Tires screeching, rubber burning, two hundred on the dash, fast pace lifestyle.
Formula one.
The engine roared as he fishtailed away from another crime scene. He avoided another white chalk, yellow tape moment. He was cursed. He was tired, but his eyes were on the road. Seat was up, he was hugging the wheel. Rear-viewing it.
Headed north on a back road. The dog was his passenger. Grr, he kept growling and shit. Ready to eat, he was hungry.
The dirt road was dark, the moon was the only light found round these parts. He was in the woods. He had to be careful, the white boy probably had this shit booby trapped up. Land mines and things. The crib looked abandoned. It was not, just hidden. Log cabin off-grid.
White boy, baldhead like, but not a Nazi. His arms were wrapped with tribal tats and stuff. Big white boy, big beard. He was wanted, running from the feds. He made the most wanted list: Top one hundred!
The white boy greeted him at the door, rifle in hand, “I saw your face all over the news. I thought you would’ve been here, dude.” He hugged him with a smile.
“I know, it just took a while,” said the nigga.
No chain, he cut the dog loose. The dog would be the first line of defense if something foul came through. A bark or something.
The white boy walked him around a couple acres of land, blowing bud. He gave him the layout and spilled the plan. The white boy introduced this nigga to his bitch. White girl, plain Jane with glasses. Nevertheless, his bitch was a crook.
She pulled out the tactical gear, bombs and flame throwers.

There were all kinds of gorilla tape, zip ties, masks and shit. “My husband spoke highly of you, and if he loves you, I love you.” The White bitch was showing love.
All love was what this nigga needed. He was running one hundred miles per hour from the law, chasing a demon. A dollar. Hot boy, nigga was on fire. If the pigs caught him, they would put his soul on ice.
White boy had a corrupt mentality, anarchy shit, fuck the government! They could not find him. He stayed low and built an arsenal. Now his man was around, and it was time for them to pop up. He had the perfect play… some rich forever shit… diamond bag shit! “We go in shooting… on some murder shit!” said the white boy.
Ha-ha, this nigga laughed. He was automatically a part of the plan. As Long as in the end, money was in his hand. Smoke was in the air, a combination of weed and nicotine. He sat at the decrepit wooden table, camouflage hoodie on, blowing a blunt. He was wondering, how many diamonds?
Plain Janey was sniffing the coke. She was an ex-marine and an expert with the rope. She be tying shit up. “Gag ‘em up so that they won’t scream!” She was a murder fiend and the blow made her mind flip. Her dude was plotting on diamonds! Diamonds were forever, diamonds were a girl’s best friend. This play… count her in. As long as she gets to use the grenade.
The white boy was coked-up, spilling his vision. He told his bitch, “as soon as you tie ‘em up, kill ‘em!” He looked at them both, “we leave no witnesses.” His nose vacuumed the coke up. Navy seal minded, criminally guided, the coke made him wiser.
“Who’s the driver?” asked this nigga.
“No driver needed. We’re moving on ATVs through the woods.” The White boy was hoping that the play was understood. One bad move and it would not end good. “We leave and blow the spot!”
Plain Jane laughed, “and that I got.” She was ready to launch the grenade with the grenade launcher. She wanted to feel the earth shake under her feet. She tooted a little snow, raging her head. Heavy metal was banging in the background. She was sought. She hated the law they wanted her caught. Captured! They wanted to lethal inject her. Therefore, in these woods, she would hold court. What was more loving than going to war with the government?
The play… this nigga loved it. Get the bag of diamonds, then pay his way the underground way out of the country, and live on a beach somewhere comfortable. He watched the white boy and the white bitch sniff the coke. They were snorting their noses away, and he was blowing his lungs away. Chasing the loud with the nicotine, envisioning the things that the white boy explained.
“Rest up, we have a week to prep up”, said the white boy.
Good, this nigga would use the time to get his aim up.

Published by korymcclary1221

My name is Kory McClary, I am 34 years old. I am currently serving a lengthy sentence at the New Jersey State prison in Trenton, New Jersey. I am fighting for my freedom so that I may return to my family and loved ones. Yet, I know that it is a long, tough, and bitter battle to achieve that goal. But, with the grace of God Almighty, and for the sake of my family, I will fight on. I am using this blog as a medium to enhance my voice and to bring awareness to my unfair condition leading out of my unjust conviction. While spending almost all of my time in a cell, I chose to write so that I may voice the reality of my situation, because without awareness there can never be Justice...! To escape the harsh reality of prison, I use the pen to release my frustrations. I use the pen to manifest my imagination. And, most of all, I use the pen to Fight. I am fighting for my Life! Just by reading Kory McClary's Blog, you are giving my plight and my word's a voice. Thank you. Please, stay tuned...

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