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Suede (Part 1 of 2)

Suede (Part 1 of 2)

Short Story by V-Nasty

1971

 Langston Roberts had received his 10th invitation to the Winter Formal.

 The pink note was folded meticulously on his desk and he eyed it warily as he sank into his seat. He looked around the classroom and rolled his eyes when he spotted Stella Peterson's all-pink notebook sprawled clumsily across her lap. She was pretending not to pay any attention but held a smile as she stared ahead at the blackboard. There were about 15 other students in the class, the history teacher was not yet present.

  Langston lifted the note and began to read it.

 "Winter formal with me?"

 Stella was, undoubtedly, one of the most popular girls at Mclean High School. She was conventionally attractive with very long blonde hair, fair skin and large green eyes. Her father, Richard Peterson, was a member of the House of Representatives and her mother, Hannah Peterson, was a boutique owner and catalogue model

 Langston, however, didn't really care for her.

 He stuffed the little pink note in his bag, deciding to wait before giving her a definite answer. All the girls who asked him to the dance were pretty but since Stella was the most popular one, he considered accepting her proposal. He wasn't necessarily fond of her but she was a member of their exclusive clique. Virtually everyone who attended Mclean High School was extraordinarily wealthy or well-off. It was the second home to Buckhead, Atlanta's most elite group of teenagers.  

 Stella glanced over her shoulder and was slightly put off when she noticed the pink note was gone. Langston caught her eye and shrugged casually, giving her a small smile. Apparently this pleased her because she responded with an even bigger smile as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He didn't understand the fuss girls made about him.

 A freshman girl once told him that he kind of resembled Ricky Nelson. He shrugged it off though, it was barely a compliment.

 The class was active with conversation when Mrs. Harrington inconspicuously walked in.

 No one noticed the student waiting at the door.

 "Morning class," Mrs. Harrington announced loudly, setting down her tote and gradebook on her desk. "Sorry, I'm late. I was showing a new student around." She extended her hand towards the girl at the door.

 The girl stepped forward and everyone grew silent.

 She was tall, roughly 5'7 and slim but…very curvaceous. She wore a white turtle-neck, a suede jacket, a suede skirt and long black knee-high boots. She styled her hair in an afro – a large, brown afro.

 Her most enticing feature, however, were her amber eyes.

 The class was very silent. She wasn't the first black person the class has ever seen but she was one of the first and only black people to ever attend McClean High during that time. The only other black student attended Mclean in 1968. He was the son of a politician or something….it took some time for everyone to adjust.  

 "Stand in front of the class sweetie," Mrs. Harrington encouraged. "Tell everyone about yourself."

 Langston watched her intently; he was overtly fascinated. He had to admit, she was very pretty. To be honest, he's never had any black friends or was close to any black people except for his house keeper, Glenda.

 Jamelia walked in front of the class and when she opened her mouth to speak, her words were barely audible.

 Jamelia's voice was high, soft, and docile. Langston noticed that although she looked like a vixen, there was something profoundly innocent about her face.

 "Hi everyone, my name is Jamelia. I moved to McClean about two weeks ago from Los Angeles." Her eyes weren't trained on anyone in particular. "Um…I just turned 17 and I… love fashion."

 The class was still extremely quiet.

 "Sweetie, tell them about who you’re related to." Mrs. Harrington grinned.

 Jamelia looked mildly embarrassed as she continued on, "Oh um…my mom is Katherine Anderson. She's a member of the Marvelettes. My dad is Steven Anderson; he's an author and…he occasionally writes for the Los Angeles Times…"

 The class was still uncharacteristically silent.

 Mrs. Harrington looked mildly put off by their lack of enthusiasm. "Jamelia sweetie, why don't you take a seat – right there – to the left of Mr. Roberts."

 Jamelia looked slightly confused until Mrs. Harrington said, "The blond with the blue shirt."

 Langston felt vaguely excited that Jamelia was making her way towards him. She was like a teenage version of Denise Nicolas. Her heels clicked softly against the ceramic tiling as she made her way towards the center of the classroom. Langston inhaled a whiff of her perfume as she eased into her seat. Vanilla and lavender.

 When goosebumps started to erupted on his arms, he knew she was going to be a problem.

 Jamelia briefly caught his eye.

 He smiled.

 She didn’t smile back.

______________________________________________________________________

 Langston Roberts was nominated for Winter Formal King and had approximately 3 weeks to decide who to bring to the dance as his date. The pressure was extremely intense.

 Later that week, he had received his 15th proposal and had yet to give an answer to anyone. He was barely attracted to anyone that asked him out. He just wasn't enticed by the sea of superficial and shallow girls that attended Mclean High. Everyone was starting to look the same. Straight, shiny hair, corduroy skirts, and sparkly lip gloss. It was appealing at some distant point but now it was mundane and predictable.

 Langston was only interested in one girl but that one girl was not interested in him. This was a first because he was used to getting a lot of female attention. Jamelia, however, barely batted an eye at him since her arrival.

 He realized one day that he was very attracted to her.

 She strutted into class wearing a white, off-the-shoulder top with the bluest bell-bottom jeans and a pair of brown espadrilles. He almost melted when the scent of vanilla and lavender hit his nose. He was allured by her exposed neck and collarbones. Her skin was a caramel color; perfect and unblemished.

 She sat down and accidently pushed a pencil off her desk. As if in slow motion, it rolled towards him. He grasped it from the floor and handed it back to her. She hesitated before grabbing it but offered a small smile.

 A lump began to form in his throat.

 Woah, she was a dream.

 His body reacted unreasonably in her presence. He wanted to touch her. He craved her scent and longed to wrap a curl around his finger. Never in his life did he have a crush so strong and it's barely been two weeks. He wanted to speak to her but she seemed less than interested - and almost afraid - to start any conversation.  

 Langston knew he had to try. He knew he wanted to ask Jamelia to the Winter Formal.

______________________________________________________________________

 Tiny buds of sweat began to form on Langston's forehead as he approached Jamelia. She was salvaging books from her locker and looked a little apprehensive as she fumbled through the items inside. The hall was virtually empty minus the janitor, who was whistling jovially to some Marvin Gaye tune.

 Jamelia jumped slightly when she heard Langston's footsteps near towards her. She eyed him suspiciously until he completely obscured her view.

 "…Hey," he said, scratching the back of this head awkwardly. "How are you?"

 She hesitated a little. "Groovy."  

 "Cool, cool," he started again. For the first time in his life, Langston was so flustered by a girl, he couldn't think of anything intelligible to say. "C-class is late for you."

