Omega Def One
03-10-2006, 11:54 AM
Chapter 1
My name is Nathaniel Rhodes. I was born on December 5, 1987 to Damon and Tasha Rhodes. I was born on the Brooklyn Bridge after my motha went into labor while my pops was driv’in to his motha’s house.
My mom’s and pops use to fight all the time. They never really got along. I knew they only got married because I was born. Sometimes I think it was my fault that he couldn’t support us, my fault that I forced them into the miserable life that they had, and my fault that pops use to beat my mom. It was one fight that went too far, the night my father was killed:
My motha was folding clothes when she found some underwear that wasn’t hers.
“Damon!”
My dad walked in with a sour look on his face, “What?” my dad use to talk to mom like she was a dog.
“Whose are these, Damon?” she was on the verge of crying.
A drop of sweat went down the side of his face, “They yours right?”
“You know damn well these ain’t mine,” the tears just started streaming down her eyes like a wild waterfall, “YOU KNOW DAMN WELL THESE AIN’T MINE!!”
“Bitch who you yell’in at,” his hand came down and rapped my motha in the face, “You ain’t say’in shit now! ARE YOU!?”
I was in my room at the time and I could her the punches connecting to my motha’s face. I got tired of it. I went in my dad’s sock drawer and took his gun out of it. I ran in the “living room” (I’ll explain the quotations later) with the gun pointed at my father’s face, tears streaming out of my eyes. “Stop hitting my mom,” I tried to stop crying but it wouldn’t stop.
My father’s eyes might as well have burned a hole in my chest the way he was look’in at me, “See, bitch, you turned my own son against me.”
I looked at the gun and saw that the safety was on so I clicked it off, “Don’t call her that, I’ll shoot you,” the tears just kept coming.
“You think you bad now,” he walked a little bit closer to me as my mother’s blood face stared up at me, “SHOOT ME MOTHAFUCKA!!!”
I cocked thegun back, “I’ll shoot you.”
“DO IT!”
BONG!
I missed him at shot out a window.
“Little retarted fucka. Can’t even shoot straight,” he moved closer to me, faster to me.
“I’ll shoot you.”
He kept getting closer and closer and I realized what I had to do.
BONG!!
I didn’t miss that time. I shot him in the chest and that sent him reeling back. I walked toward him and look at the pool of blood him and my mother had made and I began to cry some more. These were his last words: “You stupid bitch, you turned my only son against me. You stupid bitch.”
I was only seven at the time.
You ever had a gun so close to your face you can smell the gunpowder, the death. When I saw that gun in my face I didn’t have that flashback bullshit. Matter of fact, now that I think about it, my life was pretty shitty anyways. Now I’m happy I didn’t have a flashback, it would only waste my time. He might as well pull the trigger. I don’t give a fuck.
“I said gimme yo fuck’in wallet nigga,” the man with the gun said.
“I told you I ain’t got no damn money,” obviously he didn’t hear me because he hit me with the back end of his pistol, “Shit! Here! Take it! Ain’t nutt’in in there no ways.”
He looked in the wallet. It was empty accept for my drivers license and my rent money. “I thought you said you was broke nigga,” the back of his gun struck my face again.
“That’s my rent money man!” I screamed in agony as he hit me once again, “I need dat man.”
“Well you ain’t gonna have it,” he looked down at my sneakers, “Gimme yo shoes nigga.”
“What!?”
“Mothafucka you heard me.”
I stared at him for a couple seconds and I thought to myself, He already done took my damn rent money. This mothafucka can’t have my shoes. “Well, hand dem ova mothafucka!”
I looked at him again…I shouldn’t have said this, “NIGGA SUCK MY DICK!”
BONG!
“AHHHH!!!” he shot me in my arm. I turned over in agony and he took my shoes any way. Ain’t dat a bitch?
