[TIIT LCBR] My Last Chance
Apr 24, 2016 5:56:15 GMT -5
Cory Steel, Nathan Saniti, and 1 more like this
Post by Dontevius Ellis on Apr 24, 2016 5:56:15 GMT -5
This room is small but the space within is well utilized. An ordinary twin-sized bed takes up most of the room while a small writing desk is nestled into a corner. Sitting at the writing desk this day was a young child. The boy bit his lip in concentration as he read a book and scribbled onto the paper in front of him.
He’s doing homework.
His eyebrows raise as he excitedly began to write. He smiled as comprehension dawned upon him relating to his homework assignment. He slammed down the pencil and held the paper up to look at it one final time. With a brief nod, he hopped up from his chair and jogged toward the bedroom door.
He threw the door open and wandered into the living room.
“Mom, could you look at…”
He stopped as he looked into the living room. His face fell.
“Oh God, yes… Oh fuck!”
His mother was completely naked and straddling someone on the couch. Her glistening buttocks bounced up and down as she rode the man sitting on the worn-down couch. The boy looked down at his paper and back up at the sexual act that was ongoing in the living room. He turned dejected and walked back to his bedroom.
That day was the last chance my mom had at being my mother. Let’s be real here, she was barely anything more than my first apartment for nine months. After that, it was all about hitting up my dad for money so that she ain’t have to get a job. My dad didn’t get to see me much and the only time my mom was a winner was in the courtroom, flashin’ those big, sad eyes at a judge who just threw money on her like it was a fucking strip club. I mean, shit, she was classless enough that he might as well have been, the slut.
It was a lonely childhood. I was on my own doing homework and playing sports. She never kept track of me. Some nights I’d come in and she’d be surprised that I wasn’t in my room. She’d say things like, “Home so soon?” It’s fucking 1AM, ma. The fuck’s wrong with you? I shouldn’t have been allowed out that late with one fucking digit in my age. That’s not how raising a child works.
So she dropped the ball on raising me. I didn’t. Good grades and riding my bike to sports practices and games was what I did. When we had stuff going on across town, I’d hitch a ride with somebody on the street. Come to think of it, I’m surprised I never ended up in Uncle Pete’s Playhouse for Boys Who Talk to Strangers. I guess I was fortunate in one aspect of life, huh?
This wasn’t my last chance.
I ain’t even go to my mom’s funeral. I figured I’d be there for her as much as she’d been there for me. She didn’t even let me go to my pops’ funeral years earlier. I just left the house and made it on my own roaming the streets. It was difficult at first but you get used to it. You’ve seen those dudes under blankets in alleyways. I’m sure you helped. Yeah, I bet. Turns out those guys are actually really cool. They had some hookups for showers and whatnot, the occasional well-wisher giving us food and clothes. This ain’t no Hollywood movie. I ain’t have Sandra Bullock pulling up next to me, checking my 40 time and getting me into some SEC school. I just had that dude with three teeth that you scowl at and wonder to yourself why he ain’t have a job. Being homeless is a full-time job in itself. Keep your opinions to your-fucking-selves.
Nah, I didn’t go to my mom’s funeral. I had something else going on that day.
“Fuck that bitch, man,” exclaimed a young man as he stepped out of a classroom into the hallway.
Four more students gathered around the young man. One of these students is the now older Dontevius Ellis. He looks up quizzically at the profane outburst.
“That test was bullshit. She didn’t teach us any of that shit,” the young man continued.
Mutters of agreement made their way around the group and reached young Dontevius. He nonchalantly slipped his test results into his backpack, a large “100% A+” at the top and nodded along with everyone else.
“Yeah. Bombed that shit,” Dontevius added.
“Yo, D,” the original student whispered as he clapped Dontevius on the shoulder, “we’ve got some business to handle. Let’s roll.”
“Can it wait, Trae? I still got two more classes to deal with,” Dontevius noted as he narrowed his eyes.
“Nah, man. Fuck that. Skip those dumbass classes. We gotta go now.”
Dontevius thought for a moment before nodding and following Trae down the hall.
Some time later, Dontevius wandered into an alleyway to find Trae pinning another kid against a brick wall. Dontevius quickly recognized the young man against the wall as the high school football team’s starting quarterback Jeremy Young.
