Gangland #2

I’m trying to find ways to start off my story of Gangland

Frankie hung his tongue out from his mouth. It was dripping with spit, smoke coming from his mouth like a fire that had been doust with water. Which is basically how he felt. He looked round the room, kids in desk, teacher in front. Writing some foolishness he didn’t understand. He couldn’t breathe and his vision blurred. Frankie stared endlessly at the board as sweat marked his brow and traveled down his brown face. He caught the edge of the desk, but it was no help and he collapsed to the ground. Water streamed from his body, he laid there on the ground until he was shook awoke, but he couldn’t tell who it was at first.

“Frankie! Dawg, get up!” Oh yes, that voice, that accent; The Samoan. He could feel his long black braids gently swinging on his face. “Frankie, man, you okay?” He wanted to laugh at his friends distress. The class had gathered round to see him but he knew they didn’t care. He groaned loudly, “Stef…”, he muttered. “Frankie, come on get up”, Stefan picked him up, he whispered in his ear. “Psi?”, he asked. Frankie nodded his head slowly making Stefan swear under his breath.

Stefan dragged Frankie out the classroom, instead of running to the nurse. The two went home together. Stefan helped him get into the car.

If you lived in the Ghetto, or an urban area that was deemed poor and unsafe. You’re most likely Psionic or Psi as they called it. Frankie lived in the regions of New York and he controlled Telekinesis, which deemed him as a Hood. Anyone that could use a supernatural power was deemed as such.

There were classes under this power. Triggers and Weavers. Frankie was a Weaver of fire as well as a telekinetic.

Frankie opened his eyes more once they got to the apartment. Stefan carried him on his back. He sighed as he made the heavy way to the one door in the apartment that gave an unholy light.

He didn’t want to, the man regarded as an angel, a terrifying angel who’s back bled with the taking of his wings. He banged on the door repeatedly. He dragged in a sharp breath to calm his nervousness. The door flung open, revealing a human with dark skin and Bantu knots in his hair that was white. He spoke Swahili and ushered the boys into his home. “Hallelujah…”, said Stefan. “Can you–” “The third one”, he alleged. “The third damn one…” “What?” “It’s happening, the supernatural phenomena. The Year Of the Devil”, he turned around with a grin. “Ganglands! Frankie has been sensing the pressure of the imbalance of the world and is sick. You know, or should know blacks come from West Africa”. Hallelujah went to his bar, he grabbed some thistle and berries, poured in some Champagne before mixing it all together into a liquid. “Hey thunder buns, could you bring me a bird from the window”, Hallelujah smiled. Stefan rolled his eyes and one of his long braids lashed out of the window to catch a bird. The electricity ran through his hair, shocking the bird until dead. He handed the bird to hallelujah who ripped the bird’s head off and poured the blood into the bowl. He kept stirring the strange liquid that Stefan didn’t dare ask about. He looked at Frankie and mentally prepared himself for the unexpected worse.

When the recipe was done, Hallelujah poured it into a bag. Stefan was surprised to see it flow out like powder. “Here”, he handed him the bag. “Listen, this is not for Frankie” “Then why did you–” “As I said”, he stated sternly. “There is an unbalance in the world. Ganglands, the worlds of three, the country without a cause; this is a sickness that will pass. Do you know of the sleeping King?” “Fairy tales”, he answered. “Yes, but not in the Hood. You see, blacks are only effected because of the sleeping King of Africa. Whites are usually not touched by this phenomena. We get the ridiculousness, if a sleeping king wakes up, they come to bring the extinction of all life. Crap starts dying, babies die before birth, Psionics fall ill” “So…?”, Stefan looked at Frankie. He heard him cough once and moan. “Stef, I’m not sugar coating this, Frankie is dying, we are dying. It starts with fainting spells, seizures, sleep walking, insanity”, Hallelujah gripped Stefan’s shoulders. He stared with his large gray, dull eyes, “We’re dying… You…. and I”

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Posted on December 13, 2015, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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