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This Funeral Poster Contains The Name Of The Killer / Iyalode Alhaja Sadia Elewuju That Was Murdered In Cold Blood (Photo) / An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart (2) (3) (4)
|An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by TisaBone: 7:11pm On Apr 14, 2012|
Nobody knew where she came from. She just appeared out of thin air. In the ghetto that was like an omen of bad things to come. Who was this girl? How the hell did she ever land in B-More? Murdaland? You just didn't find young black girls from around the way that were quite like her. Thats what the tall, darkskinned young man told himself as he studied her every move, as she came closer to him, walking steadily foward, like a soldier on a lone mission, past the dilipidated rowhouses, her book bag in tow.
She was as tall as she was dark, her long braids swinging about her shoulders. Her back was straight, and she walked tall, never once seeming to look to her left, or to her right, just foward. The girl walked as if in a dream, a serene expression playing upon her face, as though she were anywhere but this garbage strewn sidewalk, filled with used needles, cracked vials, and Lord knows what else. It was a cold, brisk autumn day, and the girl wore a wool peacoat, dark denim jeans, and the most striking color of bright yellow boots, he had ever seen worn before.
They make her look so bright. That was the only way he could reconcile to himself how well that particular shade of yellow offset her deep chocolate skin to perfection. The effect was striking, as she seemed to have a bright aura around her very being. She shined like a beacon, lighting up the very path she took of her unknown journey;the very sidwalk seemed illuminated by her prescence, and every one stopped and took notice of this newcomer.
Damn thatblack bitch ugly, but her ass phat as hell. Hey miss juicy booty!!! one young hopper sneered. When you gone let me tap that? another one chimed in, followed by a chorus of laughter. But it just as quickly died down, awaiting a response from her. But what they got in return was stony silence, as she glanced up once, into the eyes of the lowlifes. Her gaze locked with his, and for the briefest of moments, he was totally mesmerized, engulfed in the deep pools of brown, encased by cat eyes, slightly upturned, that gave away nothing, but hinted at everything. He had to look away.
Just like that he was overcome by her spell, and he could feel his manhood rising. His embarrassment showed, as his pale face began to redden at the tautning he received from his friends. Nigga you call the bitch ugly, and next minute yo dick is hard. Make up ya mind nigga.The group of young men, all joined in, teasing him mercilessly, he seethed on the inside, while taking the banter in stride. That shit jus wasn't supposed to happen. But for real though nigga, I'd tap that black ass with the quickness nigga. Darkbutts be havin that fire, and she look like she can suck the shit outta a dick, look at them big ass lips!
More laughter followed, as she steadfastly tried to hold onto every shread of dignity she could muster. On the outside, it seemed as though nothing ruffled her, not the lude comments, not being called out her name. It wasn't as though this was anything new, the level of disrespect of guys her age was absolutely appalling that it made her stomach turn, and she understood why she was still a virgin at seventeen. There was no way she was giving it up to any of the clowns she knew from around her hood, nor from her hometown. But young boys were ten times worse; a bigger city breeded a different level of chaos, that was all around her, that manifested itself in different ways, and on bigger planes than she ever could have imagined. But the mentality was still the same. Bleep hoes, get money. It seemed like every nigga on every hood corner was screamin that shit, but what did that really mean? Yet and still, they were reduced to animals at the sight of a new fresh piece of ass. She thought to herself, and couldn't help but smiling at her own personal little revelation about the opposite sex. She was lost in her own dreamworld, filled with thoughts and plans of a better tomorrow, when she walked smack right into somthing hard, tripped, and nearly fell flat on her ass.
Strong arms prevented her from falling onto the dirty pavement, and she was scared shitless. God damn if she was gonna let it show though. You just didn't run into someone in the hood, and not expect retribution belonging to the order of a pistol whip, bitch slap, or something in between. But what she felt instead were the arms around her that seemed encirlcled her, that seemed to hold onto her for a second longer than they were supposed to,yet ultimately made her feel not frightened, but soothed her rattled nerves. She was set straight, yet her eyes remained downcast, not really knowing what to do, not that she was on her feet, and not on her ass. She was slightly embarrassed, and didn't know what to do or say.
She took in the fresh Timberland boots first, then her gaze slowly made its way upward, traveling up the length of his body, clad only in some baggy jeans, and a tee so white, that it could have only been worn once, and that time was occuring in the here and now. He's so tall...she absentmindedly thought to herself, while her subconscious mind took in his cut physique, catlike, and sleek, his build obvioulsy strong and capable, without being too showy. Finally, more out of fear for not acknowledging his presence, than in genuinely wanting to thank him. she hestitantly looked into his eyes. He had the eyes of a tiger. They were fierce and held the promise of pain and torture if provoked even the slightest amount. The pure evil that lurked within his eyes astounded her, to the point that if she had been any dumber, she would have taken the cowards way out, and ran out of sheer fear for her life. Am i next? her mind feverishly thought.