“You like to talk shit, huh?” Trae growled as he pinned his forearm against Jeremy’s throat.
Jeremy glared at Trae in defiance. Trae’s face twists in fury at the failed intimidation attempt and reached into his pocket.
“Yo, Trae! What’re you doin’?” Dontevius shouted as he rushed forward.
The glistening barrel of Trae’s produced nine millimeter glock pressed against Jeremy’s cheek. The defiance vanished from his face, replaced by pure unadulterated fear. Jeremy’s breath quickened as his eyes attempted to fix themselves upon the firearm.
“Not so tough now, huh?” Trae taunted.
“Cut the shit,” Dontevius shouted as he burrowed his way between Trae and Jeremy.
“Whose side you on?” Trae asked Dontevius incredulously.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Dontevius exclaimed pointing at the gun.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” Trae demanded.
“Nobody’s shooting anybody,” Dontevius demanded.
Trae tried to shove Dontevius out of the way but Dontevius stood firm, grasping at the gun in Trae’s hand. The two kids began a tug of war with the firearm before…
Bang!
The kids froze. Dontevius and Trae both felt their chests and abdomen for wounds before turning in horror to look at Jeremy. The quarterback slumped against the wall, his head falling to the side. The bullet caught him in the forehead, spraying blood and brain matter against the brick behind where his head once was.
He was dead.
“What… What the…”
Dontevius stared in shock at Jeremy’s body, no further words to express what he felt. Sirens blared through the afternoon air as the police pulled up, having been nearby when the shot was fired. Trae dropped the gun inconspicuously at Dontevius’ feet and backed away.
“Freeze!”
This was not a problem for Dontevius as he was already frozen in place. The police approached and eyed the body with anger.
“I can’t believe it,” Trae said in mock grief. “He just… He shot him!”
Trae pointed at Dontevius who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jeremy.
“Jeremy?” Dontevius said, his voice shaking.
“Son, we’re gonna need you to come with us,” the police officer said as he approached Dontevius with his gun drawn.
Dontevius didn’t move. He didn’t struggle. The policemen sheathed their firearms as they approached realizing that Dontevius would pose no threat. They pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed his wrists. He turned and walked toward the police car. As he passed Trae, he glared maliciously at the kid who was his friend as recently as five minutes beforehand.
That was the last chance Trae got at being my boy. Of course I got out of it. My fingerprints were on the barrel, not the grip. Eyewitnesses came forward to pin the murder on Trae with stories of my attempt to stop it ringing true across the board. I guess it was good for me that Trae ended up behind bars. They definitely would’ve gotten me for murder.
Look, I’m a smart guy. Yeah, I got good grades in high school but I kept it under wraps. I couldn’t have my rep tarnished and all that. We’ve already been through the whole garbage parenting thing. A man still needs a family though, right? Most important part about that is protection. I’d like to think I’m as badass as the next guy but it ain’t just about a guy versus a guy. On the streets, dudes run in crews. For all I knew, my life was gonna be spent out on the streets. Sure, I guess I could’ve seen scholarships and shit coming for football but with my homelessness and the death of my quarterback, it wasn’t exactly in the front of the line.
Friends can be fickle. You need to stay useful or you get tossed aside. That’s all I grew up knowing. You have friends because they have uses. They’re your friend because you have uses. It’s all mutual, right? You gotta stay useful.
That wasn’t my last chance at making friends though.
Take John Weyland for example. Maybe you could say that, because of my past, I’m partial to quarterbacks. Maybe some head doctor somewhere would say that I’m close to John like I am as some way to make up for what happened to Jeremy. Shit, maybe they’re right. That ain’t how I see it though. Let me put it to you this way. John is this white boy from Louisiana. I’m just a black kid from the D. Different backgrounds, different life stories, different paths taken to get where we are now. Those differences made us useful to each other. I gave him some streetwise, he taught me how they do it in the country. Nah, it ain’t like that. Survivability, children. That’s what it’s about. We’re survivors. We survived the debacle at Eastwood State. We survived the lack of NFL interest. Here we are in PCW, surviving.
As it relates to surviving, we’ve got a very important opportunity coming up where that will definitely come in handy.
“Whatcha got for me, baby?” Dontevius asked as he burst into the room.
