Simplicity, With A Grenade.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
Grenades, robberies, drugs, and an overall introspective atmosphere.

Submitted: January 02, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 02, 2013




Simplicity, With a Grenade


As I stare out the window, all I can think about is that skunk. I just want to light up and I don’t think its going to happen. At least I think it shouldn’t happen, but it probably will. I pick up the phone to hit up my dealer, D’Angelo. He goes by DLO. No answer. He must be out or at work. I walk out of my room and the paranoia kicks in. My mom has been in the hall outside of my bedroom door the entire time. Hope she wasn’t listening. Was I thinking out loud? I need a medication adjustment. “Hi mom.” My face is scrunched up into a forced smile. She has very little idea of what I go through with myself on a daily basis.

“I’m about to go to the gym, what are you doing sweetie?”

 “Probably some guitar, maybe go to a friends.”- Lie, I’m trying to go pick up weed. I’m glad she’s leaving, being around my mom causes a lot of anxiety. It’s not her; it’s the things I keep from her that make me nervous. While she’s out I’m going to comb my room for weed scraps, maybe enough for a quick bowl pack, just to get by. No. Maybe I’ll play some videogames to keep my mind off of it. This never works. I can’t even turn on the console; the minute I sit down I sink deep into thought. About my life, my relationships that are pretty much nonexistent, and denial of my problems. All I can think about is pot. I don’t know why. Its like a dear friend to me, keeping me company and picking me up when I feel shitty. I don’t even get high anymore; balanced is a better way to put it.

“Bitch I’m amazin’, look what I’m blazin, eyes so low yeah I look like an asian…”

 Young Jeezy is the ringtone I have set for DLO. Hell yeah now I can do something!

I forget what I have been doing and thinking for the past hour and am almost shaking with anxiety to get that bud. I answer,

“What up bro?”

“Shit chillin, been at work. What u need?”


I’m always broke now, even though I have a job all I do is spend my money on pot and the gas to get it. Oh, and cigarettes.

“Come through.”

Yup. I hang up the phone and run downstairs to my little blue Honda Civic. The whole thing is littered with seeds and stems from my amazing drug habit. DLO ‘s a good dude. Honest and a good father to his kid. I kick it with him occasionally as he’s only twenty years old, a year younger than me. Living on his own and making a decent living. It kind of makes me disgusted with myself. His neighborhood is pretty bad, lots of crack heads. I pull up behind his apartment. “Fucking finally” I think to myself. I can’t help but grin at the thought of that blunt I’m about to smoke. It’s like waiting for Christmas or something. So I knock on the door, which is barricaded from behind and has bars on the window. Someone peers through the shades on the window.

“Who is it?”


 I hear him taking down the barricade behind the door, but then something happens. The door doesn’t open and I hear a scuffle in the back round. I should have just left right then, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted that weed. Someone peers through the shades again, this time its not DLO. I’m on the wrong end of a pistol. Before I can even run, the door slams open, knocking me to the ground.

“Get in here honkey and sit next to your boy.”

 I obey because I am not about to fuck with this guy. DLO is sitting on the couch; a gun is pointed at his head. There are four guys total. There was one watching us, the others were ransacking the apartment. I’m sitting there wondering what the fuck is happening.

“Duh it’s a robbery.”

Why did I need that shit? I could be home, with my family, out of harms way. But no, I had to come down to this dangerous neighborhood and buy weed. One guy extracts a shoebox from the ceiling. I hope that’s what they are looking for; I just want to get out of here. A gun went off and DLO’s knee exploded.

“Where’s the rest at?”

 I thought he was talking to him but then I realized he was looking at me. “Dude I have no idea, all I got is ten bucks on me, I just came over to buy a blunt.”

He held me down with that gun while his boys patted me down, took the ten-dollar bill, and then took my car keys.


They walk towards the door. Oh my god they are stealing my car. How am I going to explain this?

“Hey mom, I was buying weed and my dude got robbed while I was down there. They stole my car too.”

My ass would be out of that house and on the street before I could finish the sentence. DLO is bleeding on the couch, pretty bad. I make a tunicate out of a piece of bed sheet and tie off his leg above the knee. What to do now? I grab his cell phone and call his girlfriend. She arrives a few minutes later with her brother Ramille who I know pretty well. Meanwhile DLO has passed out. We haul him into the backseat of her red Ford Taurus and she rushes him to the hospital. Ramille is looking around the apartment, trying to grasp what happened and I am thinking about how to get my car back. I cannot call the cops, too many questions. Not to mention I am in a drug dealers house. I have to find those people who took my car, that’s the only way. I know DLO has guns. Why he didn’t use them I will never know, but he definitely has them. I looked in the ceiling, the bathroom, even inside the toilet tank. Under the mattress I found the mother load.  He has an automatic Glock 18C with a huge clip, a Taurus .38 special revolver, and two junk brand 9mm pistols. I also see a small lunchbox. Inside I find three live grenades. How the fuck did he get these? Whatever it doesn’t matter, we have them. Now I need to figure out how to get my car back. I call one of my buddies; explain what happened, and he hangs up on me.

