Unloved: Journey Through Hell: Urban Chronicles, #0

By Jae S Blaque

In the hard-fisted game of drugs no-body wins.

Tyson grew up fast. Raised in Da Yard, a housing project, he learned the game of survival while his cousin Romero, raised in suburban comfort, lost himself in the streets Tyson wanted to escape. Trapped in circumstances, the cousins formed a bond that hurled them into an uncertain future.

Painted in the poetry of the ghetto, Unloved is the tale of America's black man child struggling for manhood in a world that counts them out. Dealing with questions of family, friends and love, this story explores and illuminates the reality of the streets as never told before.

Jae S. Blaque creates a riveting landscape filled with peril at every stroll down city blocks from Allah born to New Yiddy. UNLOVED sheds light on the realities faced by the black family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jae S Blaque
• Release date: Dec 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781393462385

Jae S Blaque

Jae S Blaque is the pseudonym of Jason Thomas, two time fellon, owner of a Bachelor's Degree in Criminal Justice. Twice convicted for drug crimes, he used his incarceration to rethink on the posibilities of life, living and relationships. 

Book preview

In the hard-fisted game of drugs no-body wins.

Tyson grew up fast. Raised in Da Yard, a housing project, he learned the game of survival while his cousin Romero, raised in suburban comfort, lost himself in the streets Tyson wanted to escape. Trapped in circumstances, the cousins formed a bond that hurled them into an uncertain future.

Painted in the poetry of the ghetto, Unloved is the tale of America’s black man child struggling for manhood in a world that counts them out. Dealing with questions of family, friends and love, this story explores and illuminates the reality of the streets as never told before.

Jae S. Blaque creates a riveting landscape filled with peril at every stroll down city blocks from

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Allah born to New Yiddy. UNLOVED sheds light on the realities faced by the black family.

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This story is a fact based fiction of the author's imagination. Any characters, persons or institutions alive or dead, is purely coincidence.

Dedicated to my own man-children: Dashan Reed Thomas and Jahmien Marquis Webb Thomas; my nephews Gavin and Ziare, and all my nieces.

A special shout to my physicals: The Thomas boyz and my niggaz from de Yard who made it what it was.

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Prologue

Kicking and screaming his way into the world, a man-child is born.

The baby was richly dark in complexion with piercing black eyes that in later years would penetrate souls to their very core.

The mother, proud, young and attractive, if a bit miserable, held the squirming man-child tightly to her bosom. Tears of sadness and joy intermingled to shadow her beautiful features. Her sadness was marked by the absence of a father to raise her son. The joy was borne of the baby, a mirror image of his incarcerated father. A single parent living in a housing development called Da Yard. The birth of the child portended the future.

The same way he came into the world is the same energy that kept her up nights in her last

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trimester clawing his way, fighting to escape the confinement of a womb that trapped him like a prison cell.

The poverty of the young mother’s existence would profoundly influence her man-child’s future, determining his choices.

Fourteen months later.

The quiet of the private hospital room is shattered by the sound of a baby’s behind being slapped, and the wails coming from his tiny throat.

Here is another man-child with inquisitive light brown eyes. In contrast to the baby born fourteen months earlier, his transition from the womb is tranquil.

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His father’s smile spread the warmth of love to envelope both his son and the attractive young mother cradling him, cooing in joy.

For this baby the future is secure. The proud parents live on a quite street block in a city gone wild with drugs, murder, and widespread crack addiction. But the child’s life will be sheltered, protected by the comfort of well to do professionally employed parents.

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Chapter one: 14 years later...

Bustling activity vibrates the concrete of this jungle.

The area is pulsing with life as the sun, still hot, succumbs to the approach of evening.

Children and adults alike move about in front of the building called da Center, an octagonal shaped edifice plopped down in the middle of the housing project called :Da Yard" by its residents.

A lanky youth stood against the still warm concrete of da Center watching with eyes used to the anything goes atmosphere of the drug culture. A steady parade of crack heads, wannabe hustlers, and the desolate march in search of a hit; a sale; or handout from hustlers rolling in dough like Tasty cakes.

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Witnessing the slap of a grown ass man’s face by a boy not much older than himself, the youth shook his head and chuckled. Not with glee, but sadness as the grown man pled for another chance. All his old ass got was a scolding for running off with a twenty dollar rock.

Use to the non-stop drama, and often comedic scenarios, the lanky youth did not take joy from it. A sensitive, above average intelligence gave him the bearing of a mature adult at fourteen.

In the next blink- the sound of gunfire erupted, scattering the crowded area. People screamed and ran in search of temporary shelter only to re-emerge scant moments later once the smoke cleared.

False alarm: some knucklehead busting shots into the air for attention.

The lanky youth never even blinked.

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Such outbursts are all a part of growing up in the projects where you had to expect the unexpected and be prepared for the worst.

Anything could happen.

And often did.

The chatter of people rose to a nervous pitch once the excitement of the erupting gun shots died down. A steady stream of customers picked up in volume as the lightness of day gave way to the deepening shadows from nearby buildings and da Center itself.

The youth against the wall is brought alert by a lone figure coming toward "the spot. It was his mother.

Walking in a determined gait, intent on her destination, Yo-Yo has eyes only for her need.

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Unemployed, but a nurse by profession, she is fast losing her soul, if not her beauty to the crack pipe. Fortunate for her, she is still very attractive.

Hey Du-Shan, can I talk to you for a sec? Yo-Yo smiled seductively, oblivious to her son less than 30 feet away. "You holding?’

Du-Shan, 16, light complexioned and near 6’ wearing a brown Sean John outfit and tan Diesel boots walked close enough to her to smell her last meal like he owned her. Which in a way he did, or rather the crack swelling in his pockets did.

Yo, what up shorty? Du-shan asked, running a lone finger across her breasts, to much giggling but no protest.

You know, said Yo-Yo, a practiced shyness to her features. Can I have a little something?

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Have something? Damn shorty, this ain’t da fuck’n charity," said Du-Shan.

I know. Come to my house and I’ll do something for you, she promised.

I’m mad busy right now. I can’t just bounce shorty. Too much fuck’n paper coming thru, said Du-Shan.

Com’n Du. Just for a few minutes, begged Yo-Yo, using another tactic, her little girl lost voice, wetting her lips slowly and making her eyes go wide.

Du-Shan still had his finger on her breasts. Tell you what. You got five minutes. If you can’t make it happen, you owe me, he said as both turned in the direction of her apartment.

The lanky youth observed the interplay between mother and dealer. Eyes knowing, heart lurching beneath his champion sweatshirt. He hated

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that she used drugs and messed with young guys, but was unable to do anything about it.

Nearly as tall as Du-Shan, but too light in the ass to pick a fight with him, the young boy resolved to one day get his mother away from the projects, and drugs.

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Chapter two

Travelling Southbound on the north-way, a very much in love married couple were returning from an anniversary get-away, two hours before the sun gave up it’s light on this warm summer day.

Once a year on, or about the date