The man, holding his cigarette in hand, rested against the railing solemnly. The people of the park walked by, ran by, or simply sat on park benches with their friends and family, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil inside of the man.
“Carin’… beautiful… the only one I can devote myself to. Where did it all go…? Shit… where the fuck did it all go?”
The man dropped his cigarette and stomped it out. Then, with his hands in his hoodie, walked back home.
In his apartment, he plopped down on his bed and reached into the drawer of his nightstand. He pulled out a glistening gray gun, gazing upon it solemnly.
“I can’t fuckin’ stand this shit no more… The only thing that helped a black man be distracted from this hellish ghetto… is her. God… I’m comin’ home.”
The man raised the barrel and placed it near his temple, his mind recurring the memories of his last encounter with her.
“No! Don’t ‘baby’ me, Tyrone! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I’m just done with you! Get the fuck out and don’t come the fuck back!”
A sigh left Tyrone’s lips, eyes closing.
“Why’d she do that? Is she ridin’ somethin’ on the side?”
As soon as the thought processed properly, his hand tensely tightened.
“No… no, no, she wouldn’t do that shit… not her! Not her, not her! Fuck no!”
Tyrone lowered the gun and sprang up from his mattress, pacing around the small room and shaking his head.
“Now that I think about it… she was actin’ hella weird these past few weeks. Comin’ in late, smellin’ weird… No, no… Maybe I should head over there to see if she is or not… Take this gat with me… just in case.”
With that course of action decided, Tyrone raced to the house of his girl, parking across the street in his car. Inconspicuously as possible, he walked around the back and came up to the back door. He lifted up a plant and picked up a key. Using it, he silently opened the door.
“Trissa…” he whispered, nearly mute.
He looked about the house but found nothing until his ears caught sound upstairs.
Like a cat, Tyrone silently ascended the stairs and walked down the hall, coming next to the closed door of the master bedroom and listening in.
“Oh… yeah…” a feminine voice moaned.
Tyrone’s eyes widened and his jaw tightened. “She’s fuckin’ somebody RIGHT NOW! HELL NO!”
Tyrone pulled out the gun and kicked the door in.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!
“Fuck you bitch! I fuckin’ loved you!”
The woman fell to the other side of the bed, bleeding with several shots in her. Panting, Tyrone’s face became pale and his eyes widened in stark realization. He looked down at his gun, smoking menacingly. The smoke circled around the gun, forming a grin at the thought of having taken another beautiful black life in the hood.
Angrily, Tyrone threw the gun at the wall before running over to the body of the woman, gasping when he saw that she had something wrapped in a bundle in her arms.
Tyrone unrolled the bundle and it revealed her 2-year old son resting on his mother’s chest.
Tyrone sunk to his knees, hand covering his mouth, and a tear rivetingly ripping down his dark face.
Tyrone turned around and nearly puked when he saw that the voices came from the romance drama on television.
“God, Jesus, no…”
Tyrone’s lips quivered as he lifted Trissa into his arms and embraced her.
“I’m so fucking sorry… Forgive me… Lord, please forgive me…”
And outside, flashed blue and red lights.
Original Image: http://wallfon.com/walls/others/the-smoking-gun-barrel.jpg