“Michael! Boy, if you don’t get up!”
“Urk… I’m getting up, Mama, I’m getting up.”
“Get your ass up and get to school, boy.”
“And where’s LeShawn’s shavin’ cream? I don’t want that man naggin’ me about you takin’ it ‘gain.”
“I didn’t take no shavin’ cream…”
“Just get up, boy, ‘fore you fuck around and be late for school.”
Michael rose from his bed, stretching his long, dark arms as he paced around his messy room. He threw on his school clothes lazily, unwilling to shower.
Michael walked down the hall to the stairs and passed his mother’s room. The door was closed.
“Fucking bitch! Don’t take my shit again!”
Michael only stood there, clenching his fist and tightening his jaw. He turned away in hesitance, memories of his last intervention gone wrong resurfacing.
“Boy, who do you think you pointin’ that knife at? You just live here, I run here!”
“Oof! Oh! Ugh! Ah!”
“LeShawn, baby, stop it! You’re killin’ him!”
“You feel this, ya lil’ shit? You ever come at me with that shit again, I’ll kill yo’ punk ass!”
Thus, he continued on into the kitchen. The young man grabbed a piece of bread and walked out the door to school. Once outside, in the frigid air of his hometown, he drank it all in – the decadence, the disrepair, the damnation. He drank it in and kept walking. After all, thought he, that’s what the world’s like, right?
Michael stopped near an intersection, turning back at the call of his name. That’s when he saw them: three big dudes waving him over from across the street.
“C’mere, lil’ homie! I wanna talk to ya for a minute.”
Without a second thought, Michael turned and ran, the three teens speeding after him.
“Where you goin’, blood?!”
One of the teens tackled him to the ground, striking Michael with wild punches to the ribs and face, while he just tried to cover up as best as he could.
“Ay-y-yyy! Those new jays, though… We’ll just take these motherfuckahs, hope you don’t mind. Psh! The fuck am I saying? ‘Course you fucking don’t, right?”
The bully kicked Michael in the mouth, sneering down at him. The bullies all walked away, leaving him shoeless.
Michael just slammed his fist on the concrete floor, seething and powerless.
The children all snickered at seeing Michael’s state as he walked in – barefooted and nose bleeding. His head stooped as he walked to his locker, ignoring the petty people pestering him.
He walked into class and sat at his desk, ignoring the scolding teacher and the staring students. He only laid his head on his desk and forgot the world.
“Hey, Keisha.” Michael smirked down at his girl: a young, caramel-skinned girl with a fresh smile and hazel hair.
“What’s up?” replied she, a sly smile on her face.
“C’mon, baby, you know what’s up…” he said slowly, leaning in.
“Did you get jumped again?”
“Girl, shut up.”
The girl giggled as Michael led her to an abandoned janitor closet, rubber missing from his bounce.
“Pass it, pass, pass it!”
He ran down the court in the shade of the park trees, dribbling the ball with 9 other kids.
“Yeah, baby! 35-29!”
“Hey, hey…” The young kids turned to the intruding gang of older guys, all dressed in loose clothing and sagging pants. They had a basketball in their arm and mean mugs brewing brown on their faces.
“We here now so ya’ll go over there.” The man pointed to the other court; one with litter coating it generously and the Sun beaming down on it mercilessly.
With a sigh, the kids obeyed the rule of the jungle and the order of the lions.
“Hey, Michael, baby,” greeted the evil man in rags, giving Michael dap. “You got that money?”
“Here.” The boy handed the man several dollars and the man cackled, chuckled, and guffawed with missing teeth and silver canines.
“Take yo’ shit, boy.” The man tossed a bag of white substance to the boy, Michael sneakingly putting it in his pocket.
“Hey! Hey, boy! Stop!”
“What, uh, wha-wha-what is it, officer?”
“Are you high, boy? Hey, hey! Look at me – are you high?”
“N-nah, I ain’t takin’ nothin’…”
“Come with me.”
“H-hey! Don’t reach out for me, man! You don’t know me like that!”
“Get the fuck off me, yo! Hey, fuck you!”
“Stop resisting, stop – STOP REACHING FOR MY WEAPON!”
POP, POP, POP!
And again, a boy woke up to restart the ghetto metamorphosis, no beauty emerging from the cocoon of narcotics. Only death and misery, born from prejudice. It’s just another day in the hood.
Original Image: http://www.wallpaperup.com/uploads/wallpapers/2012/10/23/20550/big_thumb_5615fb59bb333f1eda9693836599ed6b.jpg