 "Huh?"

 "I-I mean, you're late for class," he said, a little more aggressively than he intended to. "Um…I'm sorry – I just saw you in the hall and wanted to see if you were okay."

 Jamelia's lips quivered a bit, she was unsure of how to respond. "Yeah, I actually can't find my Home Economics book," her eyes softened as she looked at him and back at her locker. "You're late too."

 He was also in love with her voice. She was so soft-spoken

 It took Langston several attempts before he was able to approach her. Today, she was wearing a white, satin blouse under a red cashmere vest. Her plaid, pleated skirt was red and yellow and her knee-high socks were slightly sheer. Langston closed his eyes briefly and inhaled. Her signature scent was as enticing as ever.

 "Yeah," he swallowed. "I actually wanted to ask you something…"

 She waited and when there was no immediate response: "Yes?"

 "Uh, I have my Home Economics textbook," he stumbled and scratched his head again. "Would you like to share with me?"

 "Was that your question?"

 "Of course."

 She looked around and back. "…sure Langston, that's real nice of you." Her amber eyes twinkled slightly as she offered him a genuine smile. "We should probably get to class now, huh?"

 He was so fixated by her smile that he forgot to respond.

 She started to walk past him and he watched as her large, brown afro bobbed up and down. Snapping out of his reverie, he ran to catch up with her - unaware of two suspicious green eyes watching the scene from behind.

 Stella Peterson grimaced in mild horror as she watched the pair walk off to class together. She overheard most of the conversation and was appalled that Langston might actually like Jamelia. Why would he like Jamelia, when he was supposed to like her?

 Stella was extremely well-known at Mclean High. She was the object of admiration for both sexes and was recently named Mclean High's Bunny of the Year, a prestigious honor indeed. Underclassman never won Winter Formal Queen and since she was a senior, she was determined to win.

 And she was certain that Langston was going to be Winter Formal King.

 She wasn't going to let anyone get in her way of her perfect night with her perfect date, especially not some random black girl. There was no competition and she was going to make sure of it.

______________________________________________________________________

 "Why is he walking in with her?"  

 "Who does she think she is with that outfit?"

 "She's pretty for a black girl, I guess."

 "Langston looks so good in those jeans."

 Jamelia and Langston were both 10 minutes late to class and were confronted with a sea of murmurs and stares upon their arrival. Langston ignored them and made his way to his regular seat and motioned Jamelia to sit by him. She made her way swiftly with her head slightly bowed down.

 "Nice of you to join us," Mrs. Eskers said in a monotonous tone. "As I was saying, the midterm project is due in 3 weeks. Everyone must choose one person to write a speech about and bring in a homemade gift. This will help with self-esteem in both yourself and the other person. Make sure the speech is heartfelt and the homemade gift is made thoughtfully. Blah blah blah…back to the regular lecture."

 She turned her face to the blackboard and starting writing the steps to making homemade molasses cookies.

 Langston pulled out his textbook and sprawled it across the desk between himself and Jamelia. He looked at her briefly and whispered. "I think I'm going to do a speech about you," he watched as her eyebrows furrowed deep into her forehead.

 "Me? Why?"

 "…because um…I don't think anyone else chose you. So I think I wanna do one about you… plus…I love the Marvelettes."

 "Oh okay, I can dig it…I'm choosing Velma because I've never seen hair that red before in my life," she whispered back and they both started to laugh. "Its far out."

 "Yeah…like you."

 "What was that?"

 "I said, yeah that's true," Langston recovered quickly. "Hey…I wanted to ask you something - "

 "- An actual question this time?"

 He smiled. "Yeah…um…do you have a date for the Win…"

 He was stopped abruptly by Mrs. Eckers, who slammed a ruler across their jointed desk.

 "Miss Anderson, Mr. Roberts – was there something interesting that you would like to share with the class?"

 Langston shook his head.

 "Mr. Roberts!" she screeched. "Please use your voice."

 "No ma'am. Nothing interesting at all."

 "Langston, don't lie to me. Please stand in your seat and tell the class what you and Miss. Anderson were discussing. If not, you will both receive detention."

 Langston stared up at Ms. Eskers and back at Jamelia, who was also looking at Ms. Eskers. He was under the scrutiny of the entire class but his attention was on the girl before him. Her amber eyes were transfixed on the teacher, her lips puffy and pink, her hair large and majestic.

 Bewitched is the only word that could describe his infatuation for her.

 He tore his gaze away, stood up in his seat and inhaled. Mrs. Eskers took a step back, her ruler in hand.

 He stared ingenuously at the teacher. "I was in the middle of asking Jamelia if she had a date to the Winter Formal," He looked at Jamelia. "If not, I wanted to take you."

 The class went completely silent. It took Jamelia roughly 3 minutes to reply and to Langston, those 3 minutes felt like 3 hours. She didn't respond right away and she could feel the glares of every girl in the class burning a hole through her temple. She then eyed at Mrs. Eskers, who also looked like she was waiting for an answer.

 "I don't have a date for winter formal…," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "…But, I don't think I'll be going anyway."

 "Oh…cool," were the only two words that left Langston's mouth.

 But oddly enough, he wasn't discouraged.

 He gave her a small smile which she weakly returned. Mrs. Eskers huffed impatiently as she made her way back to the blackboard. There were a few students who were still staring at the pair.

 No. Langston Roberts was not discouraged – he was more determined than ever to get closer to her.

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

ADHD (1)

