Before The Darkness (Final Episode)

Before The Darkness (Final Episode)
An Urban Tale
By Pay-Tience
Copyright 2018

 

Once inside Katherine felt something wasn’t right, finding Victor and Grace was too easy. Knowing that she could easily tear Grace in two but Lady Grace wasn’t afraid. It wasn’t as if Lady Grace wasn’t afraid to die. Lady Grace genuinely seem to believe she could actually defeat Katherine. R.H.B made Lady Grace feel empowered and invincible. This was confusing to Katherine. The fact that she couldn’t hear Lady Grace’s thoughts seem to turn the table in Grace’s favor.

“You’re under the impression since you are Eric’s favorite and he turned you himself you can’t be killed,” Lady Grace was the one to break the silence. “You can die just like the rest of us…. I’ll prove it.”

Katherine still didn’t make a sound.

Lady Grace continued on, “The elders complain how horrible R.H blood is but none of them dare admit they were the first to use… and still use, while they think no one is looking. Ms. Goodie Goodie Katherine… Are you planning on going after the elders like you have me.”?

Still not a word from Katherine.

“I think not!” Lady Grace said as matter fact.

In silence, Katherine closed the distance between her and the one she wanted to drain more than any other. With all the tough talk, the lack of fear, and Grace’s ability to block her thoughts, still didn’t change the fact that Katherine had the upper hand. Swiftly, she pounced on Lady Grace, tilting her head to one side ready to drain her of every ounce of her blood. In this split-second Lady Grace’s fear surfaced, causing her to lose focus. Long enough to open the block she had shielding Victor’s thoughts to keep them from Katherine. Victor feeling that he had Katherine where he wanted her allowed her to sense his thought of stabbing her through the heart with a silver stake. Katherine reacted, releasing Lady Grace with such great speed that Victor came so close to stabbing Lady Grace. Thinking quickly, he had only one option and that was to release the grip on the stake in mid-plunge. Katherine reacted, less than three quick breaths she had grabbed and released Lady Grace before retreating across the room recognizing new opportunity. Before Victor blinked twice, Katherine was drinking form Victor’s collarbone. Lady Grace became horrified watching the life leave so quickly from her beloved protector. With her own burst of quickness, Lady Grace bent over and picked up the silver stake. Since she wasn’t able to fully straighten her body, the silver stake landed in Katherine’s leg. She was doing her best to save Victor before Katherine could suck his last breath. Lady Grace knew that would be Katherine’s only option.

The stake cause Katherine excruciating pain, the scent of burning flesh filled the air while her leg blistered. Without a second thought or attempt to cover her hand, Katherine pulled out the stake that went clean through her leg.

As the last piece of his soul escape his body, Victor’s hand fell in the direction of the long sword that was forged from pure silver. Due to the slow regeneration and pain in her leg, Katherine almost didn’t see Lady Grace bring the long sword down toward her neck. Knowing her speed was lacking, Katherine had to time her next move just right. With total concentration enduring the burning and blistering she was feeling from the stake in her bare hand Katherine turned to face Lady Grace. She stepped into her personal space and straightened herself ignoring the pain in her leg and plunged the stake through Lady Grace’s chin, penetrating it through her skull coming out the top of her head.

Looking at Lady Grace’s lifeless body almost disappointed Katherine. She wanted the pleasure of draining Lady Grace slowly, savoring every drop of her blood. She wanted to be able to watch Isabelle do the same to Victor after all, he and Lady Grace had put them through. Just for good measure, Katherine took the long sword and cut off Lady Grace’s head.

As the head rolled across the floor it still held the tortured expression with the stake still sticking out the top. Stopping short of the wall Katherine had this confused look, she was able to see that it wasn’t Lady Grace after all, she had projected herself onto Alisha.

Katherine began to look around wondering where could Lady Grace be. She didn’t have much time to worry about her at the moment. She needed to feed to regenerate herself. She needed to get back to Isabelle, there was only one way for Isabelle to survive, Katherine would have no choice but to turn her.

Katherine just hope that at least one member of the security team upstairs had enough life in him because she didn’t feel she could bring herself to drink from Christian. She was grateful that he stayed with Isabelle.

Once Katherine made it upstairs, she wasn’t able to hear a thought or any breathing from any of the first six bodies she came across. But by the time she found the seventh one, there was hope, just enough life in him to heal her leg and give her the strength she needed to carry Isabelle.

************************************

Isabelle woke up from what seem like minutes of rest. She was revived and her senses were heightened to those of a predator, and her hunger was unimaginable. She knew at that very moment she would never be prey again.

