Read Bosenmori (English) :: London Sasha

Bieniek's Point of View

In the city of Nielendorane, I was inside a house. This house was shaped like a Hacienda, a Spanish house, with vibrant colors and hand-painted tiles with wrought iron. I was lying on a bed, but without a blanket because it's summer.

— Good morning, Bieniek

Sasha said, who had given me shelter for a brief workout.

As I walked through the corridors, I kept looking at portraits of the queen of our country over time, and then I told her why she had them, and she said:

— I love everything about this country, that's why I collect portraits of the queen, that's why my t-shirt says it all, it is called patriotism, Bieniek.

— If you're really patriotic, why does your house look like a Spanish house?

— Culture, this city used to be a sewer sponsored by a Spanish company.

Sasha's Point of View

On July 20th, 2012, a week before the London Olympics, I was at the home of the Prime Minister, Hook. It's located at 10 Downing Street in Westminster, in the south of the city. I used to be a spy, i was hired by some thugs to shoot Hook, who tried to use the atletes money for wrong ways.

While Hook was walking around the living room of his house as he entered, I was sitting in a small brown armchair in the middle of that checkered floor, a fireplace, and a large carpet near the exit door where he went before going upstairs to his office.

I was there cross-legged before running out without him noticing, just before I got close to the door. I saw him sit down at a banquet table in the center of the room.

After putting on his MP3 headphones, he started whistling the song "Video Killed the Radio Star," while I pulled a pistol from my brown holster with a large yellow "S" and fired.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

Before the bullets ended up piercing the wall instead of Hook's forehead, with his brown eyes closed, a wide smile, and spiky hair over pale skin with a square jaw, in a suit and tie under a jacket the same color as his eyes. When I lost my patience, I ended up surrounded by guards, wearing the typical London Metropolitan Police uniform with a bullet and knife proof vest.

In prison, I had to deal with annoying prisoners before giving them a lot of punches that left them defeated, with shouts of "PRETTY GIRL" stuck near my mind, before I escaped digging a hole with my own hands, breaking the ground and my nails scratching the earth.

I ended up in the city sewers, where I realized that killing gets me nowhere, even though I'm not evil. I grabbed the holster and the seized pistol.

Then I ended up speaking, which ended the name London Sasha.

— Now I understand why violence tormented my life...