Warning: This story contains language, violence, and adult content. Read at your own risk.
Synopsis: Him, a harcore gangster trying to stay alive, and her, a rich girl trying to make the world a better place. How will things end when their two completely opposite worlds collide?
Prologue
The 24-hour convenience store's sign flickered on and off. He didn't have to look up to see the red and blue sirens flashing from the top of the police car; he saw its reflection on a puddle in the street. The steady
thump of his Tim's hitting the ground was rythmic with his heart pounding against his ribcage. He walked faster as the squad car slowed down. As the automobile rushed away after a moment, he let go of the breath he was holding and trudged along, pulling his baseball cap further down to cover his face. It was pitch-black outside yet he couldn't afford being followed. He took a sharp right turn and broke into a sprint, heading toward the alleyway he knew the group would be in. He slowed down, not wanting to alarm any of the members. One of them, a lean but strong Hispanic girl was hitting a figure in the center with a bat.
Antoine, a tall, burly African-American walked towards him and they hugged thug-style. "Jaryn, you're late man," he said.
"Yeah well, I got caught up," Jaryn responded, taking his cap off, and surveyed the scene. They were all there: all thirty of them, and most were beating up a man in the center. Jaryn could tell it wouldn't be long before the flag held in his hand would fall to the ground, and the man to his doom. That small colorful flag...it meant everything. It was a symbol that separated you from who you were as an individual to who you could be with a family. That's what they were: a family. In others' eyes, they were a gang.
Jaryn's green eyes watched the man who wanted to join them. He was the complete opposite of how Jaryn was at his initiation. He thought back three years earlier...
He was standing there tall and proud, his fingers curled tightly around the small flag that had the gang's colors painted on it.
They were all around him, and in his current situation, they seemed double the number they actually were. He licked his dry lips and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Despite himself, he was nervous. He didn't know whether in half an hour he would be alive or dead. It was that moment right there that would be defining his future, his life itself, its meaning and goals. This is what he'd chosen, and was willing to go along with whatever they told him. If they had to beat him up to within an inch of his life just so he could join them, so be it.
His eyes met Antoine's, his best friend, the African-American who was standing there with a quiet look in his eyes. Antoine was one of them. Soon, the young man standing in the center would be too.
Antoine gave him a barely perceptible nod, and Jaryn nodded back, expressionless, unwilling to show any fear.
This was what he'd wanted ever since he'd met Antoine two years ago and discovered the other man was actually in a gang. And not just that...He was second-in-command to the leader, who was still alive back then.
"You understand the rules?" the gang-leader asked him, eyebrows raised, and he nodded without hesitation. "Well then, let's see what you've got. Antoine," he addressed Antoine who was standing next to him, and jerked his head toward their soon-to-be latest addition.
And so it started. It was Antoine who landed the first punch. After that, they just kept coming. Left and right, whichever body part they could get their fists on. There were around ten of them, but he felt as if they were fifty. Like animals clawing at their prey.
No mercy, no compassion...Nothing at all.
Not a word. He couldn't even put an arm up to shield himself. The flag remained clutched tightly in his hand, and halfway through the ordeal he was struggling not to drop it. He couldn't afford to.
It was pure torture. Even death had to be better than this. In his numb state-of-mind, he wished they'd just kill him and get it over with. He felt like he was being ripped apart, and every part of him was broken. It couldn't be...this body wasn't his, all that blood splattered about on the ground wasn't his, those sounds of bones cracking as if they were mere twigs...they weren't his.
But right then, thankfully, it stopped. Head spinning, he collapsed onto the ground, his body aching and bruised up in every possible way. He doubted his face was even recognizable anymore. In a moment of unclearness, he hoped Scottie wouldn't freak out too much. Eyes barely open, he turned his head to the right and saw the flag he still had clasped, and didn't even have the energy to smile. He was alive, but barely. But it's all that mattered...He was alive. He proved them all wrong and survived the initiation.
"Jaryn...Jaryn it's over," Antoine was saying, bending over him. "You did good man, I'm proud'a'ya."
Jaryn blinked slowly, the gang-members' feet going in and out of focus before his eyes. A pair of enormous feet slowly stepped forward; Jaryn didn't have to look up to see who it was.
"He's in," the leader proclaimed, nodding in approval.
Sick with relief, Jaryn closed his eyes and gave in to the darkness, finally loosening his numb fingers and letting the flag clatter onto the concrete.
Jaryn awoke from his trance when he saw the flag hit the ground. Antoine came up to him and said, "You know the drill."
Jaryn knew of course. He took out his gun from his back-pocket and pointed it at the man. The crouching figure squinted his barely-open eyes at Jaryn.
"No, please..."
Jaryn couldn't help but respond soberly, "The difference between you and I is that you're the one on the ground begging for your life, and I'm the one holding the gun."
He pulled the trigger and whispered, "If the tables were turned, you would have done the same." He turned around and walked to Antoine, who only nodded for the rest of them to follow.
The gang left, leaving the man's body there to decay.
Link to Chapter One: In The Streets of Harlem - Chapter 1
-Chris and Sal.