HOLLYWOODS

Aa

Prologue
•••

Autism.

That's what they claimed I had.

After eight years of beating my ass, expecting some sorta' remarkable change outta' me, Mac finally decided to get me a therapist.

He didn't believe in that shit. None of them believed in that shit- not until word soared the city that the kid sitting on the thrown was adopting his mothers mental illnesses.

A few months later, they claimed I was non-verbal.

Now that, that was funny as shit.

Mac was so furious, shaking the 'illness' out of me, daily, in fear of the downfall of his empire.

I was his only child and years ago, he learned his drastic sperm count was nothing more of zero.

He didn't have the time or resources to replace his bastard son, so he dealt with me accordingly.

Hell, I was fuckin' pissed when I found out myself. The last thing I wanted was that nagging voice, of his, demanding me to exceed his wishes.

He wanted me to prove to the city I wasn't a bitch. That I was ready to take his 'place.'

Back then, and even now, he was the richest nigga in Richards Valley. Keeping that title meant years of brutal violence, backstabbing, and unwarranted abuse to the community.

The underlying, significant, issue was the fact that people in the industry were stepping on his toes.

They only felt comfortable enough to push their limits because I wasn't doing shit and Mac was growing old of age, barely able to protect himself without his men.

I knew that nigga was rolling in dark piss every night, aware that my mind was a complete copy of his when pertaining this city, our weaponry, our alliances, drug deals, and most importantly; money.

He was the only one who knew that I knew every back road, every underground tunnel, every pop-up shot, like the back of my hand.

Fuck around and call me Harriet Tubman, the way I could set these niggas free from this shitty ass city.

He was the only one who knew I had perfect aim with both hands, and was well acquainted with every gun and knife.

I just didn't do shit.
And that pissed him off.

After a while, the therapist claimed I had mommy issues.

They could call me all types of disabled shit. Hell, they can even treat me like it, but I draw the line at mommy issues.

Something about them bringing up that woman..

That woman Yasmin.

It just did something to me.

I learned a lot about my dad during my times of silence. One of those things being how selfish he was.

The truth was, I wasn't Autistic and I wasn't no non-verbal nigga, either.

I was just mentally exhausted and spent most of my days lost in thought. Simply, ruminating on the past.