Six Feet

I come from the projects and I ain’t no pussy. In fact, I’d just as soon slit your throat as look at ya.

They have me now. I was stupid enough to get caught after that gas station robbery. What’s the big fucking deal? We got only forty bucks. The cops came a-shootin’. My man Daryl took a bullet to the head.

Under the law, I was charged with murder in the second degree because someone died in the commission of a felony. How do you like that shit? The cops didn’t have to shoot. We were not armed … we carried toy guns. Of course, I was convicted. It was an all-white jury. What else can a black man expect in America?

Now I’m looking at twenty years to life. I sit in my cell and think of my girl. Her skin is chestnut brown in color. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever known … next to the love she has given me. Her smile used to send me to heaven. But I can’t see her smile no more. Her name is Gloria. She was my life. Now my life is trying not to get shivved in the food line.

She has written me, asking to visit. I will not allow it! I do not want her to see me in a cage. I wrote her back and told her to forget me. Get herself a man as unlike me as possible, I told her.

It really don’t matter no more. I will not live my life in a cage. Big Dog runs us niggers in this place. He is big, I’ll give him that. We are in the yard … the whites are on the far side … the spics opposite. Us niggers have the middle ground.

I rush at Big Dog, looking like I’m holding a shiv. I’m not. One of his lieutenants cuts me down before I get close.

As I lie on the green grass of the prison yard, looking up at a pale-blue sky I’ll never see again—my warm blood pooling beneath me—I think of my girl and of all the wrong choices I’ve made in my twenty-three years of life. But that’s cool … there are no more choices that have to be made, unless you want to ask me how deep I want to be buried.

Just for the record, it’s six feet.

7 thoughts on “Six Feet

  1. Raw and gritty! I need the name of your editor. I used to follow her on FB but since I’ve left FB, I can’t remember her name. She paints the most lovely scenery. Email me her info, if you don’t mind. I would love to get in touch. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s like Hemingway said, “Write drunk. Edit sober.” I don’t even remember writing this. I’m going through all the shit I wrote in my drunken stupors over the years. So, I’ll be throwing some more of this stuff up over the next few weeks. Thanks for thinking it’s good.

      Liked by 1 person

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