Fear was something he was imminently used to. You didn't build an empire like he had, nor did you wear the crown without knowing the very smell of fear. It almost made him smile, but the very thought of smiling made him frown. Few things amused him, but yet he was, with this strange bitch in front of him, piquing his interest. She was incredible piece of ass, he loved tall bitches, they way there long legs wrapped around him as he pounded in and out of their wetness. It was an incredible experience, that he wouldn't mind sharing with her.
He wasn't beyond taking pussy, but for some reason he didn't want to take it from her. He wanted her to give it to him. The more he stared into her eyes, and the more fear that he saw lurking in them, the more convinced he became that he couldn't break her down. Things came to easy to him nowadays, too much pussy was thrown to him, for once he wanted to work for it. The last time any pussy had thrilled him was when he took it at knifepoint from a homeless dopefiend. The rush of power buzzed throughout his body, all they way to his dick, making him drunk with the feeling of power. He really wasn't in the mood when he saw her. But he was bored and she'd asked for it. Let me get a ten daddy, she had begged him. Thas all i need soldier. You gone like what i got. He wasn't exactly sure if he had liked it or not, but one thing was certain, she had gotten her ten alright. Right before he slashed her throat.
"I'm sorry for bumping into you sir." she said suddenly, breaking the lengthy silence. She looked into his eyes, aborbing the coldness, the terror, and the intelligence. Her gaze caressed his face, taking in everything, missing nothing. He wore his hair cut low in a fade. His eyes were gray, the contrast against his ebony skin striking. Everything about him was aquiline. Cheekbones set high and proud on his oval face. His thick lips curved slightly at the corners, conveying his mirth, and the acknowlegment of her statement.
"Sir?" his voice was deep and resonent, as it carried the short distance they stood from one another. " Just watch where you going from now on ma. Sorry aint always enough, know what i mean?" he questioned her, but his voice was silky with hint on coldness that could not quite keep itself concealed. She did nothing more than nod her head, before slowly turning around, and resuming her journey, homebound she went. He watched her, until she turned left and out of sight. He looked to his left, at the his group of young and rowdy soldiers. He looked behind his shoulder, at his nigga who had been in the range rover he leaned against, silently watching, scoping out the scenery. He felt secure in his place in the world. He owned these streets, and every mothafucka who slung his product.
He spit on the ground before striding over to the passenger side of the black SUV. He opened the door and the slid into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind him, and the made himself comfortable, the plush leather interior felt so soft and inviting against his skin, and he closed his eyes momentarily, collecting his thoughts. He saw her face, swimming in his memory, and he mentally undressed her, imagining the feel of her soft skin against his, licking th sweat of their lovemaking from her skin, wet with perspiration, the tiredness of sex inviting and sleep eventually overcame them both. He would wrap his arms around her afterwards, even in rest she would have to be by his side. The obsession with her had begun.
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by chibaby5(f): 7:32pm On Apr 14, 2012|
Ehhh??! ! !
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by TisaBone: 7:51pm On Apr 14, 2012|
what's that mean
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by Killz1(m): 8:21pm On Apr 14, 2012|
Gawddamn. . . What tha hell happened to the literature section? I ask again. . .
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by ArQueBusieR(m): 8:23pm On Apr 14, 2012|
OMG! Not another writer!! What did we do to deserve this!!!
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by Killz1(m): 8:26pm On Apr 14, 2012|
ArQueBusieR: OMG! Not another writer!! What did we do to deserve this!!!
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by Idowuogbo(f): 8:40pm On Apr 14, 2012|
U no get talent jare, see u as u jus sardine d whole happenings
I swearigawd doing manicure and pedicure for oshodi na hin go favour u.
It's not ur calling o!
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by Nobody: 8:46pm On Apr 14, 2012|
At tisa, u are doing great.
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by TisaBone: 10:32pm On Apr 14, 2012|
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by IZUKWU(m): 11:01pm On Apr 14, 2012|
Waiting for the follow up. Love your use of words. More credit to your line.
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by TisaBone: 2:11am On Apr 18, 2012|
It had been one of the worst days of recent memory. A new school had always been the worst part of moving anywhere for her. The stares, the glares, that always asked questions, yet gave or wanted nothing in return except the answers they demanded. She was tired of the questions, tired of being the new kid on the block, the odd man out. For once she wanted to belong, but it was much too late for such wishful thinking. Her highschool career was almost finished. She would be graduating the upcoming spring. In effect, childish dreams and fantasies, and wanting something she had never had were to be pushed deep back, onto the highest shelf, in the darkest corner of her mind, never quite forgotten, but well out of sight.
