The Hidden Genre (C. H. H. Ain't Dead 01)

chapter one - three years later (part one)

MORNING CAME too soon for the young man drooling over his papers. It was a slow and silent waterfall which made the ink spread out like it tried to escape the inevitable. The word world was the center and it spread throughout the pages like streams. If he went by the name, Noah, it would've been a clear sign of the future. But this wasn't the case, and this wasn't a story about a flood wiping the mainstream clean. This unknown person was known to many as the Gospel Rapper, not Isaac Banner.

"Son, are you ready to leave? You're going to be late -" Mrs. Banner broke into the room to witness what most parents do. "You are going to be very late actually."

She pulled out her smartphone and its screen got excited seeing her face. She found the contact titled, Isaac, without the need to wake him up, until Mrs. Banner "accidentally" pressed the green button and put the phone to her ear like the good old days.

Glad they didn't change that . . .

"I'm screaming, Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Till my eyes close!" yelled the object next to her son's head.

Isaac shot up. He immediately grabbed the phone and wiped his face without the slightest awareness of his surroundings. The technology got no side eye for waking him up, yet Mrs. Banner swore she's been given the eyes many times in the past as he answered, "Hello?"

"You're late," she said. Her son turned slightly and gave her side eye, "if you're going to wake up this quick when you hear that song. Why don't you set it as your alarm?"

Isaac put the smartphone next to his pages. "Come on, mom," he gave them a quick glance as if wondering how they got wet. "You know I'm waiting for one of these record labels to get back to me. Hearing that song makes me think God is finally about to put me on that path."

"So? Me phoning may mean just that," replied Mrs. Banner, but she received a "like really mom" glance from her son. Motherly, she had a point. Logically, she didn't.

"Son, if you meant to preach on the mainstream, then it's only perfect timing that's delaying it," said his mom, trying to comfort her son, "just keep trusting that your time will come."

"I know, mom. It's just . . . it just hasn't been the same ever since . . . well, you know . . ." Isaac stopped mid-way through his sentence.

Mrs. Banner watched her son's head drop. She understood. But she wasn't going to add to his energy, "I told Chantal that you're going to be late today. I mentioned that you were burning the midnight oil with a new song and she said that Ruth did the same thing last night."

"Wait, Mrs. Rennells actually used her name?" Isaac asked.

"Not really, but don't you want to find out what she wrote?" added Mrs. Banner, "maybe Cupid made you two write lyrics that would only make sense when they came together. When you guys finally come together."

That got no reply, but a much needed smile.

"Here," his mom tossed him a towel hanging from behind the door. It didn't make it, but it sure forced Isaac to stretch and fall into the heap of dirty clothing. "I think you need to go shower before we leave," she gave herself an excuse to ask the question, "haven't I told you that cleanliness is next to godliness?"

"Yes, you have, mom," he replied, "and I've mentioned many times that it's not in the scriptures."

"Oh," she got comfortable on her son's chair. "Then have I mentioned the verse about Jesus washing the disciples' feet?"

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It was not long before they were on the road and stuck in traffic. That was more surprising than the good boy's immediate burst towards the shower to avoid his mom's feet. On a normal day, the cars would have reached their destination by this time in the morning, but not today. Today they bunched up like ants preparing to accept their queen. However, this queen was a horrific accident.

"Yes, mam, you heard right," the cop on duty said, "the scene of the accident is not what you would want a youngster to see."

Mrs. Banner's son shifted his headphones and laid back. He must have let the darkness consume him to avoid hearing or seeing what the officer informed them about.

"It's fine, he's 22," she tried to make it convincing, but it wasn't working as much as it was true. Even if Isaac took his identification card with him to a club, the bouncer would think it was a fake - maybe another teenager trying to have an under aged experience.

"Look, mam, all I'm saying is that it can be very traumatizing, but you can rest assure that we doing the best we can," the cop convinced himself more than the civilian.

"I understand, but can you at least say what happened? I may not look it, but I'm a citizen of Amboria too. And I know my rights. I know I have the right to know what's happening so close to home," insisted Mrs. Banner.

"Actually -" began the cop.

"The NCPA have been shooting people recently -" Mrs. Banner interjected.

"No, mam, please remain calm, it wasn't a shootout," replied the cop, very quickly, as if to not create any panic.

"I'm very much calm, officer . . ." Mrs. Banner took a quick glance at his name badge, "Den." If she had any doubt that this officer wasn't in training, recognizing the surname and not his first name, was the final nail in the coffin. "I just need to decide if my son, who has huge dreams, is safe being guided by the cops," she quickly added, "that's all . . ."

"Okay, jeez, please cut me some slack, mam, it's my first day out the academy," said the cop, visibly tired.

"Oh, I'm sorry, where's my manners?" asked Mrs. Banner, not expecting an answer, "congrats on your achievement Officer Den."

"Dave," he replied with a smile. "You can call me, Dave."

"Are you related to an Oscar Den by any chance?"

"Yes, he's my father," replied Officer Den with a smile.

"Ah, I see it now. I think you'll make your father proud, Dave," said Mrs. Banner, complimenting him.

"Thank you very much, mam."

Isaac moved his head towards his window and opened his eyes. His eyes found the bright ocean sky. Clouds were scattered all round like social groups in high school. The biggest group's edges were carved out to portray a face. The face of the man he hadn't seen in three years. The man, he himself, tried to make proud.

"Is he okay?" asked the officer, noticing the boy's sudden amazement with the sky.

"Don't worry about him," she replied, "he's late for work, but too polite to tell us to stop talking and hurry up."

"Stop talking and hurry up!" came a voice from behind them with a couple of hoots, "some of us are late for work!"

"All we can say right now, mam: is that a truck lost control and basically rammed everything in its way," said Officer Den quickly, "my advice is to take the detour but as you can see, I'm being ignored. One driver even told me that she's going to be too late if she takes the detour; plus she's seen horror movies before, so -"

The car ahead moved forward and turned the stereo up as if the driver got tired of hearing the cop's voice. Traffic moved as a whole.

"You have to go now, mam, but be sure to listen to the radio for updates," said the officer, sending them off.

Mrs. Banner put the officer's words into motion. The detour path was narrow, but spacious and uphill.

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