A Gangster's Cry

33. her.

i am her tears,
born in her eyes
with a sorrowful death on her pretty face,
as i drop to her lips
leaving a salty taste-
: i am her tears.

*
omniscient.

It was a cold day, with temperatures fluxing between 7 to 12 degrees Celsius. The harsh wind blew in the face of those who dared cross it, nipping at their exposed skin with a blistering ambition. Most wore their parka jackets- the ones with the fur hoods- whilst others wore their normal coats with heavy jumpers and zip up hoodies underneath. Hands were covered with gloves, and necks protected with scarves as people hurriedly walked down he packed streets of a known city called London.

On the Southside of the Thames river resided a known girl, who went by the name 'Storm'. In her secondary schools days she was bait for having a pretty face, and that factor stayed with her 'til days present. Well both factors; her pretty face, and her bait-ness. Storm sat on her couch, with her legs up on the small plush stool she'd bought only recently. The nostalgic show 'The Fresh Prince' played on wall mounted her tv via Netflix, she laughed every now and then at the hidden puns she now understood as an adult.

Her acrylic filled hand subconsciously rubbed soothing circles on her protruding stomach, a habit she'd grown to do upon finding out about the foetus growing inside her. Her other hand placed cut up pieces of chicken and halloumi into her gloss covered mouth. Storm liked times like this. Times were she was alone, surrounded by her own comfort with an uninterrupted ambience of peace and sanity. There was just one person missing from her almost finished puzzle, and that person was her sister.

Serenity was her name, and similarly to Storm she was also pregnant- by the same man. The serenity to her storm. Alike in multiple ways, yet different all the same.

A sad sigh left Storm's mouth as she thought about her sister.

Serenity, yet she was everything but.

*

Hazel paced back and forth as she let out another one of her sniffles.

"FUCK!" Was the profanity she screamed out, as pulled at her curly tresses.

From an outsider's point of view, she looked like she belonged in a mental asylum. The dry tears, and snot on her face made her appear crazed and the stained clothes she wore wasn't helping one bit. The foul odour that evoked off her slender figure contradicted everything she believed in; cleanliness, and sanity. The only two things that looked somewhat decent were her nails, both hands and feet. Her toes where as white as bleached teeth, and her acrylic nails were a nice blue colour.

If Qahir saw her, he'd repulse. Hazel whimpered at the thought of her ex boyfriend.

Why do I always fuck things up? She mumbled to herself finally halting in step to analyse herself in her mirror. She flinched at her harsh reflection, not even recognising herself. She'd fallen off for sure. Once her stench reached her nose, she took initiative to go and take a well needed shower. Hazel reached inside her separate drawers, collecting her undergarments as-well as a set out longe wear before heading into the bathroom down the hall, opposite from Nasir's bedroom.

Nasir wasn't home like always. Hazel had noticed a severe change in her best friend, a change for the worse- that was, yet whenever she had thought to bring it up Nasir was missing in action. She'd be gone for long hours, and return limping with a guilty aura radiating off of her. Hazel wasn't one to judge, but she was very surprised by her friend's newfound sexual escapades. Hazel could any pray and hope that Nasir was being safe, because knowing Nasir's stubborn nature she'd only ignore the advice given to her.

A soft hum left Hazel's mouth as she turned on the hot water, placing her fresh clothes on the sink counter before removing her dirty clothes. The sigh of relief that left Hazel's mouth as her skin made contact with with water sounded out into the steam filled bathroom. It didn't take long for her to start scrubbing her skin clean with the 'African' sponge her aunty had acquired from a shop in e-street, and the dove soap she always used.

A small smile crept onto Hazel's face as she cleaned her surface, disbelief running through her as she realised she let a man get her to this point of self disregard.

"Never again," she mumbled, as she rinsed the soapy water off.

"Never fucking again."

*

Nefertiti's expensive heels cackled against the flooring of the building in which her lover was situated. She pressed the button for the lift (elevator) and stepped into it once it arrived. The 22nd floor was the level she pressed, her legs crossing over each other as she thought about the numerous positions she'd be in hours from now. The dishing of the lift snapped her out of her lust filled daze, she'd funnily reached floor 22. Her heels cackled once again as she walked towards her lovers door, although he was several years her senior he performed like he wasn't even pushing the age fifty.

Two special knocks were placed on the door once she'd reached 40(P.22). It wasn't long before he loved stood before her, dressed clad in his usual black turtle neck and smart suit trousers. A single crucifix hung from the neck part of his turtle neck, and his sock covered feet adorned some sleek Gucci sliders. This Adonis has surely aged like fine wine. With his salt and pepper beard, and sleek black waves. His skin was smooth like butter, and brown like cocoa. His pinky finger adorned a simple gold ring, and a single silver cap adorned the tooth right next to his canine.

"You're late." His voice was deep, and daring. It penetrated through Nefertiti and left a shiver down her spine. She felt like a child being scolded under his dominating gaze.

"Sorry, daddy." She looked up at his tall figure with an innocent facade, her eyes soft and pretty.

He deeply chuckled, not able to stay angry at her for too long. He pulled her into his lean figure, his expensive cologne making its way to her nose as he shut the door to his expensive apartment.

His big hand enclasped her own and Nefertiti couldn't help the flutters she felt in her stomach. She got a want of the food he'd cooked, fried rice and smoked salmon. Nefertiti smiled, unlike the men her age, he always made an effort and never, ever complained.

"I made your favourite." He whispered into her ear, his well-trimmed bearer tickling the side of her face.

Nefertiti giggled, turning around in his arms to meet his gaze.

"Thankyou, Yazreth."

And in response, he smiled, leaving a sweet kiss on her even sweeter lips.

A true Adonis Yazreth was,
And several Adonis's he had born
Into a world of hate,
hunger and greed.
And in Yazreth's world they'd all succeed,
To plant useful seeds:
just as he did.

Who's Yazreth again?

*
1200 words.
Lolllll.

Not gonna lie, Yazreth sounds too leng, might just cop me a sugar daddy.

No Nasir this chapter :(, wonder what she's up to...

Vote, comment.

Excuse mistakes.

- taimoni.