I woke up a couple of hours later in Brooklyn Regional Hospital. I was hooked up to an IV and my arm was kill’in me. Click…Clack. I heard something. My eyes shifted around but I saw nothing. Click…Clack. I heard it again. Someone was in the room with me. I saw shadows in the corner of my eye. The noises got closer and closer. My heart was racing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the shadows was getting closer. I closed my eyes so the shadows wouldn’t know I was awake.
“Is he did son?” it was my homeboy Damien.
“Wake up Nathaniel,” that was my other homeboy Randy.
I opened my eyes, “Wassup nigga.”
“I thought you was gone my nigga,” Randy said.
“Yeah boy you was leak’in,” Damien said as he looked at the heart pulse monitor, “You look like you do’in aight though.” He walked over to the television and turned it on.
“I’m hungry as fuck son,” I said to them.
“The nurse said she’ll bring you some food in a minute,” Damien said engaged to the TV.
I looked at them dumbfounded, “I don’t want that hospital bullshit!”
“You need dat bull shit to get betta. It gives you vitamins and shit.” Randy tried to explain to me.
“MANNNNNN, shut yo dumbass up nigga,” Damien exclaimed.
“You know what mothafucka…you are MORONIC!” Randy “articulated”.
“You think just cause you passed that bull shit English test you think you’re smarter than me.”
“I am smarter that you.”
“Mothafucka you can’t even add!”
I burst out laughing, “Yall some fools man.”
“Wait till you get outta dis bitch dog. You gonna get some serious sympathy pussy nigga,” Damien said as he thought about it.
“Is that all you think about,” Randy said, “You need to have some respect for our Nubian Queens.”
“Nigga, I want some Nubian pussy. Know what say’in? Nathaniel mess’in wit dat Spanish bitch anyways.”
“Hell yeah son,” I was wait’in to call this sweet honey dip I met at the mall the other day, her name was Griselda, sexy Spanish chick. Nice body, nice face, and a nice ride. Dis bitch had it go’in on.
“Yo, we gonna go get you some White Castle son,” Damien told me.
“We’ll be back.”
My name is Nathaniel Rhodes. I was born on December 5, 1987 to Damon and Tasha Rhodes. I was born on the Brooklyn Bridge after my motha went into labor while my pops was driv’in to his motha’s house.
My mom’s and pops use to fight all the time. They never really got along. I knew they only got married because I was born. Sometimes I think it was my fault that he couldn’t support us, my fault that I forced them into the miserable life that they had, and my fault that pops use to beat my mom. It was one fight that went too far, the night my father was killed:
My motha was folding clothes when she found some underwear that wasn’t hers.
“Damon!”
My dad walked in with a sour look on his face, “What?” my dad use to talk to mom like she was a dog.
“Whose are these, Damon?” she was on the verge of crying.
A drop of sweat went down the side of his face, “They yours right?”
“You know damn well these ain’t mine,” the tears just started streaming down her eyes like a wild waterfall, “YOU KNOW DAMN WELL THESE AIN’T MINE!!”
“Bitch who you yell’in at,” his hand came down and rapped my motha in the face, “You ain’t say’in shit now! ARE YOU!?”
I was in my room at the time and I could her the punches connecting to my motha’s face. I got tired of it. I went in my dad’s sock drawer and took his gun out of it. I ran in the “living room” (I’ll explain the quotations later) with the gun pointed at my father’s face, tears streaming out of my eyes. “Stop hitting my mom,” I tried to stop crying but it wouldn’t stop.
My father’s eyes might as well have burned a hole in my chest the way he was look’in at me, “See, bitch, you turned my own son against me.”
I looked at the gun and saw that the safety was on so I clicked it off, “Don’t call her that, I’ll shoot you,” the tears just kept coming.
“You think you bad now,” he walked a little bit closer to me as my mother’s blood face stared up at me, “SHOOT ME MOTHAFUCKA!!!”
I cocked thegun back, “I’ll shoot you.”
“DO IT!”
BONG!