 

THE END

 

Part IV

 

Part III

Before The Darkness (Part III)

Part II

Before The Darkness – Part II

Part I

Presenting this short story by….PAY-TIENCE……stay tuned for more!

Before The Darkness (Part IV)

Before The Darkness (Part IV)
An Urban Tale
By Pay-Tience
Copyright 2018

 

Not attempting to conceal their presents or identity any further Victor flipped the lights as he came into the small room. The shock of the light to her eyes caused Isabelle to close them tight. When she slowly opened them to regain her focus, Victor was beside the bed, reading the monitor as if he was actually her doctor. Turning from the monitor, looking down on Isabelle she could see something in his eyes, something she recognized all too well… Desire… Victor could feel himself stirring up inside. He quickly looked to see if Lady Grace or Alisha had noticed. With neither of them paying any attention as they turn to leave the room they were in, Victor knew this was his opportunity to not only get information needed but to also have some fun.

Starting with some torture to kill a little time and to make sure the coast has cleared, Victor grabbed a towel and place it over Isabelle’s face. Asking as he poured the water, “Is Katherine aware of our plans? Have you reached out to her yet?” He wasn’t concern at all with the answers, his thoughts were on what he really wanted.

Turning her head sideways to get the water out of her mouth and nose, she felt her top come open. With the scalpel he used to cut open Isabelle’s blouse, Victor split her bra down the center. As the air hit her exposed breast, the alarm started blaring. Thinking of his first priority, Lady Grace, Victor gave Isabelle a forced kiss on the lips and copped a feel of her breast and headed for the door. In the doorway, he stops and with his back still to her he said, “Once I finish with your friend, I’ll be back to continue what we started.”

 

Part III

Before The Darkness (Part III)

Part II

Before The Darkness – Part II

Part I

Presenting this short story by….PAY-TIENCE……stay tuned for more!

Free Nation

Drako Sullivan

Free nation…plague with mass incarceration!

Look between the lines and read the print that is fine, peep the design
and you will see that the penal system is made for a certain kind.

Sorry to say, but if you are poor and white your behind is black as mines.

They go light on white collar crimes, but what about mines? Its non-violent,
victimless and I didn’t steal a dime.

I just got caught with three twenties, two nickels bags and one nine and I’ve been
in the system since 1999….

…Free nation???  Humph…….
…You define!

Urban Street Literature Chronicles (Calvin Brewster)

