Hey guys, so I was looking through some old stories I made a couple years ago on the site and never got to publishing and let me tell you, they sucked. However, I found one that had some potential, and I'll let you guys see a whopping TWO WHOLE PAGES, but I wasn't sure if the writing is good enough to bother doing something with it or not. I wanted to post it so you guys could give me some ideas/tell me whether it's worth pursuing or not.
Also, I'm planning on sticking to the whole gang warfare theme, but I'm gonna drop the blood and crip aspect of it since it's so unoriginal. Keep in mind, I wrote this I don't even know how long ago, and I've got a much better grasp of how to be a great writer than I did then, but still not the best! There are some themes I've got to alter, a map to flesh out, plus some grammar that needs touching up, along with giving it a few more mature overtones so it doesn't appear as nothing more than the half baked workings of a teenager.
Raising the joint to your lips, you inhale deeply as the smell of marijuana floods your nostrils. "Damn Jimmy, this is some nice ass dank!" Ricky says to your right.
Finishing your hit, you pass the joint to Martin before replying, "Got a quarter of it yesterday. Terrell said it was some kind of medical." You cough a little after finishing. "You're sure Marshall isn't gonna be here for a few hours right?"
"Yeah nigga, it's all good." Ricky says before Martin passes him the joint. Ricky is what most people would call a buster. A guy who hasn't earned his bones but still acts like he's down for life. In all honesty he probably is, but it doesn't mean anything until you've killed for the gang. There's a reason people don't mess with 88th Street, and it isn't because you'll get jumped.
Beating up one of the boys is a death sentence in this neighborhood. You join, or you die. The only way to become a full fledged member is to kill an enemy. Whether it be a cop, shop owner, or some punk off the street doesn't matter. That's why when you're in the gang, you get respect.
You, Jimmy Collins, have been down with the 88th Street Bloods for almost your entire life. A twenty three year old high school dropout, you didn't really even have a choice in the manner. It wasn't until two years ago though that you finally became a real banger. You remember it like it was yesterday. Some kid was disrespecting the gang and your buddy Terrell sent you to put him in his place. What was supposed to be a beating quickly turned into murder.
It was a warm Sunday afternoon in June. No clouds, no smoke in the air, no loud music, or cars blaring their horns. Just a relaxing day. You had been sitting in your living room alone when you heard a knock on the door and answered it to find your friend Terrell.
"What's good homie?" He said with a slight slur indicating he was on some type of drug.
"A lot I guess. You got any money? I can buy us some loud if you do."
"I've already got an eight ball on me I don't need any bud right now. That's not why I came here though. Can we talk in the kitchen?" he asked as you nodded and went in the other room. Terrell was tweaked, that's for sure. His eyes searched nearly every corner of the room and he couldn't stop tapping his foot. "Alright, I've got something that I need you to take care of. There's some punk kid talking crap about 88th Street calling us punks and shit. He usually hangs out by the basketball court near the Harley Intersection, can you put him in his place for me?"
"No problem, what's this kid look like?"
"Short Mexican dude always wearing a Chiefs jersey thinking he's some tough shit. His name is Louie Hernandez but he goes by Papi, real original. He should be there playing ball with some crabs at around three."
Thinking it over for a bit to be completely sure, you agreed and sent Terrell on his way. He's a good guy, but you don't like having crack heads in the house. That's how stuff turns up missing. You called Ricky and told him to meet you near the intersection in an hour thinking it would be a routine job. You waited for about forty five then started walking to the basketball court known locally as "The Grind." When someone was about to get jumped, this was usually the spot where it happened. After a while, you saw Ricky's car pull up with Martin, Trey, and Sparky in the backseat.
"Hey man," Ricky said greeting you, "Whose ass we kicking today?"
"Let me see." You said and turned around. "Hey Papi!" You yelled at the four Cousins playing basketball. One short guy stopped and turned around to look at you. "That's him." You say to the group pointing at Louie. The five of you started walking up towards The Grind, never breaking eye contact with your target.
"What the fuck do you you sorry bunch of motherfuckers think you're doing here?." You said walking up to Louie and shoved him. This got the attention of the group with him and everyone stopped what they were doing as tension spread through the air.
"Yeah, you pendejos don't deserve the rep you get. You'se just some pussies with no balls." Louie said overly confident.
You had a stunned look on your face after he said that. Anyone with the balls to say something like that in front of five members of the clique definitely has more guts than brains. Confusing your stunned look for hesitation, Louie sported a sly grin at his remark. Regaining your composure, you winded back your fist and brought it square across his nose and sent him flying to the ground. The group he was with tried to jump on you but Martin knocked all three of them down with three separate punches. By this point you had gotten on top of Louie and were beating him mercilessly before letting him get up so you could continue the attack on your feet. The rest of the group each began their assault on the rest of the group before one of the Crips pulled out a Glock and leveled it at your chest.
This moment was the one you would remember for the rest of your life. You rushed the guy with the gun as your life flashed before your eyes. Memories of your childhood, adolescence, and your short adulthood passed right in front of you. You grabbed the gun and wrestled with it for a few moments before sliding his foot out from under him. He released his grip on the pistol as you yanked it from his hands.
Without hesitation, you aimed it towards his forehead and blew his brains across the pavement. Turning around, you emptied the clip into Louie's chest as the rest of the Crips ran off into separate directions. You and the rest of your clique hopped in Ricky's car and speeded off.
You lived the next few weeks in fear, but the cops never came for you. It was just more random gang violence to them. Most cops had stopped caring and the ones who still did were gunned down. An endless cycle of violence.
You guys think this has any potential? Or should I just toss it in the trash heap?
