When outsiders think of NYC, they think Manhattan. After the devastating attacks on the World Trade Center in Manhattan on September 11,2001, the American people defied Al Qaeda's wishes of breaking the American spirit and rallied behind the city of New York, namely Manhattan. In just a few years, in typical American spirit, a new 'Freedom Tower' was built that stood taller than ever and Manhattan still stands at the epicenter of a city that will never lose it's heart. Everything from billionaires on Park Avenue, to Italian mafioso on Mulberry, to the Irish gangs in Hell's Kitchen, to your local street hustler peddling smack in Harlem: Manhattan has it all.
It is a period of utter turbulence both on the streets and in the hood.
The power vacuum created by the disbandment of King Heron's abominable
organization has led to a streak of senseless violence. Brother is pitted against
brother, and blood flows from the stoops of Harlem into the Hudson.
Remnants of the old gangs, although scattered, weakened and without leadership,
wage war for what little turf they still have. In the light of the reemergence of the Guinny
scum, the hood reminisces about the days of the Almighty Black Cocaine. Most have
abandoned all hope, but the streets yearn for a new leader.
Pressed by the pigs and running out of time, Young Cocaine races back to the hood
on the subway, custodian of the plans that can save his people and restore order to the
streets. Storm clouds gather, the seer sneers in agony, the time is here. Out of the darkness
emerges the Emperor of Death to bring forth his EVIL EMPIRE...
Last edited by Young Cocaine on May 17th, 2017, 12:24 pm, edited 4 times in total.
Man it's been a fuckin' minute since I set foot in these parts. A decade to be exact. Shawshank was no joke man, but I can honestly say it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm wiser, stronger, more careful now. I spent the last ten years learning and planning. Prison was like a college. A college of crime. I learned about every single type of criminal activity under the sun. As I sat on the subway and peered out the window at the city, a calm yet painful feeling washed over me. Damn, I missed this place. I missed the streets. I missed my life. White Nikes, baggy jeans and a white tee covered my ashy body. Even in these old clothes, I felt new. I felt excited. I felt the spirit of change and the winds of freedom. I watched as the mass of people poured in and out of the subway car. It was mesmerizing. People from all walks of life, living it day to day. They had no plans. No future. Nothing worthwhile to hold on to in the world. That wasn't me though. I had it all figured out. The world would never be the same after me. I glanced out the window, something having caught my attention in the distance. It was a blimp high in the sky. It read:
"The World Is Yours..."
Gentle, warm rays of sunlight scorched my rugged face as I emerged from the underground subway station. The stink of the city hit me immediately. It was intoxicating. The stench of homelessness and depravity mingled with the stink of high class society and technology. I pulled in a deep lung full of air and basked in the glory of the early morning. It was a brand new day. A beautiful day. My first day of freedom! I could see those hardened, unforgiving, brown brick project towers imposing themselves above the surrounding city skyline though. My heart dropped. The emotion of dreadful terror mixed with the bliss of a happy homecoming, deep in my heart. Those towers made me the man I am today. They also broke my spirit and robbed me of my humanity. Those towers represented sorrow and pain. Loss and trauma. As much as I wanted to turn around and run, I just couldn't. Something in me was attached to that god forsaken place. Something deep down inside, hiding in the shadows craved the streets. It drew me ever closer, inciting me with the promises of the excitement of a gangsta's life. I bummed a cigarette off some guy to ease my nerves. I tried to choke down the butterflies in my stomach with the toxic fumes. It didn't work.
No doubt only a handful of people would remember me. I've been gone for a decade and I had to be realistic; there was no welcoming party for me. Most of the guys I used to run with were dead. Those who still walked among the living did so in chains, locked down in the penitentiary. My family, dead. My mother was a saint, but she died from a stray bullet while I was locked up. My pops, well, that's another story. I never personally met my father, but I've gotten to know him very well from the stories the OGs told about him in the hood. They say my father was one of the most notorious gangsters in all of Harlem. Shit maybe even all of New York. My pops brought the hood together, united them under one banner. He gave them a purpose, a mission, a future. He left hundreds dead in his wake and demolished all those who opposed him. There is a rumor that used to go around about him, how him and his boys brought one of the five families to near extinction. That's gangsta, I don't care what you say. Unfortunately, he was gunned down prematurely. Niggas in the hood still pray to his spirit before going out to do a homicide.
A key in the lock and a twist of a nob. I was finally back where I started. A pile of dusty mail and unpaid bill notices greeted me as I opened the door to my tiny one bedroom condo. Momma and I used to live here. Some of her belongings were still laying about. It was dark and cool, no water, no electricity. The aroma of time tickled my nostrils as I walked through and took a seat on the dust covered sofa. Damn. How time flies. Sweet nostalgia washed over my mind as my eyes teared up. I was finally home. After all these years and all this pain, my hardship has come to an end. I couldn't hold it, the emotions overwhelmed me. I cried for the past, for Momma and for my life. I felt the boulder slide off my shoulders. I felt the chains fall of my ankles. I felt the cage they had me in for so long, melt away and disappear into infinity. I sat there in the dark, musty room with not two cents to rub together, having spent what little money I got out with on a prepaid phone. I pulled a ripped piece of paper from my pocket. Two phone numbers on it. Two names next to those. Sniffling, happy but sad at the same time, I dialed the first number. Momma's warm, loving smile watched over me from an old picture on the wall. I smiled back at her.
"Ayo. I'm home."
Last edited by Young Cocaine on October 2nd, 2017, 3:44 pm, edited 10 times in total.