Diaries of Mrs. Nectar

By Nikida Taste

In this brilliant and explosive tale, Chanel Simon aka Mrs. Nectar is a force to be reckoned with. Turning her charm on and off renders a domino effect of chaos. She's 37, highly attractive and doesn't mind scheming her way to the top. Her first choice is robbing banks while getting away with large sums of cash and doing it while dressed as the sexy lawyer-type. She's determined to carve out a life of luxury while manipulating an unsuspecting, innocent young girl who looks up to her like a sister. She's methodical with a shysty mindset and her double life is bone-chilling. To many, she's just a woman working a menial job trying to stay above water. Her legal husband of 4 years equates to sleeping with the enemy and because he emotionally abuses her, her soul is caught in a revelation of mayhem. Fiona, less attractive, a church-going woman with one of the most pleasant personalities and giving heart is the only thing that stands in between Chanel and her husband getting back together. Unfathomable turn of events seizing the reins of an undeniable fiction thriller. A time in a life of Mrs. Nectar.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TTD Publications
• Release date: Oct 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386161349

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Diaries

Of

Mrs. Nectar

By Nikida Taste

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The Arrival

My name's Chanel Simon. I’m thirty-seven. I want to thank you for keeping me alive. I can't say my attitude has changed much. If you're reading this you must have a few screws loose. That's right. I said it. I dare you to do something about it. What do you want me to do? Apologize to someone who dares to read about my life? Matter of fact do yourself a favor. Don't read past this point. Only the brave courageous are built for such material. The way I see, hear, feel, taste, touch, is different than any person on this planet. Why was I given to this place of deception? The way I look at it, it was a mean cruel prank meant to play on those who think life is simple. Those who think they can work a decent nine to five, raise snot nose children, spend shit loads of other people's money, have sex with whomever or whatever they please and go about their day to day like nothing ever happened. It's a sick joke. Yes, I'm talking about me. The one who, at the blink of an eye, will smile at you, at the close of another, is waiting and so willing to slit your throat with one clean slice. Do I kill people or souls? What's the difference? My weapon of choice is for me to know and you to do whatever it takes to not cross my path. If they don't care why should I? Weak people turn the other cheek. They want revenge for what they are unable to change, situations that happened and made them the fucked up person they are today. Me? I get revenge. I take pleasure in watching them grovel and spit for their pathetic little lives. We were meant to bleed, meant to release, reveal an ocean of our most hidden sacred emotions, meant to give light to what all of us try desperately to hide. Tears are for healing whether you're good or bad. Most of us don't deserve to heal. From the moment I laid eyes on them i knew they deserved to meet the horrid fate many old people and babies have the 'pleasure' of meeting. What did they do to deserve to be flushed down the drain of hell's fury? In the back of buses, cars, yards, sitting in restaurants, watching movies, looking at buildings, walking in parks, mentally and physically fucking our families behind nasty doors as if they were actual putrid diseased ridden toilets. Violators and arrogance attempt to assassinate an already wounded emptiness. A helpless being. Violators rejoice with a customized anecdote, a remedy they see fit to make them whole again. Evil is unsettling. It rocks the core of who you are. I come with many faces leaving traces of fear rumbling in your thoughts. I am an unforeseen force not one to decipher. Don't attempt to worry your pretty little head on why I am here. I am the strife in everyone's life. I am a chameleon. When you're peeking i’m watching you dead on standing in the center of my malevolent world. A world so foul, mute, because if there is one thing I cannot stand and that's the screaming of those who've begged pleaded for me to have mercy on their meaningless thoughtless souls. I'm divine in every way you cut me. I create my own destiny. I'm also a hypocrite. I don't give a shit who knows it. Sometimes a strong urge compels one to want to turn the normal everyday monotony into a sea of atrocity. Sometimes you just want to do something unthinkable. See what happens after. Judging those whom you've never walked in their shoes, you deserve to be silenced. Your 'closet' is filthy like the next man or woman. Overflowing. Bones stacked so high it would take sixty graveyards to bury them. Walking around pretending like your queen or king of a foreign land. He without sin shall cast the first stone. Watch out. A tornado is coming....and you my friend?...is living in a glass house. The problem is you lie to yourself. Life is simply a reciprocity of disguised events. Lacking, and you, the liar, don't want anyone to know why you try hard to keep them secret. Pain drives a force within us. Once you've received reaction never really thinking it was your action that sparked an avalanche of everything you put into the universe. Fuck a good deed, no deed goes unpunished. For most redemption is too far away to attain. Even when you're on the right path....it calls to you. Evil. It whispers. A growing need to demolish the very work you’ve created to be deemed sustainable, acceptable in society. Are you sure you want to get inside of a mind that’s contaminated? A mind of corruption? If I were you i’d think twice.

The Beginning

I ran out of ice chips, delivering a hard slap to my bed railing as pain shot through my spine. My arms were sore. The room was freezing punctuated by the sounds of icy rain clawing at the windows. The blanket was like paper and I just about had enough of an old white man asking every question there was. If he wanted the hellish truth I had no problem giving it to him. I was hooked to monitors and tubes. The ticking of each beep made it dreadfully known everything I had ever done had caught up with me. Honestly I 'd rather listen to the sounds of my declining health than listen to a man who thought he knew me. I don't know what kind of education he had but if he thought he could begin to comprehend what I was, what I had gone through...so be it.  What do you think of yourself? As it stands today? He asked methodically, trembling, gazing directly at me. I'm in a hospital bed. Shouldn't that be a good enough answer for you? I don't think about much of anything these days. I told him disrespectfully, voice groggy, low. I weighed two-hundred pounds, caramel skin, wore a mow-hawk, slits on the sides. My features were intense, war scars evident, an unmistakable appearance only fucked with by fools. He paused, taken aback by my response. His boney hands gripped the bible tightly. You've been this way a long time haven't you? He questioned, shifting his scrawny frame in the seat. That depends father. Do you mean a long time as in before or after I decided to eat hearts and spit them out? You tell me. Do you honestly think you can change me? I stared at him like a savage. Do you want to change? "I don't see the point. Do you realize it's people like you....I eat for breakfast? You come here with your religious costume expecting people to see things your way? You're wasting your time. I added mockingly.  Chanel, it's never too late for anyone to change. You have to want it. I'm only here to help." He softly placed his hand on the edge of the mattress. I found him hilarious, the best joke I had ever encountered. His black attire, white hair,