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    Tears Of Evidence


    By: J. Brinkley



    Troy Jenkins was a young man caught up in the mishaps of life, from a very young age his perception of life has always been a foggy vision of what if’s. Although he has created Some of his own troubles, growing up, were those storms of life that rained down heavily, drenching his desires, dreams and the possibilities of hope. He is now a young man on a journey to correct what never should have been. Troy’s journey will take you deep into his heart of pain, his sometimes tortured soul, his unwillingness to give up and let injustice have its way, his willpower to endure and his faith to maintain.

    Chapter One

    It's Friday morning, 5:15 am, time for breakfast. Troy brushed his teeth, washed his face and made up his bed. By that time the 

    the officer announced on the intercom, “E-4-Breakfast call, breakfast call!”


    All of the doors in the dormitory slid open. Troy walked out and observed his surroundings. Everybody was exiting the building, headed towards the mess hall. Following suit Troy gravitated towards the door reciting Surah 113:


                             “The Dawn” 


                        In the name of Allah,


                Most gracious, most merciful,


           Say: I seek refuge with The Lord of the Dawn,


         From the mischief’s of created things,


            From the mischief’s of darkness 


                          As it overspreads; 


    From the mischief’s of those who practice


                              Secret acts, 


    And from the mischief's of the jealous one 


                    As he practice’s jealousy.

    Troy entered the mess hall and was greeted by Jerome, a good friend and Muslim brother.

    “May Allah’s peace and blessings be upon you and your family brother,” Jerome greeted.


    “All praise due to Allah and I wish the same upon you brother,” Troy responded, a slight note of agitation in his voice that he tried not to let slip out.


    Troy and Jerome ate their breakfast, then walked back to the dorm together. That’s when Jerome noticed a strange look on Troy’s face.


    “Are you all right?” Jerome inquired.


    Troy remained silent as if he didn’t hear Jerome’s question, yet he knew that the pressure was building up inside of him and he had to do something about it or else go crazy. Finally he decided to trust Jerome because Jerome had shared some real personal experiences with him several times before.


    As Troy’s words and thoughts started to flow, breaking the silence, the memories, nightmares and horrors all commenced to unfold around him and he was back there again! Crash! The noise was deafening, Troy had heard it all before, many times. Bang, slap, thud! It was happening all over again and there was nothing Troy, his three older brothers or his mother could do about it.


    In 1989 Troy was five years old, living in a small country town known as Tifton, Georgia, with his mother, father and three older 

    brothers. One day his mother, Trina, was cleaning the house up while his father, Eric, was out running the streets. His father would leave beer cans and liquor bottles all over the mobile home, and as always, his mother would clean up. After that task was completed his mother.


    would cook the boys something to eat. They would eat and Trina would wrap Eric’s plate up neatly and put it away for him.


    A few hours later Eric came stumbling through the front door, drunk like he always did.


    Trina shook her head. “Are you hungry?” She asked.


    Eric didn’t give a verbal response, instead he revealed a cold stare that held negative energy like a bad open, and walked to the back room. A few minutes passed, then he ordered Trina to come to the room with him.


    She looked at Troy. “Keep watching television, I’ll be right back,” She whispered as she walked into the room where Eric was waiting.


    Troy nodded his head and turned back to watching the television.


    Suddenly Trina screamed at the top of her lungs. The scream was filled with agony.


    Troy was in a state of bewilderment. It was as if he was paralyzed sitting there in front of the TV before he overcame his fears and quickly ran to the back room.


    Eric had Trina pinned to the floor with his knees on her forearms so that she couldn’t move, punching her in the face with a closed fist. Troy’s brothers heard the commotion from their room and also rushed to the end of the mobile home where the horrible scene was unfolding. It was hard for Troy and his brothers to understand the reality of the harsh brutality that they were witnessing; all they could do was cry.

    Finally Eric ceased the beating, he turned around and saw his boys standing in the doorway. Realizing that they had seen what he had done to their mother he got up, walked over to the dresser and retrieved a 38 special, then gradually walked over to his boys.


    “I should kill y'all no good trash and if you don’t like what I just did to your mama, then do something about it!” Eric spoke viciously. 

    He grabbed Troy by his shirt, pulled him close to him then put the 38 special to Troy’s head, “I hate you, give me one reason why I 

    shouldn’t kill you punk.” Eric demanded.


    Troy should have felt fear, but instead all he could think of was revenge as the tears continued running down his brown cheeks.


    Trina was still on the floor balled up in the fetal position. She was bleeding from a busted nose and lip, her eyes were swollen and she cried and moaned helplessly.


