It is late afternoon. My love and I have arrived at our love nest. It is a three-story brownstone, in a very seedy, run-down part of the ghetto. Though no one says it, we sense that we should not be on the street. We are standing beside my car, in front of the house. The neighborhood is devoid of life except for two or three “thug lifes” standing at the dead-end of the street on which our house sits. The dead-end is a vacant lot located at the very end of the street. All of the houses are three-stories, but ours is about six (6) feet taller than the rest, with an open-air patio on the roof. There is a ladder-type stairway that leads from our roof to the next. As we look towards the thugs, they are motionless but are staring back at us. Each of them has an automatic weapons of some type in their hand. They are drug dealers and they number about fifteen (15) or twenty (20). They have apparently taken control of the entire neighborhood. No one leaves, no one enters . . . except for the two of us. Fade to black.
We are inside the house, on the third floor. The scene is vague. For some reason, the relationship between me and my love seems to be taboo. The reason is unclear and never comes to light. Some action takes place, but, I have no idea as to what it is. Everything is very vague. I decide that I can no longer bear the thought of being held captive, and decide to do something about it. I now have some type of automatic weapon in my hand, something with a clip. An unidentified person advises me against any sort of retaliation, as these thugs are notoriously corrupt and dangerous. As it turns out, one of them is Bokeem Woodbine. Fade to black.
While, originally, the thugs numbers were few, I am up on the roof, picking them off, one by one, and they seem to keep coming. As one is dropped to the ground, another takes his place. I am strategically situated so that if any bullets come my way, they will miss. My handgun has an infinite supply of ammo. The thugs are everywhere: on the street, on the rooftops, climbing the metal stair from the adjacent roof, and off in the distance, in the distance, in the vacant lot. Fade to black.
I am, once again, on the street. There are about seven thugs remaining. Four (4) of them have “assumed the position” up against the wall of our house. Two (2) are handcuffed and seated in the back of a patrol car. There are about four (4) or five (5) policemen on the scene, making the arrests. The last thug is up in my face, but his gun is at his side. My gun is pointed at his face. I warn him that is he makes one move that I will, most assuredly, blow him away. Fade to black.
copyright © 2008 freedom
“Notorious” by Rick Braun
Photos used come from various locations on the web. If they are yours and you object to their use here, please advise, and they will be removed.