In my 'Self and Craft' writing workshop class, we were told to write a backwards story (a story backwards?).
Meaning, we had to write about events taking place... but backwards. Well, not walking backwards or anything, just that you have the last step having first. This is hard to explain. Just read it.
I'm stuck in this bus for 6 hours. My legs are cramping and my career is over. A man like me doesn't stand a chance in prison.Of course, a man like B.K. doesn't get shot in his own household. I should have known better. I probably should have done some research. I probably should have checked my sources. There are a lot of things I should have done, but shooting B.K.'s neighbour was not one of them.
A month before, I showed up at the address I was given with my little, shiny friend. I rang the doorbell. I pulled the trigger the moment the door opened. I didn't care if it was his kid, his Nana, or B.K. himself, I just wanted someone in that house to die.
I left the spot, making sure I didn't leave a trace.
All this because I got to the venue about 20 minutes before he did.
I headed to the back of the club. Behind the red curtains. It's true what they say in the movies. Behind the curtains, the people were more beautiful, the cushions were softer, and the drinks were stronger. B.K. wasn't anywhere, though. He wasn't a guy you could miss. Big, loud, and the dude looked like he peed diamonds. He didn't live a simple, humble life. Not B.K. Though, he always did have a weird smell. It reminded me of my Nana's house. Makes me think he had a soft side too.
Well, God rest Nana's soul, but I don't stand for being stood up. I was born to shine, and anyone who tries to make me look bad isn't going to live to tell it. All I knew was he told me to meet him that night. The night that would change everything. He had heard my latest mix ''Raise the Streets'' and he liked it big time. He promised me a gig that would bring my name to the big timers -- I'm talking BIG: Carl Heat, M.C. Broke Vinyl, Gideon Pop Top... BIG.
I was an up-and-coming DJ at an underground club in the heart of Manhattan. My tunes had just been discovered by B.K. Scazz, New York's dream-maker and soul-taker. I wasn't letting anything stop me. Or so I thought.