-Disaster-Capitalism/dp/0141024534

Brainwash: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Brainwash-Secret-History-Mind-Control/dp/0340831618

"Famous Five Series" by Enid Blyton (Review)

          Famous Five Series Review

Basic Info:

Author: Enid Blyton

Number of books: 21

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Adaptations: Famous Five (2012)

Country: United Kingdom

Genres: Children's literature, Mystery, Adventure

The Famous Five is the name of a series of children's adventure novels written by English author Enid Blyton. The first book, Five on a Treasure Island, was published in 1942. The novels feature the adventures of a group of young children – Julian, Dick, Anne and Georgina (George) – and their dog Timmy. 

Review:

I still can't believe that this Series is so popular: Okay, I get it, this is intended for lil' kids and not teens and adults, but even kids shouldn't read this in my opinion; the unrealistic and flat characters, the numerous plot holes, the too-perfect-ending, the cliche villain/s, the weird messages etc... just shouldn't be read by little children.

Let's start with what I hate about the characters:

1) All of them are flat and pretty much unrealistic, as they're aren't specially trained Black Ops operatives with years of experience, but little kids.

2) George keeps wanting to be a boy although she isn't which, means she's ungrateful for what she has; she's very emotional and unstable, loves an animal more than anything else in the world, has no respect, does what she wants, doesn't follow any rules, and is extremely stubborn.

Now let's continue with the stories themselves: 

1) The overall Super English tone, atmosphere, and speech is often overwhelming: For instance those numerous "Goshes", "Jolly", and so on. I mean, which normal person talks like that? Then the English countryside, English Picnics, the Perfect Stereotype of an English

Scientist, the normally foreign villains and so on.

2) The Crime-Bustin: Which group of kids gets to bust over 20 professional burglars, mafias, crime rings, drug lords, kidnappers, smugglers, forgers, terrorists etc.?! Which criminal is so criminally careless and criminally stupid to let himself be beat by a buncha kids?!

Okay, I admit, maybe I am putting it a bit strongly, but the fact remains that these books are not productive, not intelligent, not very moral, and un-realistic. If you have to read Enid Blyton I suggest either the Mystery Series or The Magic Faraway  Tree Series, which are both better.