Nanowrimo - Day 10

He drew his phone out of his pocket, and, on a whim, tried to turn it on. To his surprise, it turned on right away, and had about twenty percent charge left on it. The time readout said it was a little after midnight. He looked around and saw one or two bums coming to settle down for sleep under the lifeguard stand about twenty yards away. After taking a moment or two to get acclimated to his surroundings and sort out what had just happened, and if it had happened.

It seemed to take forever to drive home and get into bed. His grandmother had apparently gone to bed long before, but she'd left a plate of food for him in the fridge, baked chicken and broccoli. He heated this in the microwave and took it to his room with him, but fell asleep with it on the bed next to him before he took three bites.

In his dreams, he saw he same vision he'd had before, standing on stage, rapping to a crowd of thousands of fans, all of them chanting and screaming his name. It was so real that he could feel the intense heat of the stage lights on his skin, making him sweat and making his clothes cling to him. He was still wearing the finest clothes, just like he'd always pictured himself, and he was still moving and controlling all of these people, but something was different, wrong. The fans reached out for him, but there was something in their eyes more like hunger than adoration. Without thinking about it, he threw down his microphone, hearing it skitter away from him amid a burst of feedback and static. He ran to the edge of the stage and leaped into the crowd, landing on a soft bed of hands and arms that carried him away, far from the stage, until the deejay and the dancers were almost too far to see, without craning his neck and trying to sit up. They seemed to be laughing at him. One woman dancer spat on the floor in his direction.

He stayed aloft on the hands that must have been connected to bodies, but which he couldn't really see from his position on his back. Then one of the hands grabbed his side, right over his kidney, digging in with sharp nails and gripping hard. He turned towards that side, tried to twist over and free his hands to pry off the person's fingers before they drew blood, but the next thing he knew his hands were held back by two more people. Then someone slid a wet hand around his neck and pulled downward, and he smelled something like copper or old pennies in the air. He fought to get loose of the hands, called out for someone to help him, looked up into the spotlights and floods covering the ceiling, but there was no answer, no help. The hands now grabbed and pulled him downwards, cutting through his fine clothes and piercing his skin. He could feel the blood flowing down his back as he was turned head down, unable to see as the darkness swallowed him. Looking up towards the lights once more, hoping for some help from above, he saw that the lights were not spotlights or floods any more. They were just two huge, dark blue beams that shone down on him, through him. And they were hungry.

He woke up at a little after ten, sweating and alert. The image of those blue lights, like eyes, remained with him, like a bright light that sticks to the insides of your eyelids long after the source itself goes away, so long that even after you think it's gone, you close you eyes and find it still there. Still, he felt more powerful, as if this day was the day something would happen, something that would move him along the road towards his dreams.

After eating and bathing and dressing, a little better than he normally would, given the auspicious feeling he had, he lit out for the mall, determined to get the shoes from his vision, and maybe the whole outfit, his mood was so high. He checked his secret box of money hidden under his bed, flipped first through the roll of five thousand dollars he had put in there last, and then marked it down on the inside of the lid with the running total. Subtracting another thousand, he took that amount, folded it up, and dropped into the pocket of his loose, black jeans.

At the mall, he found a parking space close to the entrance right away, and even remarked to himself out loud how well this particular day was going. Then he saw them. The same guys from the day before, but without Antwan and Kevin with them. He was already crossing the driveway to the entrance when he saw them, and even started to turn away, thinking about walking to the next entrance. But something in him made him turn back, walk straight on. Even though the shame of the previous day was running hot in is veins, he still stepped forward and forward, putting enough swagger in his steps to compensate for the inadequacy he felt inside. He would walk right by them, he said to himself, pretend like yesterday had never happened, even square off with all three of them if he had to. After all, he was carrying his instant black belt in his waistband in the back of his jeans. But their eyes caught his as soon as he stepped on the curb, and the one who had so badly beaten him the day before was now wearing that haughty smile of the winner.

