working_pride (![]() ![]() @ 2008-02-05 06:08:00 |
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Current music: | Mary J - My Life |
Entry tags: | nyobe |
Week Two: Thursday 4/18
Who: Nyobe [narrative]
When: Early Thursday morning
Where: Her room, House of Fire
What: Nyobe experiences remorse, flashes back.
September 17th, 2007 23:20. Her watch, like herself, was simple and to the point. It was waterproof, durable, and digital and read the current date and time across it. A single straight window across, the band and face entirely black with no further markings. She slipped it below her sleeve. Her sweater was a ribbed knit with skim tight spandex lining the last two inches of sleeve and bottom two inches of the lower hem. Using her other black kid-gloved hand she pushed the fabric underneath the other glove. Stretch denim jeans were her friend and her black boots were durable, but extremely common. She got them from Wal*Mart, making their use as evidence almost null. Nyobe took the most common size for women in the state.
This was her biggest risk yet. These men were some of the rowdiest motherfuckers on this side of the city. Each one of them had been accused multiple times of assault, possession, intent to sell, and possessing illegal firearms. That was just what was reported. She had heard from some of the local girls that you didn't want to be around them when they were drunk. A contact while she was on patrol told her that each of these men probably carried at least two Sexually Transmitted diseases or infections, which they were joyfully, and sometimes forcefully, spreading to others.
But worst of all, she knew two of them were actual killers. Years ago they had gunned down a 15-year old kid for trying to sell pot on their turf. Gunned down for trying to sell off his dimebag because his mama was pissed at him.
Thank God she had her anger to warm her. Out here, on the three feet wide ledge of the Southtown Rise, some of the nastiest tower projects in the city, it was the only thing keeping her teeth from chattering. Flexing and unflexing her muscles in her crouch, the fact that the building protected her from the wind was her only consolation. But the windows must leak heat unmercifully, everyone had heavy curtains or even blankets over them. That's what gave her the freedom to have broken in earlier and hide out here.
Must've thought they were real fucking kings, too. The apartment was tricked out with big tv's, nice stereo systems, even a fucking expensive motorcycle was stashed up here while other people lived in fear and squalor. Faces of people, silent, agonized, screaming faces frozen in horror and pain flashed in front of her mind. It was like a white light was popping in her vision. It was time, now or never.
She remembered most those first, tense moments as she heard them momentarily disberse and opened the window into the dark, spare bedroom. It was dominated by a huge multi-gallon tank, complete with large snake tank. The music was so loud she doubt they heard her, or felt any vibrations with the thumping bass shaking the floor. Her heart was beating so fast and loud that it was a rush in her ears. There was a strain in her chest when she heard the crash of glass as the snake's large sunning log smashed through the glass with the assistance of her gloved hand.
There were audible exclamations outside and she hid herself in a dark corner. The rest was a blur, but it was flawlessly executed. Too afraid or freaked out by the snake, only the owner would go in the room. After he'd shut the door, Nyobe had shown his face personally just how flimsy their sheetrock walls could be. After pulling him the second foot through it, almost a straight line, he probably got the hint. For what must have been a humorous minute, the men outside must have jostled. Then, in trepidation, one entered. Then the moment of surprise, then of panic. They would come together in another moment, but Nyobe had used that 'architectual' ledge outside the window to grapple around dangerous columns and re-enter in the outside hallway.
When the second of her four victims, the one running for help and not calling, came out the door, she had been ready for him. Tae Kwon Do had shown her that there were so many ways to cause damage to a person with a quick combination of kicks. She managed four, lightning fast, before he hit the ground, then flicked off the lights. The music was still playing loud and furiously. Unfortunately for the man trying his cell phone and also trying to figure out how to turn it down without the remote, it's LCD display made him the clearest target.
Those years of baseball pitching paid off. The ashtray was heavy, pimp-like even. Solid marble and it connected with the side of his head, sending him sprawling. The fourth, not so easy. His gun had blazed out of the bedroom she'd originally entered. Only his fear, bad aim, and quick reflexes had saved her life. She took a glancing hit to her left shoulder and a wound to her left forearm. He also never thought about reloading his pistol. After five shots he was out. And then he was Nyobe's. Desperation made him a tough fighter. He was big, too.
Fittingly, it was a knock-down all-out catfight. They rolled over the floor, striking each other however they could, but his general inexperience made him a poorer betting choice. Bruised and bleeding, Nyobe had taken his shirt off of his unconscious body and wiped up her blood with it. Not that there was much to worry. Lab wouldn't bother much with testing blood on this scene. There was plenty of it that wasn't hers. there was more than enough of her opponent's own dribbling from his broken gums and mouth.
But it was the face of the innocent woman at the door, standing lit by the hallway, staring through the open door in horror. Some stupid heiffer who thought it was smart to walk right up to gang violence. Her face had that look, she was so young even for probably having three kids. Nyobe stared up at her, hidden and cloaked by darkness, and felt her great vengeful anger fade in the cool wash of fear. Those eyes! It was like looking back at herself and Nyobe felt shame.
It was that young girl's face she saw when she woke, sweating, five minutes before her alarm, coated in her own sweat. She wanted to moan out loud, there was a pain inside her. Two discordant halves meeting each other equally and creating such an intense fire. Even while it caused her shame, those eyes made her want to fight on. A tortured woman lay there, all fire and spite, held on the frightened eyes of hundreds and thousands unseen.
She glanced at her watch: April 18th, 2008 5:28AM. Happy Birthday, Nyobe Whyte.