The sky is so blue that there is not a cloud in sight.

  Sunlight splashes upon the crisp white sand of Anna Maria Island and clear salt waves of the ocean nearby. Seagulls fly above, only stopping to feast upon the scraps of food that any passing visitors that may have left behind. Just a couple blocks away lie a network of lavished neighborhoods. The roads continue to bake underneath the Florida heat, and as temperatures continue to rise above, people sit on their porches to sip on ice cold lemonade or check their mailbox.

  On a secluded hill, beyond a cluster of palm trees weighed down by coconuts and a large gate lies a Colonial style mansion consisting of twenty bedrooms, fifteen bathrooms, movie theater, tennis court, an indoor and outdoor pool, and four garages. Through its multiple windows, one can see both the sunrises and sunsets that Anna Maria is able to offer.

  * * * * * * * *

  In a bedroom located on the upper left wing of the home, Ellison Hasward lies on his king-sized mattress. His left leg dangles off the edge of his linen sheets, imported from across the world. His head rests on a silk pillow case, his blonde hair appearing even brighter in the sunlight streaming from the window above. The heat is landing on the side of his face as he scrolls with his thumb on his phone. Dark circles are below his eyes.

  A smirk crosses his face as he replays a video from the previous night of one of his buddies puking in a garbage can. Friday’s party had been brutal, but he knew that this one tonight would be even better. He shifts his legs under the sheets and yawns, stretching his arms over his head. Although it’s only four in the afternoon, his head is killing him. As he climbs out of bed, he steps barefoot over red plastic cups, beer cans, pizza boxes, chip bags. His vision is blurry.

  Damn it.

  ”Sarah!” Ellison bellows, glancing around his room. His voice is still kind of raspy. “Sarah!”

  There are some quick footsteps heading down the hallway, before his bedroom door is flung wide open. A tall, middle aged woman stumbles in breathless. Her face is glowing with sweat, and she paused to give him a quick smile, despite the young man’s glare.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she quickly says, wiping a curl from her face. “I see that—”

  ”Why isn’t this done?” Ellison holds his arms out in disbelief. “You want me to be living in a pigsty now, is that it? What the hell have you been doing? I don’t pay you to sit around and do nothing.” He rubs his forehead. “You’re completely worthless, you know that?”

  ”I’m so sorry, sir,” Sarah replies, wiping her hands with her apron. “But I just finished the fourth floor, and will start this one soon. You were sleeping, and I didn’t—”

  ”Get this squared away now, or you won’t have anywhere to sleep tonight.” The young man paused as he stepped by her. His blue eyes bore into her face so much that she had to look away. “You have an hour. If I see a piece of lint or hair on the carpet or bathroom, I’ll be mailing you your last paycheck. And you can forget about finding work again. I’ll let everyone know in town that you can’t properly clean a room. There’s a party tonight. This is your last chance to redeem yourself. Take it.”

  Goosebumps rise on Sarah’s arms.

  ”I suggest you get started,” Ellison whispers, before roughly pushing past her and slamming the door so loud a crack appears on the wall. His head was indeed killing him.

  * * * * * * * *

  The tines of Ellison’s fork scrape against his plate as he cuts into his omelet. The dining room table is empty, furnished by lavished paintings and furniture. Things that the stupid people around him had forgotten to dust properly. He loudly exhales as he slams his utensils against the table, causing the orange juice in his cup to slosh over. When he stands up, the legs of his chair loudly scrape against the wooden floor. He looks down in disgust.

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  “Gary!” he thunders. Can’t anyone do anything right here? This isn’t really helping his hangover. “Gary, get over here!”

  The floor squeaks, as Ellison abruptly turns around. The personal chef quietly enters the room and bows. He does not flinch as Ellison suddenly throws the plate at his feet. It shatters against the floor, food splattering all over the wall and rugs. Ellison spat at him.

  “I can’t eat this shit,” he snarls. “It’s cold.”

  “My apologies, Mr. Halson,” Gary calmly replies, folding his hands. “I believe Sarah recently woke you up, so I made sure to keep your breakfast in the oven, since I was not aware of when you would be returning downstairs. I can make you another—”

  ”You served me pre-cooked food?” Ellison snaps. “You mean to tell me this isn’t fresh?”

