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)
He flung off his sheets, dripping in sweat.
After rubbing his head, Legend fell back against the headboard, replaying in his mind the nightmare he’d just had, where Ms. Florence was yelling at him. After the fight with his mother, all he’d done was increase the distance between them. His honesty had backfired, creating a larger hole he’d soon fall in.
“…I just want this over with. How can you force me to do somethin’ I agreed to do as a child? Things change… shit. Now, you come into my dreams, night after night, speaking in riddles. Quoting verses. Sittin’ in that chair, looking down on me. I can’t believe I’m talkin’ to a ghost…”
He was sleep-deprived, running on fumes. He had to be at work soon, and Melanie had asked for a ride to work later in the day due to car trouble.
Jumping out of bed, hot as a wet hen, he went on to take an ice-cold shower—something he’d done since he was a kid after having bad dreams. He grabbed his phone and selected some music to play while he got cleansed and meditated: ‘I Don’t Like,’ by Chief Keef. With the old classic turned up at high volume, he shampooed his hair and briskly washed his body.
When he stepped out, he checked himself out in the mirror, starting with his gums. Legend was particular about oral hygiene, and tended to brush sometimes upwards of four times a day—a slight compulsion. He gargled some mouthwash, spit it out, then went over each tooth with precision and care using a toothpaste-loaded electric brush. After he was finished, he patted his lips dry, then ran a brush over his soft waves while Pop Smoke’s ‘Dior’ played.
His mind wandered with thoughts regarding his next school assignment, getting a minor repair for his motorcycle, and possibly going to the club over the weekend. Then, he paused when something moved behind him. He turned on a dime, but saw no one.
He faced the mirror again, and as if someone was drawing on it with the tip of their finger there appeared the face of a child. There’s no condensation. How did that happen? His eyes lined up perfectly with the kid’s and the boy had a glum expression.
Startled, Legend let out a broken yelp, dropped the brush on the floor, and stumbled back against the wall. The sad eyes of the child vanished first from the mirror, then the rest of the face. Blinking back his emotions, he stared back at the mirror. His face was covered in sweat, nostrils flared.
He pressed his palm across his chest, right along his racing heart, wondering if he was having a stroke or heart attack. Once he caught his breath, he turned away from his reflection, quickly switched off the bathroom lights, and walked out of there.
When he made it back to his bedroom, he plopped down on the edge of the bed, the towel hanging half off of his still moist body, and bent over at the waist, fighting tears. He recognized that child. Felt the pain and anguish that little boy had experienced.
As he rocked back and forth, processing the overwhelming emotions, he listened to the sounds of ‘The Box,’ by Roddy Ricch. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a white feather on the floor, just like the ones on Ms. Florence’s huge fan that she held when she came to him. She’d told him his time was up. He’d be granted no more chances or delays.
It had been a long ass time since he felt sick to his stomach like that, rolling around in his own demented thoughts. They were soft in the middle, and jagged and rusty around the edges, like an open tin can that had been left in the rain for years.
What you ’spect me to do, Ms. Florence?!
He closed his eyes, blocking the tears while placing his steepled hands against his forehead.
You said I was skating around the issue… that the topic ain’t dead. It’s alive and tormentin’ me. You said this is the source of a lotta my problems, but because I don’t want to remember it, I don’t wanna see the evil, I won’t meet it head on. I’ve been face to face wit’ monsters, Ms. Florence, since I was a baby. I’m probably a monster myself, but you know my heart… you know I got limits to the shit I do. I’m not some bloodthirsty lunatic. There’s just some shit I’d never do. Maybe ’cause I do believe in God, and think that one day, all of us… ’cludin’ me… are going to have to answer for what we’ve done. I don’t regret not one man I shot, strangled, put six feet under. Put to sleep for good. I been taking care of business for a long time, but I guess I never killed the one I really wanted dead…