This is my second attempt at writing this. I mean - actually, physically writing this. In my head, I envisioned writing this about 5 times...and then I got distracted. Evidently, there's this cool Facebook app that analyzes your face and shows you what your future children will look like. I have a son and a daughter and they're both white. I found this funny, only a little though, because occasionally, I like to stare at myself in the mirror and recite over and over, "you will marry a black man." But who knows? I may marry a white man or an Asian man or a middle eastern man. I don't know. But that's not the point of this. None of that is the point of this. I wanted to write about ADHD and my personal experience with it but I can't stay focused. Strange. I can't stay focused. Weird. Anyways, I was diagnosed with ADHD a few days ago by a short black lady with wire-rimmed glasses.  Her voice was soft and she had a very subtle, very diluted accent...Jamaican, Trinidadian maybe? She's a therapist,  a nurse practitioner and I'm gonna be honest - I just took a brief pause to look at my text messages. Nothing new, just a guy letting me know he's excited that I'm coming to this Halloween party on Friday night. Ha! I'm popular - I got options. Anyways, what was I saying? My therapist is a short and unique looking woman. When I say unique, I mean eccentric and interesting not ugly. I read about her online  on this "therapists near me" page. On her main page, she has a profile picture where she is sporting blue hair. I was slightly disappointed that she didn't have blue hair when I met her. She looked fairly young, probably in her late 20s or early 30s. The session was brief and pretty informal. I explained my symptoms in depth and even took notes in a pale pink notebook. She was really impressed by me, unfortunately I'm not too sure if I was impressed by her. I took a short evaluation - she asked me if I ever been tested for ADHD, I said no. She asked if I thought that it might be the cause for all my symptoms, I said yes. She also came to the conclusion that I have an anxiety disorder as well. Makes sense. I wonder what Beyonce's doing. I was just in the midst of rewatching "Lemonade" but I didn't finish, I forget why. Anyways, my therapist took notes and prescribed some medication. I left the session feeling bey discouraged. I wanted to go over my goals, my feelings, my doubts, my everything. It lasted about 30 minutes - I imagined therapy sessions to be close to an hour long. I was wrong - she looked at me as she wrapped up and asked if I was okay. I wasn't, of course, but I said yes and rushed to pick up my things. Chinatown was the location of the psychiatric practice and I didn't know where I was going because I never actually explored this part of NYC. I texted my sister about the experience, she called me and gave me directions. I felt kind of defeated but - at least I have something, right? A two week trial of ADHD medication. Should be interesting.

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Zealous

Loneliness is an all-too familiar ache that frequently wells up in my chest. I’ve had my fair share of romances, all of them too frivolous and meaningless to elaborate on. I’ve never had a fiery romance that constantly caused butterflies to erupt in my stomach, my pupils to dilate, or my knees to buckle from weakness. Sometimes, the feeling of emptiness is too real. Today, I felt a severe feeling of emptiness. I realized that what I deeply crave is companionship.What I want is someone spontaneous and funny. Someone who never ceases to amaze me with his many whimsical rendezvous and brilliant wittiness. Someone to have enlightening conversations with about anything and everything. No conversation would ever be too dull, too immature, too irrelevant to be discussed zealously. I crave a smile that would engross my daydreams. A smile that would have me revering the form of his lips and the way they feel upon mine. soft, magical, captivating. Lips that cause an electric spark all over.I crave eyes that I can lose myself in. Enigmatic eyes under thick, long eyelashes. Sagacious eyes that darken when angered and exude brightness when enlightened. I want to brush my fingers against an attractive face. A very attractive face. I crave someone who is persistent in their pursuits of me, someone who truly understands that some women (ahem) can be quite tenacious, difficult, and slightly immature. I want a hunter who is not discouraged when it’s prey is not immediately caught. Someone who is unapologetically foward and genuine. Who’s audacity sometimes shocks me. Who is passionately passionate about just one person (me!) A diligent man – a determined man – a successful man. But most of all, I want a friend. A true friend. A friend to exchange secrets with, to wholly depend on, to laugh with…

I ask the universe, do not let the year go by without me meeting this person

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

#JerseyForever

Remarkable and vibrant young thang, a queen in her own lane, I appreciate the light that you bring to this earth. Your sentiment towards life is so refreshing. Strength of a Corretta King, making moves of liberation, so joyous and care-free but so affectionate to humanity. Dreams of power as a woman while at odds with the world we live in, because of the beautiful reflection of your skin, with those who hate to see you win, after proving time and time again. That this is what you do, this is who you are, all with pride and integrity with no sacrifice of morality or principle. Heart of a lioness, soul of an elephant, looking at you, oh queen the most benevolent. Watching from afar realizing how endangered women of your stature are. 21 questions aren't enough, the wants of seizing the open book, being attentive to your characteristics even if they behold a bit of mischief. Do the absolute most to understand your flaws and learn to accept them in front of god above all. Learn from you, dedicate time to you, be real and comfortable expressing and experiencing life with you, is all really a man with motivation and ambition wants to do

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

LUST

inspired by damn / kendrick lamar

Lust by V-Nasty

“What do you want?”

“To fuck.”

“That’s all you want? To fuck?”

“And head too.”

“I see.”

“We’re not catching feelings- right?”

Chuckle. “I can’t promise that.”

Groan. “It’s probably not a good idea if either us catch feelings.”

“…Okay.”

“Does this change anything?”

Brief pause. “No…you’re right. Let’s just fuck….and head too.”

“ Cool. Hang up the phone and get your ass over here.”

Click. _______________________________________________________________________ 10 minutes. He lived approximately ten minutes away. When I pulled up to the driveway, he was already standing on the stoop, his door slightly ajar behind him. He had no shirt on, just a pair of blue basketball shorts and some nike slides.

“It’s raining,” I said.

He smiled at me and extended his hand as I made my way up the steps. “I like the rain. I saw your car through my window.”

I grabbed his hand and kissed him briefly. “Is this cool? That I’m kissing you? Not trying to have you catch feelings.”

He grabbed my face, wiped his tongue over my lips before deepening the kiss. He whispered against my mouth. “I just wanna fuck. And I want your lips up and down my dick. Is that cool? I’m not trying to have you catch feelings.”

Shit. I needed to compose myself, but the lacy material was already starting to feel damp between my thighs.

“And why you got on that leather jacket?” He said, snapping me out of my trance. “It’s 70 degrees out here.”

I nodded and quickly took it off  - my breasts were on full view now. It was still raining, we were still outside. He pinched a nipple.

“Alright, let’s go inside now.” I breathed out.

He grabbed me by the waist and carried me through the threshold. We barely made it past the kitchen and when we finally made it inside the bedroom, he literally threw me on the bed. I was facing him, looking up at his devilish face, my legs hanging off the bed. He took off his slides - and crouched down, his head nearing my crotch. The thong came off in one switch motion - I was now fully exposed. Breathing hitched. He placed his fingers on my pussy.

“Shit, you’re wet already?”

That was in understatement. He slipped a finger inside. I still realize that I stopped breathing until he slipped another finger in. And another. 

Shit.

He looked at me under his eyelashes and started pumping…rapidly. I could barely contain my curse words, body visibly convulsing, toes curling, heart racing, slowly dying and coming back to life.

He brought his lips over to my left breast, fingers still buried deep inside me. “You like this shit?” I whimpered out, “yes.” He pumped a little harder. “I know you do.” He pumped his fingers a little faster. I was on the edge - I was close, I was cumming…until…

Cease and dismiss.

