DREAM GIRL

harsh reality

MICHAEL J. JACKSON
HOUSTON, TX
𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀

In the jungle, the male lion will kill his own son if he feels he's being threatened. They will fight to the death and if we're being honest, the cub had no fighting chance to begin with. The father lion outweighed him, outsmarted him, already winning by a simple physical comparison. The only thing that'll be able to save the son, is the son's own intellect. Can he think fast on his feet and escape the dangerous claws of his father, or will he give up and succumb to the inevitable fate?

Lion King was a myth. A stupid story made by a love-deprived boy who craved the approval of their father. A dad wouldn't die for his son. No. A dad will kill their own son and feel no remorse. A mother will watch her child be gutted at the hands of his own, and probably shed a few tears. Yet, she won't do anything to save that baby.

Let's flip the script for a moment. Say, the son defeats the father. The son will be exiled from the family, shunned by those he loved the most, and forced to live amongst the outcasts. It would be a lose-lose situation. The son gets no happy ending unless he loses his own mind and follows his father's every demand, request, and teaching.

Getting a happy ending meant losing yourself and becoming the very thing that destroyed you. Winning meant tricking and hurting those who love you the most. Winning meant fucking over the one person that loved you more than life.

Winning meant destroying trust.

Since Michael was a child, winning was his only option. By any means, he had to win.

Michael and his father sat on both ends of the long rectangular table staring at each other with the same wicked look on their faces. As much as Michael denied it, he and his father were parallels. So different, but justafuckinglike. They shared the same menacing scowl and the same short fuse.

Their every move was mirrored. Joe lifted his arm onto the table to rest his chin on his fist, and Michael did the same. He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow, Michael simultaneously did the same.

"What did you want to speak to me about Joe?" Michael broke the silence, feeling like time was being wasted. He looked the same way he looked 19 years ago, there was no reason to sit and stare in each other's faces. Joe cleared his throat once again and brought his small glass of bourbon to his lips.

"The girl" he grunted out, almost choking from the burning feeling in his throat. Michael sat straight up and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. "Stephanie?" He questioned feeling his heart race.

Joseph scoffed and waved his hand. "Not that useless, gold-digging whore" he dismissed receiving a sharp glare from Michael. That was all he could do, make faces. If he dared open his mouth to protest, the glass Joseph clutched in his hands would be shattered in Michael's face.

He knew that would happen because it's happened before.

"She's useless. Drop her" Joseph stated simply as he placed his glass down. There was a certain smirk on his face as he locked eyes with Michael. It was a daring one. A sadistic smirk. Waiting for Michael to make the wrong move so he can have an excuse to beat the boy to a pulp. "Useless? I— she loves me" Michael stuttered out at a loss for words.

"The whole world does son. You don't need a two-dollar tramp to do that for you."

Michael let out a laugh in disbelief as he slouched in the seat, running his hands through his thick Afro. "You're being ridiculous Joseph—."

"And you're being fucking stupid boy!" Joseph shouted as he slammed his heavy hands down on the wooden table. Michael jumped as tears swelled in his doe eyes. He squeezed them shut and took deep breaths with his jaw clenched. The silence was deafening, allowing Michael to hear his insides pulsing. "That whore doesn't do anything for you. The world doesn't care about Stacy Miller. She isn't doing anything but... I can't think of one thing she does for you. For your career."