Surviving the Valley- Murda She Wrote

1. Angels

"𝙇𝙖𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨! 𝙇𝙖𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨! 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙬𝙤𝙮! 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠, 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙮... 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚." Murda has been rushed into the hospital, now being flown down the halls on a rolling bed. his eyelids grow heavy, and it's visibly becoming harder for him to breathe or stay present.

"𝙄 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚, 𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙮? 𝙆𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙚𝙢' 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮."

Cliff says, cupping his cheek with one hand and squeezing his left hand with her other. Cliff often disguises her vulnerability around him, she's usually scared to be scared, not just with him, but with everybody. Any other time, she's strong and firm but tonight? She has no real control over her emotions and it shows. She's scared, she knows it, Murda knows it... hell, the whole hospital could hear it. At this very moment, we can't say she's dramatic, Lil Murda had been shot after all, but girl, does she put on a show. She gathers herself when she realizes Murda needed her in this moment, just as much as she needs him in this life. He's become a part of her daily routine, her biggest cheerleader and her greatest help. whether it's cooking her breakfast, going to the pharmacy to pick up Granmuva's prescriptions, helping around the house, showing up for The Pynk or showing up for 𝙝𝙚𝙧. This was no longer some 'amazon delivered dick' or a sneaky link in the paradise room, but her partner. Murda is her companion. The five months they took apart felt like a lifetime, she couldn't imagine how an actual lifetime apart would truly feel. She needed him, and he needed her. And though she refused to ever say it aloud, he was her greatest love.

Murda had only ever seen Cliff like this the day Ernestine tried to swim Mississippi's waters. She doesn't do as much as shake around him, so he knew she was genuinely afraid. Despite the blood gushing out his right side and him possibly being moments from seeing God himself, he only carries hurt in his heart for the woman in front of him rather pain in his wound or fear in his eyes for the angel of death. Death no longer scared Murda, by the time he was 15, he figured he'd be gone before he was legally old enough to hit a club. Whether it be by the hands of the nasty men he'd deal with tryna make a quick buck, or by the fate of the streets. "𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙜𝙪𝙝 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙮" he'd tell himself. He accepted the idea of getting caught up in the street life, but he didn't necessarily chase it, cause' it came knocking at his front door.

With his street lovin' momma in and out of them and his life since he reached double digits and a dead beat daddy who deceased in real time, he was left in his lonely and misguided, living with his grandmama. He would find himself in some trouble, but he was far from dumb, that of books or the Chucalissa jungle he was raised in. He never brought below a B home, and he was quick with math. Always aced a trigonometry test and according to his english teachers, he was one hell of a writer. Despite this, he never believed he'd amount out to much, let alone be living his new found dream as a rapper. But things changed. He fell in love, created a new reality for himself, and reimagined his future.

He squeezed Cliff's hand back, fighting back grunts from the burning pain in his stomach. Those who didn't know him wouldn't think a thing in the world was wrong. He appeared calm, this obviously wasn't his first near death experience. But two of the people he loved the most in this life jogged beside his hospital bed. Not to mention, two of the people that knew him the most intimate. His homeboy-turned brother, and the love of his life. They knew it took everything in him to not let his emotions paint his face. It was no secret to them that Murda was one emotional nigga.

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙜𝙪𝙝, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙." Woddy affirms him, as he chases after the moving bed, sneaking a look at Cliff. it being his first time ever really seein' her in the face. A masked doctor motions the others towards the doors of what looks like an operation room. "𝙎𝙞𝙧, 𝙬𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢, 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬" They zoom the bed through the double doors, forcing Cliff and Woddy to let go. "𝙒𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣' 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙒𝙚'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚." Woddy shouts.

Woddy was used to death. He'd seen countless deaths as a child, after all, he was raised in its secondary home. His folks ran the city's best funeral home, and he had been walking with the dead since his feet could move. With that being said, he wasn't the greatest at being sentimental with such a topic. Perhaps it wasn't the most ideal for a child to help babysit the dead for their family's day of mourning. Some would say he was strange. A funny nigga for sure, but he did weird shit like... sleep in caskets or play hide in seek in the embalming room. It took a lot to make his nerves bad or to phase him emotionally in such circumstances. This was different though. This was Murda. Not having brothers growing up, they became brothers to each other. They loved each other and surely protected each other as such. This was deeper than being his manager, or chasing a bag, this was somebody he deeply loved, took care of, and killed for.

Cliff and Woddy stand side by side in the hospital's hallway, lookin' to each other for a slither of hope. Cliff's eyes has swelled with tears at this point. She forces her left hand down from shaking with her right and fights her own feet from tumbling over from the her own overwhelming thoughts. "𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙬 𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙙." she exhales shakily. She feels a warm but unfamiliar touch from her left side. "𝙃𝙚'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝘾𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙛." a deep voice spurts out, his eyes lookin everywhere but towards her. He feels a lot of the emotions she feels, himself. He figured somebody had to be strong though, why couldn't it be him? Woddy gives her shoulder a few comforting rubs, before walking away.