He pulled his fingers out.

“Shit, why’d you stop?” I forced out.

He didn’t answer, he leaned downwards and inserted his tongue instead, my pelvis involuntarily lifted off the edge of the bed.

Shit.

I felt my soul leave my body as he sucked on the sensitive flesh. I grabbed the sides of his head and pulled him closer. Oh shit. The clit. He focused all his attention on my clit, I can feel the muscles around my pussy begin to spasm. I was nearing an orgasm and he was not relenting.

I faintly remember him pulling up his head and smirking.

And then I came…and he kept licking and he slid in a finger and for a brief second, as he continued, I thought I was in love. Low-key was - and what an oddly erotic feeling it was to taste myself when he stopped to kiss me. I laid lifeless on the bed, waiting to regain the feeling in my legs - just waiting for this happy daze to fade, but secretly hoping that it never would.

He chuckled. “You ready for this dick?”

I didn’t respond, but the foolish expression on my face must’ve given something away because he pulled his basketball shorts down. His penis sprang to life and I also, sprang to life.

He began massaging his cock, never breaking eye contact with me. There was silence - and in a slight panic, I remembered that I left the condom in my car.

“You gotta condom?” I asked.

He pointed at the bedside table, still massaging his cock. I reached over and pulled out a basic latex condom from inside the drawer. I motioned him to come closer but as I tried to wrap the rubber around his dick, it broke…snapped and I watched in mild horror as the condom slid off my hands and onto the floor.

“This was the only one you have?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”

Pause.

Was I really down for this raw sex life?

A condom was a pain anyways; like getting a massage with a North Face on.

Raw sex?

Fuck it.

“Fuck it”

I fell back. He spread my legs. I started humming in anticipation. He rubbed the tip of his cock on my folds. My breaths were becoming heavier.

“Let me put the head in.” He teased.

He started off slow, almost tentatively but then picked up the pace. He pushed forward and I met him with each thrust. I couldn’t contain my moans any longer, each one growing louder with each thrust. I seized the edge of the bed, toes curling and uncurling with each thrust. Breasts bouncing wantonly - with each thrust.

I was close to ejaculating and I can tell he was too.

“Fuck…you feel so good.” He said, his eyes were closed. “Fuuuucck.”

That was his last cry before he released himself inside of me. I came shortly after.

We were both breathing heavily, but he stopped momentarily to kiss me. “You good?” he said, for an instance, I could almost see compassion and…something else in his eyes…

Lust?

or…possibly love?

and then…

“So, what you boutta do now?”

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

God

Inspired by damn / kendrick lamar 

GOD by V-Nasty.

I've told God that I despised Him on numerous occasions. These declarations of hatred and disappointment are usually laced with a few colorful curse words, a few barely-contained screams, a few punts, a few air-punches, and a whole bunch of tears. I rant angrily for a few moments, the tears are unrelenting, and then I experience an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Pause. And then more hateful phrases spew out of my mouth. Afterwards, the sincerity and passion in my voice shocks me. But during those moments, the words are true, they are raw and uncensored. I don't understand how something or someone so powerful, so wise, so kind, so good can be so….silent. And the first thing I tell God when I pray is, "Open Your ears," but sometimes, I think He inserts earplugs when I begin to speak. When I tell God, "Don't leave me," I feel that He is there…somewhere but barely. He is around but distant. He is love but unloving, unaffectionate, indifferent. Suffering is relative, my situation is definitely better than very many and definitely worse than many. This greatly discourages me because I know the hungry, the desolate, the meager can pray. If God does not answer their prayers, why would he answer mine?  Why should I pray if my prayers go unanswered. How can I truly give thanks and be grateful if I’m mentally and physically tired and angry. Inadequate…sad….anxious and unbelievably enraged. Again suffering is relative. My ten may possibly be someone else’s two but its still my ten. I can’t help but to feel disappointed in God sometimes. I’ve heard on several occasions that God is not a genie. He will not grant every wish, especially if it is not in accordance to His will. I would still, however, like Him to answer a few - straight, like a genie. Mighty God, where are You? Mighty God, help me. Mighty God, open Your ears. Mighty God, don’t leave me. Sometimes, I come to Him only when I need Him. I come to Him when my anxiety and sadness become too much to bear. I come to Him for superficial things, secularly things, selfish things. But I am Human and He is God. I am imperfect and He is perfect. I break promises to Him, I lie sometimes,   I am lustful, I’m greedy, I’m spiteful, I do questionable things, I’m exceedingly petty, perpetually impatient. Inconsistent, sometimes unavailable, unreliable.  I come to Him in darkness not when the sun shines. But since our relationship is…complicated, it’s a little awkward to pray…and sometimes, it is a little awkward to express gratitude. I want God to show me something miraculous.  I want one of my plans to wholly follow through, I want a couple of my plans follow through, I want my palms to itch, I want my pupils to dilate, I want my knees to go weak, I want to glow - internally and externally. I want my prayers to feel natural, I want a California-king bed in New Jersey. I want to be reeled and sucked back in when I travel astray. Of course, God has done so much but I want more. I want substantial things. I want somethings to last. The world isn’t perfect (understatement) and I am shocked because we are in the presence of an omni-present and omni-powerful God. Sometimes, I’m a little doubtful God exists but I know He does. He has to. He is the only thing I have to turn to when there is nothing left to turn to. Nothing makes sense if God isn’t real. But I want desperately for God to open His ears, to not disappear. To save me…somehow. Who am I to ask for any of these things? I lack so much faith but maybe it’s because I’ve been disappointed so frequently that faith seems too optimistic and not realistic…at all. I still want God to save me. Things will never be perfect but God is perfect. As he long as He opens His ears and doesn’t disappear - things will be…okay. As long as He continues to love me through my insanity...even when I Hate Him through my insanity...things will be okay.  But again...

Ears Open and Stay Present. 

This is what God feels like. 

There is so much more I have to say about God and me - but that’s for another series. 

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Coleslaw

Coleslaw by: VNasty 

You told me once that coleslaw was your least favorite side-dish.

And I agreed because I detested the taste of coleslaw.

What I didn’t understand, however, was that you would still order it.  Last Sunday, you invited me out to your favorite diner on Lasalle Street. We arrived at the desolate and dimly lit place a little after 1 a.m. and took our usual seats by the door. When the thin, stringy haired waitress took your order, I watched in utter bemusement when you asked for a BBQ Sandwich with lots of coleslaw on the side.

You said you didn’t particularly like  the taste of cole-slaw, it was your least-favorite side-dish - but you ordered it anyways.

