by Richie Drenz
“Come. Give mi a quickie before mi go ’round.” Mercy man, Portia could get the lead role in the movie, ‘Lord of the Fuck’. How she one love it so?
“You want see that mi don’t too feel the vibes again enuh Portia.” I began buckling my belt. Portia stared at my hand buckling, she looked somewhat lost.
"Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Is Marlon don’t? Him can act like a gal you see.”
"Not really enuh. This thing has a perplexity to it and it don’t look nice. I don't want get in any predicament, better we just call it quits.”
“You going to talk to Finaral ’bout the thing for me? ... You must can do that like how mi giving you mi pussy.”
“Relax P, meditate. Is not like we fucked, just oral reciprocation. I kissed your pussy and you kissed my cock, that’s it, feel mi?”
"Is still fuck that.”
"That's foreplay, not sexual intercourse, mi never penetrated you. If mi did penetrate you, you would be on the floor, spread out and in pain.”
“Well mi still give you mi pussy.”
"Mi give your pussy a favour.”
“So what you saying?”
“Mi can’t do it P. Pinky is mi friend too, mi can’t do her that.”
“You put Pinky over me then?” Everything Portia lead to a diatribe on Pinky. She has such a vendetta against the girl and she can’t walk in Pinky’s shoe.
“Definitely ... Is a real girl that. Mi chargie that. You feel mi?”
"She giving you her renking front?” This gal bright and feisty, I thought. A couple seconds passed and mi don’t answer her, she feel as if she can style mi friend under guise, she better dig out her two eyes and use them watch her mouth. Impatient, she kept hammering for an answer,
“Answer mi nuh, she giving you nothing?”
"No. And don’t pass you place with Pinky if you know what good for you. ’Bout the gal front smell renk, fucking bright you bright.” I let go my belt, hands formed fists. “And don't even try come with no choose side thing, ’bout choose between you and she, like you think mi is one of you big crotches friend that sit down at street side and chat and lambast and malice people.”
“So you really not doing it then?” She insisted on asking again. I released my fist, cooled off my irritation, finished buckling my belt.
“Hear what, better you cease with your persistent inquiry because mi not doing it. You feel mi?”
“Alright. Bet mi catch you and your stinking crotches gal?”
My anger flamed. I shot her a loud as church bell box. ‘BOW!’ A proper loud up earzass.
The skin of her face twist and her head almost spun right around.
"Don't diss Pinky! You a idiot?”
Her hand flew to her jaw, eyes red with shock, no tears in her eyes, she shouted,
“Bloodclawt Vybz, you really box mi for big hole Pinky?”
Anger blazed higher. I shot her an even louder box that echoed loudly in the warehouse. Still no water in her eyes, she screamed at mi,
" How you so hurt? Eeh?”
"Mi tell you don’t pass your place enuh gal.”
“ Little liar! You fucking Pinky! Don't?”
CHAPTER 20
The Heart of War
by: Pinky
Everybody in the church hung their mouth wide almost touching the floor. They screamed, faces dismantled, nobody moved. Everybody froze; their eyes big and open, two pools of alertness. They were petrified to see what will happen next. Some covered their eyes.
When mi look at it, it look like it’s just the people that Qwan bring that covering up their eyes, or were looking away in disgust, like they were all virgins to these things, first time they witnessing these hooligan-ish behaviour up close and personal, but my friends different. All of them shuffled up to the front and at the edge of the aisle, closer to the action, don't want miss a thing. If a pin drop they wanted to see. Munchy was the closest, almost in the middle, despite the deathly danger approaching she wanted to be the referee, right in the middle.
Mi did hear the footsteps bolting behind me, but mi never expect this, mi never prepare for this calamity. He wasn’t slowing down, he came closer and closer and the crowd got even more frightened crying out,
“Jesus Christ! No! She dead!”
“Murder! Murder!”
Mi want run but mi can’t move. My belly moved, griped, a fart slipped out, loud. His tie was blowing over his shoulder and in less than a second, the coward Nathan reached mi with a broad sharp machete in his hand above his head. A next fart went off. Bad gas. From mi look into Nathan’s eyes mi know something wrong with the man, Leelia would describe Nathan’s eyes as inoculated with manic dement. I say they looked like a mad man on the loose.