Series One: Part 4
Copyright 2017 Drako Sullivan

“All Rise. This court is now in session. Now presiding is the Honorable Judge Henry B. Middleton.” said the bailiff as the bridle, razor thin judge entered from his chambers. His cheekbones high, his jaws sunk in and his skin was badly wrinkle. His appearance looked closer to death than life. He peered over his half-moon-frame glasses and spoke, “You may be seated.” He looked over at Calvin with disgust.
“Your Honor, Mr. Brewster informed me that he would like to address the court.” Mr. Portman spoke hesitantly as he stood next to a seated Calvin. One of his hands was in his pocket fumbling with the loose coins. Something that he done when he was nervous.
“Is this so Mr. Brewster?” the Judge asked firmly.
“Yes…yes Sir, your Honor.” Calvin said, raising to his feet. His mind was in over-drive as he tried to replay everything that him and Buddy Cole rehearsed over the last two weeks. Last night Buddy kept Calvin up until 2 a.m. drilling him on with to say.
“Well…are you going to say what you have to say or stand there and waste more of my time?” Judge Middleton spoke impatiently.
“No Sir, I…I.. mean yes Sir..Your Honor. I want to first request that my attorney be removed from my case.” Calvin felt his nerves coming back to him. He knew that his life depended on his every move from this moment on.
“Why are you requesting this now?” Judge Middleton removed his glasses and gave Calvin a cold stare.
“Your Honor, with all due respect, this is a delicate matter.” Calvin spoke with more confidence this time.
“Are you asking that I clear my courtroom?” asked Judge Middleton sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.
“Yes Your Honor.” Calvin was realizing that everything that Buddy Cole had told him about was coming to be and things was exactly the way that he said they would be.
“Hmm…Alright, I want everyone to leave except security and court personnel.”
*******************************
For the first time William P. Crane believe what he was able to discover from his own independent investigation. He didn’t know what to make of the strange call he got right after Calvin’s trial. Later the same caller called back and agreed to meet for coffee, but only if was a county over from Greenville.
Turn out, that caller was a dispatch officer and she didn’t want to risk losing her job. She told William Crane about Officer Chase request for backup and how she was instructed not to mention it to anyone, if she knew what was best for her.
William Crane paced back and forth outside the courtroom door. He hated not knowing what was going on inside. He wished that he could have done something earlier before it got this far along.
********************************
“Now Mr. Brewster, you have my attention and you better make this good.” said Judge Middleton, leaning forward and pointing his boney finger at Calvin.
“Your Honor, I want to fire my lawyer due to ineffective assistance of counsel. He didn’t have my best interest in this case and he lack due diligence in the whole matter. I wanted to testify on my behalf and he said that it wouldn’t do any good.”
“Is there any truth to this Mr. Portman?”
“Your Honor, I just felt that it would hurt the case more if he testified.” Mr. Portman’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“Really, well, the justice system in not based on your feelings Mr. Portman; it is based on the law. Do you still wish to take the stand Mr. Brewster?”
“Yes Sir Your Honor but I would also like to bring to the court’s attention that my Constitutional Rights has been violated. I feel that I haven’t been given the due process of the law.”
Mr. Brewster, you will be sworn in to take the stand. By doing so the Court will reopen your case. I must also inform you that you are subject to cross-examination by the District Attorney. Do you understand?”
“Yes Sir Your Honor.”
“In doing so, those questions and your answers may be incriminating to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes Sir Your Honor. I just want a chance to defend myself.” Calvin spoke with confidence and was ready to continue the lesson that he had gotten from Buddy Cole.
“Alright Mr. Brewster, you may take the stand.” Judge Middleton put his glasses back on and leaned back to watch Calvin be sworn in.
Calvin sat down and he looked across the courtroom, the lights seem brighter and sweat formed on his forehead and nose. Every pair of eyes was on him. He was caught up and he just stared off into nowhere.
“Mr. Brewster are you going to speak?” asked Judge Middleton showing his irritation.
“Ammm…Yes…Yes Sir Your Honor. I want the court to know that I am not guilty, in fact I was a victim of a crime as well. Mr. Portman ignored my claims of defense, he fail to request a motion of discovery. He didn’t push for a preliminary hearing and he illegitimately advised me not to testify. Had he took his oath seriously and not convicted me as well the moment that he saw me. The court would have known that there was no physical evidence. He didn’t cross-examine any of the state witnesses as if he was defending me but it seem that he was helping the state. Had he investigate he would have known and made it aware to the court that right before Officer Chase was gun down he requested back up to assist him with a robbery in progress.”
“Do you have any proof or evidence to what you are saying Mr. Brewster?” Judge Middleton interlocked his hands and rested on his forearms after he asked the question.
“Yes Sir, I have witnesses that are willing to testify. They will tell you that…”
“Your Honor objection, Mr. Brewster is speaking on hearsay.”
“Over ruled counselor! Had you and Mr. Portman would have done your jobs we wouldn’t be in this situation now. Mr. Brewster has a right to a fair trial. A fair trial!” Judge Middleton scold. Everyone in the courtroom was shocked and in awe because of his tone of voice.
“Are your witnesses here now Mr. Brewster?”
“Yes Sir Your Honor, they should still be out there with everyone else that you asked to step out.”
“Who are they?”
“Mr. William P. Crane, a reporter from the newspaper and a young lady that works for dispatch, Ms. Yvette Thompkins.”
“Bailiff, see if they are still out there.”
The husky bailiff hustled his way out the courtroom and everyone in the hallway turned to his direction when he opened the huge double oak doors.
“Is there a Mr. Crane out here.”
“Yes, right here.”
“What about a Ms. Yvette Thompkins.”
“Here Sir.”
“The Judge has request you two.” the bailiff held the door open and allowed them to walk into the courtroom.
“Are you two willing to testify under oath to the claims that Mr. Brewster has made?”
“Yes Sir Your Honor. I should have said something a long time ago and I apologize for not doing so.” Ms. Thompkins said.
“Yes I am also Your Honor.” said Mr. Crane.
“Bailiff please escort the jurors in.”
“Your Honor, may I approach the bench? asked the District Attorney.
“No you may not, you just hope that you have your evidence together. Have a seat.” said Judge Middleton as he watch the jurors come back in the courtroom. “Due to new found evidence this court has awarded a new trial. So I wanted to inform you that you all are relieved of your jury duties. Thank you, you may go.” Judge Middleton gave enough time for the Jurors to leave before he spoke again. “Mr. Brewster, you still have the right to a trial by jury and we can postpone this so you can have time to select your jury. Or you can elect for me to be your judge and jury.”
“Your Honor, I wouldn’t want to waste any more time and I am comfortable with proceeding with you judging on this.”
After hearing the testimonies Judge Middleton became furious with the way that the case was handled. There was no physical evidence and after four hours of recess the prosecution was unable to track down their star witness in the case. Judge Middleton ordered that Calvin Brewster was to be released immediately.
********************************
Two Weeks Later
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
It didn’t take Honey long to realize the knocks that she was hearing was that of the police. No one else that she knew would be knocking that way at 7:00 am. Before she could get out of bed, Deuce was on his feet with his gun in hand.
“Open up before we kick this door down!” yelled one detective as his knuckle ripped at the door.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Deuce, no, they will kill us,” Honey grabbed Deuce by the arm and whisper to him. “Just hide in the attic and I will tell them that I’m alone.”
Through clench teeth. “You think that-a-fly.”
“I’ll make it work. You just make sure that you bond me out.” said Honey making her way to the front door.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“This is your last chance!”
“Wait-a-damn minute.” Honey yelled out. She allowed her house-coat to stay open revealing her flawless body with only panties to cover her. “How may I help you officer?” Honey asked with the chain still latched to the door.
“Open up!” demanded the detective.
Honey complied and stepped back from the door and caught the two detectives off guard, they stopped in their tracks long enough to get an eye-full of Honey’s gorgeous body.
“Tie that close, turn around and put your hands behind your back.” said the tallest of the two detectives.
“Where is your boyfriend?” probe the other overweight detective.
“At his momma house I guess.”
“Where she lives?”
“14 Endel St.”
“If you know what is best for you, you better not be lying.” warned the tall detective leading Honey out of the house. “Miss Willis you’re under arrest for perjury, accessory to the murder of Officer Milton Chase, accessory to arm robbery, and accessory to battery by weapon with the intent to kill. You have the right to remain…..”

