M A N I F E S T || MJ

2.

Aiyden Jones.

Aiyden shuffles around the concrete basketball court, sounding like a chimpanzee due to his constant 'Oo's' as he crosses up the imaginary person in front of him. His skin represents a polished penny as the sun penetrates it and molds it in its image.

The pick that was once in his hair slips out and he completely disregards it, choosing instead to intricately dribble around his imaginary opponents. "In one!" He huffs boastfully with a small raise in his voice, crouching in one smooth movement with the orange ball in the air and his fingers delicately splayed across the skin. With a practiced flick of the wrist, he shot the ball.

It hit the rim and nothing more.

"Nah, that's some bull!" Aiyden complains, walking lazily over to recollect the ball. Talk about high expectations. "I got my angles right and everything!" He continues for a moment longer to rant to himself before deciding to quit as he starts to feel that familiar ache in his chest.

AJ painfully leans down to get the pick he once left unacknowledged when he attempted to make a bucket. Stepping around his mother's bland colored car, he walks up the pathway to his home, taking a deep breath as his heart started to beat erratically. Knowing that this was more than the normal reaction to actively playing a high paced game, he clutches a hand to his side, covering the stitch he could feel throbbing to life.

His hands fell to his knees as he tried to catch his breath, standing on top of the 'Welcome to Our Home' mat that laid centimeters away from the front door. He had been shooting ball endlessly for almost an hour, which was quite tiring especially since the blazing hot sun was beaming down on him harshly. Coughs release themselves from his mouth as he stands up straight, a small wheeze fitting its way somewhere in there.

Aiyden opens the door to see his mom sweeping the small amounts of dust that laid around. She glances up at his entry, coifed hair wrapped in pink curling rods.

"It was about time you came back in here, boy." She states, holding both the broom and dustpan in her hand.

He rolls his eyes, basketball dropping from his hands to lay on the carpet by the door where shoes and such were casually thrown. "Not now, ma, please." He halfheartedly pleads, using his toes to take off each side of his shoe; one foot at a time.

His mother (Samantha was her given name) stands up straight and surveys him from his head to his sock covered feet. Her eyes fall on his rapidly beating chest and to his eyebrows which were scrunched up. She sighs and tuts to herself, looking completely through with him. Aiyden wishes she'd remove that look from her face.

"You gon' take in what I have and had said to you one day, Aiyden. Best believe that." She says, past the point of rushing to his aid when he got like that and instead taking on a condescending tone.

Aiyden knew what she was talking about, but he still didn't say anything as he strolls up the stairs and into to his bedroom.

Entering, he promptly plops on his bed; ignoring the ache that was rising up inside him. He sat in silence, waiting for the moment it was okay to leave the house and meet the people he was actual glad to be around: his friends. At least they don't try to hinder him.

He can feel the interior debate brewing inside of him but still tries his hardest to just to shrug it off to smooth this feeling of incompetence away. A series of "nope's and yes'" ran through his mind and while he leaned towards no side, he still decided to stand up.