    Eric concealed his pistol on his person, then without any warning he slapped Troy, knocking him to the ground and commenced choking Troy.


    “You’re a coward, do you hear me boy?” Eric shouted angrily.


    Troy was kicking and gasping for air, trying to breathe, trying to break free from his father’s tight grip, but he couldn’t. He finally felt himself losing consciousness as everything around him became blurry, then he blanked out.


    Troy awoke the next morning and glanced around the room. Everything looked normal, nonetheless, deep in his heart he knew that it wasn’t. He jumped out of bed and ran to his mother’s room.

    There she stood in front of the mirror cleaning her wounds, she was still weeping. Troy moved towards her, he began to also shed tears in retrospect of last night’s ordeal. Trina pulled him close and held him in her arms.


    “Baby I love you with all my heart, you are special and God has a great plan for you,” she said calmly.


    “Where’s Pa?” Troy asked.


    “He left hours ago, I don’t know,” she answered. Then she took Troy by the hand and led him to the head of her bed and grabbed the bible. “Now what I want you to do is repeat after me.”




                      Our Father in the Heavens


                       Let your name be sanctified


                       Let your Kingdom come


                       Let your will take place


                       As in Heaven, also upon earth


                       Give us today our bread for day


                       And forgive our debts


                As we have also forgiven our debtors


                And do not bring us into temptation


                But deliver us from the wicked one


             For if you forgive men their trespasses


         Your heavenly Father will also forgive you


        Whereas if you do not forgive men their trespasses.


        Neither will your Father forgive your  trespasses.

    Two weeks later Troy had played sick so that he could stay at home while his brothers went to school. Trina and Troy were sitting on the front porch catching some fresh air and talking when Eric came home drunk again, smelling like pure liquor.


    Trina and Troy walked a few steps away from him. “Who is Virginia?” Trina demanded to know.


    “Why do you want to know?” Eric responded drunkenly.


    “Cause, she called today looking for you,” Trina replied,


    “Why are you questioning me anyway? My business is my business, you hear me?” Eric slurred his words.


    “You know what? You are so insecure, every time I don’t satisfy your ego you always act stupid,” Trina informed.


    “What you said? Bitch!” Eric yelled.


    By this time Eric had grabbed a handful of Trina’s hair and pulled her to the ground. He started kicking her in the back and stomach, he spit on her and called her all kinds of defaming names. The nightmare was back with a vengeance. The feelings of helplessness were terrible, being that Eric was so big and Troy was so small. He wanted to help his mother, but what could a five year old boy do against this giant? Still he knew he couldn’t just stand there and watch, he went to help his defenseless mother from his father’s brutality.


    Troy hooked his tiny arms around his father’s leg. “Leave my mama alone!” Troy exclaimed.

    Eric swatted Troy away like a fly, but Troy repeated his attack to save his mother. This time his father punched Troy in the face, knocking him down on the ground and causing Troy’s little nose to bleed. Troy began to cry and utter words of hatred to his father, blood was all over his face and clothes. Troy got up off of the ground and ran into the house to his parent’s room. He searched the closet to find a crate, then he placed the crate in front of the dresser, climbed onto it, then opened the drawer and snatched his father’s 38 special. His adrenaline was rushing, every step he took seemed to be heavy to him. When he stepped onto the porch, his mother already had his father at gunpoint.


    “This is it, this is the last time you’ll put your hands on me and my kids. I've had enough of your shit! You don’t appreciate me. 

    Nigga I cook for you, clean the house, take care of the kids, everything you ask me to do, I do it. I’ve never cheated on your sorry ass and this is what I get in return for being a good woman!” Trina felt aggression rise out of her as she bubbled over with contempt.


    “Baby just calm down, you’re just a little upset.” Eric pleaded.


    “Oh no! Don’t baby me or try to sweet talk me cause it’s over,” Trina spoke adamantly.


    “Troy, where did you get that pistol from? Give it to me,” Eric took a cautious step towards Troy.


    “Don’t even think about it. Take one more step and see if I don’t kill you. I advise you to stand still,” Trina cautioned.


    “If you get too close to me I'ma pull the trigger,” Troy informed his father as he pointed the gun directly at him.

    “Ain’t this some shit, both of y'all want to kill me,” his father said, shaking his head in disbelief.


    “Troy baby, come here,” his mother requested.


    Troy ran over to his mother’s side and handed her the 38 special.


    “Now go call Angela and Gina, tell them this nigga done jumped on us again and that I need them to come and get us and take us to the city,” his mother ordered.


    Troy obeyed his mother’s order and thirty minutes later Troy, Trina and his brothers were headed to a new life in the city of Tifton. 

