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Prose Corner Boy (OC)

BK38

Bluelighter
Joined
Apr 2, 2009
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11,557
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Where the light trips fantastic
Corner Boy

Troy stood on the corner shaking. Tendrils of damp warmth crept up from man-hole covers and he stomped his feet. It wasn’t easy being a corner boy and he knew that his ticket could get punched at anytime. Red and blue, red and blue “One-time! One-time!” His boy Clarence yelled out from up the block. He could see the patrol cars racing up towards him. Not again, not again…Clarence thought to himself. His eyes wandered to the café on the corner, to the white people with nothing better to do than type away on their I-whatevers and sip expensive coffee. Shook, Tory wasn’t shook but he was fucking cold. “One-time! One-time!” Troy stuffed the dope in his mouth and said a silent prayer.

Tires screeched and somewhere in the distance an icicle hit the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces. “The fuck you want pigs?” Troy spat with malice. He had a practiced mouth that could hold a few hits and hurl a few insults at the same time. “Up against the wall motherfucka!” Troy barely stood a chance as two huge mountains of men grabbed him and shoved his face against rough brickwork.

Troy went to his happy place in these times, or rather, his reflective place. How he ended up here was nothing new, his story nothing special. He grew up in the projects and he saw that the guys in the game had at least a little more than the know-nothing honest peasants he saw shuffling around; lost souls. “Spread your fucking twig legs before I break the shit” These were the same old words the pigs re-hashed and shoved into his eardrums every other day. No creativity, Troy thought to himself.

Snap – snap- snap. Were more icicles falling to the ground? Snap-snap-snap. No fuck, these were gunshots! He looked up to see Clarence on the roof, flash-flash-flash. “Jesus Christ! There’s some fucking nigger shooting at us from the roof top, call it in!”

Troy remained rooted to the spot, he was still in his happy place, or should I say, reflective place. He thought about his mother, his mother, a crackhead, a hoe, a trick whatever the fuck you want to call it. He felt bad for himself for a moment, but just a moment; the streets have no pity.

The pressure was gone from his arms, his face was still numb and he could taste a little blood on his bruised lips. The crack of a gunshot next to him and then another and another. Bang-bang-bang. BANG-BANG-BANG. Troy was ripped from his reverie and driven back into his cold harsh reality. He could hear screaming. Who was screaming so damn loud? Red was slowly pooling around Clarence on the snowy rooftop. His breathing was labored and painful.

Troy realized he was the one screaming, screaming because of his station in life, screaming because he never had a choice, screaming for his mother and his aborted brothers and sisters and screaming for Clarence, the closest thing to a brother he ever had. “Stop screaming you fucking animal, shut the fuck up!” BANG! A bullet narrowly missed Tory’s head. The cop cars pulled away, the snow crunching beneath the tires. Troy stood on the corner, shaking.
 
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