Trap Queen.

3♛

                                                   C H A P T E R - 3   

  “Tonight on Channel Six News; three women, six men and a small innocent child have been shot and killed during what police suspect as a home invasion. Neighbors suspect that it was a gang-related shooting and other residents of California Heights claim to not to take notice of the fatal shooting. The story is making national headlines, and now federal police are beginning to take action. If you know anything about the shooting, please don’t hesitate to contact 1-800-STOP-CRI. I’m Deea Nawlins, and this wraps up Channel Six News. Thank you, and you have a good night.”

      Momma had no idea why I was staring at the T.V. so hard. I couldn’t believe it—I thought this was going to go unnoticed like all the other crimes down here. Now federal police were getting involved? It was bad enough that I had killing a little girl on my conscience, but now I could have a bigger chance of getting locked up and never seeing my momma again.

      “Damn shame. California is getting too wild. I thought people would know better than to kill a child,” Momma said, hoarse. She shook her head. I wonder how she’d feel if she knew that I was the one who went up in there killing folks.

      “Baby, I know it’s late, but I need you to run up to the store for me. Go get me some milk and eggs for the cornbread.” Momma handed me seven dollar bills. “Before you go, I need to talk to you about something real quick.” Momma’s voice was still old and frail, and she began to cough a lot between her sentences.

      “If I don’t be here for long, I want you to promise me that you’ll never hold a gun or any other weapon to anyone’s face, you hear? When I’m up in the clouds of heaven, I don’t want to look down and see you facing a judge and getting 25 to life. I don’t want to see you locked up—jail’s a scary place, baby. I promise.” Momma kissed my temple, sending a warm feeling throughout my body.

      “Okay, Momma. I promise.” I folded each dollar bill and put it safely in my pocket. I jogged outside quickly, trying to get to the corner store. It was open 24 hours, and word around the street was that there was niggas selling dope for a low price down there. Every once in a while, there was prostitutes walking up down the street, but police caught on to that.

      They can catch onto prostitution tricks but not on a mass murder/home invasion? Crazy.

      I took the seven dollars out of my pocket and crunched them in my hand. In front of the store, I saw a girl with waist-length black hair sitting in front, with a red tank-top with gold letters. She couldn’t be older than 18—and she was really light skin. She kept her eyes on me, but somethingabout her eyes screamed for help. I wasn’t really the person to reach out, but something about this felt weird. Like God sending me a message to help her out.

      “Are you OK?” I asked. The girl stared at me blankly.

     “I’m all good. Are you OK?” The girl replied with a laugh. I gave her a half smile. She had a really pretty smile—all her teeth perfectly aligned and straight. But the look on her face before gave me a eerie feeling and I just couldn’t explain it.

    “What’s your name?” I asked her, being more friendly than I usually am.

     “Serena. You?”

      “Egypt,” I smiled warmly. Serena seemed nice, but I never saw her around my hood before. She had to be new around here. “How long have you lived in Compton?” I asked, trying to making small talk. It was already dark, so there was no rush for me to get home now.

      “My entire life.” Our conversation ended short when a dude with a durag and a grill approached us. He looked like he warped from a 2005 rap music video, and he heavily resembled 50 Cent.

      “C’mon Serena,” the dude demands, grabbing Serena’s upper arm. “It’s time to go.” He was practically dragging her into his black Yukon, and Serena looked hesitant. I sighed deeply and shook my head. Probably another abusive relationship. That was all too common around here in Compton. Girls got into love way too deep.

      S E R E N A - POV 1 ▼

      “C’mon, Dante. You promised that if I did it one time, that’d be it,” I begged, damn near crying. I wouldn’t never thought that I’d be selling myself for money. My momma taught me better than this, and here I am in these streets acting like I haven’t been raised.

      “That’s not how it works, Serena. You’ll be done when we have a house. You’ll be done when we have food to eat.” Dante talked to me like I was a child. He was my boyfriend, but he acted more like a father-figure and sometimes even a pimp. “As a man, it’s fucking embarrassing to have to get my girl out bein’ the breadwinner. So if you gonna be making the money, you gonna be making a lot of it.” My cheeks began to burn.

      I left my entire family for Dante. You know the cliche story—he seems all nice and sweet and then he turns abusive? Same thing happened. I feel like I can’t reach out to my family anymore because they’re either murdered or don’t want nothing to do with me. Once people hear you’ve been prostituting even once, the reputation sticks to you almost forever.

      “Dante, do you have any idea how embarrassing this is a woman? Every time I sell my body to someone I feel less and less of a woman. As a nigga, wouldn’t it kinda make you feel weird knowing that your girl is going out having fuckin’ with another man?” I challenged.

     “Don’t come at me like that, Serena. You was the main one talking about how you wanted me to stop selling dope, and now you complain when I find an alternative. You know we both did dirt and got us prison time, and we can’t get no decent job. Quit your bitchin’.” My eyes started to water.

      This can’t be the only way out.

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I renamed the story from "Trap Goddess" to "Trap Queen". Everything else is the same, just a new name and theme!

- LIVYTHECREATOR