Houston, Texas, The Miraj Residence
Mission: Heist, Beyoncé's Pov
One Cool Spring Night
It was nothing to get my hands on a few smartphones, to clear em out and sell them for a few blues. If I was lucky, I'd sucker someone out their sneakers, clean them up, and sell them to the next fool like they were flyest set of kicks this week. Easily half a band made, yet a few hundreds just wasn't enough anymore. So I did what the next misguided individual would, went for bigger.
Next up were the valuables. Chains, watches, rings, and any loose jewelry I was able to clutch onto. A talented mack, sweet talking my way into the next band. All it took was a grasp of the palm, a simple pat on the back, genuine finesse.
Victim to my environment, I'd picked up the disease keen to killing my people. When the youngin' was down on their luck, struggling to keep things upright, this was their turn to. I was no different.
Father had played with his mortality, thinking he was invincible. Yet as much as the tyke me would love to agree, the lead took him. Mother had been ill for quite some time, a real trooper as she made me question how one could toy with their life line. She showed me true power, her strength beyond legend the way she went through each day as if it wouldn't be her last. If only she could have deceived Death himself.
Their words live on in my memory, to stay grounded and strong no matter the feat, ever genuine to myself, and thus my crown would never fall.
My closest spiral was her passing, my world felt inhabitable. I cried countless hours, the event that I'd lost both of my parents was incomprehensible. They say these events happen for a reason, yet what lesson was I supposed to learn from it?
Father's death was bearable with the aid of my mother, then the universe tries to test my strength with cutting her strings. Lost and vulnerable, I was thankful for their honorable teachings before I was deemed worthy of being alone. Their words keeping me sane in the darkest of times.
My actions were only a mere result of public design, I was given a hand deemed impossible of victory yet I had managed to survive. These quests kept me from going hungry, kept me from going cold.
With that tragedy came bills, and bills needed to be paid. School was the least of my worries when it came to a roof over my head, so bye went my college fund. Once my home was secured, the extra money went into groceries. Empty pockets wouldn't do me any good in this new life of mine, so I scavenged the streets for cash.
What had been a simple hobby became work. Rise, grind, and repeat. For four years I had been keeping my life secure, I stayed true to the principles advised to me in my youth, and still I failed.
Bills, bills, bills, they needed to be paid, which required more money. More money that I was struggling to keep in clutch. This way of life was temporary and I'd only scuffed the surface.
I learned that the moment I tried my luck with the dice of immortality and came face to face with 125 millimeters of stainless steel, inside looked to be about 10 rounds, held by a man with a motive to kill. This was the test of a lifetime, one I'd brought upon myself the second I walked inside his home with the intent to loot.
"Mothafuckas think they can just waltz up in yo shit nowadays," He muttered, finger itching to pull the trigger, "Bold move, trying to steal from me."
