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My Little Snowflake Friends
Purge Fiction #4 by The Lady in Red
© 2015 The Lady in Red
AUG/15/15
2:00 a.m. Braddish Avenue
Current death toll: 24
“Damn…they done tore that shit up,” the driver of the black unmarked car said as he pulled around to Braddish Avenue, noticing that the liquor store was gutted.
The cameraman in the car noticed the body by the side of the building and in the streets.
“Can I film?” he asked.
“I don’t give a fuck, make sure we ain’t on the camera,” he said.
The cameraman directed his camera, a large heavy duty, yet portable high grade piece of equipment, which barely made it past James without hitting the head of the driver’s seat, towards the window—filming the macabre.
James rolled his eyes. Really, is this really the time for that?
“What’s your name homie?”
“Carl…Carl Rowland.”
“Yo…you the one?”
“As in…?”
“Savage, you ever hear of Carl Rowland?”
“Nah…Grim.”
“This motherfucker back here has seen some straight up OG shit, he was filming them familias down in Columbia, and the hermanos in Juarez, gave him two years on some fucked up charges. Spent time in Altiplano—make Hagerstown look like a country club for old black men.”
“Better balls than this prissy bitch boy. What we gonna do with him?”
“He gonna spread the word for us homie.”
2:13 a.m. West Coldspring Lane, Park Heights, Baltimore, MD, Outside the Stop, Shop and Save
Three young African American males dressed in dark clothing stood outside the store conspicuously as the night began to progress on. One of them was smoking a cigarette, while the other two looked upon each other.
“Shit never changes I tell ya,” the young man in the middle said.
“Your moms kicked you out?” the one on the left said
“Guess her new sugga daddy in town,” the one on the right interjected.
“Yeah…always…” he said, distressed.
“You can chill with me for the night…my moms ain’t even home.” The guy on the left said.
“Where she at?”
“Jail…and they ain’t releasing nobody until this purge shit over,” he laughed.
“So let me get this straight, your momma banging some old ass dude, yo momma in the pen, and my momma fucked up on her ass right now,” the guy on the right said as he began to break out in laughter.
“We oughta loot this shit , ain’t gonna hurt us none.”
“Motherfucker, I work here!” the boy in the middle said as they broke out in laughter again.
“Let’s go man, ain’t nothing going down here yet,” the guy on the right said.
“Well damn, Tye, why you bring us here then?” the guy in the middle said.
“Cuz I wanted front row tickets Zeke,” Tye responded.
“Really Tye, ya’ll think they gonna loot this shit. They betta places to tear up,” the guy on the left said.
“Well damn Shy…damn, you just the smart one ain’t ya?”
2:20 a.m. Near Park Heights
James could not stop fidgeting in the car, but Carl had kept his cool. Either he had been in this situation plenty of times before, or he was at the stage in his life, whatever goes—goes.
“You know man, I used to wanna film movies and shit when I was a kid,” Grim said to Carl.
“What happened?” Carl asked.
“I dropped out, never went back to get my GED.”
“How old are you son?”
“Twenty-four man, alive man.”
“When we get out of this mess, get your GED and we’ll talk. I’ll make sure we stay in touch.”
“Light man, you cool. Wanna some of this shit?” Grim said as he was chasing down a long, brown cigarello filled with Marijuana.
“Thanks bro, but I stopped after I was in Antiplano.”
“Light man, more for me?”
“So, where we going?”
“The streets gonna be lit, and my little snowflake friends…ya’ll gonna be the producers, and we gonna be the stars.”
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Ben Rumson     Aug 15, 2015

That's a hot mess girl! Lady in Red lived to tell about the be-witching hour with that mouthful and more. Spot-on Girl! 2:30 a.m. in Balitmore or Freeattle—it's gonna get weird. Cities breed and draw the goons that we love to hate.

Those of us who have to deal with it daily have learned to spend our play-ground time smartly. But, maybe we'll go home painted ruby red from your own blood; maybe we'll not. Having a couple of beers at a pub after hours seems to be peanutbutter in a mouse trap for the "special people".

Maybe, I, you , or whoever will have a shank dangling from our nose or ear when we come in from afterhours playtime. Strange... that myopic beings stroll in through the darkness without having a plan. They like it . It's their random destiny.
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