Stories Inspired by Verses from the Wu Tang Clan’s Ghostface Killah
A dealer and his female companion sprawl on the couch, stressed and weary from another day selling crack. Hoping to mellow the mood, she packs a bowl. Each hits the bong.
Bleary-eyed and thirsty, with appetite swelling, the dealer walks to the refrigerator. Inside, he hopes to find milk that will pair with the only food in the house: Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries.
The fridge is empty except for ketchup: “Hey, what the fuck happened to the milk?” he asks into the fridge, loudly enough to be heard in the living room.
“You used it all for breakfast!” comes the response from the couch.
The dealer is angry, but with his memory stoked, he shoulders the blame. He returns to the living room feeling in his pockets for cash. Satisfied at the thickness of his bankroll, he rousts the woman. They depart for the local Pathmark to purchase groceries.
***
In the Pathmark, the woman pushes the cart towards aisle four.
The dealer opens a carton of whole milk. He guzzles the milk. Overflow drips down his stubbled chin. Missing his pants, several drops strike his self-dyed blue and orange Wallabee Clarks. Feeling the drops strike his shoe like buckshot, he thinks to himself: Damn, I got milk on my Clarks. That’s what I get, not focusing from hitting that bong.
Halfway down the paper aisle and loath to let the milk settle into his Clarks, he rips the cellophane from a roll of paper towels. Tossing the plastic aside, he peels off a few Brawny squares and dabs his Clarks. The cart bumps his derrière as he stoops.
Angry at the apparent negligence, the man stands and says: “Yo, what the f-” but breaks his admonishment short. Instead of his companion, the barrel of a shiny pound greets him. The assailant’s other arm restrains the dealer’s lady-friend.
The dealer’s heart staggers, but his face does not betray him.
Recognition calls forth a flashback: The wielder of the gun is the selfsame man whose Uncle, Tim, died of a drug overdose while using drugs purchased from the dealer. Uncle Tim and his wife were hopelessly addicted. So addicted that after Uncle Tim’s overdose, the wife returned. Not for retribution, but to buy more crack. Lacking a husband to care for her child, she brought the baby to the transaction. Wifey was crazy.
Now, Tim’s nephew grips a gat in the dealer’s face.
Shifting to the offensive, the dealer says: “You’s a bitch. You better kill me. You know you’re booty! You pull your toolie out on me, Motherfucker!?!” then he reaches and snatches at the ratchet. The dealer ducks while reaching for the gun as Tim’s nephew shoots twice.
Lady-friend escapes.
Tim’s nephew, wild with the anticipation of his evil vendetta’s fulfillment, laughs maniacally while firing round after round: Bang! “HA” Bang! “HAHA!”
The dealer wrestles Tim’s nephew to the ground, tussling, scuffling, and constantly kicking. When the nephew’s grip doesn’t loosen, the dealer bites him!
Shots are whizzing, hitting Clorox bottles, bleach is leaking in the aisles and customers are screaming.
Amidst the chaos, Tim’s nephew runs out of hollow-tip bullets. Then, the pair slips, twists, and punches until Tim’s nephew lays limp on the scuffed and bloodied linoleum.
The next day, the paper reads: “Man who came to kill gets knocked out.”
The Wallabee Clarks will never be the same.
This story is an adaptation of the song “The Heart Gently Weeps” off the album 8 Diagrams by the Wu Tang Clan. Listen to it.
