STORIES 4RM DA HOOD
Chapter 1: Malik

    I was born in the one of the most ghetto parts of the ATL, Bankhead. When I was only 3, my daddy was murdered by some crazy ass crack head who felt the rush of having a gun. He shot my daddy 15 times. After that, life in the projects got even worst than it already was. Niggas was beating on me and my lil sister, Porcha, right and left. Wadn’t no body giving us props. I was being disrespected fo jus bout anything. Me and my sista was always watching our backs cause my Mama had to work 3 jobs just to keep us out of the streets.
    My Mama was a strong woman. She didn’t let nothing get her down. She had to stay strong fo me and my sista. The last time I remember my mama crying was when my daddy died. After that, she ain’t cry no more. She didn’t want to show us that she was weak.
    Around some time, when I was 13, I was coming home from the gas station. I had skipped school that day and ain’t feel like roaming the streets. So I went home. I was fenna go into the apartment when I caught this big ass nigga, Ronny, pinning my little sister. He was one of those 3X bigger than you bastards that just liked to beat up on kids younger than him. He had knocked me around a few times. Her panties was down and his dick was out. I ain’t know what he wanted with her! She was only 7! She ain’t have nothing yet! Porcha closed her eyes and I could catch a tear coming down. I ran into my apartment and got my mama gun. Then I ran back and called him out. His big ass came charging at me, with one of the evil looks, like he was fenna kill me. That’s when I shot him. Right in the chest, I shot him.
    So there I was. Only 13 and was being charged with voluntary manslaughter. I was convicted and incarcerated. In was put in a prison with men cause they ain’t have enough space for me. “Prison overcrowding” they called it. The whole time this was all going on, my sister got bad. She started hanging out with the fast girls in the hood and I stopped hearing from her. My mama was still working 3 jobs. I heard that she was tryna get out of the hood. She would visit me every now and then. Other than that, I was alone. Cept for my cellmate, but all he did was sleep and look into space.
It was 11 p.m. when they came for me. I was 14 years old and 5 of those big brown ass niggas (some of those dark, beautiful mother fuckers yall women love reading bout). I fought like hell but they still left my ass ripped open, 15 stitches to repair. For six months in addition to the pain of shitting, I’m thinking, “Am I gay?” my cellmate tol me it was normal. They did that to all the new comers. It was like an inauguration. Inauguration, my ass.
    When I was 17 (2 more years to go) I learned why my mama had stopped visiting. She had been caught selling drugs. Rumors were that she was doing that, cause her jobs like her go. Now she was in prison. I cried like a bitch when they tol me that. My mama?! In prison! They told me that my sister had been adopted right after she was put in a group home.
    The day I got out of prison, it was my mama’s birthday. I spent the whole day tryna find her. When I finally did find her, she was in the ground. The doctors told me she killed herself with drugs after one of her babies died in prison. They tol me she had been rapped by one of the security guards and got pregnant. The baby died and so did she. I ain’t cry this time. I left her favorite flowers and left the grave yard. Men don’t cry. It’s a sign of weakness.
    The next person on my list was my sister. I tried finding her and when I did the lady tol me I wadn’t gonna see her, not till she was 18, and only if she wanted to see me. She had emotionally healing to do and they said it would only bring back bad memories if I showed up.
    The came work. I had been living on the streets for months. No on wanted to hire me. Immediately when they shot that bitch of a question, “Have you had a problem with crime? And if so_ what?” I would leave without saying a word. There was no way to make “murder” sound not as bad. About ready to end my life in this world, I met the person who would turn my life around_ Stephen Dussel.
    He was the king of the hood. Everything that happened here had to do with him. He controlled it all. If you wanted to ever learn the hustle, he was yo man. He toke me in when no one else would and I became his eyes for his drug dealing business. Now most people didn’t think drug distribution was a business, but the truth was, it employed most of the black men of the projects. Just like prostration employed most of the hood-women of Vegas. I was the one checking on everything and I stayed clean so no one would ever bust my ass again.
    2 years later and I had money, a mad crib, money to flex, and bitches checking on me every turn. That’s when I met the girl that would take that all away from me, Victoria. Two words to describe this hoe suck dick. That’s all she did and that’s all she wanted to do. People tol me she was trouble and that she been running round with other niggas, but I ain’t give a frak. The way she had been taking care of my friend, she could do whatever the hell she wanted. Then she started asking for money. Too much money.
    One day, I was in my brand new Mercedes Benz with the girl an she tol me to pull over. She had to use the bathroom. So I did. While she was gone, some police started to check poop on everyone. I looked for her but she wasn’t showing up no time soon. I ain’t want no cops sniffing in my kool-aid. When she finally got out, I was arrested. Her scary ass ran. The police had found some drugs in the car, and prosecuted me with the possession of them. I tried to explain that it wasn’t mine, I was smart at my work, I never kept evidence. I was put behind bars anyway. I found out later that the poop was all Victoria’s.

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10 years later, I was checking on my calendar. I had 20 more days to go. Then my craziest surprise came when I saw who my visitor was for the month.
“Porcha? That you?” I stammered.
“Yeah,” she said, “Hey Malik.” She said it, but not in a sister-brother way. We talked with the guard all up in our business.
“What you been doing?”
“This and that,” she answered.
    I toke a closer look at Porcha. She was dressed up like a straight up hoe! I thought that I should warn her. But I decided not to. She was a woman now and could make her own decisions. Besides, if I said anything, I would know the answer. You’re just saying that because you’re old, Malik. You’re just saying that because you toe up, Malik. You’re just saying that because you’re in jail, Malik. You’re just saying that because you’re stupid Malik. I wanted to warn her about the streets. To never trust no nigga and to watch her back. But I decided not to. Porcha was a smart girl. She would lean on her own. We all do.

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        THAT'S HOW IT GOES. THAT'S WHAT LIFE IS LIKE LIVING THERE. I DON'T LIVE THERE BUT I DO LIVE AROUND THE HOOD. I GOT FAMILY THERE AND THAT'S HOW THEY LIVE. I LIVE IN THE SURBURBS SO IT'S NOT SO BAD. BUT SOMETIMES I GOT WALK AROUND WITH A RAZOR JUST IN CASE SOME BASTARD STEP UP AT ME WRONG.
        PLZ TELL OTHERS BOUT THIS. IT'S MY FIRST FIC IN A LONG TIME.
       JUST TO MAKE IS CLEAR ALL THE STORIES 4RM DA HOOD ARE FICTION, BUT COULD EASILY BE REAL. DON'T GET TO COMFORTABLE WHERE YOU AT, CAUSE THAT COULD BE YOU REAL QUICK.
       IF YOU LIKE THE STORIES, I'LL UPLOAD MORE. PEACE AND LOVE. -FLUF