Brooklyn Chronicles: Save our Sons and Daughters

Chapter Three

A sharp silver blade curved and sliced the air as it rested against her neck. Her skin became hot and her breathing became uneasy, she swallowed hard feeling the pressure of the blade trapping her flow of blood.

“P-please don’t hurt me.” Malaika struggled to breathe. The most she could do was blink, one bad move could leave her cut open. Tank watched her struggle under his knife like a chicken before its beheading. Her back was stiff, her feet were weak and she was becoming light headed.

Her eyes were beginning to roll back and Zipporah couldn’t stand there and watch the innocent woman die.

“No let her go. Tank!” Zipporah dropped her knife and wept at the sight of Tank’s blade so close to slitting Malaika’s neck open. Tank wasn’t afraid to kill and this wouldn’t be his first attempt at murder.

“Zipporah move.” Tank’s deep voice warned her, she didn’t listen. She held his hand with hers shaking, “No don’t do it. Please.”

Tank looked into Malaika’s eyes becoming pale, his pupils were dark, just like his soul. He shared no emotion for the woman and the demons inside him wanted to stab her and cut her open. 

In the still moment and silence, Tank’s knife dug deep into Malaika’s skin, but not deep enough to cut her. A gasp escaped Zipporah’s lips as Tank stood back to let the woman go. 

Malaika’s weak body fell back, her head smacked the wall and all pain felt numb. Her feathers of curls from her hair bounced and shielded her head as she landed on the floor. 

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Malaika struggled to open her heavy eyelids, faint voices filled her head and her body felt numb. Her senses slowly returned, she was starting to feel the pounding headache. She held her head, she had a cut on her forehead and there was blood on her hand.

She was in the basement and it was dark. Her eyes met the blurry figure in front of her, her sharp vision was slow to recognise the girl sitting beside her. She had ginger curly hair from her mixed heritage and her face was covered in dark freckles. The torn sleeves of her cream coloured t-shirt were stained in drops of the blood from her cut forehead. 

Half a smile was plastered on her lips, Zipporah breathed out in belief, “She’s awake!”

Zipporah’s hand held Malaika’s with support and strength, her gentle and kind touch gave Malaika life. Malaika slowly sat up holding her pounding head.

The rest of the family were packing their last things together that they valued and cherished the most. They all held torn and worn out vegetable boxes filled with their items and belongings. Anger was written all over their faces, especially on Tank’s. Malaika avoided eye contact from Tank’s devilish eyes, she could still his burning eyes on her.

She looked at Zipporah, Zipporah took a while to talk but when she did, she whispered, “I’m sorry.” She stood up and walked to Izzy, her brother’s side.

The family of six walked towards the door leaving a part of Malaika’s inherited property, the abandoned basement they called home to go on the harsh and concrete cold streets of Brooklyn.

“No please don’t go, you can still stay here. This is your home too.” Malaika managed to speak after watching the group of young people get their things together to leave and go back on the streets since her home was their shelter. 

Zipporah’s head sharply turned, Malaika gave her a warming smile. Zipporah’s reaction alone spoke volumes to Malaika who had previously undertook Psychology and Sociology studies. She didn’t have to ask Zipporah. Zipporah’s eyes and body language was enough to to mirror her fear of going back to the streets.

Although the family were close together and did everything together, those Urban loyalties and commitments were often tested on the streets. It was like letting a bird out of a cage, it could fly into the skies of serenity, untroubled or it could fall, deep into the pool of darkness.

Zipporah knew one thing, the streets were mean and on the streets they wouldn’t last for long. Someone would end up dead.

Izzy broke the silence, his long ginger dreadlocks moved from side to side like a curtain on his face as he shook his head. “What do you take us for? We all damn well know you are going to call the cops on us.” He responded throwing his hands in the air.

He was convinced this woman would do anything to have them locked up and behind bars and so were the rest of the family.

Santanna stepped forward, “Niggas have been set up before by people like you.” She hissed and spat.