Coming Soon…
Urban Street Literature Chronicles
Series Two: A Taste of Honey

 

Calvin Brewster: Part III

Urban Street Literature Chronicles (Calvin Brewster)

Series One: Part 3
Copyright 2016 Drako Sullivan

William P. Crane was sitting in his cubical going over his most recent report about the West End’s crime rate when his phone interrupted his thoughts.
“Hello…Hello…”
“You the guy that wrote ’bout the pig that got smoke eight months ago?” asked a raspy voice.
“Yes, I’m the one.” William said, hesitantly.
“They got the wrong man.”
“What??”
“He didn’t kill ’em!”
“How do you know? Who is this speaking?… Hello…Hello…”
A dial tone was all that William heard on the other end. He couldn’t understand why this person called him and not the police. How did this person know that he was following this case closely. He wasn’t the only reporter that reported on this story. Hell, it had been over twenty-five years since an officer was kilt in the line of duty in Greenville. William’s mind was trying to dig through all the possibilities.
“Crane…Crane!!” Chief Editor Parker yelled to get William’s attention.
“Yes Boss.”
“What in the hell has gotten into you?”
“I just…”
“Never mind that, get off your ass and get over to Hank’s Party Shop. They just got stuck up.”
“I’m on it Boss.” William said, grabbing his camera, pad and pen, and mini recorder. He put on his fedora and bolted pass Parker.
***********************
“FREEZE!!” Officer Neely yelled, once he seen the two mask men exit the liquor store Deuce’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he seen the police and Honey driving out of the parking lot.
“Drop your…” was all that Officer Neely manger to say before Deuce squeezed the trigger sending three shots directly at him. One caught him dead center of his chest; knocking him flat on his back. Deuce and Junebug took off running in the other direction with brown paper bags tightly gripped in their fist.
“How yo bitch gon leave us like that?” Junebug yelled out as they ran beside the liquor store.
“That bitch is gon get hers, believe that!? Deuce replied. Sounds of sirens grew louder as they ran across Perry Ave. into Mountain View Homes Apartments.
“This way Bug!” Deuce said, panicky.
***********************
“Damn, you know this shit man…why haven’t you got yo’self out of here?” Calvin asked, amazed how Buddy Cole made the law so simple for him.
“Hell Youngblood, my ass is guilty that’s why. I got caught with the cookie crumbs around my mouth.” Buddy Cole said, laughing at his own joke. “I was built fo this shit tho. But you, you don’t deserve this.”
“You damn right I don’t.”
“That is why I’ma get yo black ass out this horse shit you got yo’self in.”
“So whats this we writing again?”
“This is a motion, its the only thing the courts and judges respect.”
“So this a appeal right.”
“Thats what we working on, but you will be sentenced before they get this. I can’t believe that PD didn’t file a motion of discovery.”
“A motion of what?” Calvin asked, confused?
“Man, anytime you go to trial, especially for murder, you got to see what all they got to burn yo ass with and who is there to rat you out. I bet a million bucks to a hog nut that they ain’t got shit on you.”
“Damn Bro, how I’ma pay you back?”
“Go home and make something out of yo’self.”
*****************************
Honey drove as calm as she could but her hands were sweating, heart pounding. Beads of sweat was forming on her nose and she was more nervous than a preacher in a hoe-house. The patrol car pulled up behind her as soon as she turned on to Queen St. leaving Mountain View Homes apartments. She knew that there wasn’t any room for any mistakes or suspicious moves. Her mind was racing 100 mph. ‘What if he do pull me over?….Do they know I was in on the robbery?’ She thought, turning her signal light on to turn right onto Gower St.. The patrol car sped up and pulled right beside her. Her heart dropped to her feet. The officer glanced over at Honey and made a left turn onto Gower St..

