About the Book:
http://www.houseofnehesipublish.com
PLASTERED IN PRETTY is a dystopian tale. N.C. Marks activates, deactivates at will the Alice in Wonderland syndrome in a Caribbean paradise. Facebook and Instagram are virtual religious icons. A pyromaniac burns a new-born in the late night, office-bound civil servants chat only via WhatsApp, friends with benefits, “Persons With Pedigree,” flamboyant vagrants, a car accident victim in distress over her $1,000-hairpiece, a rapist landlord, a government minister’s “mysterious snake,” a church first lady protects her psychopathic son with hush money, and the willful but fragile protagonist is not yet among this list of characters! Vivid, with a disturbing accuracy of social media posts, and often funny.
Read an Excerpt:
Featured in Aug/Sept 2019 Issue: Fierce Female
Chapter 20:
There was no divorce as the plaintiff had failed to appear at court the following morning in January.
The judge, who seemed awestruck by her beauty, said he was sorry about the loss of her beautiful home and noted that the authorities were investigating whether anyone had perished in the fire. However, the judge seemed more interested in expressing sentiments of his inability to fathom why her husband would wish to “dispose” of such a fine specimen as herself before wishing her a “happy” life.
She grinned widely at “dispose,” but “happy” presented her with powerful perplexities.
With tears lingering nearby, she wished she could explain to His Lordship that her marriage was the happiest thing that had ever happened to her. Happy, the extremely elusive entity had failed her yet again because of Mr_im_man’s stupid superficiality surfacing so strongly over the simple state of her nude face. Stewps.
The thought of the issue stirred swells of deep-seated anger within her every single time.
She left the courtroom not feeling victorious in the least, … . Walking aimlessly through the streets of Kingstown, she was met with sympathetic stares and sad spoken sentiments from social media strangers. This only served to further sink her sullen mood.
Deciding that Department X was too hazardous for her health at the very hour, she drove to Villa and had breakfast at Paradise Inn.
It was while making her payment she discovered that her debit and credit cards were all deficient of funds.
“There has to be some mistake,” she chanted like a powerful mantra, while driving back to Kingstown to check at the bank.
There was no mistake.
There was no money.
He had taken both his and HER money.
Every single red cent.
She had been played.
So he was not fast asleep in the other bedroom of the burning house.
The fucker was alive.