    As Troy was sitting in the back seat of the car all he could think about was when he pointed the pistol at his father. Something in his mind clicked, maybe not consciously, but on some plane. He realized that a weapon made the giant not quite so big and he was a lot larger to his father as he was staring down the barrel of a 38 special.



    J. Brinkley
    Follow J. Brinkley and explore their bibliography from's J. Brinkley Author Page.
  • 9735900692?profile=RESIZE_930x

    Ghetto Tales Of Anguish

    Pt 1


    By: J. Brinkley


    Chapter One


    Bang! Bang! The gunshots rang. People screamed and scattered in every direction, trying to avoid the gun play. Two dudes were 

    hit, and they laid on the floor of the apartment, holding their wounds and moaning.


    “Yeah, pussy nigga! You know what it is! Where dem bands?” Eric said while putting his foot on the dude’s back so he couldn’t 

    move while he searched his pockets. 


    “Please, don’t kill me," the dude mumbled and stuttered. 


    “I ain’t, nigga. Just tell me where your pretty little stash at,” Eric uttered sarcastically. 


    “It’s in the kitchen cabinet behind the canned goods," the dude cried. 


    “I need medical attention.” 


    “Just hold on, bruh. I gotchu.” Eric nodded at two of his soldiers to go check the kitchen cabinets. He looked at the other dude who 

    was shot and laying still on the floor. Apparently, he bled out. A lot of rumbling emerged from the kitchen, and after a minute 

    or two, Eric’s crew came out carrying a duffel bag full of coke and money. 


    “We all set," Eric’s soldier said. 


    “Fo’ sho,” Eric replied. In cold blood, Eric raised his Desert Eagle .40 caliber to the back of the dude’s head and pulled the trigger. They all ran out of the apartment and vanished into the night. 


    Eric made his way home to see that his kids were already in bed. He opened the door to his bedroom as he heard soft music playing. Candles were lit, which led the way to the bed where Keyshia lay with nothing on but a bottomless negligee.


     Eric looked at her with a wicked smile as he walked over to the bed. Crossing the room to Keyshia, Eric’s mind flashed with anticipation. He unfastened his belt, pulled his pants and boxers off, then took his shirt off and crawled in bed over her. 


    Keyshia looked into his dark-brown eyes and bit her bottom lip, then smiled as he began to caress her body with his masculine hands. He placed soft, warm kisses on her, starting from the top of her head. He slowly moved down to her dark-brown, erect nipples and on to her navel. 


    Keyshia began to moan in ecstasy as he made his way down to her inner thighs and kissed them passionately. Finally, he reached her hot pussy, spread her pussy lips open, and massaged them with his fingers. He licked her clitoris with his tongue as she moaned. He allowed her clitoris to enter into his mouth as he started to tease it with his tongue. She arched her back and grabbed Eric’s head. 


    “Oh shit, baby… right there," Keyshia whispered while being caught in the heat of passion. 


    Eric continued to suck her clit. He inserted his index finger into her wet pussy and finger-fucked her vaginal walls, reaching her G-spot. She began to moan louder and begged him to bring her to climax, but he stopped and blew on her sweet pearl, causing her to go crazy. He turned her over on all fours and started licking her from behind until her toes curled, and Keyshia began to convulse. 


    That was when Eric decided to penetrate her juicy pussy with his hard dick from behind. He gave her what she wanted the most, 

    a good, stiff dick. 


    They fucked like crazy for a few hours until they were extremely exhausted. Sweat dripped from both of them, and their breathing was erratic.


     After a few minutes of intimate pleasure like no other, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.


    The day after the lick, the sun was out, beaming relentlessly. Eric was awakened by his six-year-old son, Maurice, and his four-

    year-old daughter, Nika. 


    “Daddy, Daddy! Wake up! Breakfast is ready!” they yelled while hitting his arms with their tiny hands.


    “OK, bad bugs. I’m up,” Eric grunted, pushing the covers off and stretching. 


    “Yay!” Nika screamed with a big smile. 

    He sat on the side of the bed and hugged them.


    “Tell your mom I’ll be at the table in a minute. I need to brush my teeth and wash my face first.” 


    “OK,” Maurice said. He grabbed his little sister’s hand, and they walked out of the room and back into the kitchen

    Momentarily, Eric appeared in the kitchen. He was dressed in white Air Force Ones, black Jabo shorts, and a white wife beater, which showed off his athletic physique. He sat at the table next to his beautiful high-school sweetheart, Keyshia. 


    “Hi, baby,” Keyshia said as she fixed his plate of food.


    “Hi, sweetheart,” Eric responded, kissing Keyshia on the forehead. 


