This is from a work-in-progress (WIP) project without a release scheduled. Enjoy this as I have more coming in the future.
I saw clouds embellishing the deep blue, partially obscuring the boundless void of space, as I faced the vast expanse of the sky. They drifted like wisps of cotton candy, delicate and ethereal, spreading thin in some places yet forming dense cumulus formations directly above me. The sky seemed both a sheltering dome and a boundless frontier, a paradox of confinement and freedom waiting for a majestic bird to spread its wings across to fly away.
The asphalt beneath me was unforgiving. Hard, uneven, and the sole barrier between me and the dirt. Each rough edge and grain of gravel pressed into my skin, a stark reminder of my vulnerability. It felt as though I was filling in a cosmic sandwich, with the asphalt as the cheese below and the sky as the expansive, infinite bread above.
Why was I lying on the ground? It was the force of Zane Reubens’ right cross that had put me there. It was the first time he and I had met face-to-face. The impact of his punch had sent me sprawling, a vivid blur of pain and disorientation. This was our first encounter, a brutal initiation that left an indelible mark. As I lay there, staring up at the heavens, I felt the weight of the moment pressing down on me, shaping the very essence of what was to come.
I recalled one of the last conversations I had with my father just a few years before, thinking while I was on my back about writing checks with your mouth that your butt can’t cash. Certainly, I had done so on this day. Even though he didn’t knock me out, I remained aware of the situation. The words he yelled while standing over me told a very different story than the one I had sold previously. I had never been hit that hard in my life. Gesturing to my new girlfriend that he was a better man for her than me, I felt disrespected. The first punch he threw, I was able to avoid. However, the second punch put me down. Once I hit the ground, I kept my eyes on him as he gloated over me. While his attention was mainly aimed at his Brotherhood, I knew I needed to make a statement.
By then, Montell and I had told our girlfriends, their younger sisters, and friends we met to retreat to their house before the confrontation could continue. My cousin and I were on a walk with our girlfriends, Rachelle and Brielle. We have both agreed to ensure that the girls left the area so we could protect them. Montell, two hundred fifty pounds of fury at fourteen, was initially timid to create a cloud of dust with the Brotherhood. But the moment he saw me sit up like the Undertaker or Jason Voorhees, my once shy and reserved cousin transformed into what we would later nickname him: the beast.
Montell surged forward with a primal roar. His momentum drove Zane Reubens backward and away from me, nearly knocking him off his feet. The sheer force of the shove sent a ripple of shock through the gathering crowd. As I scrambled to my feet, fire coursing through my veins, three members of the Brotherhood closed in on me with menacing intent. They moved in unison, a well-practiced formation meant to intimidate and overwhelm. Their eyes gleamed with a predatory gleam, but they underestimated my will. My feet danced across the asphalt with a fluid grace, evading their strikes and lunges. It wasn’t about overpowering them, but outmaneuvering them with speed and finesse. Floating like a butterfly, my movements were almost as legendary as Muhammad Ali’s, a blur of motion that kept them off balance.
Montell, too, faced the onslaught with a fierce determination. His raw strength and unyielding spirit were palpable as he grappled with Zane. Before the two could throw fists to test each other’s defiance and resilience, we found ourselves standing side by side, a united front against the Brotherhood. The dissonance of the battle surrounded us, the sounds of grunts, shouts, and pushing and shoving creating a symphony of chaos. It was our very first Brotherhood battle, and we were engulfed in it. Every sense heightened, every muscle taut. At that moment, we were fighting not just for survival but for our identity and the unyielding spirit that defined us.
“You had to open your big mouth,” Montell said as the Brotherhood circled us. “We’ve got to fight our way out. Are you ready?”
“I was born on 24/7. I was born ready,” I whispered.
Be A Man Universe 