Prick. He once called me his brother.

I guess I could find the people, if they haven’t skipped town. Ramille suggests that we look for it, as he thinks he has an idea of who it was. We are on two different wavelengths however. He wants to kill them, and I just want my car.

“We are killin’ those fucks” he says.

“Whatever”. I am not interested in violence. Just then, the dark side of my mind hit me, like a ton of bricks.  I think to myself, “Either way I lose.” If I don’t find my car, I’m on the streets. My parents would never forgive me, or so I thought. Not with all the other crap I have sent their way. Not this time. If I do find it, I face a confrontation with hardened criminals, and possibly death. My anxiety skyrocketed, my hands shook and I thought for a moment of just putting one of those guns in my mouth and pulling the trigger, escaping my life. “No, that is the cowards way out. But wouldn’t death be better than what I am about to face? No family, no home. No, That is not going to happen. But it might?” I am having a mental argument with myself, it happens more than once a day. “Boy what the fuck are you doing?” I realize that I have been sitting on the bloody couch, gun in my hand, staring at the ceiling. I was caught up in rumination, again. Time to make a decision. I look back at the arsenal we had uncovered. Suddenly my demeanor changed. I no longer feared what was ahead; I no longer blamed myself for getting into this mess. All I could think about was killing those motherfuckers who did this. My adrenaline pumped.

That’s it.

“What are we gonna do bro?” Ramille asked.

I bluntly replied, “We’re gonna fucking kill ‘em.”

The hard part is next. Quickly we loaded some extra clips in our pockets, we each concealed two handguns, and I took the grenades. Now where to look? I’m pretty unfamiliar with this neighborhood, which is filled with alleys, overgrown yards and shady houses no more than 3 feet apart. It’s an easy place to hide. “Guess we might as well start walkin’.” I said. We had gotten no more than 3 blocks down the road when I saw my car. “No way, are these guys really that stupid?” I guess whoever said criminals usually return to the scene of the crime wasn’t full of shit. I can’t believe it. My blue Civic pulls into a narrow alley and parks in the middle, facing forward. The dude is still in it and remains there for some time. I figured this was our chance.

“Dude our job just got a whole lot easier.”

“Yes it did Ramille, yes it did.” I laughed, I don’t know why. My hands began to shake again, and my voice trembled, but I still laughed. Ramille recognized the driver, who was alone in the car. We approach the car and he spots us. We are walking dead on towards him, no hiding. My thoughts are racing; “Could I actually kill a man? If he pulls out a gun, I’m going to open fire. But what about cops?

In this neighborhood gunshots are common. Again reasoning with myself. Too late, he is out of the car and reaching into his pants. One shot. “Thud” the bullet slams into his chest, leaving him moments from death. Two of his boys from the robbery run out of the house about fifty yards away, guns drawn. I duck behind the garage and Ramille is behind me, speechless. I reach into my pocket, take a peek around the corner and lob one of the grenades in their direction. The sound was deafening, my ears rang so much it was painful. Smoke filled the air, windows were shattered up and down the block. It’s time to get my car and get the fuck out of here. I turn around to give Ramille the “Lets go” but he just stands there, with a little blood leaking out of the side of his mouth. His eyes are glassy and kind of bulging. He falls forward, and a man is behind him pulling a knife out of Ramille’s back. I don’t think twice, I put a bullet right between his eyes and bail. My car is still running, I hop in and hit the gas like I’m being chased. I didn’t remember the last dude from the apartment, but I didn’t care. I was out of there and safe. About halfway home I wipe the gun clean and ditch it in the river. Then I break down. I begin sobbing so hard I cannot catch my breath and begin to hyperventilate. I cannot grasp what has just happened. I just killed four men, I was robbed, one of my friends is dead, and the other is in the hospital.

I am just now realizing all that has happened in the last 5 hours and it makes me sick. I pull over and throw up what little I had in my stomach and just sit there, wishing I hadn’t thrown that gun away. Wishing that I could just put it against my head and pull the trigger.

“I cannot live with myself after this.”

 My thoughts were betraying me once again. I slap myself in the face, say, “Fuck it and continue home. My mother is out on the deck, watching the sunset with our little dog on her lap, and somehow, life went on.


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