9

“’As I cross these busy streets beside me…’ that’s some good stuff, turn it up,” said An'twan, in his drunken voice, singing along.  “Shotgun” Terry was riding shotgun, drunk as hell, bobbing his head up and down.        

“Yeah I’ve heard that story too.  The one where a couple of years back he was playing with a shotgun and he accidentally killed his girlfriend.  He pulled a Billy Lee and escaped to Mexico.”

“True dat, that’s the cat,” Shotgun pulled on a Newport and let out smoke through his nose.

“Let me tell you what happened last time I went to the bookstore.  Now you know this nigga likes to read, so I went to buy a good novel written by a black.”

“Well, there is a genre known as black fiction, or if you wanna be white about it, its African American literature.  And there are a few superstars.”

“More like wrong, ‘Twan.  There are a few black authors who have written of the gritty side, let me see you got Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines, who in my opinion wrote the black experience of the poor negro ghetto star of the seventies. But other than them, we do have some authors who have surpassed all nations of what a black author can write and have created a language that is beautiful. Like we take over the sports, the English language is a sport that many of us have taken over.  Not only is there books written about how downtrodden some blacks have felt, but there is also books of hope.  ; novels where the characters, the main characters are black.  Sheeit, brother some of these books have more niggas than Harlem and they will never be made into movies, because Hollywood is afraid of the powerful negro.”

“’Twan, there’s tons of shit you don’t know about this nigga.  For instants, I was at the book store and I was looking for a Walter Mosely book.  That cats off the chain, brother. Well anyways, there I am at the cashier, wanting to ask a question. Me being a brother, starts noticing that the attendant is helping other people and keeps ignoring me.  Shit, there were niggas asking the stupidest questions and this fat white dude is skipping me and helping out these other mother fuckers.  Finally some Chicano kid comes and helps me.  This kid was knowledgeable about black authors.  That kid took me and showed me their product.  Now get this ‘Twan.  As I was looking at them shelves, that white fat fuck kept coming up and asking if I needed help.  That mother fucker wasn’t helping me when I needed it, but now that I was alone, and alone roaming the shelves, he had to ask me every thirty seconds.

Sos I went to the cashier and what do you know, that white fat fuck is there cashing me out.  I pay with a credit card and that mother fucker has the audacity of axe me if I’ve got my I.D.  Do I got me I.D.?  Sheeit, my picture was on the card already, ‘How much more I.D. you need’ I told him, ‘Let me see, I might have my freedom papers which my master gave me’ that mother fucker stood there and tole me ‘Hey, we don’t want trouble with your kind, just pay for the book and kindly leave’ that piece of shit told me that.

“So what you do Shotgun?”

They were going around a corner when they noticed that the night sky was ablaze.  Looking out over the hills, they noticed homes that were on fire.  They pulled over and got out of the car.  ‘Twan looked in the distance and wondered what it was.  Shotgun’s heart was beating like it never had before.  They both got in the car and were about to drive off when Danielle jumped out of the woods, running to the front of the car.

“What’s wrong baby, someone after you,” Shotgun spoke up wanting to know what the deal was.

“Yeah baby, don’t worry bout us, we just a couple a brothers trying to get home too,”  ‘Twan spoke up, while winking in the rear-view mirror at Danielle.

Darkness, it was not, but rather she saw lights, fires, floods, asteroids falling to earth, bridges breaking in half, aardvarks barking, the sun exploding, a red dwarf, the pyramids of Saturn, and she saw, on the dark side of the moon, a fleet of spaceships heading towards earth.

‘Twan pulled the Christler over near a bridge.  The police cruiser, kept its lights on and the first officer, the driver, Officer Kaposi got out, checked for his gun and slammed the door.  The other officer, a new recruit, Officer J. Joyce, came out and followed Kaposi.

            “License and registration.”

            Danielle put her bloody hand in front of her dirty face, trying to block out the bright light.  Joyce saw the cuts on her hand, her clothes in tatters and her face bruised and scratched.

            “No Mr. Thompson, those homes were a product of arson and we are tying to find out who is setting those fires,” Kaposi replied, looking 'Twan Thompson in his eyes, trying to stare him down.  He looked up and caught Joyce’s eyes.  Joyce, with his eyes, indicated to look downward at the girl in the backseat.  Kaposi looked at Danielle and reached for his gun.

            “Oh I know exactly what this is boys.  Looks like we fumbled the plans of gang-bang.  And of all the victims, a little white girl, oh you boys are going to pay dearly.”

            “No boys, look like you both be in a lot of trouble.  Beating up a white girl like this.  Don’t you boys know white women don’t like to be treated like black women?”  Joyce spoke out as he hit Shotgun with his gun.

            “We go by what we see and what we think,” Officer Kaposi roared into the silent night, as he was handcuffing ‘Twan like a cowboy does a hog, “for all we know, these two boys probly convinced you to say these things, because if you say else, they will get their cousins to rape your mother, am I right, or am I right?”

            “Did she just bark out orders to us; Little Missy, looks like this is definitely not your night!”

            ‘Twan squirmed on the asphalt.  He was looking at Joyce kick Shotgun and at Kaposi kick at the door of his Chrysler.  ‘Twan looked out into the highway and began to nod off.  His drunken state was taking hold of him.  Before he passed out, he saw a circle of red lights coming towards them.

            Kaposi stood in awe s the ship hovered in front of the Christler.  Shotgun put his head down and covered his head with his arms.  Joyce stood still and smiled strangely.  He knew what this was.  Joyce had been waiting years for this moment.

            But those words fell on deaf ears.  Kaposi opened fire at the ship.  What Kaposi didn’t know, was that the ship was covered in radioactive material that deteriorated any substance that came near it.

            Kaposi ran toward his squad car, when he froze abruptly.  The red light had got him.  Danielle looked out the window as Kaposi’s head expanded and popped.  Danielle looked out her other window to see if Joyce was getting the same treatment, but Joyce was seen kneeling as if he was begging for forgiveness.

            Joyce, meanwhile, stood on his knees, with his head bent down.  He felt shame.  He felt guilt.  He knew what the aliens were here for and he had failed them.  Joyce had acted so selfishly and inhumanly to his fellow humans that he had given up his right to peace.

            The lights turned off and Joyce fell to the ground.  He couldn’t stand; his hands were programmed as feet.  He couldn’t speak; his tongue thought it was his piece.  He couldn’t smell nothing but ass.  He couldn’t taste, unless his hands touched.  He couldn’t see, unless someone took off his shirt.  He couldn’t hear, for his drums had been blown out.  In short, Joyce was fucked.