Dontevius Ellis’ agent Benton Ryan looked up from the desk in his office. Behind the desk were bookcases filled with a wide range of genres from financing to sports theory to inspirational best sellers. The office matched the beautiful cherry hardwood floors that lined it.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Benton replied.
“Alright, bad news first.”
“You’re not booked on Trauma 191,” Benton stated simply.
“Then what the hell is the good news?” Dontevius growled.
“I was contacted by the PCW front offices directly. They like what they saw in your official PCW workout numbers and they want you to main event Trauma 191.”
“That don’t add up,” Dontevius noted in confusion.
“The main event for Trauma is a Last Chance Battle Royal for a spot in the tournament. I was also contacted by PCW in regards to your buddy, Weyland. He has a first round match but you, they just knew that you’d be exciting in the chaotic environment that is the main event. They knew you’d make it shine.”
“So I jump in this battle royal thing, throw everybody out and, what, I’m in the finals?”
“You’re on to round two. This thing is going to be filled with guys who lost in round one. You’ve got Camron Creed, Q, even Mr. Showtime will be in this thing. And that’s just the guys who are billed as being in this thing. It’s a notable thing that PCW legends occasionally show up to try their hand at this battle royal. It’s a big deal. Another possibility, if John doesn’t win, no matter how impossible that must sound, he could show up later in the night and jump in the fray. Then the two of you eliminate everybody else and leave it at best man wins.”
“That’s a thing,” Dontevius agreed with a nod. “But I mean, Razor Blade? C’mon. His night’s gonna be over early.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubts about that,” Benton stated with a smile. “Just saying that the possibility’s there.”
“Hell yeah,” Dontevius said with a nod. “Debuting in the main event, tossing out champions and legends… That’s how you make a first impression.”
“And make that impression you will.”
Both men smiled as they looked at each other.
“See you in round two,” Benton affirmed with a grin.
And thus it begins. They didn’t book me because they know that I’m big time. They know that I’ll do everything, not only to dazzle the crowd, but to win this match. They wanna throw me to the wolves at the jump and I’m cool with that. I’m a survivor. I’m a fighter. Champions, legends, wannabes, has-beens, never-weres, they’re all gonna be gunnin’ for my spot in this match. I just can’t let that happen. One way or another, I’ll find myself in round two. I’ve come too far to not succeed.
This will be my last chance to make a first impression.
And trust me, baby: All Day is gonna impress you.
Let’s do the damn thing already!
He’s doing homework.
His eyebrows raise as he excitedly began to write. He smiled as comprehension dawned upon him relating to his homework assignment. He slammed down the pencil and held the paper up to look at it one final time. With a brief nod, he hopped up from his chair and jogged toward the bedroom door.
He threw the door open and wandered into the living room.
“Mom, could you look at…”
He stopped as he looked into the living room. His face fell.
“Oh God, yes… Oh fuck!”
His mother was completely naked and straddling someone on the couch. Her glistening buttocks bounced up and down as she rode the man sitting on the worn-down couch. The boy looked down at his paper and back up at the sexual act that was ongoing in the living room. He turned dejected and walked back to his bedroom.
That day was the last chance my mom had at being my mother. Let’s be real here, she was barely anything more than my first apartment for nine months. After that, it was all about hitting up my dad for money so that she ain’t have to get a job. My dad didn’t get to see me much and the only time my mom was a winner was in the courtroom, flashin’ those big, sad eyes at a judge who just threw money on her like it was a fucking strip club. I mean, shit, she was classless enough that he might as well have been, the slut.
It was a lonely childhood. I was on my own doing homework and playing sports. She never kept track of me. Some nights I’d come in and she’d be surprised that I wasn’t in my room. She’d say things like, “Home so soon?” It’s fucking 1AM, ma. The fuck’s wrong with you? I shouldn’t have been allowed out that late with one fucking digit in my age. That’s not how raising a child works.
So she dropped the ball on raising me. I didn’t. Good grades and riding my bike to sports practices and games was what I did. When we had stuff going on across town, I’d hitch a ride with somebody on the street. Come to think of it, I’m surprised I never ended up in Uncle Pete’s Playhouse for Boys Who Talk to Strangers. I guess I was fortunate in one aspect of life, huh?
This wasn’t my last chance.