Mi foot couldn’t even budge, right or left, none of them could move the way I was frightened stiff. My eyes went wider as he swung the machete down to chop me. I wanted to run like a thieving rat for my life, but somehow, I just couldn’t move. My feet ceased up and were glued down to the tile. So too was the rest of my body perfectly unmoving. I saw Mr. Death grinning at the tip of the machete and my heart galloped straight through my nose, but my feet still wouldn’t gallop, it would not move an inch. Doomed.
The machete swinging to my face. Helpless. My hands empty, no flowers pot, the blade looked sharp enough to slice hair. I do the only thing I could do. Fart. Mi Shut my eyes and wait on the chop as the blade is about to chop my face. Then I heard a,
‘DOOP! DOOP!’
Ms. Merl collapsed and hit the benches at both sides of her before hitting the floor. My heart start shit up itself when I opened my eyes and saw the machete was almost into my flesh. Memories of my sons flashed infront my eyes as the blade was getting bigger and bigger in my eyes. Who would take care of my sons? I wanted to piss in the church when I felt the chop, before it even reach mi, landing right into the center of my forehead. A fart broke loose. The ice cream working mi belly mercilessly. I heard a deafening outburst,
“Call the police! Murder Oooo! MURDAHH!”
This was it. I shut my eyes tight and I heard some noise but I didn’t feel the chop. It sounded like a collision of some sort. A crash. Pieces of something falling to the tile. Then came another loud,
‘DOOP!’ and from that solid sound, it hit into the floor real hard.
Mi hear the machete dropped from Nathan’s hand. Its metal blade clinking and skittering on the tile ‘Cling. Cling. Cling’ as it tumbled. What happened? Then another sound, loud, bashing,
“SPLA-SHY!” It sounded brutal. I opened my eyes. Some old women were fanning Ms. Merl with the wedding program, desperately trying to revive her. The holy spirit touched a granny that was over Ms. Merl and she jumped and twirled and bounced up into the other elders standing close by her, causing one hell of a commotion. She was shouting some ancient language or one she just made up, and kept getting louder and louder
“Alla-ma-shalla. Alla -mama-sha. ALLA-MA-SHA!”
I felt a sharp stinging pain in my leg. My skin was open, my flesh too. Where was the chop I was suppose to get? Why didn’t I get the chop? The falling machete blade had caught my leg and cut it open. The slice looked deep, wide and exposed my flesh as it bled.
Vance had totally shelled out the flowers pot in Nathan’s face. Nathan fell to the floor and Munchy had given him another flowers pot right after. Nathan was flat on the floor in front of me. I felt my blood flowing faster down my leg, it was a warm trickling feeling. The cut was right in my tattoo on my leg, where I already had a horrible scar and fucked up my tattoo on my leg. Water wouldn’t come to my eyes, only a raging fire that only Capleton, the fireman, could understand. Nathan almost chopped off my head clean. The cut was stinging with a burning sensation, but my anger was burning much more. Mi head get hot. Hothead. Head ablaze.
Mi grab up the machete off the floor, looked at Nathan’s neck, head, neck, aimed and swung the machete above my head. Swung it back down at his head, with every might in mi bo
dy, shutting my eyes tight for the blood spill.
You can hear the angry winds outside, a turmoil, hear the tense vibration in the air. The windows slammed with the sound of a judgement day drum, echoing through the church. The wooden cross on the wall swung, slanting out of place. It was almost upside down on the wall. Mi feel one hundred hands holding back my arm. The machete would not swing down. Looked who they were. In my rage of a temper I thought what’s wrong with these idiots? I saw who it was. It was Daddy and Vance both holding on to my arm. Munchy snapped a picture of the three of us.