Or maybe she was just paranoid. Yeah, that was it. Afterall how could her classmates possibly be glaring at her for? In order to glare at someone, that meant you had to dislike them, and in order for someone to dislike you, they had to know you. Right? Wrong. She knew this just as well as any other reasonably intelligent person, yet this fact of life always baffled her. She sighed a sigh far too weary for someone so young in years, and waited for the teacher to call her name, and introduce her to the rest of the classroom. Amidst the noise in the classroom, she breathed out a breathe of relieft. No one was paying her any mind. She was invisible. No one probably even realized she was new. She relaxed in her ragged desk, glanced at the textbook before her. She slowly leafed through the pages, before settling on a chapter that interested her. She settled herself in happily, and began to read the book in earnest. You could always read about the past, and find wisdom and knowledge. If you didn't pay attention to the past, what in the Bleep would affect the decisions of the future? Probably just Bleep up twice, she thought, chuckling to herself.
Oh lets do it! Drug dealin music!! Waka Flocka Flame, played on somebody's mp3, diverting most of the attention from the poor white young teacher, who for the life of her, couldn't get the rowdy class to settle down.
"Devin, you know you're not supposed to have that out right-"
"Sit down hoe!" was his reply, as the class laughed in unison at her expense. "You are now in the Ghe-Toe" another brown skinned student shouted, to the glee of the overcrowded classroom. Social Studies textbooks were on everyone's desk, but not one of them were cracked open. They seemed nothing more than props, apart of the charade no one even attempted to play out, except the overworked and underpaid staff. She merely shook her out, and said nothng more. She sighed a weary sigh and didn't even bother to reply back. The little hooligan was right. She was in the ghetto, and different rules applied here. Anarchy seemed to be the only rules.
Her first day, one year prior, on a fall day not unlike this one, she and other teachers had sat around in the break room. It was their haven, away from the mayhem of the innercity blues that awaited them in this underfunded understaffed public school. She had wanted to become a teacher to change the world, to change lives. She had chosen to work for and with underprivileged children, to nurture them, to bring out the potential in them, so that they could dream beyond the concrete jungle that was as much their prison as their cage.
" The first year is about your survival" Krista Martin remembered the conversation she'd had with the wisened, veteran teacher like it was yesterday. The sun was shining, and her face showed all of her hopes and naiveness as well. " Teach them the curriculum as best you can, but dont expect any miracles. Standardized tests are our God."
She had been nursing a cold cup of coffee for nearly fifteen minutes, asking herself what in the hell was it she had done to deserve all the abuse that had been heaped upon her. On her very first day! A perplexed grimace spread out across her blond haired, blue-eyed features." Our God?"
The black woman chuckled, before turning her eyes back to the pile of ungraded homework before her." Sure. The more pass the statewide tests, the more money we get, to keep this here school....if you can call it that...running."
" I thought it was about preparing them for a better life...a better job...college even. Isn't that why you teach?"
" Was why i taught. But seriously, take a look around you...how many girls do you see walk these halls, stomach big and poked out with lord knows who's baby? Even more who you see once, maybe twice, and then you never see again? Or worse, the ones who just come to cause trouble, style a new outfit, and make your head hurt so bad, that honey, by the end of the day I need a stiff drink. Hell, my coffee might even be spiked with a little bit of gin now, but don't tell nobody." She gave the young white woman a conspiratorial grin. She liked the kid already. She had decided that then and there. A little bit idealistic maybe, but she'd come around quite nicely. " And college? That's the joke of the century. The penitentiary maybe." she said in all seriousness that it made the young womans' heart ache. There had to be more to teaching than this. This couldn't be the end of the line for her. She refused to believe that of every single student that came through the door, and she told the woman so.
" If you think that of these kids, then how in the world do you expect them to think any better of themselves?" She couldn't help the hint of anger that bubbled in her voice and made itself known.
The middle aged woman looked up sharply from her papers, her eyes wisened, her hair graying, then she sighed. " Its not them i dont believe in, its the streets that I do believe in, and what they breed."
"And what's that?" The woman had her undivided attention now.
" Disease, poverty, suffering. I see it everyday with the same kids year after year. The hopelessness, the hostility, the I dont give a Bleep attitude. The bottom line honey, is that you pretty much cant believe in someone who dont believe in themselves. Its where they come from, and where they'll always be...but dont worry. You do the best you can, and maybe, just maybe, you'll find that diamond in the rough."