    They ate and talked together until, toward the end of his meal, his cell phone rang. He looked at his phone to see who was calling. It was his right-hand man, Dewain. 


    “Excuse me, baby, I gotta take this,” Eric said, then slid his chair out and walked into the back room. “Yo, what’s up?” Eric answered. 


    “Kinfolk, what’s good? Are you coming by the trap today?”Dewain asked.


    “Yeah. Give me about thirty minutes,” Eric replied. 


    “A’ight. Zaybo and the crew are at Puckett Park at the moment, watching the city repair the streetlights.” “Business done been handled?” Eric asked.


    “Say no more,” Dewain responded.


    “Bet. See ya soon, boi.”




    Eric walked back into the kitchen where Keyshia was already standing at the kitchen sink, washing dishes. He walked up 

    behind her, hugged her, and then kissed her on her right cheek. 


    “Baby, thank you for the delicious breakfast. I gotta get to the trap,” Eric said, then peeled off five one-hundred-dollar bills.


    “You welcome, baby. Eric, be safe. Please. I’ll really be glad when you get out of the streets,” Keyshia spoke softly but 

    with much concern.


    “And do what, Keyshia?” Eric asked

    “Get a legitimate job, baby.” 


    “Bae, them crackers ain’t hiring no nigga that’s a two-timefelon,” Eric said a little too aggressively. 


    “OK, fine, Eric. Just be safe.” Keyshia inhaled deeply, then exhaled and shook her head slowly, showing her disapproval. But what could she do? Eric’s mind was already made up.


    As Eric approached the door, he hugged his kids and kissed them goodbye. 


    “Love you, Daddy,” they both said as he closed the door behind him. Eric walked a few blocks to get to Puckett Park, where Zaybo, Karlos, and Dewain waited patiently. Eric spotted them sitting on the bench, drinking and smoking. He kind of figured what it was but didn’t know exactly until he got a little closer up on them. All he could smell was that gas. 


    “There go my muthafuckin’ nigga! What’s up, kinfolk?” Dewain said excitedly, dapping him up. 


    “Nothing much, bruh. Just taking it a day at a time.” Eric asked, “Zaybo, Karlos, what’s the word?” 


    “Coolin’, ready to get on the grind,” Zaybo said. 


    “I’m good. I have been keeping my ear tuned to the streets. I hear that nigga, Rico’s people trying to find out who killed him,” Karlos said, rubbing his chin.


    “Oh yeah?” Eric responded curiously.


    “Fo’ sho. Word is he was plugged in with the Mexican gang, MS13. That’s who he got his work from,” Karlos said. 


    “That’s what’s up! Nobody knew we did it. So we ain’t got nothing to worry about,” Eric explained.


    “Right!” Dewain nodded his head.


    “All we gotta do is stick to the code. Never get too flashy, watch what we say around people, and always… I mean always, be loyal amongst each other. Death before dishonor is our motto,” Eric said, then pounded the members of his crew as they nodded their heads, showing their approval.


    “A’ight, nigga, enough of this Rev. Al Sharpton shit. Let’s hit this trap and make this money,” Dewain said, and everybody 



    “Ol’ ‘I had a dream’ ass nigga!” Zaybo said jokingly.


    “Fuck both of y’all,” Eric said, laughing himself. They got up and walked to the trap house, which sat around the corner. There was just enough furniture in the house for 

    them to sit down and relax until customers came to buy some dope. 


    One o’clock finally rolled around, and people in the neighborhood started coming out and walking around. Dewain and Eric sat on the front porch so they could catch the traffic on the main street. Karlos and Zaybo sat in the back of the house and kept in communication through their throw-away phones. When a junkie or smoker wanted to get served, 

    Dewain or Eric would say a certain fruit and the junkie or smoker would go to the back of the house, which was an alley with trees and a few more abandoned houses. Dewain and 

    Eric used fruit as code for weight at their stash houses.


    As the day began and the traffic began to pick up, customers were in and out. The city sent a crew out earlier in the day to fix the streetlights. As soon as they left, Dewain paid a few youngsters to bust them out again. They didn’t hesitate in doing it. They found rocks and ran to the streetlights, then 

    started throwing until they knocked the lights out. Dewain and Eric laughed as they watched from the porch. 


    “Bruh, I’m hungry as a muthafucka,” Dewain said.


    “Shidd, me too,” Eric agreed.


    “I’m about to hit this store up. Let me hit Karlos and Zaybo up,” Dewain said, then called Zaybo.


    “Yo,” Zaybo answered.


    “I’m about to go to the store. Are you good?” Dewain asked. 