Mi wrestle in their hands, fighting to free up myself, so I could chop Nathan in him short rass. I was wild, wheeling the machete aimlessly between Vance and Dad knowing very well the sharp machete could swing and accidentally chop anyone of them, anywhere but more than likely in their face, since the machete was being wrestled at face level. The wild tussle between the three of us fiascoed all over the church, the blade dangerously swinging all over as I wildly buffaloed to get the machete for myself. I knew one of us would get a decent chop from the machete and I was certain it wasn’t me, the best thing for them to do, was let go the machete and leave me with it. They wouldn’t let me go instead they wrestled harder and wilder, I wrestled back wilder and harder and determined. The wheeling machete brushed the pastor glasses off his face. He sprang backward and chanted with fright but with greater anger,
“The dev—-vil is in this child. The dev-vil!” Everybody heard him already and he still went on to holding up his Bible high in the air maybe to get everyone’s attention and hear him chanting again, like the people were deaf,
“The DEV-VILLL!! ... I say the DEV. VILLL, is in this CHILDDD!”
Mi step on his glasses. Crush it out. Good. Like crushing out weed and grabba.
Vance’s grip loosened. Both his hands freed up from around mi. I wrestled with Dad as Nathan tried to get back to his feet. I kicked him back down. Stomped in his face. Wrung my heel in his jaw pretending I was still crushing the pastor’s glasses, crushing his face.
He whacked my foot off his face. I lost my balance, farted, fumbled to stand straight and Daddy held me firm. The fart smell bad this time. I heard something fall to the ground. Or maybe it was someone as the ‘DOOP!’ sound was loud. I walloped another loud kick in Nathan’s soft throat, ‘WHOOP!’. He grabbed around his neck with both hands. I snatched another flowers pot with my free hand that Vance had let go, bashed his head good with it. It made a loud thwack sound. He wasn’t moving anymore. I looked around to see what or who had made the loud dooping sound before.
I saw who it was. I tried to control my fart-ish feelings. I got stiff with shock. No. No. No. It was my brother on the floor, both hands squeezing his chest trying to grab hold of his heart. His knees curled up to his chest as if he were trying his hardest to curl small enough to fit into an oyster’s shell, or trying to fit back into his mother’s womb, a fetal position. He kicked with small surges of epileptic-like shocks, eyes looking beyond the ceiling. I remembered Dr. Reid saying that the next heart attack he got he would die. Vance lips trembled out his last dying words,
“Uh... Uh.” kicked, blinked a thousand times, “Uh.” he couldn’t breathe, squeezing his chest. Mi bawl out,
“Nooo ... Vaaance, Vance. No! Noooo!”
His hands fell from his heart. Screams of pain flooded inside the church. There were unconscious bodies laying all over the church’s floor. Five bodies on the floor if you count. I heard another loud fall.
‘DOOP! DOOP!’
I dropped the machete from my hand at the sound. I hoped it wasn’t anyone hitting the floor again. Snapped my head around, my head thrown out of thinking straight, fright crawling in my belly and up to my heart. I looked in the direction of the pulpit where I heard the sound, in my heart I was clasping my hands and closing my eyes, praying it was the pastor who called me the devil. It wasn’t the pastor. My eyes opened as wide as my mouth when I saw it was Aubrea. She fainted, slamming the side of her head into the tough edge of the pulpit floor. Her head was not bleeding, but it had a long swelling at the side of her eye, even though mi can’t stand Aubrea, mi hope that it was just a cocoa and not internal bleeding. Six bodies were on the floor.
Mr. Douglas held his phone in place at his ears with his shoulder as he lifted Qwan off the floor and carried him out of the church.
Vance baffled to speak,
“Mi... heart” gasped weakly and even his gasped seemed interrupted by not having enough strength, “Mi hea—” Then he couldn’t speak another syllable. His lips moved, trembled, no words came out his mouth, only spit and frothing at the corner of his mouth closest to the floor, and there on the floor his spit leaked. It formed a a small watery spit puddle by his unconscious head.
No one made a move around him. I dropped to the floor, felt his chest, his heart, it wasn’t beating, no heartbeat. I didn’t wipe his spit and froth before I performed mouth to mouth resuscitation on him. I tried. I tried. I tried. Oh God I tried. Pumped his chest, pinched his nose, blew air into his lungs. Pumped his chest, blew. Blew, blew, blew. With all my might I blew. It wasn’t helping. His heart already stopped. My tears came. Washed down my cheeks. His eyes were still looking beyond the ceiling, still opened, looking at God. Looking at death. Dying. My tears falling on his dead chest. I looked to the ceiling, cried out,
"Why Lord? Why? Oh Lord why? Please.”