Here it was an entire year later, and from time to time she stll thought of that conversation. Much hadn't changed at John Marshall High. Kids came and went, just like Brenda had said, and there was still no diamond in the rought to speak of. She shook herself free of her recollections, and silently walked over to her desk. Krista slowly opened her briefcase with the day's lessons that she still painstakingly worked on, everyday. What else could she do but try. After all, it became so monotanous putting red x's on nearly every single paper every single day. She rarely even had 100 papers to grade on homework between all six of her classes. She had to do something to keep up her dream that she could and would make a difference in these students lives. Somehow, someway she would get through to some of them, hell, if only one.
She looked up briefly, and caught the eye of the new student. In the midst of all the of the confusion, there she sat quietly, the lone eye of the storm. A chill ran down her spine for some inexplicable reason. Was it intuition, fear, or a premonition? She sat quietly, reading the textbook. She was totally immersed in it. Were Krista's eyes playing tricks on her? No, this couldn't be! Technically, she wasn't doing her work, because she had assigned nothing to do yet. Krista was so damn sick and tired of the same routine, that she had merely said to Bleep it to herself. You see how hard it is getting a decent job if you cant even put high school graduate on an application! Bleep all the little bastards!
But the sight in front of her gave her renewed strength, to contnue doing what she'd told herself she wanted to teach for in the first place. Then she felt anger.
" Ok Everyone, I said sit down and be quiet! All talk ceased, followed by a stunned silence." If you dont want to do that, we'll see how you like detention, which you will stay after school for. And i know none of you want that, now do you?" Then they looked at one another, the same questions swirling in everyone's head. Had this white bitch really just fought back? Yea, she really did. Laughter soon followed.
" Hell naw, Mrs. Martin just really went there" a student named Antoine said. breaking the silence. It was quickly followed with laughter. Ay, ya'll shut the Bleep up, cause if ya'll dont, I'm beatin' somebody's ass if i get detention.
" Real talk"
" Ya'll heard her, shut the Bleep up!" someone else chimed in.
At least it's a start, Krista thought to herself, holding in a smile. She'd finally won.
She looked up from her book, momentarily stunned herself. She had a way of retreating into her own world, blocking out all the bullshit around her, and that was exactly the reason she sat reading, as the majority of the class clowned. When the near riot level of noise finally ceased, it actually jarred her At that very moment her eyes locked with the pretty young teacher. She quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring
It occured to Krista that she still had not introduced the girl to the rest of the class. She hesistated briefly, wondering if she should even bother. Would she just be another face that she saw for a moment, and then was gone just as quickly, into oblivion, never to be seen or heard from again? But if she ignored the young girl, she would be undermining, and underestimating her, and judging her prematurely, perhaps discouraging the girl from even wanting to participate in class. Could she possibly be lumping all of these children into one category after just one year? Was she becoming jaded already? These questions swirled through Krista's mind before she finally decided to go with her gut, and do what was right and proper for a teacher to do for a new student-introduce her to the rest of her class.
"Ok, now that I finally have everybody's undivided attention, I want to make some introductions."
"Intro-what?" A loud voice, piped in, wanting nothing more than to be heard and seen, laughed at and with for the masses.
" We have somebody new in the classroom, she just started to today" Krista replied back patiently. "
"Well why aint you just say that?" a girl with kool-aid red hair cut short questioned.
"Because thats what school is for ladies and gentlemen, to learn things that you didn't know before, and try to use them in everyday situations. Maybe the next time I say the word introduction, you'll know what I mean" Krista was filled with such pride before her burble was burst much too soon. After all she was well intentioned .
"So what you saying then? We stupid? Bitch why the Bleep dont you just say what the Bleep you mean instead of making shit harder than what it really gotta be." The red haired girl lashed back out in anger, as her teacher's face turned just as red from embarrassement and confusion.
"Cause things is always gonna be as hard as possible. And even if something was easy, you would walk right past it without paying it any mind at all." Everyone looked around in surprise, not really knowing where that deep voice had resonated from. It was like a calm breeze before the storm had swept through the entirety of the room, and everyone stopped their conversation to take notice of the ebony skinned girl. She was in the middle of all the chaos the whole time, yet no one had noticed her until now.
" Wasn't nobody even talking to your black ass you ugly bitch."
" Thats enought Keisha, one more thing from you,and I'll make good on that promise I made earlier." The whole class was entralled by this whole little turn of events. Suddenly class had gotten just a little bit more exciting. Their heads swiveled back and forth from the Krista, to Keisha, to the young unknown girl who had just made herself known. Anything was liable to pop off now, and they hoped it was a fight. Keisha was known to set things off if need be, and when they weren't necessary either. Just last week she has beat the shit out of a girl her baby's father had been having sex with. It was supposed to be a secret, but only because she was the last to know.
