Life was not a god damn thang below slick fo' nuff of mah years, n' it’s all cuz of mah daughter n' shit. I aint NEVER peeped a mo' slick bein up in mah entire game. Beautiful, kind, intelligent, just perfect. I loved her ta dirtnap, mah lil angel, she made game easier and, overall, happier.
And then mah disease threw a monkey wrench tha fuck into every last muthafuckin thang, straight-up fucked up mah game, n' shortened it overall. In 3 weeks, tha disease dat would smoke away at mah physical n' hood abilitizzles would cripple mah dome function n' ultimately cause mah organs ta just shut down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In mah opinion, dat shiznit was not tha disease dat hindered mah game yo, but tha fact dat I’d be separated from mah daughter n' shiznit yo. Her eagernizz ta support me n' be right next ta me all up in mah final minutes hit me like a ton of bricks yo. How tha fuck would dat freaky freaky biatch handle her muthafuckin ass, without her father, up in dis wack, harsh ghetto, biatch? I had a sickenin gut feelin dat biiiiatch wouldn’t. I felt a massive wash of guilt, even though dat shiznit was not mah fault.
Da dizzle I was certain ta take a thugged-out dirtnap came too doggystyle. I could barely move, I was paralyzed from tha waist down, unable ta strutt. I woke up, looked outside mah window, n' it hit me up in tha grill dat dat shiznit was todizzle dat would be marked on mah gravestone. Panic, anger n' sadnizz all washed over mah body like a tsunami. I wanted ta sob, scream, be wit mah daughta fo' one mo' day. It make me wanna hollar playa! I was so engulfed up in mah sorrow I never noticed tha figure chillin on mah desk.
In one swift instant, I went from a funky-ass blender of wack emotions ta fear n' mad drama. I couldn’t reach mah phone, call fo' some muthafucka, beat tha figure ta incapacitate his ass long enough ta flee. I tried ta booty-call fo' mah daughter yo, but before I could tha figure spoke.
"Hello. I need you ta git up right away, sir, fo' I must show you something." It’s tone was both harsh n' welcoming, cold but warm, piercin yet comforting. I trained mah eyes on him, mah grill contorted up in horror, tryin ta make up any details. Da figure was pitch black, wit no features. Except fo' a pimply, pale black halo over it’s head n' tha outline of wings attached ta tha centa of its back.
There was no evidence as ta if tha figure was bustin something, n' I couldn’t tell whether dat shiznit was thug or female. "Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is yo slick ass?" I axed it, unable ta hide tha fear n' curiositizzle outta mah voice. "I be Legna, tha anti-angel. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sir, you must git up. I must show you something," tha figure stated.
"Anti-angel, biatch? What tha fuck iz dat supposed ta mean?"
"Exactly what tha fuck it say. Now I must show you something."
"I can’t git up, I’m paralyzed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I gots a funky-ass dome disease."
"I know. Git up." Legna was startin ta confuse me more, makin me mad salty.
"I can’t stand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I just can’t."
"Get. Up." Legna looked all up in mah grill hard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Now."
I pushed mah dirty ass outta bed, locked n loaded ta prove I could not stand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I stood grill ta silhouette wit Legna, bout ta scream at dat shit.
Wait. I stood up in front of his muthafuckin ass.
In surprise, I took a step forward without any issue. I was delighted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. I knew dat up in some way, Legna was responsible. I turned ta give props ta it yo, but da thug was already next ta me, pointin at a lil' small-ass white feather next ta mah wardrobe.
"Do you peep tha feather?" Legna axed mah dirty ass.
"Yes," I responded.
"Walk up ta dat shit. Yo ass should peep a trail of feathers leadin ta what tha fuck I must show yo thugged-out ass. Big up tha feathers n' only stop when tha feathers stop," Legna demanded.
I immediately complied n' strutted over ta tha feather n' shit. I noticed another one, so I approached dat shit. I strutted along tha trail fo' realz. As I strutted, dotz of crimson would either step tha fuck up on or beside tha feather n' shit. Not concerned, I followed Legna’s commandz n' followed tha feathers. I focused on not a god damn thang but tha feathers.
Da trail halted ta a stop up in mah kitchen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I paused up in front of tha last feather, waitin fo' Legna ta show mah dirty ass. "Look up," Legna instructed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. I pulled mah head up n' covered mah grill ta stifle a scream. In front of me looked like a thugged-out dead angel, wit one of her wings devoid of feathers. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had a gash up in her chest n' a cold-ass lil cross stuck up in her skull fo' realz. Above her, on mah fridge, was tha anticross. I had peeped tha angel before yo, but I had no clue whoz ass it was.
"Well?" I holla'd, a slight tone of impatience up in mah voice. "What do you think?"
Fuck dat shit, no, no. I didn’t say anything, no I didn’t. But dat shiznit was mah voice. I whipped around, glad ta have mah eyes not starin all up in tha dead angel but at… mah dirty ass.
I had no mirror standin there, so I had no clue what tha fuck was goin on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Everythang was just too horrific n' strange, n' I wondered ta mah dirty ass if I was trippin, or up in purgatory or suttin' of tha sort. "Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is yo slick ass?" I asked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I knew yo, but I didn’t. Dat shiznit was entirely confusing.
"I be you, you moron," tha other me holla'd, a smile rested upon his wild lil' face. "I’m no muthafucka else but yo thugged-out ass."
"Remember yo' disease, mah playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. It’ll all come ta tha light dat don’t exist no mo'."
It hit me what tha fuck had happened just as I could feel mah organs jolt ta a stop. I collapsed ta tha ground, somehow kickin it yo, but barely. I faced tha angel, convulsin violently, tryin ta scream but couldn’t.
Da last thang I heard was tha other me sayin "Yo ass know full well whoz ass did dis shit."
Da last thang I saw was tha angel. Fuck dat shit, let me erect mah dirty ass.
My fuckin angel.
Written by Rebel of Rebellion