|october 3, 1992.
"I ain't got no motherfucking family, bitch nigga."
I blew smoke from my nostrils and enjoyed the toxic scent as long as I could before it would disappear into the air and become useless as everything else in this bitch world.
"Everybody got family...just decide if you want 'em in ya' life or not." I shrugged before plopping back down on the worn out bed, that I'm pretty sure is infested with roaches.
"You always got the fuckin' answers, don't you Bullet?"
Before I could stop myself, I walked up on and stuck my freshly lit cigarette into the worn out and sore infested flesh on his cheek, making him scream out in pain and agony.
A grim smile appeared on my face at the sound of his pain, before it smugly disappeared. I gripped the crown of his nappy head and flung it back to my eyes level before whispering a nice little reminder in his ear.
I rolled my eyes at the sound of pussy ass whimpers. "Don't ever call me that bullshit again, you hea' me?"
He continued whimpering. "Y-yeah, I'm sorry man."
I released a deep chuckle that sent chills down my own fucking spine before asking him something:
"...what's my name, man?"
"B-bishop."
"My full fucking name, nigga." I snarled. I hurriedly grabbed my pistol and rested in right against the side of his temple.
If I pull this motherfucker, his brain would be all over this bitch.
"B-Bishop," I laughed before slowly turning the tick on the gun. I sucked in breath as I felt his whole body tense under my grip at the familiar sound.
"Keep going,"
I slowly tilted his head back and my eyes met with his tear and regret filled ones. "Parish S-Shakur."
I threw my head back and released a cackling laugh before speaking.
"You good, bro." I moved the gun away from his temple, causing him to release a sigh of relieve.
I mushed him away and walked back to my original spot on the bed.
"You play too fuckin' much, damn." He mumbled.
My eyebrow rose at his smart little remark. Hold up, I think he forget something, so I stood up and walked over to where he was just pleading for his life.
"Say it one mo' time bro, I couldn't hea'," I rested my hand on my side and waited patiently for him to respond.
He gulped and if seemed as if echoed off the walls. "I-I said you play t-too da--"
"Oh wait, you forgot something."
I watched as his face scrunched up. "What th--"
I smirked. "You forgot 'Bishop Parish Crooks."
I watched his eyes concentrate on mine before the ends of his lips began to curve up into a smile.
"You crazy ma--"
"the second, motherfucker." I drew my pistol and shot.
.
.
.