    “Hell naw. Hold on… A’ight, I’m back, bruh. Karlos wants two chili-cheese dogs, chips, and soda. Shidd, you can get me the same thing,” Zaybo said. 


    “A’ight. I want my money when I come back,” Dewain said. 


    “Be easy, my nigga. We gotchu,” Zaybo said, then hung up. 


    Eric gave Dewain a five-dollar bill and told him he was straight with a nacho plate and grape soda. Dewain got up and walked across the street to the corner store. He opened the door, and the bell rang. He walked in casually as the cashier looked at him. He was a tall and slender Arabian man

    in his early forties. He gave a friendly smile and nodded his head. There were a few people in the store when Dewain went in. 

    He paid them no mind and went to the drink section, where he saw a very attractive, brown-skinned woman. She was five feet, seven inches tall, with shoulder-length hair. She had some tight shorts on with a sports bra and a see-through, short lace shirt and wedge-heeled shoes. The woman had a flat 

    stomach with curves that would leave you breathless.


    “Damn!” Dewain said out loud when he saw her. She looked at him and smiled. 


    “Where is your man at?” Dewain asked while opening the door to the cooler, where the sodas were.


    “I don’t have a man,” she replied.


    “That’s hard to believe.” 


    “How come?” 


    “Baby girl, you are too fine. My name is Dewain, and yours?” he asked.


    “Felicia,” she answered. 


    “Where are you from? I have never seen you before,” Dewain inquired. 


    “I’m from California,” she said.


    “Oh yeah? What part?” Dewain asked while they walked slowly toward the counter at the front of the store. 


    “San Diego,” Felicia said while placing her items on the counter. The cashier tallied Felicia’s items. She then paid for them and waited on Dewain as they continued to talk. 


    “Nice, excuse me for one second,” Dewain said, then turned toward the cashier and ordered his food.


    “Let me get six chili-cheese dogs and one nacho plate,” Dewain said.


    “Will that be all, sir?” the cashier asked. 


    “Yes,” he said. He turned back to Felicia and asked, “So tell me, how long have you been in Georgia?” 


    “Almost three months,” she replied. 


    “Do you stay on the Island?” Dewain asked. 


    “No. I’m over at my cousin’s house. I stay in WildWood.” 


    “Oh, I see.” 


    “You are handsome. I bet you have a lot of women.” Felicia observed. 


    “Not really. I’m single.” 


    “Waiting on that special one, huh?” 


    “Something like that,” Dewain said, then smiled.


    “Here you go, sir. That will be $12.89,” the cashier said. Dewain handed him the money, and then he and Felicia walked out of the store together as they continued talking. 

    They agreed to meet up soon, exchanged numbers, and then went their separate ways. Dewain strolled across the street, back to the trap house. 


    Dewain and Eric sat outside an abandoned house on a torn-up couch, eating, then smoking a blunt of gas and reminiscing about 

    the fine ass stripper bitch they ran the train on last Friday at Club Rolex.


     Dewain saw a moving shadow emerging from the bushy pathway. He reached for his forty-five that sat on his lap, and then he tapped Eric’s leg. Eric squinted his eyes and leaned forward, trying to see who was approaching.


    “Man, that’s T-bone’s black ass! Aye, yo, T-bone?” Eric yelled. 


    “Yep, yep, the one and only!” T-bone replied as he made his way up to them.


    “T-bone, what’s up?” Dewain asked. 


    “I’m aight. You got somethin’?” T-bone asked.


    “What did you get?” Dewain replied. 


    “Fifty,” T-bone answered.


    “Hold on,” Dewain said, then got up from the couch and walked around to the back of the abandoned house. 


    “T-bone, you gotta start singing or something when you come through that cut. You almost got shot, yo,” Eric said, then took another hit from the blunt. 


    “Nephew, I've been around a long time. We all gotta go one day,” T-bone responded. 


    “I know, but damn! I wouldn’t want to die getting served. Aye, yo, when you gon’ steal some more baby clothes? My little girl 

    need some more shit. She almost outgrew that other shit,” Eric stated. 


    “Give me a day or two, and I gotchu,” T-bone said. 


    Dewain came back from behind the house, walked up to T-bone and handed him the fifty slab of rock. T-bone gave Dewain two tens, four five-dollar bills, and the rest was in change. 


    “Come on, T-bone, we already talked about this change shit,” Dewain said. 


    “Yeah, I know, nephew, but this is all I got,” T-bone pleaded. 


    “A’ight, man,” Dewain said while shaking his head. 


    “Don’t be mad at me, nephew. I’ll make it up,” T-bone said. 


