I Let My Brother Kill My Mother - Part I

By Karif Battle

Yea, I know, incomprehensible, but hear me out, there's more to it than that. Let me ask you something: What are your thoughts on the supernatural? You know, ghosts and shnit like that. Interesting. What do you know about the 1990s? Right on. Come a little closer. I have one more question and it's crucial. You bothered by stories containing gangs, sex, violence and family trauma? Brilliant. Let me tell you about a lost boy named Fox.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theoretical Fiends
• Release date: Jan 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781734759945

Book preview

I Let

My Brother

KILL

My Mother

Part I

Karif Battle

Theoretical Fiends

Moreno Valley, CA

Copyright © 2020 by Karif Battle

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address Theoretical Fiends.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

I Let My Brother Kill My Mother—Part I—1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-7347599-0-7 Paperback

ISBN 978-1-7347599-1-4 Hardcover

ISBN 978-1-7347599-2-1 Kindle

ISBN 978-1-7347599-4-5 EPUB

ISBN 978-1-7347599-3-8 Audio

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021917996

For information, address:

Theoretical Fiends

Moreno Valley, CA

www.theoreticalfiends.com

For Mom, Grandma, Cheryl McDavid and Ms. Mary

––––––––

Fuck them and their mommas

―Cynthia Battle

Table of Contents

Jungle Juice

Manhood

Happy Birthday

Sigil

No Pets

No Thanx

Motor Running

Suck On That

My Prerogative

Come In

Te i am

Potnas

Dinner Theatre

Roleplay

Guilty

Pillow Talk

Periwinkle

Break

Epoch

Look Ma No Hands

All Growns Up

Third Wheel

Scream Cream

Strange

Scarlet

Double Jeopardy

Duality

Monkey Branching

Back to School

Robo Fox

The Vapors

Ghost

Gladiator

Unfettered Fetish

Villains

Ego

Love or Lust

Measure Twice

Thug Angel

Dear Momma

Trigger

Click

Clack

Boom

Aftermath

Classics

Chance

Residue

Anticipation

Gang Gang

Death Style

Gargamel

Poppin Con

Trick

Inhibitors

Sorry

Adrenaline

Summer Bridge

Perfect Strangers

Thank You

Decapods

2wice Bit

Polygraph

Those People

Misfits

Drinking While Drunk

Much Better

Mark

Savage

No Fear

Jungle Juice

In the mirror is a face, not my own. Goosebumps tighten my flesh as the bitter cold twists within. Jasmine knew damn well I didn’t want a party, but she threw one anyway. Now I have to wait before I can get laid. The music is rattling the bathroom window, yet I can still hear her flirting with the party crashers. I can’t let her know I’m jealous. That’s for weak men — but jealous I am. It’s pissing me off so much that Barafu won’t go away, so I’m stuck in here until I can calm down.

I put the long-necked bottle of rotgut to my lips and swig it hard.

Knock. Knock.

Fox, you in there? Stokely asks with a deep slur.

Yea, tell Jasmine to come here, I respond, annoyed. I take one more gulp of my drink.

Hey, babe. You need me? Hearing my wife’s sultry voice gives me an idea. The face in the mirror returns to normal as my nature rises. I snatch the door open, pull her in, and...

Blackout.

A searing electric guitar wails as two legendary rappers claim to be natural-born killers. I’m in the bedroom, insanely drunk and alone. Where’s Jasmine? I get up and damn near fall on my face. The party sounds bigger. I peek out into the living room with growing anxiety. My college friends have been replaced by roughneck strangers. One in particular earns my focus. He has a Grouchy Smurf neck tattoo, and an ankh wrapped around a blue rag on his wrist. I close the door and sit down. How the hell did our apartment get filled with gang members? Anger replaces fear. I start feeling cold. The Mandinka knife on the dresser beckons. I grab it and head for the door...

Blackout.

I’m standing in the crowded living room, freezing and gripping my weapon tight. The toxic bowl of jungle juice is half gone, and everybody has a cup. Freeloadin’ muthafukkkas. A few of the invaders notice me and the mob gets quiet.

Wassup? a dude shouts with attitude from the couch. When I turn, I see him trying to get up, so I draw back, preparing to push the steel through his guts. Then I hear a faint voice from behind as the knife handle begins to burn, so I drop it. Cusswords explode all around me...

Blackout.

A blurry light is blinking on and off in my right eye. I can’t move. There’s pressure pulsing on the right side of my head. When my vision clears, the mystery is solved. Two guys are holding me down and another is trying to cave my face in. I need to do something, so I start making gurgling sounds. I hear a woman scream in the distance, Stop. You’re gonna kill him. They let me go.

