White boy emerged from the car first. Out of the wreckage, he had the flamethrower in hand. He was spraying fire – setting shit ablaze! He was roasting the pigs, setting them on fire. Pork was cooking. Ribeyes. Piercing loud screams filled the air. White boy couldn’t cook, he was charring shit. Bullets were popping, the pigs were oinking, with napalm he was anointing. Trees were burning. Cars were burning. Bodies were running and burning.
He was using the upside down truck as cover. He threw the bomb. Grenade! Boom! Vietnam, Desert Storm. The war that he knew would come was on. “Fuck the world,” he screamed, spraying fire.
The white bitch materialized from the wreckage with blood in her hair. She touched her head and regarded the blood on her hand. She was injured and woozy.
She recovered with aplomb. She smelled burning flesh and napalm. She grabbed the gun. This wasn’t a part of the play, so she improvised, sending shots with the .40 cal.
Pop, Pop, pop, pop
Pig crept too close, she turned him into toast. She blew out his memory. A hammer from hell—she was raising hell, a wild woman!
She took in the land, checking the layout, her brain was formulating a new plan, an escape route. Since shit went left, every man was for himself. The law had this shit surrounded. There was no way out! Helicopter blades were chopping, guns were popping, the war was here. She could smell hell. The scent was in the air. She threw a grenade.
Boom!
This nigga woke up when he felt the earth shake. Confused and dazed, blood was dripping down his face. Damn. The law was swarming like locust. He shook his head. To get away from this locale, he had to be focused. The crash slung him a distance. He was in the woods watching the action from a distance. He was camouflaged but hurt, hoping that the disguise would work until the war was over.
So many police. This shit was just beginning, it would never be over. The bag was still hoisted over his shoulder. He was wondering, join the war and bust his gun, or pick up and run. The latter was more appealing.
The white boy had a feeling that this was his ending. He was going out resisting, opposing and combating the government. He was killing them hard, they were dying the hard way: death by gunplay! He ran out of fire and threw his last grenade. He started busting the AK! He was flipping the cops. He could feel hell. Fuck the world, was his farewell. A bullet to his neck put him to rest. He was shooting his gun… rebellious to his last breath.
Oh my God! The white bitch just witnessed her husband die. Somehow, she was still alive. Her gun was still popping. The helicopter was still chopping. The grim reaper was floating, and death was approaching. She was ready to remarry the love of her life in the afterlife. Hell or heaven? It didn’t matter.
Pop, pop , click, click! The white bitch emptied the clip. No more firepower. She spread her arms and tilted her head back and prayed to her higher power… The devil. The pigs shot a hundred rounds, they filled her with lead. She didn’t die, she was crucified.
This nigga ain’t see it, but he heard it. He knew that his man and that white bitch were dead. He was speeding through the woods on his feet like a deer. The cops didn’t see him yet, but they were on his rear. He heard the helicopter hovering in the air. It was the trees that had him hid. He was moving effortlessly, as if his feet were not touching the ground. He surveyed the area, nothing but woods. He heard barking, hound dogs chasing him through the woods.
Roof, roof, roof
Wait in the water. He was looking for water, like an old negro spiritual. Oh shit! He peeped a building in his peripheral. He made a beeline, and “Freeze,” the cop screamed.
This nigga bust him! Head shot! He killed another cop in these woods. He wasn’t a killer, he was just misunderstood. Only the Lord would feel him. He ran into the lord’s building.
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