    “Naw, you good,” Dewain replied, then sat back down on the couch. 


    “You are a good man, nephew!” T-bone said, then walked off.


    “Yo, T-bone, don’t forget about my baby clothes,” Eric yelled. 


    “I won’t,” T-bone yelled back. 


    That night continued to be a night of smooth sailing. The later it got, the more customers came by.




  • 9709879101?profile=RESIZE_584x


    Burning Bridges


    By: J. Brinkley


    Chapter One


    Police sirens blared against the loud bass of rap music, drowning out Brecee's jagged breathing. Sweat poured down the side of his face as his hands gripped onto the steering wheel hard enough to irritate his callouses.


    It was another close night where his lazy customers were sloppy as usual. “Fucking college kids,” he mumbled in between catching his breath. His heart was pounding like crazy in his chest as he listed off every reason jail would ruin him. 


    Aside from his dad having a messy record, it was the last thing he needed to put on his mother’s plate. He swerved the car wildly into a hidden passage and sped through the dark woods. His eyes were wide with fear as the ecstasy of, yet again, another police car made his pulse skyrocket into oblivion.


    “They can’t fucking get me. They can’t fucking get me,” Brecee chanted as he continued to dash through the woods. He dodged broken branches that hung in wiry clusters. Some swiped the hood of his busted cars and others skirted over the hood. His eyes danced from his rearview mirror to the dark, uncharted woods before him. There was a buzzing to his left that alerted him of another distraction. 


    “Not now,” Brecee said through gritted teeth. He finally made it to a clearing and stopped the car, turning it off to listen. The police sirens were barely present. He could hear them blaring in the opposite direction, taking them far away from him. Brecee sighed and grabbed his phone, reluctantly redialing the missed call. It rang three times before a frantic Zach answered. 


    “Nigga, what the hell was that? Zee is gonna murder us,” he barked on the other line. Brecee inhaled sharply through his 

    nose to keep his emotions in check. Unexpected plans were always sure to ruffle dealers, but if you lost your cool it’d be a done deal.


    “Lil nigga tried to play with me and have his boys pull a gun out,” Brecee explained flatly. Brecee and Zach only worked together twice, but Brecee could already tell Zach only had two more chances before he got caught up. Zach’s breathing became more jagged as fear leaked out into his tone.


    “Did you kill them?” he screeched. Brecee held his phone down, disgusted by Zach’s lack of solid thinking. Does this dude think I’m stupid?


    “Obviously, I’m not that impulsive,” he replied slowly. “Just meet me at the clearing off of that neighborhood’s road.”


    “Aight, man.”


    Brecee threw his phone across the seat as frustrated tears spilled down his cheeks. The moon was right above his car and shone through his window, blinding him. The streets were getting more and more ruthless and Brecee knew it was only a matter of time before he ended up exactly like his father. 


    “You must wanna end up in that prison right next to your damn daddy,” his mother had yelled at him the last time she spoke to him. He had just escaped another cop chase after a bad deal. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to be discreet, but he was young. Most folks that saw him just saw a baby-faced kid who they could easily overpower. He wasn’t a pushover, though. The night was finally quiet again with the faint hum of crickets and the distant soundtrack of city life. Brecee sat back and closed his eyes, basking in the coolness of the night sky. His thoughts slowed down and he imagined he was back in the city as a kid, holding tight onto his parents’ hands. It was just months before his dad would be arrested and thrown into prison, but in that moment things were blissful. Brecee was small and protected underneath the shadows of his parents. The streets were littered with smiling faces lost in their conversations, and the sky was sticky and sweet with hotdogs and funnel cakes. 

    Brecee had reached out for it and could feel the hot sun eating away at his skin. It sizzled and melted his ice cream, but the heat felt joyful especially when he was wedged between his mother and father. When he looked up, they were beaming at one another as if they were one of those couples in picture frames. We fit, we finally fit, the eight-year-old Brecee had thought. There was a rustle of bushes and Brecee's eyes shot open, the dream quickly dissipating. He put his hand on his gun and slowly eased the car door open. His heart was racing as usual, but he kept his jaw tight, with no expression on his face. His feet gracefully moved over twigs and leaf’s, precious to the silence that could easily be disrupted and reveal where he was. Another rustle. Brecee's fingers laced around the trigger and a bead of sweat trailed down his face.


    "I’ll kill a cop. I’m not scared of shit!"


    “Damn nigga, you on that army shit,” Zach’s voice broke in. 


    Brecee dropped his gun and turned around. “What the hell is wrong with you? I could’ve shot your goofy ass!”


    Zach held one of his hands up jokingly, the other was gripping a drink from McDonald’s. Brecee eyed Zach with contempt.