For some odd reason, this was the foremost thought in my mind at the moment.

Your girlfriend came by to grab her flat iron and sweater and I waited in your bedroom closet until she was gone. Why I always subjected myself to these awkward situations - I wasn’t completely sure. What I knew for certain - standing there, trying hard not to breathe so loudly, phone on airplane mode, tank-top clinging to my breasts - was that she was a Lasalle Street BBQ Sandwich and I was, without a doubt, a load of coleslaw.

A side of cole-slaw…

You told me once that you weren’t necessarily fond of the taste.

Yet - you always ordered it.

I wasn’t wearing any pants, which offered a little bit of relief because the heat in this enclosed space threatened to suffocate me. I pressed my ear to the door and listened in on your conversation with her.

“…to the bar on Lasalle street. You know its our thing on first Friday’s, what’s the problem?” she demanded.

I could tell she was from Harlem. Her accent was thick and accentuated with a Puerto-Rican flair. She didn’t look how she sounded. Her voice was authoritative, raspy and deep. It was sharp and intimidating.

But - She was very short with a round face and large eyes. She had a young face despite the fact that she was 26. Her hair stood out the most - large and brown, framing her face magnificently. Maybe she felt the need to overcompensate for being so petite. Regardless, she was pretty.

“I can’t tonight. My boy going through some things and he’s coming over to chill and talk, ” You pressed her.

I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

She sighed. “Reg, I wanted you to see me perform my poem. This will be the second time you missed open mic night.”

I listened and the disappointment in her voice made my heart jump slightly. I was excited, almost satisfied. Her sadness brought me joy and I barely felt guilty about. You missed her last performance because of me.

“I know,” you said. “You’re right but this is important. I will make it up to you, I swear.” You paused. “I love you.” And it sounded so sincere. And I felt my stomach drop. And I considered coming out and revealing myself and ruining everything. But I stood still. I stood where I was and I continued to listen.

“Ugh fine,” she said. “Love you too. I got my flat iron, I’m leaving. Hope Corey is doing okay. I’m going.”

“Wait, I can’t have a kiss?” You asked.

There was a pause and I’m assuming this is where you guys kissed and then I heard footsteps and the sound of the door closing shortly after. I didn’t immediately come out, I waited for you to pursue me instead. I wasn’t completely naked but suddenly felt too exposed standing there in my tank top and panties. Although this happened once before, I felt extremely ashamed this time.

You opened the door to your bedroom closet and when I saw your face, an overwhelming pang of guilt came over me. You extended your arm towards me and I wanted desperately to storm out and never see you again.

I grabbed your hand instead and followed you to your bed. You didn’t utter a word to me but I allowed you to pull the tank top over my head. You didn’t even look me in the eye. I felt objectified. I felt like I was a chore that you didn’t mind doing. But I continued on and laid on my back while you did what you wanted. I was pained, devastated -  because I loved you so much. I turned away from you because I didn’t trust myself to not start crying.

You didn’t love me but I guess there was something different about me. Like your least favorite side….coleslaw

You would always mention how you weren’t too fond of the taste.

Yet…you kept ordering it. And I never asked why

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

People of the City

People of the City by: Valerie Jean. 

I am so utterly taken aback by the amount of attractive people I’ve seen today. Everyone here is dressed so sophisticatedly and they walk with an air of aloof coolness. I am jealous - to be honest. These people, although some rude and arrogant, inspire me to be smoother, cooler, more relaxed. They are effortlessly swaggy. I took an Uber with this young Asian male. He looked to be roughly 18 or 19 and he had the most impeccable style although it was very...casual. He wore a hoodie, jeans, sneakers, and some Beats or Sony wireless headphones but he looked like the “epitome” of cool. I sound EXTREMELY corny for writing this but I’m just a little envious. I want to embody “cool,” but effortlessly. I don't think I’ll ever be dope or lit without trying even a little....maybe if I stay in Toronto for a little bit longer? Also, my back really hurts. I’ve been walking around SO much today. I feel super tired but there are a plethora of sights and attractions to explore. I gotta stay calm and carry on. 

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Hurt Bae

Hurt Bae – Reaction

By Valerie Jean

The Scene, an online platform for digital shorts, documentaries and social issues, recently posted a brief but poignant video that is now circulating the internet.  The video focuses on two young adults, Leonard and Kourtney, and their past relationship. Infidelity, betrayal and trust were the main themes discussed in this clip and it was hard resisting the urge to cry as it went along. Kourtney, sometimes known as CreoleKourt on social media, fought back tears as she questioned her ex's intentions. Leonard admitted to being unfaithful, having did "everything," including having sex with other girls during the course of their relationship. He claimed he wasn't fully able to commit. 

"I guess at the time I... I just didn't want to," he elaborated.

 Kourtney stated that she was aware of his suspicious behavior, having went through his phone and his computer. She didn't trust him but made a conscious decision to stay in the relationship. She asserted that she didn't leave because she felt she was, "stupid," and evidently very in love. The most compelling dialogue in this short was Kourtney admitting that she forgave him, despite his unfaithfulness.

 "Because you're my best friend," she said.

 The internet did not react kindly at all to Leonard and his seemingly emotionless demeanor and responses, with people saying things like:

 "When she said "because your my bestfriend", but we all knew she really meant "because I love you" ‪#hurtbae."

 " She too fuckin pretty for that shit. That nigga trippen I would've kissed her and told her fuck that I need you as much as u need me."

 "Wow now that's closure 😢 I've never had that before 😞yea he might seem emotionless but at least he is there saying it like it is some ppl don't even get that."

 HERE IS MY TAKE ON THIS VIRAL VIDEO:

 To summarize my views, they were both in the wrong. I fully comprehend that it takes a tremendous amount of strength to leave someone you truly love but in a situation like this, you need to take some time to reflect and make an intelligent decision. Kourtney stayed with Leonard, she stayed with him. She stayed in light of his distrustful behavior, she stayed despite the fact that she didn't trust him. She stayed. Again, it takes a lot of courage to leave someone you have so much invested in, and that you've shared so many memories and experiences with but you have to take some kind of accountability if you choose to stay despite the many red flags.

 Leonard cheated on her and being cheated on is extremely traumatic. It makes you question your self-worth and sometimes deteriorates your self-esteem. We can all agree that cheating is a terrible act and no one should be put through that kind of heartbreak. Leonard was 100% wrong for cheating. He was wrong for not being able to initially break things off with and continue with his lifestyle as a single individual. Kourtney was clearly broken and forlornly mentioned that she felt like he, "abandoned," her. He did and he was wrong, indefinitely, for his actions.