"Awww Ms. Martin....dont do me like that....i cant make no damn detention when I gotta a baby to pick up from my meemaw's house after school" Suddenly the fight had vanished from Keisha, as petty grievances disappeared, and images of her mother slapping her face because Lil' Ant was sick and wouldn't stop crying bombarded her mind. Her tune had changed that quickly, but the music had not died. Kiesha cut her eyes at the new girl. She looked her up and down trying to find something-anything wrong with the girl sitting at the desk paralell to hers. Before she could utter a single word, a girl named Mercedes beat her to the punch.
" That bitch look like a black oraguntang fa real." she laughed out loud, and the class was suddenly in an uproar over this new girl. Mercedez coninued on," Monkey face bitch got on some circus shoes lookin like Bozo the clown and shit." Once again the class burst out into a fit of laughter. It was like a tsunami that couldn't be stopped, and soon the whole class were in fits of laughter, egging one another on, to see who could come up with punchlines to the joke that the girl had become.
Ms. Martin was powerless to stop it, as she tried to setter everyone down. But to no avail, because everyone was dead set on humiliating the new comer, who had done nothing but try to be a voice of reason to one errant remark.
It was all just a test, the girl knew, one that she seemed to fail time and time again. If only she could fight back;with her words, with her fists, but the fight was nowhere to be found in her. She just took the abuse heaped upon her, and no emotion was to be found on lifeless face. That was her front that she had become quite proficient at, and this type of abuse was nothing new to her. Most of the time she managed to take it all in stride, but the fury that ran unchecked inside of her cried out for blood. It wanted to be heard. She could feel her anger mounting, but before she could even so much as utter another word, the young white teacher came to her rescue.
With the calm that she only wished she could convey, the same calm this young girl wore so proudly like a shield, deflecting all of the negativity, Krista Martin finally found her voice. In a strangled staccato, that barely found its way to her lips, she finally shouted above the loud den. "Ok I get it you all. You like to make others feel like garbage. But when you're done, you can all rearrange your schedules for detention this afternoon"
"What the Bleep!" Antoine yelled " I aint even the one who started gettin in on the ugly broad! It was them mothafuckas!"
"But you all sure did finish it." She calmly replied. Drawing strength from this serene girl, she felt strangely comforted in what she knew she had to do. A rueful smile reached her lips before she continued." I've had enough of all you being disruptive in this class as it is, and now you talk badly about another student who didn't even do anything to you? What's wrong with you..." Krista caught herself just in time.
"You people?" Keisha laughed. Oh, so thats what you thought of us all along. This bitch right here might look a little bit more like a monkey than the rest, but is that all we are to you?" She stood up abruptly, knocking her desk to the floor. She menacingly approached Ms. Martin before continuing."I'm tired of this white bitch thinkin she all better than us and shit."
"Yea me too man."
"Bleep that white bitch. Yo ass need to be in the suburb somewhere, what we yo little project or something?"
Soon Keisha was in Ms. Martin's face, standing eye to eye with her. She would have been lying to herself if she had not admitted that in that moment she w as scared shitless. She had never been in a physical altercation before. In her world words more than sufficed for expressing one's self in everyday disagreements, that two opposing viewpoints always brought about. But Dorothy wasn't in Kansas anymore. She had to think quick or she was going to get her ass kicked.
"So now you go from detention to jail Keisha? Do you really want that?"
Her flash of reasoning worked, because before she knew it, a look of uncertainty crossed Keisha's face. " Look, I meant no disrespect to you-"
"Then what the Bleep you mean by you people then bitch? HUH?
Krista's face reddened,because she knew she was dead wrong, but she was only human, and her anger had taken the best of her, not to mention that these group of urban innercity youth had given her nothing but the blues all year long? She was entitled to her breaking point was she not? After all, she had came to this school bright eyed and full of hope, wanting the best for all students, not matter if they were black, blue, or green. They had not made this easy on her.
" I have a name, and its certainly not bitch Keisha. But we have more than enough time for the name calling after school now don't we?" She had to assert her authority over these students. It was now or never. They had to know she wasn't going anywhere, and they would not run her off. That brave girl in the yellow suede boots had shown her that much in a matter of minutes. "But I'll most definently make sure you write that three hundred times today in detention."
The angry young black girl became just a little girl before her very eyes " I told you I gotta pick up my b-"
" I'm supposed to care because? That goes for everybody." No more Mrs. nice little white teacher who they thought they were going to run over. She had to be tough, and she had to be firm. That was the only way to get through to these kids. A shame it was, because it seemed like life had already given them hell as it was.
Nothing could be heard but grumbles from the whole class, as they resigned themselves to detention. Krista had to give it to them though, they didn't take shit lying down, and went kicking and screaming the whole way.
"Now look what you done did Keisha, you shoulda just left that bitch alone. At least not in this class"
She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated huff, as she slowly backed away from Ms. Martin, and stomped back to her fallen desk, kicking it violently. A loud gong could be heard throughtout the classroom.