    “Is that where you were when I almost got caught?” 


    Zach took one last slurp of his drink then tossed it in the bushes. “That was after you left. It was on the way. Is it illegal for me 

    to drink something?” Zach opened the car door and slid in. Just let it go. It was too close of a call. Breece finally slid in the driver’s seat and started up the car. He peered at Zach from the side of his eye. 


    “Is this a joke to you?” Brecee asked as he turned to glare at Zach. Zach was a rich kid who liked the thrill of the streets. It probably wasn’t much of a title since his dad also was a prison leech, but he still left Zach a huge inheritance. 


    “Nah. But it does seem like things are getting sloppy on your end.”


    “My end? You were supposed to cover me fool,” Brecee said as he hit Zach on the arm.


    “What about last time with Monroe? Or Delancey last month?” 


    There was a brief pause as Zach glared back at Brecee. His eyes were taking in every inch of Brecee, evaluating his every move. 


    “Are you my mother?” Brecee mumbled.


    “I’m sure she’d like you to stay out of trouble,” Zach retorted. Brecee started the car, trying to ignore Zach’s comment. 


    He knew his mother went to sleep every night with burdens and worries on her mind. 


    “I’m just taking care of her.”


    “Isn’t that what Jordan is for?” Brecee gripped the wheel. 


    “Don’t mention his name to me, aight?”


    Zach shrugged and looked out into the night. “At least he takes care of her,” he added. 


    The air was stale with unsaid words. Brecee had every intention to bash Zach’s head into the window for even alluding to him being sloppy. Not because he was wrong but because he was right. The truth stung Brecee, but he couldn’t let it show. Dealing was all he had and there wasn’t a damn thing Zach, his mother, or Jordan could do to stop it.


  • 9707637093?profile=RESIZE_930x




    By: J. Brinkley

    Chapter One


    Xavier Furgerson was born in Atlanta, Georgia and raised on the westside of Atlanta, in a rough neighborhood known as Adam Villa. He stood six feet, with wavy hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He was brown skinned, with an athletic build and his body was covered in tattoos, all the way down to his pelvis. He was twenty-seven years old, with a baby face. He was soft spoken, however, he was far from soft and he was savvy when he maneuvered in the streets.


    He learned a lot from his Uncle Boo Daddy before he got jammed up making a play in the dope game… everything has an ending. As soon as Xavier deviated from his plan, he got knocked. Fortunately, he was able to hire a good attorney to fight the drug charges. Since it was his first offense, his attorney got him a deal under the First Offender Act. He was sentenced to three years in prison and one year probation.


    The rain was pounding against the window above Xavier’s head, causing him to wake up at seven thirty, am. He stretched and yawned. He tossed the covers off and sat up on the side of his bunk bed, facing the control booth where the officers sat and monitored the dormitory. He put his feet into his bedroom shoes and took a deep breath then exhaled.


    The dorm was filled with light. He gazed around as he gathered his thoughts. A few people he knew walked past his bunk and threw the deuces. He lifted his head upward slightly to return the greetings. Xavier leaned over and opened his locker box, which sat on the floor. He reached for his toothbrush, tooth paste, soap dish and washcloth. This was the box that a part of his life resided in, locked away from the hands of those who might dare to steal from him. Xavier got up from his bunk and walked casually to the six man shower that was also accompanied by sinks and toilets for the hundred and nineteen men that were being housed in that unit. He brushed his teeth and washed his face.


    Before he walked back to his bunk, he stood in front of the small mirror on the wall and looked at himself. He was still trying to

    register how he got caught up in this hell hole. He made a vow to himself that once free, he would never come back to prison. He

    admitted to himself that the money was good, but not worth living like an animal. Was money really worth this portion of his privacy

    and life?


    He gathered his hygiene items and walked back to his bunk. His stomach growled; he grabbed a pack of Ramen noodles, a bag of

    buffalo wing chips and a beef and cheese stick. He crushed up the dried soup and chips, poured the noodles into the chip bag, then diced the beef and cheese stick up with his front teeth. He marched to the water fountain, ran hot water into the bag and mixed everything together. He stood at the water fountain while he prepared his breakfast.


    “Yo Xavier, good morning, Nigga!”




    “Come on over here and let me glove you on these bones, Nigga.”


    “Man, it’s too damn early to be playing some damn dominoes.”


    “Sounds like an excuse to me. You gotta redeem yourself, bruh.”


    “I see you are still happy about yesterday.”


    “Shidd, I’ll beat you today too.”


    “A’ight. We will see. Five games and that’s it. I got some more important shit to do. Ya feel me?”