 

Calvin Brewster: Part II

Get yours now……At All Cost

Chicken Little (An Urban Story) Vol. 1 Part 2

Chicken Little: Haunted Blood (An Urban Story) Vol. 1 Part 2

Copyright K. Omodele 2016

FIRST PUBLISHED ON THE ABENG AND MY CONSCIOUS PEN IN SEPTEMBER 2016

http://consciouspen.blogspot.com/2016/09/chicken-little-and-urban-story-vol-1.html#.WFcr-_krK00

The minute Glass’ gun popped out, I realized – we got set up, plain and simple. How they, and them alone, get guns up in The Turntable?

Then, soon as Mongrel grabbed the tool from out coward-rass Glass’ hand, Bull got low and dashed for the bar. That man dove head-first like some Olympic diver, clear over the counter. And the same time Bull moved right, me, Doc, English and them girls took off to the left. Which exposed Shortman with that half-built spliff in his hand.

He looked up but it was too late. With his back against the wall, all he could do was duck as Mongrel and Boo aimed at him.

Then the shots thundered. BADAP! BADAP! BADAP! BRAP! BRAP!

Over and over, booming over the music, ’til even the music stopped dead.

Then, all you could hear was shots. BLAM! BLAM! BRAM!

People scrambled for the door. No screaming, just silent, frantic like ants. I turned sideways, squeezing myself behind a skinny post that couldn’t be no more than six-inch wide. Buddy-bye and Mammal ducked behind two tables. Doc and English and the rest of them? I didn’t even see where they’d run and gone.

Shortman was taking shots. He tried to run, but the shots penetrated, twisted and turned his body, like he doing the Rocking Dolly. Then he dropped, his navy-blue Sergio Techini sweat suit turning black with blood.

Then, all of a sudden, the shots stopped. Them dutty niggas backed up a couple steps, looked around like they snap out a daze. Boo turned and dumped two shots into the bar before all of them ran to the door, guns held high. Before they exited, Mongrel swerved his tool around, threatening.

Then they were gone.

Two, maybe three minutes; that’s how quick the whole bangarang played out – from the time Bull pointed them out to the moment they hauled rass out the door. Later, Shortman said that the first time he noticed something wrong was the instant Bull started yapping with Glass. Everything after that was a blur to him.

Looking back, it seemed longer; but that’s because I remember every little thing. I don’t panic, even in the middle of chaos. It don’t matter if it feels like you stewing in a pressure cooker, you can’t allow your emotions to swallow you up.

With them fools gone, the remnants re-surfaced from various crevices and corners. A set of girls ran out babbling, down from the DJ booth. My ears were buzzing and my eyes and nose were runny from all the lingering gun smoke.

I instructed myself: settle down! Find the crew! Don’t rush outside into another ambush like some lamb to a slaughter! I looked around the dancehall carefully.

English, Doc, Mammal and Buddy-bye gathered round and I saw adrenalin pumping through their temples and flaring open their nostrils. Bull stomped over from behind the bar and we began searching for Shortman, but couldn’t find him on the floor.

The Women’s bathroom door was wide open so, slowly, we peered in.

The dingy-white and black tiles had a path of smeared blood leading to a stall. Three girls squeezed together by a sink, flinching when they saw us. One of them hollered out.

“He crawled in deh. He in there!” Pointed at the stall.

