War of the Bloods in My Veins by DaShaun "Jiwe" Morris & T. Rodgers

Author:DaShaun "Jiwe" Morris & T. Rodgers [Morris, DaShaun "Jiwe"]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Published: 2009-01-20T23:00:00+00:00

Days later Meg and I plan to jack another cab. We call a cab from a pay phone and have it pull up on Elizabeth Street. I check the .38 revolver to make sure all six shots are there but realize there are only four left. We used two bullets earlier shooting out streetlights.

We did this every so often to keep the ’hood as dark as possible.

Once the cab pulls up on Elizabeth, Meg and I nonchalantly walk up to it holding a conversation. Meg enters the backseat first. I follow. It’s well past midnight, so we don’t wear masks. However, we both have on low-fitted hats. There’s a woman accompanying the driver in the passenger’s seat. At this point, Meg and I eye each other indicating the go-ahead. With the hammer already in hand, Meg puts the ratchet against the back of the driver’s head. I gather the woman is probably his wife. As we demand the money, the cabbie says “No” in a strong Haitian accent. The woman begins screaming uncontrollably. Meg cracks both of them in the back of their heads as we decide to flee. Sometimes our plans didn’t always work out.

At this point in my life, my appetite for the street life is insatiable. It seems like every time I turn around I’m a player in some back-to-back nonsense. Eventually, all my wildin’ and the burden it put on my mind starts to become too much to ignore. Then one day, my mind starts trippin’.

I go into the bathroom and stand in front of the sink, gazing into the mirror. I turn on the faucet. I wash my hands—bend over, splash water onto my face. When I rise, face dripping, about to reach for a towel, I catch sight of a shadowy figure standing in the mirror watching me. Startled, I yelp, stumble backward, slip, and fall to the floor. Breathing hard, I look around the bathroom. I’m alone, of course. Heart knocking, I look up at the mirror. I can’t see the full view of the mirror from where I’m sitting. What the hell is that? I grasp the front of the sink. Groaning, I pull myself to my feet, checking the mirror again. I see only my damp face. No one else. It’s my imagination, I reason. What’s the matter with me? Something horrible is happening.

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