I was too weak to stand. Crying, crying, crying till I couldn’t see anyone, just water in my eyes. Please God. Please. Pleeease.
Nothing we could do to save him. His eyes opened. Dying. Gone.
CHAPTER 21
The Broken-Hearted
by: Leelia Lexings
My wedding day was like a bad episode out of Gossip Girls. I was crying, shaking, hunched up, sucking on my thumb in Gloe’s room. Her room was a little bigger than a closet, barely had elbow space. I was tearing up inside. The door closed and the windows shut. The room dark and I am all alone sobbing.
(((Rrring. Rrring)))
(((Rrring. Rrring)))
I was too shaken to pick up my cell. I only wanted to speak to God, not a soul else. My chest, my head and my eyelashes hurt from crying. Instead of helping Vance, I blew his only chance he would ever have at saving his life. I didn't know what I would say to Vance tomorrow, didn’t know how I would ever face him again, or Qwan. I had no idea where Nathan’s girlfriend came from. But I was sure she must have preached disgraceful inequities about me, to the entire congregation, all my family, friends, to Qwan, to Qwan’s friends and she didn’t know my circumstances, but she was going to judge me right? And talk all manner of crap about me. They all at the church now just sitting and chatting shit about me, I can bet. I tried not to let it get to me. I was so sorry Vance, I’m so sorry Qwan. Maybe I should call Vance now. Later I would. I just wanted to cool off for the rest of the day. My head was splitting. My heart felt heavy. I looked at my phone ringing, it was Pinky. I didn’t answer.
Not now.
CHAPTER 22
Full Heart Attack
by: Pinky
Mi hate hospital bad. If death had a scent it would smell like hospital. If that smell had a taste it would taste like the yellow fester-poss being squeezed into your mouth from some old sore of a rottening foot. The scent of disinfectant, medicine, raw open cuts and stale sores make me want to fill my mouth with my own vomit.
Vance was unconscious on a hospital mattress that was as thick as a BNS credit card. The shiny aluminium base has four wheels. The white pillow cases seem white straight through but it’s the white sheet spread that’s getting to me. It has a pale brown spot that just freaks me out looking at it. It just says death. Makes mi wonder who died in this bed? Did they make that spot? How many died in this bed? Mi can’t get rid of thoughts like these whenever mi inside one hospital. The last time mi get one asthma attack, mi ask Daddy to carry my own sheet. Mi think ’bout death and mi heart start behave bad, get weak to know my brother battling for his life in th
e said bed.
Whether or not mi did lick Nathan’s galfriend in her face and mash down Nathan, Vance heart would still attack him. It was just its time to attack him. It’s God’s works. It was all written in black ink in God’s book of life. Anything the big man write in that big hardcover book is destiny, must come to pass, and we little earthlings can’t do jack to change what the Lord ordains. We can’t rub out what God had written and we can’t change the date. If it’s written, it’s written, mi never give Vance a bad heart. Mi can’t manufacture heart and if mi could make hearts, mi wouldn’t give Vance or anybody in my family a heart that’s working bad. I would give it to Portia, she love take people man too much. Is she must get that.
I can’t stand that little dash away belly gal. Because of she, right now mi fretting and worrying about this big hell of a dilemma that she made so much worse on mi now. Mi don’t know what to do. Mi wish mi could just done her and nobody don’t know is me get rid of her. She just come spoil mi fucking life.
Mi never know a little gal that love go dance like Portia. And every dance she go, she have to go on her head top and wine-wine up her skin and just dash-out dash-out like she a go-go. Even after she did breed for Finaral, and dash away the baby, she tell the man that is lose she lose the baby. How Finaral find out now that is lie the gal was telling, was two days after she dash away the belly, she gone party at dance and dash dashing out and wine-wine up her little fine self. She end up start bleed, bleed, bleed and they have to rush with her go down to KPH (Kingston Public Hospital).