The Price ࿊f Peace

☮️: 001

Somewhere in Oakland
Monday April 15th, 2024

"E. Roy!"

Elijah's head whipped back to see his closest friend, Samiron, and one of his associates walking down sidewalk in the direction of his house.

His face was a natural mug as he spared him a nod, turning his head back to where he was pulling weeds from his backyard garden.

They had overgrown while he was in the pen, much to his dismay. He had started a garden in his backyard, planting fruits and vegetables galore. Unfortunately, when he went in, no one was taking care of it, so some of his crops died. He would have to start some of it over.

Samiron never made fun of his affinity for plants. He understood it. That's why they were friends.

In first grade, when the class garden had been started, he let Elijah take his plant since he was more interested in playing basketball at recess.

The two boys had grown to be something like brothers or cousins. Their mothers knew each other and they had known each other since birth.

Elijah, or Abir's, mother had even taught him Spanish for whenever he came around. Abir came from a family of black Cubans from Havana, Cuba.

He'd gone to visit once when he turned 18, and it was a beautiful place. He even had a tattoo of the star from the flag that he had done on himself at 14 in juvie with a makeshift tattoo gun made out of a ballpoint pen.

"Dis nigga always planting something." Hooty spoke.

Hooty was one of Camarro's employees. He was around him a lot when he was younger and the nigga played entirely too much, but he was funny as hell. He was closer to their age than Camarro's, so he hung with them more than the older men.

"You need help, brother?" Hooty asked him with a grin on his face.

Abir mugged the both of them as they approached his gate, opening it easily. Ron-Ron had a questioning look on his face as well.

Neither Hooty, nor Ron-Ron, enjoyed much gardening, but they did love bothering Abir, so sacrifices could be made.

Abir pointed at some weeds a little further from where he was standing, subtly delighting in sighs and annoyed groans that came from his friends as Ron-Ron smacked Hooty's arm.

They'd bought it on themselves in his opinion.

It was disappointing that his crops had failed right before Spring had rolled around. He went in, in November and had just gotten out on this past Friday.

"Aye," Ron-Ron called to his homie who was bent halfway, pulling weeds, "You talk to yo' brother?"

Abir spared him a slight glance back to where he was stood with his hands on his hips, already winded. He turned back to his section of the yard, "Nah." He spoke.

He was a man of few words. He'd rather his words be few than of no meaning. He still talked. He was in no way mute. He just didn't talk much.

He found that a lot of the times that he did speak,  it would cause more harm than good. He learned that his fourth time in juvie after mouthing off to the judge and earning an extra 5 months on his already 9 month sentence at 13.

'Drastic measures' they called it. They didn't work, he was back in less than a month after they let him out.

It wasn't that he liked juvie. He just hated home.

In his parents' eyes, he was rotten, from the inside out. Before they had kicked Camarro out, he was the favorite. Camarro could do no wrong.

But Elijah? He was just bad. His own mother had told him that she hated him. That he was just like his father, that he would amount to nothing, that he was monster.