Hood Misfits, Volume 1 by Brick & Storm

Author:Brick & Storm
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2014-08-21T04:00:00+00:00

Trigga

Master Sun Tzu said in so many words, in order to survive the art of war, you gotta fake the game and support the other cat’s arrogance. He also said, in the game of warfare, it was all based on deception and that opportunities grew as they were seized.

Learning that nigga Dame who was my boss, the man I devoted my skill set to, was the same who birthed me into this game of vengeance had a nigga feeling played like a muthafucka.

The power in the anger I felt had me leaving his spot to go get inked up, so that I wouldn’t take that nigga out right then and there. It was each word of power and wisdom Sun Tzu said that was freshly inked on my body. I’d gone against my own rule of never getting inked, just to keep my mind at ease. Coded verses ran down my forearms and on the right side of my neck. Those words kept me cool in my plotting and reminded me of the foul shit that nigga had committed against me.

I was chilling listening to The Art of War while glancing at my inner arm to get encouragement not to barrel three bullets into that nigga’s skull and slice his throat as he fell on his knees. See, that was my dreams and soon to be his fuckin’ nightmare. The screams of every broad he ever hurt with his power echoed in my mind, the screams my moms never let out.

My pops schooled me on how to shoot and clean every gun you could think of, when to shoot, and why. At that time it wasn’t ’cuz of hurt feelings. Naw, he taught me how to heal and take responsibility for what I put into this world, this game. My responsibility was to break Dame and end him all in the same moment. Those words repeated in my dreams.

Cold Glock. No pity. No shame. Just his blood coating my hands and my pops’ as the Trap lost all power and the streets went black. I always woke up then. My chest was always heavy with that empty feeling that Dame was still breathing and that he was now my master. The shackles I got inked on my wrist were, no doubt, real.

Swift as the wind. Quiet as the forest. Conquer like the fire. Steady as the mountain.

Sun Tzu’s words and that of the master Malcolm X always kept me grounded, and if it wasn’t for Big Jake, I knew I wouldn’t be here to handle my mission in life. To return the favor of what was done unto me and mine.

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