"Back for your rematch?" the rapper said, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes into a cold stare. The other two laughed behind him like a couple of lackeys.

"Hell, yeah."

The words were out of his mouth before he was even aware of it. He was standing about a foot away from the kid, trying to intimidate with his size and stare and space, and intending to say something slick and threatening, and instead, the challenge was accepted.

The laughing boys were already scrolling through beats and tracks and choosing the best one, obviously the one that advantaged their man the most. After a few seconds of deliberation, they settled on an old instrumental of a disco song, with the bass line enhanced and a tougher beat added. Immediately, the kid got started.

Once again back is the incredible,
Dumb animal, with rhymes soft like oatmeal.
I'm about to fold you up like a letter,
Mail you back home until you can rap better.
Stick to what you know, man, when I go man,
I can make you freeze right up like a snowman.
You get two lines in and get nervous,
Stopping and starting like cheap cell service,
Sweating and losing your mind, I'm so fly,
You know you can't match me, so don't even try.
You'll never keep up with me, so stop running
I'm in the lead, and I'm not close to done yet.

The kid forward a step, looked into Mike's eyes, and then stepped back and leaned against the wall, while his friends slapped his back hard and gave him a pound. He folded his arms and nodded to Mike.

Mike listened to he beat for a moment and hesitated. The nervousness surged back through him as he tried to think of a way to begin. And then suddenly, he knew. He just knew, the way you just know what you want for dinner sometimes, or the way you know what girl you like. The words started pouring out of him, and the problem, really, was keeping up.

I am the dream turned bad that makes you wake up
Screaming and sweating, 'til your chest starts to ache up,
I close your throat with blows to your psyche,
Slow down your heart like poison, I might be
Flesh and blood but inside I'm a fiend,
Greedy for green, like a killing machine.
When I step in the room, cold air fills your lungs,
One look in my eyes and you're struck deaf and dumb,
One word from my mouth and your body goes numb,
One thought from my mind and the wicked things come,
To break out the claws and tear out your tongue.

He stopped, caught his breath, and realized that he hadn't even thought about most of that. It had just flowed through him. He was faintly aware of planning his next rhymes, but not like before. Before, when he had reached back in to he recesses of his mind for images and rhymes, and had grasped for anything to fill the line. This time, the words and rhymes and images had all been right there, right in he forefront of his mind where he needed them. And there were choices, so many choices, and yet so much time to make each one. It was as if the lyrics were something remembered rather than improvised, and yet he knew he had never written them or heard them before. There was something a bit friending about it all, but he ignored that and took in all of the sweetness of his victory.

Just when he was feeling very pleased with himself, enjoying shame he had put to this kid who had dared to challenge him, he noticed that the boys weren't the only ones reacting to his short exhibition. Several people had gathered around, making sure to stay a safe distance away from him, but gaping at the spectacle of this battle sometimes people stopped and listened to these things anyway, but not with the sense of awe that Mike saw on their faces.

"Wow," the defeated kid said, offering his hand to shake, "that's pretty fresh. I take it all back. You got skills, brother."

Mike liked what he heard, what he saw, what he felt. He liked being the center of attention, especially after trying to blend in and go unnoticed for so long. He decided that maybe he had made the right decision after all, and things were finally go his way. In fact, he was starting to wish that he had brought more money with him, so that he could really get started on the kind of life and persona he wanted to have. He could buy not only the shoes he wanted now, but any shoes he wanted, and anything else for that matter. This feeling was euphoric, and even though he still didn't have much of a reason for believing so, he felt strongly that his destiny was coming for him now, within his grasp, and that he must be ready for it in any way possible.

Still, as good as he was feeling, some things didn't change. And for that reason, he brush past the kid's outstretched hand without even acknowledgement, walked past him trough the double glass doors to the mall, and looked around for the first of many stores where he intended to spend his money.