 Many people commented about his body language and demeanor. He was seemingly stoic and unaffected – but things may not always be what they seem. People exhibit heartache, guilt, remorse, grief in various different ways. Guys tend to be better at hiding their emotions than their female companions. He may have felt some kind of repentance and didn’t know how to properly express it. It may have been his surroundings, it may have been the fact that he was being filmed and documented. If this conversation was exclusively private, it may have been played out differently. I'm not saying that he really didn't feel anything at all, I'm saying we shouldn't jump to conclusions and assume he felt no shame or remorse. At the very least, he was honest.

 As a side note, if I was in Kourtney's position, although very clearly hurt and betrayed, I don't know how comfortable I would feel with millions of people bashing my best friend and someone I once loved and had very strong feelings for. People were really going in on this dude. Obviously, he made some very bad decisions and we all know his actions were immoral but I don't know…please let me know how you think you would feel….  J

 This video was compelling and resonated with so many young people.

 It teaches us an important lesson about love and trust. If you know you are not ready to commit, remain single. If you feel tempted to cheat, if you have eyes for other people – communicate these feelings to your significant other and/or break it off immediately.  And if you are or have been cheated on, please leave the situation – do not put up with that kind of abuse. Most people do not know what they have until it's gone.

 "The biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman's love with no intention of loving her." – Bob Marley.

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Hair

"Hair"

by V-Nasty

 When you initially asked me out, I wanted so much to say no.

Simply because… I thought you were a hoe.

But when you asked me again, I gritted out, "yes."

I am an absolute idiot, this - I confess.

I wore a green dress and sipped a little bit of Henny.

You said I was a dime, but I felt like a penny.

We weren't alone, we were surrounded by faces.

We walked on a strip, to many different places.

Your friend trotted along and eyed a group of ladies.

We watched as he was rejected, leaning back on a Mercedes.

The Mercedes wasn't his, of course, but he was still kind of fresh.

I wanted nothing more than to disappear, far away from this mess.

But as the night went on, you kissed me once, you kissed me twice.

You showed me how to Milly Rock, and how to properly fight.

You said I was looking sexy --- "Girl, you so fine."

And you kissed me again and squeezed my behind.

I honestly kind of liked you, but I knew you were a dub

But you kept whispering sweet things, my butt you rubbed.

We drove back to your place, slightly dazed and confused.

I was feeling marvelous and wanted somewhat to be used.

There was a movie playing in the background – the lights were dark and dim

And when you looked at me under your eyelashes, I felt pretty and prim.

I was slightly nervous but the kissing grew fervent and fast

I swear to gawd I was in heaven and wanted this to last.

I was feeling reckless, so I made a very bold move.

You were shocked, I was shocked, but we continued this groove.

You began to remove my dress – in the distance, barked your Pitbull.

You ignored the barking dog and put a tongue on my nipple.

I was consumed with pleasure but then suddenly, you halted.

"What the hell is going on?" I was mildly insulted.

Was it that one hair on my nipple? The one I never shaved.

I wanted to pop off but then decided to behave.

You registered something for a second and started kissing me again

I can't complain about the kissing; I never wanted it to end.

That was it, we fell asleep, the next morning was a blur.

It was nice, the kisses continued – then a text from her.

You rolled your eyes and dismissed the suspicious text.

Then you looked at me and asked - a question about sex.

Your whole demeanor changed – I was a little taken aback.

I answered your question, you respond, "facts, my nigga, facts." (lol)

You were acting weird and I decided to go home.

When I left, you didn’t kiss me – I felt weirdly alone.

Days go by and not a word I hear from you.

"Dammit, " I thought. "This was too good to be true"

I finally send a text and waited patiently for your reply.

"Yo Gina, it's been a minute, how's it going, my guy?"

"My guy – I'm a girl and where have you been?"

"It's all good, I've been chilling – I mean is that even a sin?"

"Not a sin but you've been ghost, homie you dubbed me."

"How though? I didn't. But it's not like you loved me."

"I know we're not together, but I thought we were…more."

"Ha-ha, that's mad crazy – please continue, I'm just walking to the store."

"I mean…you asked me out, I thought that was a date."

"Huh, nah. We're just friends…but I can understand why you’re irate."

"Nope, I'm not angry. I get it – you're with her again."

"Oh yeah, we reconnected, but we're just really good friends."

"It's okay, I get it – wish you the best of luck."

We stopped texting for a while, and for days, it sucked.

But what did I do wrong? Was I crazy? Was I insane?

I was disheartened for a while, constantly racking my brain.

I saw a picture of them online and started mercilessly crying.

I cannot believe this chaos – but you knew that he was lying.

Never again will it ever be the same.

I hope you forget what I look like, please forget my name.

But honestly…I don't hate you – I wish you nothing but the best…

I just can't help but to wonder…. was it that hair on my chest?

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Summer Seventeen

Summer Seventeen by Valerie Jean.

There is something oddly comforting about the sunlight touching my skin. Although, within closed doors, any indication of light would disturb me, I find myself completely drawn to the sun when outside. I do not feel exposed or vulnerable, I just feel at ease. Perhaps it is not the explicit light that consoles me, but rather the heat. The warmth smooths out any existing goosebumps on my skin, and I sometimes find myself trying to inhale the comfort. Summer is my second favorite season after Autumn. The sights, the smells, the feel of summer compels me and I am always drawn to the point of no return. The stillness of the summer makes me happy. And I want nothing more than to be happy. I am adamant in my pursuits and today, I woke up at 7:30 to go on a morning stroll with my sister to fulfill my goal. We walked briskly to a park adjacent to our home and warily followed a grey path along a murky, green stream. There were rows of medium sized rocks above the stream and I couldn’t help to admire the beauty of it all. There were various insects such June bugs and caterpillars lazily moving along the grass. The park smelled dully of mowed grass much to my distaste. There was a bridge above the trail of which I took tentative steps under. The possibility of the bridge faltering and summarily crashing down on us ensuring our death is quite unsettling but I continued, nonetheless, tripping as my heel glides over a puddle of mud. The walk was roughly an hour long and we arrived home with sweat clinging to our chests and calves. With the incessant urge to take a shower, I grabbed a towel, turned the faucet and jumped into the excruciatingly cold water. I read somewhere that cold water reverses the paralyzing effects of depression. I dried off after fifteen minutes, ate a quick breakfast and went to bed soon after as I couldn’t ignore the heaviness of my eyelids any longer. My morning was pleasant and currently, I feel a little apprehensive but with a little consistency my goal will be met. I will be happy. This is just the beginning.