I ain’t even go to my mom’s funeral. I figured I’d be there for her as much as she’d been there for me. She didn’t even let me go to my pops’ funeral years earlier. I just left the house and made it on my own roaming the streets. It was difficult at first but you get used to it. You’ve seen those dudes under blankets in alleyways. I’m sure you helped. Yeah, I bet. Turns out those guys are actually really cool. They had some hookups for showers and whatnot, the occasional well-wisher giving us food and clothes. This ain’t no Hollywood movie. I ain’t have Sandra Bullock pulling up next to me, checking my 40 time and getting me into some SEC school. I just had that dude with three teeth that you scowl at and wonder to yourself why he ain’t have a job. Being homeless is a full-time job in itself. Keep your opinions to your-fucking-selves.
Nah, I didn’t go to my mom’s funeral. I had something else going on that day.
“Fuck that bitch, man,” exclaimed a young man as he stepped out of a classroom into the hallway.
Four more students gathered around the young man. One of these students is the now older Dontevius Ellis. He looks up quizzically at the profane outburst.
“That test was bullshit. She didn’t teach us any of that shit,” the young man continued.
Mutters of agreement made their way around the group and reached young Dontevius. He nonchalantly slipped his test results into his backpack, a large “100% A+” at the top and nodded along with everyone else.
“Yeah. Bombed that shit,” Dontevius added.
“Yo, D,” the original student whispered as he clapped Dontevius on the shoulder, “we’ve got some business to handle. Let’s roll.”
“Can it wait, Trae? I still got two more classes to deal with,” Dontevius noted as he narrowed his eyes.
“Nah, man. Fuck that. Skip those dumbass classes. We gotta go now.”
Dontevius thought for a moment before nodding and following Trae down the hall.
Some time later, Dontevius wandered into an alleyway to find Trae pinning another kid against a brick wall. Dontevius quickly recognized the young man against the wall as the high school football team’s starting quarterback Jeremy Young.
“You like to talk shit, huh?” Trae growled as he pinned his forearm against Jeremy’s throat.
Jeremy glared at Trae in defiance. Trae’s face twists in fury at the failed intimidation attempt and reached into his pocket.
“Yo, Trae! What’re you doin’?” Dontevius shouted as he rushed forward.
The glistening barrel of Trae’s produced nine millimeter glock pressed against Jeremy’s cheek. The defiance vanished from his face, replaced by pure unadulterated fear. Jeremy’s breath quickened as his eyes attempted to fix themselves upon the firearm.
“Not so tough now, huh?” Trae taunted.
“Cut the shit,” Dontevius shouted as he burrowed his way between Trae and Jeremy.
“Whose side you on?” Trae asked Dontevius incredulously.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Dontevius exclaimed pointing at the gun.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” Trae demanded.
“Nobody’s shooting anybody,” Dontevius demanded.
Trae tried to shove Dontevius out of the way but Dontevius stood firm, grasping at the gun in Trae’s hand. The two kids began a tug of war with the firearm before…
Bang!
The kids froze. Dontevius and Trae both felt their chests and abdomen for wounds before turning in horror to look at Jeremy. The quarterback slumped against the wall, his head falling to the side. The bullet caught him in the forehead, spraying blood and brain matter against the brick behind where his head once was.
He was dead.
“What… What the…”
Dontevius stared in shock at Jeremy’s body, no further words to express what he felt. Sirens blared through the afternoon air as the police pulled up, having been nearby when the shot was fired. Trae dropped the gun inconspicuously at Dontevius’ feet and backed away.
“Freeze!”
This was not a problem for Dontevius as he was already frozen in place. The police approached and eyed the body with anger.
“I can’t believe it,” Trae said in mock grief. “He just… He shot him!”
Trae pointed at Dontevius who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jeremy.
“Jeremy?” Dontevius said, his voice shaking.
“Son, we’re gonna need you to come with us,” the police officer said as he approached Dontevius with his gun drawn.
Dontevius didn’t move. He didn’t struggle. The policemen sheathed their firearms as they approached realizing that Dontevius would pose no threat. They pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed his wrists. He turned and walked toward the police car. As he passed Trae, he glared maliciously at the kid who was his friend as recently as five minutes beforehand.