I missed him at shot out a window.
“Little retarted fucka. Can’t even shoot straight,” he moved closer to me, faster to me.
“I’ll shoot you.”
He kept getting closer and closer and I realized what I had to do.
BONG!!
I didn’t miss that time. I shot him in the chest and that sent him reeling back. I walked toward him and look at the pool of blood him and my mother had made and I began to cry some more. These were his last words: “You stupid bitch, you turned my only son against me. You stupid bitch.”
I was only seven at the time.
You ever had a gun so close to your face you can smell the gunpowder, the death. When I saw that gun in my face I didn’t have that flashback bullshit. Matter of fact, now that I think about it, my life was pretty shitty anyways. Now I’m happy I didn’t have a flashback, it would only waste my time. He might as well pull the trigger. I don’t give a fuck.
“I said gimme yo fuck’in wallet nigga,” the man with the gun said.
“I told you I ain’t got no damn money,” obviously he didn’t hear me because he hit me with the back end of his pistol, “Shit! Here! Take it! Ain’t nutt’in in there no ways.”
He looked in the wallet. It was empty accept for my drivers license and my rent money. “I thought you said you was broke nigga,” the back of his gun struck my face again.
“That’s my rent money man!” I screamed in agony as he hit me once again, “I need dat man.”
“Well you ain’t gonna have it,” he looked down at my sneakers, “Gimme yo shoes nigga.”
“What!?”
“Mothafucka you heard me.”
I stared at him for a couple seconds and I thought to myself, He already done took my damn rent money. This mothafucka can’t have my shoes. “Well, hand dem ova mothafucka!”
I looked at him again…I shouldn’t have said this, “NIGGA SUCK MY DICK!”
BONG!
“AHHHH!!!” he shot me in my arm. I turned over in agony and he took my shoes any way. Ain’t dat a bitch?
I woke up a couple of hours later in Brooklyn Regional Hospital. I was hooked up to an IV and my arm was kill’in me. Click…Clack. I heard something. My eyes shifted around but I saw nothing. Click…Clack. I heard it again. Someone was in the room with me. I saw shadows in the corner of my eye. The noises got closer and closer. My heart was racing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the shadows was getting closer. I closed my eyes so the shadows wouldn’t know I was awake.
“Is he did son?” it was my homeboy Damien.
“Wake up Nathaniel,” that was my other homeboy Randy.
I opened my eyes, “Wassup nigga.”
“I thought you was gone my nigga,” Randy said.
“Yeah boy you was leak’in,” Damien said as he looked at the heart pulse monitor, “You look like you do’in aight though.” He walked over to the television and turned it on.
“I’m hungry as fuck son,” I said to them.
“The nurse said she’ll bring you some food in a minute,” Damien said engaged to the TV.
I looked at them dumbfounded, “I don’t want that hospital bullshit!”
“You need dat bull shit to get betta. It gives you vitamins and shit.” Randy tried to explain to me.
“MANNNNNN, shut yo dumbass up nigga,” Damien exclaimed.
“You know what mothafucka…you are MORONIC!” Randy “articulated”.
“You think just cause you passed that bull shit English test you think you’re smarter than me.”
“I am smarter that you.”
“Mothafucka you can’t even add!”
I burst out laughing, “Yall some fools man.”
“Wait till you get outta dis bitch dog. You gonna get some serious sympathy pussy nigga,” Damien said as he thought about it.
“Is that all you think about,” Randy said, “You need to have some respect for our Nubian Queens.”
“Nigga, I want some Nubian pussy. Know what say’in? Nathaniel mess’in wit dat Spanish bitch anyways.”
“Hell yeah son,” I was wait’in to call this sweet honey dip I met at the mall the other day, her name was Griselda, sexy Spanish chick. Nice body, nice face, and a nice ride. Dis bitch had it go’in on.
“Yo, we gonna go get you some White Castle son,” Damien told me.
“We’ll be back.”