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Old 08-07-2019, 05:31 PM   #2
Diablo
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Join Date: Jul 2015
Location: Showdown City
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They called him Hood. Everybody’s got a name in the slums.
Some thought it stuck because he embodied the place he was from;
raised from the gutter with tenement housing. His stray of a mother
letting him down. Unsustained infrastructure meant that he found
company in empty surroundings. Not a single shadow sleeps
in this red-bricked cesspit of criminality — but death lives...

*****

Clenched fists. “What you want?” Lil Hood turns to the target
emerging from darkness. Head lifted. A courteous calmness.
Perfect for palming the teeth of a razors edge undetected.
The sweat on his wet skin clung the cold steel pressed up against it.
Right hand ready for anything. Hood felt it’s jagged metal edges stab
his thenar pad. The left was clasping something tightly.

“You sellin’ crack?”

His knuckles whitened as he clenched the wrap. Hood eyed the assailant.
“You buying?” he baited.
Silence.
The stranger smiled with “I’m taking,”.

Time’s an impatient mistress Lil Hood knew all too well.
So before the felon could draw a weapon for himself
he caught a keloid scar the length of his face at the razor’s removal.
Retina grazed as its edge penetrated the pupil.
The blade left a brutal reminder just how deep jealousy runs
in the deluge that gushed; staining them both red with his blood.
Adrenaline pumping. The night pulled closer toward tenebrous black
and the lightbulb moment that lit up Edison Ave.

*****

There was a flash as headlights brought to life the pavement.
A foot crept on the gas. Accelerating to the kind of pace his
mind was racing. Drove to revenge. Blood-soaked clothing still wet.
It’s malodorous stench now followed him as closely as death.
Over the exit. Tyres screeching. He knows where he’s heading.
The road was as empty as the hearts of those with motives against him.
Knowing your enemy out here can be what keeps you alive.
The motoring engines guttural roar grunts how he’s feeling inside.
No fear in his eyes. Just that courteous look as he searched for The Wolf.
Clearly this time, Hood was riding red — and thirsting for blood!

*****

The fur on the upper lip of The Wolf couldn’t be missed
it spun into thick crepuscular twists resting under his chin.
Ugly as sin. Devious eyes. Teeth misaligned.
Wouldn’t even think twice of bleeding you dry to eat you alive.
It was easy to find the resemblance. Harder to find him in person.
Dealing’s a buyers market, everyone has a price predetermined
to supply you their services. Be careful who you’re set to rip off.
They’ll sell you their goddamn grandmother for a yellowing rock.
“Tell me which block first,” Hood shakes at the bag waved in his hand.
They say that an addicts trust is only worth the weight of his gram.
He waits for an answer. Nothing. Just a sneering suspense.
The cravenly crackhead scratches his arm. “He’ll be at The Den,”

*****

Neon electric-blue signage. Subtle. The bar was a front
guarded by thugs as tan-white and hard as their drugs.
Used to party with Hood back in the day, dapping him straight
past the surveillance. It’s not like it was manned anyway.
His feet sank in a stained carpet holed with cigarette burns.
From a distance he heard howled laughter and instinctively turned -
into the stern grip of Wolf’s henchmen! They tried pinning him down.
“The trick is to lure your prey,” Wolf snarled, “and single ‘em out!”
Wiping the spit from his jowls, he looked in Hood’s eyes and scathed
“You didn’t account for wolves smelling blood from a mile away,”
The Wolf brushed aside his mane as Hood grappled for life
- struggling to find the razors edge his was now balancing by.
Wolf glanced to his right, nodded, and on seeing the gesture
a gang member fired a headshot - leaving the pigs to piece it together.
They cleaned up the evidence and got their story set while they could
but the streets still remember how big bad Wolf killed Lil red-riding Hood!


Last edited by Diablo; 08-08-2019 at 03:35 AM.
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