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

LIP-GLOSS

Lip-Gloss by V-Nasty

Nothing is as bold or breathtaking as the glitter on your lips. The golden shimmer of your lip-gloss and the meticulous way your mouth curves when you speak sends shivers down my spine. And sticky – sticky is not a texture that I particularly like but I always have the deepest desire to run a finger across your sticky, pink flesh. Or maybe, maybe I can press my own lips against yours and when it's finally time to withdraw, the stickiness of your lip gloss would make it harder. I don't mind being bonded with you for a little bit longer. And when the mild scent of apricots reaches my nose, I have to try my hardest not to bite you. I never truly had a liking for apricots but I crave them in your presence. That lip-gloss you have on elicits a carnivorous feeling within me. It's bittersweet. I love that shimmery, sticky, sweet-smelling gloss on you but would you allow me to help you take it off?

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Dear J.J.

Dear J.J.

 From our awkward pubescent stages, you've been a significant character in my life. Our friendship started off awkward and rocky. There was a lack of trust, from my part. There was a sense of insincerity and there was a feeling of fakeness that I couldn't shake off. But as time went on, I've grown to love you. I've grown to love your uplifting words, your genuine care for other people and your unparalleled compassion. You love hard and you're a huge advocator for self-love. I've seen you during your best times and I've seen you during your lowest points. Lately, I've been seeing way less of you. This is life – friends grow apart. Friend become closer to other friends. Friends change their lifestyle and make huge changes. Friends find themselves and lose other people. This, this is life. Just know J.J., although I don't agree on your philosophy of being reject – because I would never reject you, although it makes me extremely uncomfortable to go months without speaking to you because that's not how I define a "best friend,", although your life choice are…intense and busy…I will always love you. I love you by principle, I love you because you've seen me at my most vulnerable, and I'll always love you because you've been such a major factor of my life. We aren't nearly as close as we were in H.S. or even college but just know, you hold a special place in my heart. I wanted you to know this, if you happen to read this one day. Thank you for your friendship – hopefully, things will change for the better.

 Valerie.

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

I lie

I lie…

I lie sometimes for fear of being embarrassed. I want to protect myself from the embarrassing truth.

I lie sometimes because I feel inadequate and I want to protect myself from the vulnerability and intensity that comes with telling the truth.

I lie sometimes because lies are beautiful and decorated and safe and I want to protect you from the nastiness and danger of the truth.

I lie sometimes because my brain panics and spills out a lie before the truth can even come out. Even my brain cowers behind a lie

I want to tell the truth because, it hurts initially but its inevitably freeing and it feels good.

I want to tell the truth because I want to be seen as an honest person. I want to be honorable and trustworthy, in the eyes of man and in the eyes of God.

I want to tell the truth because honesty is a virtue and dishonesty is a sin.

I want to tell the truth because people will appreciate it more and I will come across as courageous.

I will try to be as honest as I possibly can be from now on because lying makes me guiltier than any other sin. I want to loosen that knot in my chest and guilt in my stomach. I apologize in advance for my truths because they will never be as sweet my lies.

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

HOW TO KILL A GUY AT HIS BIRTHDAY PARTY IN CAMDEN...

HOW TO KILL A GUY AT HIS BIRTHDAY PARTY IN CAMDEN…

By: VNASTY

To say that Jessica was "crazy," was the greatest understatement of the century. She was borderline insane, highly impulsive and absolutely dangerous.

 And she was definitely planning on murdering someone tonight.

 She was going to bury someone deep, deep below the ground –underneath the hard, icy cement, engulfed miles and miles within the earth. Nothing but maggots, bones, blood and fucking tears. Her own fucking tears – of joy, that is.  She may have looked like the friendliest girl ever with her with her massive green eyes and winning smile. BUT NO.

 She was a violent and callous killer.

 She had purchased a gun the week before and had it tucked beneath the mess of her gold, sparkly clutch.

 Jessica was going for the kill. But not before putting on some fire ass red lipstick.

 First rule to killing a guy at his birthday party in Camden: put on some fire ass red lipstick.

 There was a huge, blow-out party that night in Camden, New Jersey held at a venue called, "Sloppy Joes and Hoes." It was a notorious strip club located in the heart of Camden and the celebration was for him, so of course she wasn't invited.

 This was a very special occasion for him. He was turning 27 on the 27th of March.

 Oh, how lovely.

 He was going to get lodged in the throat with a golden bullet on his golden birthday.

 Jessica absolutely lived for all these little treasures life had to offer.

 This murder was judiciously planned out for several weeks. Although the objective was simple: pull the trigger and kill him, Jessica wanted this to be a moment for the books. He was going to fall sorrowfully, emotionless and covered in cold blood. And Jessica she was going to be captured, dragged and locked into metal handcuffs.  The police would seize her - dead or alive – but she would be victorious. She was going to strut into the club – no disguise, no cover, dressed in a remarkable, low-cut dress and extremely high heels.

 Second rule to killing a guy at his birthday party in Camden: Be dramatic as hell. Curl your hair, whiten your teeth, forget the bra at home, find a black body-clinging dress, pull out the highest, sharpest heels in your closet, ride out in a yellow Maserati and hide the gun in your clutch ladies. Hide the gun in your clutch.

 Although Jessica wasn't invited to the celebration, the bouncer was most definitely going to let her in. Stephan, the huge Bernie Mac looking bouncer at the door, had an immense crush on her. She would undeniably get in for free, no security check needed, with a few leers and whistles from a couple of onlookers.

Pulling up cleanly outside of the club in her yellow Maserati, Jessica stepped out, and briskly threw her keys at the valet, who eyed her hungrily. She strutted towards the entrance and grinned seductively at Stephan, the huge Bernie Mac looking bouncer at the door. It was 11 pm and through her peripheral vision, she could tell that the club was already buzzing with activity and naked bodies.

 "Hey Stephan," she purred. "How you doin' tonight baby?"

 "Damn," He said biting his lip, taking a step back to examine her. "The beautiful Jessica Meyers. I'm straight but not as good as you, babe. You here for Jamie's shit, right? I thought ya'll broke up."

 It took literally every nerve in her body to keep from cringing at that horrendous name. Jamie.

Him.

 "Well, you know," Jessica started, rubbing her manicured nails along his chest. "We're still cool. He's still my friend at the end of the day. I'm sure he's just dying to see me."