Shortman was curled up, hugging the toilet like salvation. His head propped awkward on the side of the bowl, his torso tensed. He was dry-heaving and his sweatshirt  was soggy wet. His footballer’s legs lay sprawled like some pick-up stix. When Bull pried his arms from the toilet and pulled him out the stall, Shortman had tears streaming down his face but he wasn’t crying; his eyes just shifted looking around the bathroom.

I knew exactly what he was thinking – we got set up.

I nodded.

Bull grinded his teeth hard like he was chewing wire.

Shortman gurgled. “Water. Thirsty.” He struggled to breathe. “Gimmie some water.” His teeth pink with blood and slobber.

Suddenly, sirens wailed and someone yelled.

“The Beast.”

Everybody with us turned to exit, except Shortman, of course. Half of we had warrants, the other half, illegal; so, none of us wanted to take a check. As we filed out the bathroom, fire fighters streamed through Turntable’s front door, followed by a gang of police and EMS.

I pulled my Kangol brim low over my brows and walked out, calm and natural, right past them. I kept thinking, don’t freeze up. Don’t look away but at the same time, don’t stare at nobody! That ole crow see fear, it will take set and prey on you; might make this a longer, colder, sitting-behind-bars night.

At the door I turned and saw them people lift Shortman out the restroom and lay him on the floor in front Bob Marley, smiling with his guitar. I wondered what Bob might’ve been singing – Woman hold her head and cry??

The EMS converged on Shortman like a pack of wild dogs and cut his pants off him.

I stepped into the night and the air slapped me in the face. A news camera’s light blinded me. I looked down, brim down; said nothing, just kissed my teeth and sidestepped the bag of excitement. I darted down the alley to where I’d parked round behind the nightclub. Bull had done cranked up his whip and had pulled beside my beamer, waiting. D.C. was bout to run red. Board box under ground by time we done.

The Harshness had stolen our night.

 

Start from the beginning:

Chicken Little and the Carrion Crow

https://btspblog.wordpress.com/2016/11/20/chicken-little-and-the-carrion-crow/

Chick Little (An Urban Story) Vol. 1 Part 1

https://btspblog.wordpress.com/2016/12/13/chicken-little-urban-story/

 

Chicken Little (Urban Story)

Chicken Little: Haunted Blood (An Urban Story) Vol. 1; Part 1
copyright K. Omodele 2016
*(This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual people or situations is purely coincidental.)

It was Doc birthnight we had come to celebrate but every last one of us was tight and frost because, for the second week in a row, the club owner – Mackie, that battyhole, had some new security enforcing people from bringing gun inside The Turntable. So that night we marched into the little match-box dance hall club hard and fast like the Dirty Dozen and posted up in front we wall.

Now when I say “our wall”, I mean everybody and they mother know that every, single club night, that space up under the DJ booth balcony, from the edge of that larger-than-life Bob Marley mural over to the women’s restroom – all that space is our own. It bought and paid for with sheer testosterone and gun sulfur. Whensoever we popped in, people just slide over to the side and relinquish we space. Regulars knew that; next week, a baby going born in England and he going know that. No long story; no long talk; no big fucking deal.

So, we had we backs to the wall, women’s restroom ‘pon we right-hand side, dance floor straight ahead. Was me, my cousin Bull, the two brothers Shortman and Doc, Brixton, Dapper, English, Bim, Mammal, Buddy-Bye, Star Boy and Trigger. Buddy-Bye bored through the crowd headed for the bar.

Bull turned ’round grinning and shouted in my ear over the music. “Wha’ the fuck do Mackie? A few little shooting and now the damn Secret Service manning the door.”
I didn’t share the laugh. “I feel naked, no fuck.” I looked around the club.
Bull did the same. “Yo, Chicken. Culture and Joe not coming?”
I shrugged. “Ever since Lyla, Joe been acting certain way, like if he is the only man in the whole world raising a youth without a babymother.”
“I feel for him; that man have some real big man responsibilities now.”
I thought about it. But what about Culture and Ray-Ray and the rest of them? They don’t never miss no party.
I turned to Doc. “Blessed earthday, Bredren.”
Buddy-Bye resurfaced with a waitress and two wash basins full a Moet bottles on ice, plus two cases of Heineken and Guinness. Soon as he set them on the floor, hands plunged in and rummaged through the basin and boxes of beer. I came up with two Moet, for me and Shortman, who started crushing weed in his hand, preparing to build a spliff.
The whole crew was hyped. The spot down in Southeast was bubbling over thirty grand a day, more than triple the amount we made the first day we set up shop, which was a month before. Not bad for a set of teens – we was definitely flexing, smelling weself.