  “Sir, I made this meal twenty minutes ago.” The chef clears his throat. “I was not sure—”

  ”I’ll make sure you know of one thing.” As Ellison steps forward, he roughly grabs Gary’s collar. “If you ever think of preparing me something like this again, I’ll break your neck into two.” His blue eyes flash. “You tryin’ to kill me, is that it? You want to get me poisoned.”

  Gary swallows. “No, sir.”

  A chuckle escapes from Ellison, before he slowly releases the fabric of Gary’s shirt. “I’ve got my lawyers on standby. I’ll sue you and take everything you have. You….you add no value to anyone. You just sit here, wasting resources, wasting time.” He pauses and slowly steps back. He then spits in his face.

  Gary’s own hands are shaking, but he fights to remain composed. He does not move as he feels the wad of saliva trickling down his cheek and drip down to the edge of his collar. The clock is ticking slowly on the wall.

  Ellison laughs, before kicking aside the broken plate with his foot. “Clean this up.”

  * * * * * * *

  After taking a shower and getting dressed, the young man reaches for his cell phone and glances at the collection of car keys, before selecting the one to his green Lamborghini Huracan. As he combs his hair and brushes his teeth with the faucet running in the bathroom, his phone vibrates on the sink. When he sees the name appearing in the screen, his heart skips a beat for a moment.

  Ellison sighs. “Hey, Dad.”

  There’s a rasping coughing sound on the other line. “It’s been a while. I wanted to see how you were doing, if you need anything.”

  After guzzling down some mouthwash, Ellison bent over and spat in the sink. “Yeah, you think you could transfer some money over?”

  His father sighs. “How much?”

  “Ten grand.”

  ”What the hell do you need ten grand for?”

  ”I gotta take my car to the shop to add some more mods, remember?” Ellison glances at his watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth. “What did the doctors say, anyway?”

  There is a pause, then additional wheezing. “Well, you remember that they said that I was in remission. It’s come back, El. Doc’s recommending more additional rounds of chemotherapy. So I probably won’t be home in a couple of months—and it may take longer for me to go back to work. So we will just have to wait and see.”

  Ellison glances down. His reflection is distorted from the foggy mirror.

  ”How’s school?”

  ”Alright, I guess.”

  Mr. Halson sneezes. “Did ya ask Mr. Gills for extra credit for calculus so you’ll pass this year? You already got held back once. Remember, they won’t let you graduate—”

  ”Dad,” Ellison murmured. “I got it, okay? I’ll take care of it. Now can you please just wire over the money? I’m heading to the shop.”

  His father sighs. “Alright. How’s the staff treating you? I know it can get kinda daunting when it’s just you and them. I’ll be home soon, don’t you worry. You just—-focus on acing your classes and graduating on time.”

  Ellison turns off the bathroom light and grabs his keys and sunglasses. “I’m gonna be fine.”

  “Alright, El. Love you.”

  ”Love you,” Ellison mumbles, before hanging up. He puts on a pair of sunglasses, shoves his wallet in his back pocket, before strutting out in the heat, his wet hair damp in his face.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Ellison couldn’t describe the next couple hours. Colors, taking one pill after the other. He hopped from one bar to another, arms locked around his friends—where was his car keys? The house—his house was packed to the brim, and music blasted from the ceiling.

  When he opens his eyes, his head is resting sideways on the toilet seat, nearby a puddle of vomit. His knees ache, his shirt is missing, and it is like a thousand wasps has stung his face. His eyes are so swollen that they are hard to see out of. His stomach is killing him.

  It is Saturday morning.

  The sun is not shining.

  He sees a girl asleep in his bed, her hair strewn across the pillow. The bathroom door opens, and he suddenly sees Sarah enter in, clutching her cell phone. Her eyes are bright pink, and it looks like she has been crying.

  Ellison slowly raises his head from the toilet seat. There is vomit smeared all over his lower chin, chest, his hands. His tangled hair settles over his eyes, and all he could do is stare at her. Sarah slowly sinks to the floor.

  “Your father passed away in his sleep last night,” she sobs. “He’s dead.”