    “Of course, say no mo.”


    Xavier won four games out of five. He talked trash to Fred and they both laughed. He got up from the table and walked back to his

    bunk where he sat down. He grabbed his tablet from his locker box and his ink pen from the side of his bed and started writing a letter…


    Dear Simone,


    You may not ever read this, but I feel like I should get this out. It’s been almost three years now since I’ve been locked away and you haven’t made even one attempt to write to me or bring my son to see me. I realize we live in two different worlds, but I still want to be in my son’s life. As you already know, my parents died when I was young, before I really had a chance to get to know them. But even before they died, my father was never in my life the way a father should be and my mother was a drug addict, who died from an

    overdose of heroin. By that time, I was already in the streets. All the dirt I’ve done was for you and my son and this is the thanks I get? Anyways, it doesn’t matter anymore, I’ll be out in a week. It’s true…

    when you're down, you really see who’s there for you. I would’ve never thought you would do me wrong.




    He folded the letter and put it in an envelope, then addressed it. He grabbed five dollars of commissary from his box and walked few

    bunks down from him.


    “What up, Chris?”


    “My nigga Xavier, what it do, bruh?”


    “Nothing much. You still got some gas?”


    “Fo’ sho. Nigga, you know I’m always on deck.”


    “That’s what’s up. Let me get a stick from you.”




    Chris reached in his pocket and pulled out a zip lock bag. He unrolled it, then opened it and grabbed a plastic kitchen glove with

    weed in it. He handed it to Xavier, who looked at it.


    “Let me see another one, bruh.”


    “They're all the same, but no problem. How about this one?”


    “This one is much better.”




    “Good business.”


    “Fo’ sho.”


    Xavier walked back to his locker box and opened it. He grabbed his photo album and looked behind a picture where he retrieved a

    rolling paper. He put the photo album back in his lock box then he looked at the control booth to see where the officers were. They were in the booth talking. Before he walked to the restroom, he grabbed his hair brush from the side of his bed.


    When Xavier entered the restroom, two other dudes were already smoking. He rolled his weed up and got a light then he smoked the joint solo. Once he finished, he walked to the mirror, pulled his brush out and began brushing his hair and massaging his waves with his left hand. He thought to himself, ‘Damn, I’m a handsome nigga. I can’t wait ‘til I get out. Ima tear some pussy up!’


    He left the restroom and walked to the table where he sat down. He took his hands and scrambled the dominoes on the table, to mix

    them up.


    “Fred, where you at, nigga? Come straighten your face.”


    Fred stood up from his bunk in the back of the dorm. He scratched his head, then walked to the table with a grin on his face. He sat down and said, “Let’s do this.”


    “Fred, what are you gonna do when you get out?”


    “My brother got a construction company. I’ll probably work with him. What about you?”


    “Hell, I've been thinking about baking me some cakes.”


    “Man, get the fuck outta here. Are you serious?”


    “Damn right I’m serious. Nigga, its money in baking shit.”


    “I’m just saying, a big nigga like you baking? I just can’t see it.


    You sold dope for a living, right?”


    “Right. But a nigga can’t sell dope forever. You see where my black ass is now.”




    “Besides, I want to be in my son’s life, while he’s growing up.”


    “I feel ya. How old is he?”


    “Six. You got kids?”


    “I got three, from three different women. And boy, that child support doesn't play!” They both burst into laughter.


    “I bet it doesn't. I bet you wish you would’ve kept your dick in your pants now, huh?


    “Hell yeah!”


    “How old are they?


    “Eight, ten, twelve.” A slim dude walked past the table at a fast pace but Xavier didn’t pay him any attention. He continued to talk and play dominoes. Seconds later, there was a big commotion in the back. Horrible screams echoed throughout the dorm. Xavier looked up from the table and focused his attention towards the back of the dorm. He watched as the skinny dude stabbed the weed man at least ten times or more. With each stab, blood gushed forth. Some of the weed man’s partners tried to fight the skinny dude off but he wasn’t worrying about them. He kept stabbing the weed man.


    Finally, the officers saw the commotion from the control booth and called the code. There appeared to be about twenty officers who

    came running through the door. “Everybody, get on the ground, now!”


    Most of the inmates dropped to the ground, the ones who were fighting. Some got tasered and the others got pepper sprayed. Once the situation was under control, the medical staff entered the building with masks on their faces. They put the dude on the stretcher and carried him out. Xavier replayed the terrible event in his head. The way the dude was stabbed, it didn’t seem like he was going to make it. Xavier wondered what that was about. Either way, it had to be serious. You just never know in the chain gang what a nigga’s motive might be.






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