So, now we’re guzzling bottles. The music was pounding, the place ram-packed with tension and swagger. The air, hot and hypnotic from ganja smoke and spilled-liquor fumes and too many black people cramped in too small a space. Girls were winding up they waistlines, riding the booming baseline with perfect timing. Knowing full-well a man’s eyes would only linger on any one of them for a couple seconds, the winding competition between them girls was fierce; you hear?
But as man, we couldn’t afford to turn fool over pum-pum; so real road niggas’ eyes kept shiftin from predator to girl prey, like young lions scouting the savannah for enemies and food. That possie over there watching that one over there. All man under a constant state of alert.
Shortman reached across me and handed Doc the new-built, big-head spliff, then started building a next one. English roped in some girls, waving them in from off the dance floor. The music slowed to a crawl…then stopped.
Silence.
Crowd movement settled.
Grammatica The Selector’s voice rang out through the speakers.
“Hold tight, all massive and crew. Here comes a chune by the one-and-only Junior Reid, a brand new thing mashing up Jamdung and Foreign. Turntable LISTEN!”

Junior Reid sing-jayed the Intro:
“Moder vamp-ires of the ci-ty/ haunted blood, blo-od/ You coulda come from Rema, you coulda come from Jungle/coulda come from Firehouse or you come from Tower Hill/One blood, one blood, one blood…”

When the baseline dropped in, the whole dancehall nearly tear down. It was bare bedlam. Lighters flicked on, aerosol-can torches spewing flames out like some ole, spit-fire dragons. Sirens sounded, a bomb warning wailed. Now, even the lions were prancing, bouncing with gun fingers in the air, busting blanks.
BLO!BLO!BLO!
I was thinking, Mackie fucking lucky he stopped we from bringing guns in here tonight, f’real. The amount of gunshots that woulda burst for One Blood woulda turn his ceiling into swiss cheese.
With the drum and bass and the Moet talking to me, plus the smell of sticky girls and sexy ganja, I was sailing higher than a frigging kite. And right about that time, Bull turned around and said to me:
“Wrangla them over there by the Galaga.” He was gesturing behind him.
Soon as he said it, that ole, dutty, stinking crow cawed. Sobered me straight, right and fast. I had to rise up on my Bally boot toes to catch a glimpse over Bull shoulder but I spotted them in the corner by the video game in the back of the club. They were definitely watching us, plotting. And when our eyes locked, the four of them fanned out onto the dance floor, skanking like wasn’t nothing wrong.
And that was all wrong!

They spread out, bouncing around with some random girls, but we could see them lurking – Wrangla and Glass to the left, Mongrel and Boo on the right. I’m thinking: four of them; twelve of we. Ever since Lyla get licked down right outside the club, Mackie was not skinning or grinning with sercurity, nobody couldn’t even slip by the metal detector with piece of cigarette foil paper under their clothes. So, what they could try? We had the numbers.
But then, Glass dallied through the crowd, rushing our way. Off pure reflex and instinct, my gun hand dug down into my pants waist, knowing better, but still hoping to God for a miracle.
Shit! Heard that crow caw again. I definitely wasn’t high no more.

Let me tell you, Bull solid like a pillar or post, and it was hard to see over his shoulder. Next thing I know, though, Glass was standing with his hands buried in his jacket pockets, ranting and railing off, nearly chest to chest with Bull. I couldn’t hear a word for sake of the thumping music; but he was running off his mouth non-stop and I knew it was gun talk, wicked talk, cause he was screwing up his mouth like he sucking a green mango or something so. His hands were poking around in his pockets emphasizing whatever foolishness was coming out his mouth.
On my left, Doc and English inched wide. Shortman, on my right, ain’t notice nothing yet and his short rass definitely couldn’t see over Bull or the crowd, so he was still picking stems out the weed, preparing to roll.
And then, Mongrel and Boo squeezed through the crowded floor and drew up beside Glass, who on cue, backed a Glock .40 out his coat pocket and carried on chatting even more fuckery, going on like a real, big-pussy gyal, now that he had representation beside him.
I gripped the Moet bottle neck. Doc and English did the same.
Bull inched up, closing the gap between him and yappy-yappy mouth Glass. Which in, caught Glass in a place somewhere between disbelief and feeling disrespected. His eyes bulged with confusion.
Mongrel looked at Glass with sour disgust, spit some cuss words at him and snatched the tool right out his confederate’s hand. At the same time, Boo backed out a nine millimeter. In one fluid, in-sync motion, the two of them raised the machines and aimed.