"Ya'll need to be talkin to that bitch Mercedez"
Who the Bleep you callin a bitch?" was Mercedez's sharp reply, as she stood up, ready to defend herself from words that shouldn't have mattered one bit.
Krista could feel a headache coming on, as she prepared herself to witness yet another fight in her classroom. My classroom is just a fucking circus, she thought to herself. No way was she breaking that shit up, and instead rushed towards the door, the school police heavy on her mind.
" I dont think you should give them detention Ms." Her voice loud and strong, and cut through the mayhem, stopping it as quickly as it had started. Once again people turned from the fight brewring. A rough circle of sorts had surrounded Mercedez and Keisha, but they all turned to hear the source of this voice that was so strangely hypnotic.
Krista stopped dead in her tracks, and turned around . She was not alone. In the midst of all the chaos that tried so hard to rear its ugly head, sprang this serene voice that seemed so strangely out of place in the midst of the mayhem. The girl continued on. " Why not just let them have study hall after school instead?"
"Study hall?" was the teachers perplexed response. She almost responded with a resounding NO WAY, but then what the girl was attempting to do dawned on her.
"Study hall? Hell no I aint going to no fucking study hall after school... I got more important things to do." yelled out an irritated student.
" So that means we aint gotta go to a study hall then? Unless we want to. Right Ms. Martin?"
Krista could not contain her glee. Just that quickly the girl had diffused a potentially violent situation! " It still would be best that everyone came, after all the I-STEP tests are eight weeks from now and I'd really love to give you guys more one on one time with the practice tests."
"Good so now i can pick up my ba-"
The bell rang, cutting Keisha off. It was the end of class, and now everyone was more anxious to go to lunch than seeing a fight pop off.
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by chibaby5(f): 2:28pm On Apr 21, 2012|
What kind of punishment is ds nairaland?? Lyk I dnt do enof reading
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by Nobody: 11:40pm On Apr 21, 2012|
chi-baby:is it by force? You either read or leave? & stop nagging.
|Re: An Inner City Romance: The Story Of A Cold Blooded Killer And His Stolen Heart by TisaBone: 3:44am On Apr 23, 2012|
His alarm clock rang loudly,waking him up from a fiful sleep. He rolled over, still groggy, not yet wanting to get up. He tiredly rubbed his eyes and looked at the silver clock. It read 7:15 A.M. While he even still bothered looking at the time was more so a force of habit, because he rose the same time every morning. The only difference was he hadn't gotten much sleep that night. As if he ever did anyways. There was always some problem to take care of, always somewhere to be,always someone who needed him. Such was the life of a boss, he thought arrogantly.
He had to stay on his p's and q's if he wanted to stay on top, because there would always be thirsty niggas lurking to take his position, and he'd be damned if he ever got caught slipping. Once you started slipping you may as well have kissed the top of the world goodbye, because there was only one place to go after you went so high. The young man knew this,but the sureness and incvincibility of youth won out and he refused to believe the dangers of his occupation as nothing more than a vague possibility. As long as he stayed grinding, knowing just the exact same time to cash out his chips, which were steadlily rising, he figured he could always stay ahead of the game.
Maybe one day I'll leave the life behind, he mused silently to himself. Then again, I' just tripping, he thought, a grimace appearing on his handsome face. The streets had rasied him, and he knew nothing else. What would a hood nigga like him do without the game? He was just as addicted to the life he led as the stings that smoked his rock and shot his dope. The only difference, he thought, was that they were the losers and he was winning.
He let the hotel's simple white cotton sheet slide from his legs as he slowly got up from bed, and stretched languidly, getting the kinks from his stiff neck. Walking the short distance from his bed to the adjoining bathroom, he quickly took care of his morning needs, before hopping into the shower. The warm water cascaded over his cut physique, down his defined stomach, rinsing away the dirt and grime of a day. Of a lifetime. He always washed himself thoroughly and methodically, lathering his wash towel, soaping his whole body down, then rinsing. He did this over and over again. He did it until his skin became raw, and the water was no longer hot but luke warm. Years of not knowing where your next bath was coming from did that to a person. His mind flashed back to years long gone, of a time of coming to school dirty, and unbathed. His mind wandered to the years of embarrassement and humiliation of not even being able to take care of the most basic of needs. He could hear the taunts of the other children now, laughinhg, forming a circle around him, and holding their noses at the stench coming from his body. The ragged clothes that hung loosely on his frail frame told a story of neglect, but to the children he was nothing more than a target, and a relief from their own dire straits. They may not have even known where their next meal was coming from themselves, but at at least they were clean!
