Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
You designed me from the tattered and cheap fabric of neglect, verbal and mental abuse.
I said to her, “You’re right. I wasn’t born this way, Mama. Monsters are made. Say hello to your creation…”
Chapter One
It had been a long while since Legend looked at a bank statement that had more than three digits for the balance.
He’d managed to put together a nice little nest egg after a time of living modestly and saving up as much as he could. He had some endeavors, and those undertakings would need a certain level of investment.
Time to put my money where my mouth is—invest in myself, in somethin’ that’s going to make my life better.
When he was a drug dealer, the money came fast and easy. His balance was always in the six digits, and he didn’t have a financial care in the world. Cars. Women. Traveling to Maui and Jamaica. Now, there was no way he could afford the rides he used to drive, and go the places he used to fly to—but it sure beat another stretch in the penitentiary.
He now had two vehicles. His trusty truck, and he’d just purchased a two-year-old black Toyota Tacoma, and some bedroom furniture from a discount store. He finally got the dogs to the veterinarian and up-to-date on their shots, and fed them quality food. No more Dollar Tree cans of pet food and whatever was on sale at the grocery store.
He splurged on them a bit at the pet store once a week and bought them some new toys, as well as a couple large water fountains, the kinds with the filters, for them to share. For him, he bought few nice threads from Kohl’s, and treated himself to a premium gold chain. His favorite gold chain, a Cuban link with diamonds worth ten grand, had been stolen by his ex-girlfriend and pawned for drugs. He never did see it again, and he was still pissed off about that. It had been one of the first pieces of custom jewelry he’d acquired for himself after he’d made his first hundred thousand dollars.
He thought about his spending habits and fiscal self-control. He liked nice shit, so it was hard to be frugal. However, the sacrifice would be worth it.
Let’s see, I got that pair of sneakers, Reeboks, nothing too expensive, and a pair of Timberlands, too. That’ll hold me for a while.
His snapback collection had dwindled. He’d had to sell quite a few of them when he was first released from prison, but he still had a few of his favorites left that he wore on rotation. He pretty much stayed in jeans and plain shirts when he wasn’t in his work jumpsuit, but he enjoyed looking at the new fashions, fantasizing about what he was going to buy when he was able.
Legend sat in his apartment with his three dogs at his feet, wondering about stacking more money, investments, and weaving plans. He looked up options on his laptop, jotting down a few thoughts and ideas along the way.
English said she’d help me with a resume, but what the hell would I write on it? My military background doesn’t help me wit’ shit, because I was dishonorably discharged for assault. That’s not something you brag about. Major Greenwald couldn’t see out of one eye for like a whole year after I got a hold of him. He got what he fuckin’ deserved.
He tossed the pen on the table, rubbed his eyes, and massaged his forehead.
If I saw him right now, I’d stomp his ass out because he should’ve died that night. People just don’t understand, but nobody was going to believe me. Or even worse, I could tell everything I knew, and they still wouldn’t care. I served jail time for that, and everyone took his side. He shoulda been the one in jail. That’s how the Army is though. Nobody was going to talk about the verbal abuse he’d been puttin’ me through for months. Hell, this shit didn’t happen in a vacuum.
Not only that, he knew what I thought of him. That he wasn’t shit. A fucked up individual walkin’ amongst us. He hated me for seeing through his veneer. He wasn’t no soldier. Nobody to look up to. Things didn’t get better after I got out of jail. After I served my time, I was paroled to Mama’s house. Ankle monitor. The whole nine.
Mama said I couldn’t live with her without bringing in some money. I was only twenty-one, and had been getting in trouble since I was about twelve or thirteen. Wasn’t nobody tryna hire my ass, ’specially after I beat up and choked out a major in the Army. What did she expect me to do? I couldn’t even flip burgers. She kept throwin’ in my face that the Army said they tried to make an exception for me, ’cause usually they don’t let troubled kids in. I wrote down the reasons I should be given a chance, and they were convinced. To this day, I’m told I have anger issues and that I am a threat to society.