 

https://btspblog.wordpress.com/2016/11/20/chicken-little-and-the-carrion-crow/

The Reluctant Librarian: Black Coffee, No Bitches.

BTS Original: The Reluctant Librarian

The Reluctant Librarian: Black Coffee, No Bitches.
Copyright 2016 Kaya Omodele @TheAbeng #Abeng

7:30 am Monday

I shoulder-strapped my mesh gym bag, loaded with twenty pounds of notebooks, folders, and a year’s worth of Writer’s Digest, and lugged it through the morning chill, across the prison yard to the library, where I copped some peace and quiet behind the desk, by my damn self. I like being alone like this; I can hear myself think, hear pages turn, Jah know, I can even hear my Empress, a two-and-a-half-hour drive away in Atlanta, getting ready for work.

I absolutely love this time of day, blissful calmness before people start dropping in, dropping questions about books; dropping books in the book-return bin; dropping by to pick up books; and, worst of all, dropping by to chat a bag of fuckery that ain’t got no bearing on the price of tea in China.

Down here in the morning, it’s just me and my thoughts and this whole library of books stacked in order by the might of my very own hand. These books don’t trouble me; they don’t even try holding conversation with me; and they damn sure never grate my nerves, spitting guile all the while. Up there in the block, there’s way too much noise and empty barrels.
“Nigga, you see that bitch Nikki on the Hip-Hop awards?”
“My Nigga, I showed you my photos. I ain’t tripping on that bitch; I got bad bitches.”
“Stop! You ain’t got no Nikki Minaj-type bad bitch, tho, my Nigga.”
Nigga, Nigga, Nigga; Bitch, bitch, bitch… Dumb-ass dialogue be corroding my nerves like acid, coming like pestilence swarming out, devouring my tranquility.

So, savoring this solace, I sip a two-fist sized cup of 190-degree, commissary-gouged, 100% Columbian blend, which I always take dark and natural like I love my women-no sugar, no bleaching. Now all I need is the other side of this fence and my Empress- ain’t got no bad bitches.
You done know!

Kaya Omodele
The Abeng and My Conscious Pen http://consciouspen.blogspot.com
FB: http://www.facebook.com/TheAbengandMyConsciousPen

 

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Chicken Little And The Carrion Crow

Street Literature (Chicken Little And The Carrion Crow)

Chicken Little and The Carrion Crow (Introducing An Urban Story)

Copyright K. Omodele  2016

First published on The Abeng and My Conscious Pen in March 2016 (http://consciouspen.blogspot.com/2016/03/street-literature-chicken-little-and.html#.WEDDtNIrKM8)

Let me tell you ’bout things the way I see them. You go through life forever lonely, ever alert and aware of your surroundings, all while searching for something to make the Harshness bearable. Y’see, there’s this everlasting gloom hovering all around me, a constant heaviness, a steady uneasiness I feel every single living day as I trod over the hills and through the valleys, the gutters and the alleys of my life. It’s the overwhelming realization that, no matter how much sun is shining right here, right now, sooner or later something bad going drop on my head. Short Man say I too damn pessimistic, so now my whole crew call me Chicken Little.

I don’t always know the precise hour or the minute this Harshness going wake up, shake up and drop the hammer; don’t even know the fullness of the chaos it going bring; but as sure as dusk and dawn and death, it going come. If you don’t believe nothing else in the world; believe that! Me? I just keep praying the next time it swoop down it don’t bring about my total destruction and absolute demise.

Yeah, I have moments when I’m enjoying meself, like when basking in that warm, catch-breath afterglow with a woman- you know how! But then, even times like these still be haunting to me because I know deep down in my heart and soul that the Harshness right there, somewhere, maybe right outside the Marriott room door, waiting. It lingering, lurking, looming, ready to flap down like some dutty ole crow. So, all when I’m palavering and laughing, sipping two stout with me friend, in the depths of my conscience I expecting something worse. That’s why come Chicken Little forever keep gun closer than skin and bone.

I want you understand this, the Harshness is our judgment ‘pon de earth. All the world’s injustices and conflicts and mischief feed it. It carnivals in vanity and greedy tendencies, in all a we pillaging and we plundering. Is a executioner and when it descends, expect repayment tenfold; whether it dive down with viciousness or glide down, slow and deliberate, wings cocked back, more dreadful and imposing than Armageddon.

It’s always there. Waiting.

Like the night Short Man got wet up* in a reggae dancehall called Turntable back in the days when crack was king and D.C. was murder capital. I could feel it in the air, ‘midst all a we Moet Chandon-ing and indica burning…

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