I find myself lying on the front porch steps, then get up and wobble-run into the apartment. I hear chuckling behind me. I spin around and yell, Fukkk y’all, then turn, trip, and hit the ground face first. Their laughter explodes as I struggle to my feet and slam the door. Where the fukkk is my knife? The search leads me to the bathroom, where I find Herman curled up in the corner.

He’s clutching a bag full of joints with terror on his face. A moment of clarity emerges: Before I discovered liquor, I was a goodie-two-shoes college kid just like him. Now, with drink-in-hand, I’m a badass and he’s terrified of me. Hell yeah. It feels damn good to be feared, especially after looking like a slapstick idiot.

I run into the bedroom, still looking for my blade. Damn. Not here either. Then Jasmine comes in from somewhere and hands it to me. Where the fukkk... ? Ah, who gives a shit. I run back into the living room and smash the antique dagger through the front window.

Fukkk y’all, this is Wick Street Crip gang, bitch.

An uproar deafens me. The angry horde rushes the door. You bitches can’t do shit, I shout behind the deadbolt. That’s when bricks and rocks come smashing through the remaining windows and my misinformed confidence. The rage in their voices grows louder.

Highrollers, they yell.

I fukkked up. A window shatters to my left. I spin around to see a short dude pointing a gun at me. You wanna die on your birthday, muthafukkka? I put my hands up and drop the knife. I’m instantly sober and staring down the barrel of what looks like a 380. Acceptance replaces my anger. I brace myself for the bullet that will push my brains out the back of my head in a pink spray...

Blackout.

Manhood

I’m lying on the floor in the dark. I must be dead. I can’t remember much, but I do remember that dude’s face. He was pissed off. And why wouldn’t he be? I claimed to be from a gang that killed his homeboys. Surrounded by his peers and plenty of hot women, there’s no way he didn’t blow my brains out.

It’s too dark here to be heaven, so this must be hell. But where’s the devil? Maybe the Father of Lies has to wait for me to wake up before he can drag me into the pit? Oh God, please help me. Please save me, God. Please.

Pow. Pow. Pow.

I yelp and roll over in terror as broken glass bites me. My heart is beating on my eardrums as I try to sink into the floor for cover. That’s not going to work. I’m in the middle of the gotdamn living room floor, unarmed and surrounded by busted windows. I slink over to the bedroom, real low, with glass crunching underfoot. Jasmine is sound asleep. She’s used to this kind of shit, but I’m not, and my shaking hands are the proof. I want to wake her up and retreat to my mother’s house — but I can’t. I don’t want my wife to know how petrified I am. I love her, but there are other truths about myself I don’t ever plan on sharing and not being a tough guy is one of them. Plus, Mom and I don’t get along anymore.

I’m not sure what to do, but I know I need a drink. I move low to the fridge and feel a little safer when a glint on the counter catches my eye. It’s my ancestral blade. Thank God those idiots don’t know anything. Otherwise, they would have stolen this for real. Mmm. Holding my Mandinka knife makes me feel like a warrior. I slide down behind cover on the cold kitchen tiles with my bottle of booze and start plotting. I’m in perfect position for an ambush. They’ll have to come through here and when they do, I’ll gut the first one, grab his gun and shoot the others.

Pow. Pow. Pow.

My teeth click as I flinch and lie flat. Shit, that was closer. The sound of real gunfire outside replaces my courageous plan with the shivering truth. I’m a punk and those dudes are going to kill me. They have to. I claimed a rival gang. One angry lie, and now I’m going to die.

Happy Birthday

Fox, wake up, Jasmine says, standing over me with a smile. Shit. How did I fall asleep with death lurking outside? I sit up and an empty bottle rolls across the kitchen floor. Why did you sleep in here?

I can’t tell her the truth, so I say, That jungle juice is strong, babe. We glance at the empty bottle of non-jungle-juice before staring at each other in awkward silence. Then she smirks.

You have fun last night?

Her t-shirt and panties coupled with gorgeous thighs captivate me. Yeah, but anyway, you’re looking damn good this morning, I say with elevator eyes. Let’s go see about that kitty. She blushes a bit.

It’s too late for all that. You gotta get to class.

What? Did she just say no? Jazzy never says no. Hell, the other day we did it in the park and got caught by some dude and his kid. But we kept going anyway.

Don’t worry, baby, she says, looking away. It’ll be oven hot and waiting for you after class. She reaches under her shirt to rub her stomach. The full view of her satin panties makes me want to drop out of school.

Oh, you wanna play? Alright, let’s play. I get up and move closer. Her eyelids lower. I’m the man. I’m in control. Nose to nose, I reach around and cup her butt cheek, then kiss her softly. She’s breathing quicker, so I squeeze harder, kiss deeper, then back up and say, Yeah, alright.

Frustration flashes in her eyes as she smiles and hits me on the arm. Now that’s game. Then