Oh, how good it felt when he had finally stood up for himself, and got his first taste of revenge,and that feeling of total power over his own fate through the destruction and elimination of those who woul have destroyed him first if given a chance.He'd hungered for it ever since. He supposed it felt better than love ever could, not that he knew what that felt like. But anything that made one feel alive had to be a good thing. A gift from God. He had read in the bible that the lord gave and the lord also took. Maybe he killed too. What a beautiful feeling it had been the first time. The first time he had ever killed. The man bent down and turned the water off, before stepping out of the shower. He felt a cold chill as the air hit his wet body. He quickly grabbed the white towel hanging neatly on the silver stool, and patted his body dry. His movements were done without much thought as he allowed himself to bask in the memory of his first triumph.
It was a day like any other. School was over, and he rushed outside to feel the gentle breeze of the beautiful spring day. His books in tow, he slowly began the long walk home. The ride was twenty minutes by bus, but by foot, he would make it home much later than that- at least an hour and a half. He hadn't had much to eat that day except a lumpy bologna sandwich and an apple that had come with the free lunch he had gotten with his pass. Better than nothing he thought to himself. The day before he hadn't been able to bring himself to eat the rubbery salisbury steak and processed mashed potatoes. I dont care how hungry I am, he had thought bitterly to himself. If I had a dog it would get fed better than that! I'll be glad when the day comes when I dont have to take scraps from no motherfucker, he thought to himself. He may not have had much, and the other children may have called him funky fart, but he knew that his mind would get him far, even then.
His sixteenth birthday would be arriving soon, and he looked foward to that day with glee. Maybe then I can get a job, move out, get my own spot, be my own man. He knew his dopefiend mother Regina wouldn't care where he moved and where he went. Half the time she was so out of it, nodding all over the place on black tar heroin, that she never even knew when he came or where he went. He felt nothing for the tramp. Any feelings that could have been cultivated between mother and her only son had been deaded long ago. Days of going hungry dirty and ragged did that to a young man who was already angry beyong belief at the world as it was.
He walked at a leisurely pace, his feet having traveled this road a million times before, he was more so lost in his thoughts, wishing that he could somehow get a bath so that he would not be ashamed to ride the bus. Tough times dont last, tough people do. He had read that in a book before, and everytime he felt like giving up and saying Bleep it, he thought back to those words. It was these words he thought of as the cars and the world passed him by, and he held his head high. One day I'm gonna reach the sky, and go to outer space. I wonder what Saturn's like. Out of this world probably, he thought, and chuckled at his joke. He had to make himself laugh at least one time a day, or he would go crazy, he sometimes thought.
Finally, he reached the dilipidated building that he called home, his feet tired, his body weary. For once, he was glad to see the sight of the chipped white paint, the rotted wood peaking through. The apartment looked forlorn and uninviting, and it seemed to sag slightly to the left. Perhaps because it sat on on top of a hill that descended sharply on one end. It was well enough, because if the builiding toppled over it would be an act of mercy that would end the despair and misery of all that called this dilipidated abode home.
He took the stairs two at a time, anxious to lay down on his bed of ragged sheets and blankets. After he did his Algebra homework, and studied for his social studies test, he would gladly call it a night. He was boned tired, and wanted to fall into a deep sleep as soon as possible, and forget about the hunger pangs that wracked his body; so that he could have just one moment of peace. The narrow hallway creacked, and the half rotted wooden boards groaned under the ragged nikes he had stolen from the lost and found box in the gym locker room.
His keys jingled loudly in his pocket as he reached for them. Finally locating the right one, he inserted it into the lock of the flimsy door that would have given way with one swift kick. He knew because he had seen it done a million times before when the drunks who lived across the hall from he and his mothers apartment got to swizzlin that shit. Soon as that Paul Masson coursed through their veins, violence was sure to come like clock work, and the middle aged couple would fight like cats and dogs, beating the shit out of one another.
On the opposite end of the plywood door awaited his mother. As usual, she was slumped on the couch watching the small black and white televsion before her. She turned at the sound of his arrival, and their eyes met.
" You back home already school boy?" she cackled loudly, and slapped her thigh as if her comment was the funniest thing she had ever heard.
" You not dead yet you junkie bitch?" he retorted back. He didn't know what came over him, but the sight of her always made him sick to his stomach. Maybe it was because some part of him yearned so desperatey for things to be different, and for her to show one ounce of compassion for him. Then he hated himself for feeling that way about someone who he knew couldn't possibly give two shits about him. And then all of the times that she had sold her flesh and blood to the dopeman, so that his freakish desires could be satisfied, and in return she could continue to pump what she so desperately craved into her anxious veins.
