Biting The Hand That Feeds

Chapter 3

“SOMEONE CALL FOR AMBULANCE PLEASE!” A blurred vision was in effect with the location near a local movie theater. Local citizens were shoved back by a teen woman whose face was decorated in blood. Her face was frantic as she constantly pleaded for someone to call for help. Standing behind her was another teen that stared vaguely at the locals. Blood oozed from his cracked skull as the girl’s screams became louder and helpless.
“I’m on it,” said an older male punching 911 on his cell phone. The commotion became more visual as a family proceeded out of the theater after watching their movie. They entered into the ruckus of the scene until they too was witnessing the dead boy. The wife, who was completely appalled at the sight, snatched for a little boy’s eyes to block the view. This startled the boy causing him to drop his bag of popcorn. The wife wore a flowered blouse with hair extending to her shoulders. Her olive eyes shrink at the sight of the girl roaring the dead boy’s name.
The husband stared sternly at the incident; his face appeared neutral showing no emotions at all. His dark brown eyes only flash with his lips making a deep frown. He was dressed in a red, Brooklyn Express Jacket with black jeans and a pair of black Air Max 95’s.
“You know they say you deserve it when you die with your eyes open,” he murmured.
“Fredrick, I think that we should go!” said the woman coarsely. The husband known as Fredrick took a glimpse at his wife blanketing the pupils of the boy. He made a little scowl looking back at the dead carcass.
“Open his eyes, Franchelle,” he said. “He’s human too.”
“He’s six!” snapped the woman called Franchelle.
“I’ve seen worse at that age,” Fredrick replied. “So let him.” He grabs Franchelle’s wrist gently, as he lifts her hand away. As the dark cloud vanished from the boy’s view, he returned to noticing the boy’s scarlet fluid slither into the crevices of the pavement. His eyes widened as he looked up at his father, confusion and fear mixed deep within his pupils.
“He’s dead, Tyrell,” Fredrick said with no sympathy. Franchelle stared at horror with the approached her husband took, as the boy named Tyrell still stares at him. He wore a black cap on his head with a red tee and black jogging pants. He also pinpointed the blood smothering the bottom of his left sneaker as he moves slowly away. Tyrell wished the gates of his sight remained closed until after this event.
Before he could speak his father said, “Death is inevitable, Tyrell—that means it can’t be avoided or dodged. I know you’re wondering why I’m showing and telling you this. You need to understand the concept of life. You need to know that everything that has been given life can have it taken away.
“Perhaps this is the wrong time to tell you this, at least in your mother’s eyes. But it’s better to tell you at a young age than when you’re experiencing this on your own. It’s also better to witness death by those who you know nothing about than to those who you love and cherish.” Tyrell nodded letting his father’s words sulk into his skull. “The moral, live your life the best that you can—know that death can await you at anytime, anyplace. Also remember that death approaches people a lot quicker to those who don’t appreciate it. Alright?” Tyrell nods again in agreement, a smile finally surface from Fredrick’s lips realizing that he was no ordinary child.
“Good boy,” he said gripping Tyrell's shoulders. He heard the sirens of the ambulance as he turned around from the corpse. “Come on, we’ll get some ice cream.” The family moves away from the crowd as the picture fades slowly…


Tyrell awakens from his daydreaming, still standing in the shower nude. The droplets trickle down his face as if they’re only mission were to make Tyrell’s quick slumber no more. He exits out of the shower, drying himself off thoroughly with a towel. He let the dream sink deep inside his soul; he was amazed how freshly animated it was—as if he himself stepped forth inside time machine back to that very moment. He always valued his father’s words.
Most six year olds’ devote their time with toys or TV, although Tyrell wasn’t an exception, he found Fredrick’s statements to be quite beneficial and important to learn. He sometimes caught himself chanting the man’s phrases once or twice. He cursed the fact that this death meant so much to him—the fact that he still can’t let go. While his mother has learned to ignore the tragedy and was only taken over for a brief moment, Tyrell has been consumed by it! His very existence was everything to him. Now that he was gone, he has nothing more than his teachings itself.
He revisits his room, gathering some clothes to wear. After getting dressed, he grabbed his signature black hoodie looking at himself through the mirror. His sly smirk loved the appearance as he ducked under his bed. Reaching his arms beneath, he gripped hold of a shoebox with a Nike check mark on top. He opens the box revealing what’s inside; a 40-caliber pistol, a several packs of weed, and more dim pictures of his father.
Tyrell grabs only the gun and packs as he shoves them in his pocket. He glanced at the alarm clock realizing he already missed the first period of school. He pops his knuckles as he proceeds to the door.
“Might as well play hooky for the day,” he smiled closing his door on the way out.