Harlem: City of Dreams

Chaper I: Lonely Night

This is a story of Malik, a Harlem youth with high ambitions. He could back up these dreams of the NBA with tremendous athletic abilities. Working long days in the weight room, striving to make it out of the house he despised, his work payed off in the form of a sculpted figure riddled with sinewy muscle and scars. One problem, Malik has failed every piss test he has ever been forced to take, his extreme athleticism and basketball merits could never be translated into making a team. Nearing the end of the day he packed a prime bowl full of marijuana. Smoke filled Malik's lungs as he slowly inhaled the essence of a familiar herb. Feeling blazed he decided to venture out to grab various snacks from his favorite store. Stumbling into 7/11 his brother Rashad, who had recently been promoted to manager, hurriedly rushed him into the back (so as to not alarm customers). Rashad rapidly said,"Malik, I can't have you in my store all smoked up like this." Malik thought to himself, "Why this nigga think he can talk to me like that, I'm going to be a basketball star." Since Malik was stoned the young man had no choice but to oblige Rashad's wishes. Having no clue how to get home Malik packed a bowl of Sour Diesel into a makeshift water bottle bong, and lit it up. After clearing the whole bong by himself he dazedly walked into an enormous house and fell asleep on the resident's exotic leopard print sofa. Rummaging through his expansive closet to find a magnum, Leonard whispered to his wife that there was an intruder. She started to panic and rush for their children, but Leonard limply restricted her. Grabbing a tennis racket in spite of him, Lacy smashed it over the head of sleeping Malik. Malik emerged from his mental haze of introspection to notice a sharp pain in his upper temple. He gasped out, "Fuckin white people, I'd slap you for that bitch, but I'd do life." The stunned suburban family was at a stalemate, no one said anything for a good minute until Malik piped up, "Can I leave yet?" Leonard gently nodded his head so Malik scurried out the door and took off down the block. Blaring sirens bombarded the air causing ensuing wonder to the upper class suburban block. A portly police chief interviews the family cautiously as they seem frightened. He discovers details about the suspect leading him to suspect the same menacing hood from Harlem sprinting away from the scene. Malik's legs pumped up and down furiously, his lungs inhaled and exhaled at an unhealthy pace. The sun began to peek across the horizon signaling another day. He had run all night, guess I won't be going to school today, he contemplated as he slyly smirked. It was 1:00 p.m. when he sheepishly stepped into his small flat, he was expecting his mother to scold him, which didn't happen. He would've never expected to find the grave travesty awaiting him in the next room. Sitting upon a brass accented  rocking chair, was his mother; lifeless and barren with a large hole through her head, a crumpled note in her hand, and tears speckling her now peaceful rugged cheeks. Malik crumpled to the ground realizing his mother had recently committed suicide, he cried out, "Why?" and promptly began to weep into her deathly embrace. This atrocity was made worse by the simple fact if he called the police, they would quickly arrest him. Five hours later Rashad trotted home from work to be greeted by a mentally incapacitated brother and the corpse of his loving mother. He couldn't muster the voice to sputter out a question he had for Malik. Rashad crumpled down and wept, and wept, and wept. Malik explained everything, softly patted his brother's back, then swiftly bolted out the door. The police and correct authorities must be called, and that might cause trouble considering the circumstances. Rashad picked up the phone with tears welling under his eyes and called out for help. The portly police chief came to console the young man who would be sent to an adoption agency, probably losing his job in the process. He questioned Rashad as to the whereabouts of his brother, but Rashad simply shrugged. Confused without any leads the chief headed to the local coffee shop and sat down with his young deputy. It was Emile's first year as deputy, a budding young individual with lots of gusto and talent. He was a tad overweight, but he could pass all the qualification tests, so that didn't matter much. It was about to be his biggest case of his life, he just didn't know it.