She merely laughed. A cold heartless laugh that held nothing. Not hatred, and certainly no love. Sometimes he would look at her pockmarked skin, her emaciated figure, and at times hints of the woman she once was, before addiction took hold could be discerned. Even now, as she sat smiling evilly at him, he couldn't help but notice the twin dimples that popped up on either side of her mouth whenever she grinned. They gave her a devilish look, and even now, dopefiend that she was, she had the aura of a beautful woman who knows exactly what to do and what to say to get whatever she wanted from any man. All because she was beautiful. The only thing was, her beauty was long gone, and the despicable person that she was could be seen clearly within her sinister gray eyes. " Here, try some, then maybe you'll lighten up."
He turned his back on her, not even acknowleding her ridiculous comment. No way he was ever gonna put the same poison in his veins that had made her among the living dead. He would have been better off finding a gun and blowing his brains out, just to get the job done faster than the slow death she consumed. Then a sudden thought occured to him, something that he had always wondered before, but had never bothered to ask. Curiosity got the better of him
"So how did you ever become the loser that you are Regina.?" He never called his mother anything else. Never could bring himself to. He may have busted out of her wide ass pussy, but to him she barely fit the defintion of a mother. At least not the mothers he had read about in the books he would spend hours upon hours reading at the library anyhow.
Her face suddenly became stony, and he could tell that he had hit a nerve. This was a sick game that the two played with one another. After years of taking neglect and pain at the hands of someone who was supposed to care, he had finally stopped giving a Bleep and fought back in the only way he was able, and that was with his sharp mind. As the years progressed he found it easier to manipiulate her into fits of anger which would ultimately lead her to leave the house for days on end. That was cool with him, because the less he saw of her the happier he was. Almost as happy as he was to see that pompous smirk wiped from her face. "How does a bitch go from the baddest! A prom queen, and a gold digger on the make, to nothing more than a dopefiend wit the shakes? Hey, that rhymed." He laughed callously, satisfied with himself for getting under her skin and grabbing what little control he could from an existence that had often times seen him powerless. If only he could do this with the kids at school, but sometimes he was so afraid of the rage that welled up inside of him, that at times, for the sake of everyone, he thought it best to play deaf and dumb and not say a thing at all.
"The same way I could make a gay out of you." she said. " Besides,it feels too good after a while. Doesn't it?" she continued on. " This is a game that you do not want to play with me you little pussy. I'm not in the mood for your shit! Why didn't I just kill your ass when I had the chance! You get on my damn nerves!" Her words began to sound like one long phrase,as the pitch of her voice steadily increased. He could always tell when she was dopesick, because then she got even more reckless with her words than usual. He knew that before long that if she didn't get her fix, that she would be keeled over in pain. Too bad he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for her, as the anger within him began to reach an unmanageble level that he had never experienced before.
Frederico had been his name. A name that he would never and could never forget. It was the name of the man who had callously taken his manhood before he even knew what it was to be a man. The hurt and the pain of a night burned into his memory like a brand came flahing back as if it were only yestersday. He could almost feel the pain that had exploded within him,making his very being burn with a pain unimaginable. He could still feel the acrid scent of the Mexican's unwashed body, his hot breath heavy against the frail young body that he held beneath him, taking his sick pleasure.
She had laughed and watched, just as she did at that very moment. Money had exchanged hands. They had sat around laughing and talking, about mundane things such as the weather, and if there was more good dope to be had if this could be a regular thing. There she sat, bartering him away, as if here were nothung but a thing, an object to be used. And suddenly it dawned on him that she would do the exact same thing to him now if he weren't almost a man. Then he asked himself why he was still even here with this thing in front of him who sat scratching, and was now paying him no mind at all. The junkie sickness was baring down on her, and suddenly he realized just how pathetic she was after all. He didn't need this her. I dont need nobody he thought to himself. All I need is a way out this shit....This madness. All i need and want is a chance to be and do something more than I am now.
Then a sense of despair washed over him, because how could he, son of a bitch crawling around on the floor like a dog searching for a bag of imaginary dope ever be somebody and go somewhere? As quickly as the hopelessness and self pity overcame him it was gone, replaced by a resolve and coldnness that he no longer feared within himself, yet only embraced.
The boy who had in that moment had become a man talked more to himself than anything. " Yea, you should have killed me when you had a chance.....Mama." He whispered the last word and it felt so foreign on his tongue.
He stepped past his ailing mother, into the comfort of his shabby room. He eased down onto the pallet on the floor by the window and opened his bookbag. He retrieved his homework and began the completion of his lessons. After he was done, he eased himself under his covers and prepared himself for the bright future that lay ahead. He was no longer afraid. There was no more pain, or sadness. He felt a blissful nothingness, that comforted him, and lullabyed him to a dreamless slumber.
That very next night, his mother was dead.
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