 "Word up," Stephan grabbed her hand and kissed it. "You need a real man - like me. I'm here when you're ready to stop playing games, baby." He then kissed her cheek. "You're in for free but make sure to tip my strippers."

 "Thank you baby," She blew a kiss before strutting inside the booming lounge.

 Third rule to killing a guy at his birthday party in Camden: Get acquainted with the bouncer, make sure he knows you on a first and last name basis, blow a few kisses here and there, let him kiss your hand, flirt shamelessly, make sure you get in for free ladies. NEVER PAY. PAYING IS FOR PEASANTS.

 Sloppy Joes and Hoes was full of people of all ages and ethnicities. The main center of the club held the area where the strippers twirled and twerked around and a huge crowd of people gathered excitedly around the them. Dollars bills were being thrown fervently and ass and breasts were being shaken in the same manner.  Jessica grimaced under the flashing lights as some unintelligible mix of music blasted in the background.

 She could feel the room vibrate and then suddenly, the music eased out.  Someone tall made their way toward the glass balcony on the top floor.

 The VIP section. A spot light was placed on the man.  

 Jessica immediately recognized him as Malcolm, Jaime's best friend.

 The entire room focused their attention on him.

 He tapped on the mic before proceeding and leaned against the barrier. "Yo what's good, everyone?" He earned a few claps and cheers from the crowd.

 Jessica decided to take this opportunity to walk up the spiral stairs leading the the VIP section. She proceeded to remove her heels and seized the golden clutch from under her arms.

 "Thank you all so much for coming out tonight to celebrate my man's 27th birthday…. damn, the homie's getting old!" There was a loud murmur of laughter throughout the crowd. "What can I say about my boy Jamie? He's a little preoccupied right now, ya'll," he said, momentarily glancing over this shoulder. "He's getting a lap dance from this bad Persian chick in the back."

 Jessica rolled her eyes as she continued her way gradually up the spiral staircase.

 "I knew this guy since middle school and Jamie was always the life of the party. He was the class clown, the flyest guy on the basketball team, after me of course, and just a really dope person to be around. I really mean that sincerely. My man's is A1 and he's been with me through my hardest times…I would die for him…"

Fourth rule to killing a guy at this birthday party in Camden: Timing is essential. Be sure to make your move at the absolute, most perfect time. Also, make sure to throw a few clichés into the mix for a corny yet dramatic affect.

For example, when your exes' best friend is in the midst of making a speech for him at his birthday party in Camden and he ends the speech with, "I would die for him," take note and kill said best friend.

 That's right, go right ahead and kill him.

 See what I mean ladies? Timing is essential.

 Jessica pulled the trigger and watched in awe as Malcolm flipped over the glass railing and into the panicking and scattering crowd. There was blood smudged on the glass and she jumped slightly as the microphone slammed nosily on the ground beside him.

 She watched for half-a-second before shooting and killing the two guards that charged towards her. Everyone in the VIP section ran brashly and on top of each other as a desperate attempt to escape. Many of them, Jessica saw, faltered and stumbled down the staircase.  

 Jessica smiled wickedly as the room entire room emptied out. She flipped her hair and made her way towards the back, where Jaime would be with his whore.

 She moved slowly and dramatically, curling her bare feet against the red, plush carpeting. She grappled the Beretta Stampede pistol from inside her clutch and wrapped her fingers around the grip.

 She finally reached a door draped in deep burgundy curtains. Pulling aside the thick fabric, she grabbed the doorknob and untwisted the door. There was soft music was playing in the background.

 Jessica stood at the threshold, gaping at the scene before her. There he was…with that whore still bouncing on his lap. Apparently the room was soundproof… or maybe he was deafened by the hideous sound of a large silicon ass clapping against his thighs.

 The stripper was topless…. that whore.

 Fifth rule to killing a guy at this birthday party in Camden: You must use very sensational and offensive phrases such as, "whore," and "slut" and "hoe," and "sloppy hoe," and so on and so forth. After screaming these overly sensational and offensive phrases at the very top of your lungs, make sure to pull the trigger and shoot the lady in her back. An epic story is never complete if the antagonist doesn't kill a stripper or two.

 "You dirty whore, you slut, you hoe, you sloppy hoe, DIE!" Jessica screamed at the top of her lungs and pulled the trigger, consequently shooting the lady in her back. She watched antagonistically as the stripper fell forward, on top of Jaime, and then to the side and onto the red, plush carpet.

 Jaime made a futile attempt to wipe the blood off of his shirt. He barely glanced at the dead stripper at his feet.

 He seemed unperturbed when he looked up at Jessica. "Hey Jess, you look good." He said calmly. "Wow…You’re bold. I mean, I knew you were absolutely batshit crazy but to try and kill me on my birthday?"

 "I'm going to kill you on your birthday, you ruthless son of a bitch!" She said, walking towards him, enticingly. "I should've killed you a long time ago. How dare you, Jaime? How dare you sleep with my twin sister Bethica? I loved you. I was rooting for you; we were all rooting for you!"

 Sixth rule to killing a guy at this birthday party in Camden: Have an evil twin sister because duh…

 He rolled his eyes melodramatically. "Oh c'mon," He drawled out. "Are you on drugs or something? Who's your plug because I need some of what he's giving you. I thought she was YOU for the last time. You guys are identical for god's sake. And where is she anyways? You should be out killing her not me."

 Jessica threw her head back and laughed maniacally. "She's gone," she said, raising up her pistol. "And you'll be gone too. Any last words?"

 "You are one crazy ass bitch."

 Jessica pulled the trigger and watched frantically as the golden bullet made its way, in very slow motion, towards his throat. He died instantaneously, eyes rolling to the back of his skull, blooding spewing out of his esophagus. He slid off the chair and fell on top of the stripper.

 It was over…Jessica had killed Jamie at his birthday party in Camden and boy, did it feel astonishing.

 Taking one last glance at the gory corpses on the floor, Jessica turned around slowly, just as Angela Basset did in Waiting to Exhale after setting fire to a car. She walked away as the room lit into flames in a fiery explosion behind her.

 Final rule to killing a guy at his birthday party in Camden: After successfully murdering your ex, please will the room to burst into flames and erupt into a fiery explosion behind you. Make sure you do it just like Angela Basset did in Waiting to Exhale.

 ….and then Jessica woke up from her dream and poured herself a hot, delicious cup of tea. She sipped on that tea loudly and proudly.  

 The END.