That was the last chance Trae got at being my boy. Of course I got out of it. My fingerprints were on the barrel, not the grip. Eyewitnesses came forward to pin the murder on Trae with stories of my attempt to stop it ringing true across the board. I guess it was good for me that Trae ended up behind bars. They definitely would’ve gotten me for murder.
Look, I’m a smart guy. Yeah, I got good grades in high school but I kept it under wraps. I couldn’t have my rep tarnished and all that. We’ve already been through the whole garbage parenting thing. A man still needs a family though, right? Most important part about that is protection. I’d like to think I’m as badass as the next guy but it ain’t just about a guy versus a guy. On the streets, dudes run in crews. For all I knew, my life was gonna be spent out on the streets. Sure, I guess I could’ve seen scholarships and shit coming for football but with my homelessness and the death of my quarterback, it wasn’t exactly in the front of the line.
Friends can be fickle. You need to stay useful or you get tossed aside. That’s all I grew up knowing. You have friends because they have uses. They’re your friend because you have uses. It’s all mutual, right? You gotta stay useful.
That wasn’t my last chance at making friends though.
Take John Weyland for example. Maybe you could say that, because of my past, I’m partial to quarterbacks. Maybe some head doctor somewhere would say that I’m close to John like I am as some way to make up for what happened to Jeremy. Shit, maybe they’re right. That ain’t how I see it though. Let me put it to you this way. John is this white boy from Louisiana. I’m just a black kid from the D. Different backgrounds, different life stories, different paths taken to get where we are now. Those differences made us useful to each other. I gave him some streetwise, he taught me how they do it in the country. Nah, it ain’t like that. Survivability, children. That’s what it’s about. We’re survivors. We survived the debacle at Eastwood State. We survived the lack of NFL interest. Here we are in PCW, surviving.
As it relates to surviving, we’ve got a very important opportunity coming up where that will definitely come in handy.
“Whatcha got for me, baby?” Dontevius asked as he burst into the room.
Dontevius Ellis’ agent Benton Ryan looked up from the desk in his office. Behind the desk were bookcases filled with a wide range of genres from financing to sports theory to inspirational best sellers. The office matched the beautiful cherry hardwood floors that lined it.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Benton replied.
“Alright, bad news first.”
“You’re not booked on Trauma 191,” Benton stated simply.
“Then what the hell is the good news?” Dontevius growled.
“I was contacted by the PCW front offices directly. They like what they saw in your official PCW workout numbers and they want you to main event Trauma 191.”
“That don’t add up,” Dontevius noted in confusion.
“The main event for Trauma is a Last Chance Battle Royal for a spot in the tournament. I was also contacted by PCW in regards to your buddy, Weyland. He has a first round match but you, they just knew that you’d be exciting in the chaotic environment that is the main event. They knew you’d make it shine.”
“So I jump in this battle royal thing, throw everybody out and, what, I’m in the finals?”
“You’re on to round two. This thing is going to be filled with guys who lost in round one. You’ve got Camron Creed, Q, even Mr. Showtime will be in this thing. And that’s just the guys who are billed as being in this thing. It’s a notable thing that PCW legends occasionally show up to try their hand at this battle royal. It’s a big deal. Another possibility, if John doesn’t win, no matter how impossible that must sound, he could show up later in the night and jump in the fray. Then the two of you eliminate everybody else and leave it at best man wins.”
“That’s a thing,” Dontevius agreed with a nod. “But I mean, Razor Blade? C’mon. His night’s gonna be over early.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubts about that,” Benton stated with a smile. “Just saying that the possibility’s there.”
“Hell yeah,” Dontevius said with a nod. “Debuting in the main event, tossing out champions and legends… That’s how you make a first impression.”
“And make that impression you will.”
Both men smiled as they looked at each other.
“See you in round two,” Benton affirmed with a grin.
And thus it begins. They didn’t book me because they know that I’m big time. They know that I’ll do everything, not only to dazzle the crowd, but to win this match. They wanna throw me to the wolves at the jump and I’m cool with that. I’m a survivor. I’m a fighter. Champions, legends, wannabes, has-beens, never-weres, they’re all gonna be gunnin’ for my spot in this match. I just can’t let that happen. One way or another, I’ll find myself in round two. I’ve come too far to not succeed.
This will be my last chance to make a first impression.
And trust me, baby: All Day is gonna impress you.
Let’s do the damn thing already!
