I am a horrible blogger. Just look around this site and tell me I’m not. I rarely update, I don’t have much to say when I do (other than the occasional piece of news about my own writing), and most of the traffic I get is when people are looking for pornography and are mistakenly directed to my site.
So today, in an effort to get back into this whole blogging thing (I have a book coming out very soon that will need all the promotion it can get), I’m doing something different: I am playing publisher. I am NOT a publisher, so perhaps we could equate this experiment to some kind of kinky role-play (safety phrase is “don’t stop doing that no matter what I say”).
This experiment involves one of my favorite activities, finding videos of people beating the shit out of each other on YouTube. While watching a particular video this past weekend (below) I was completely mesmerized. The title is clear enough, though it wasn’t the fight that engaged me so fully, but the cameraman’s commentary. From his staircase perch he looked over the scene like a ghetto Dr. Eckleburg. His commentary was not only a scary reminder of the violence some people witness and participate in almost daily, but also the voice of reason when the antagonist wouldn’t do the intelligent thing: Just get the fuck out of this dude’s house when he had the chance.
That’s just a little background on what’s to follow. I posted the video to Facebook for my crime writing homies and suggested that they write a first act for the video. I wanted to know what led up to the first frame in which our stubborn, visiting pugilist was already in a headlock. Enter Hector D Junior, he stepped up and wrote a killer intro to the video, which again is below. Read Hector’s words and then watch the rest of the scene unfold via video. Do I need to warn you that it’s violent? No. I don’t.
by Hector D Junior
Tone’s been with Daz’s sister for close to a month now. Nothing crazy, just kicking it, getting to know one another. Nichelle ain’t like the hood rats round the corner.
Tone always calls when he needs to re-up. When Daz tells him to ride through and pick his shit up for the next month, Tone says, “Nigga, I’m strapped right now. Call you when I got something to give you.”
“Damn, nigga, what you take me for? Some kinda gold diggin’ bitch? Ride through and we’ll hit a big ass blunt. Quick, Ty’s orderin’ pizza.”
Tone hangs up. Daz doesn’t give time for an answer. He doesn’t show up and they’d be on his ass too, maybe even give Nichelle shit. Nah, he best ride through, keep up appearances. They’re gonna jump his ass for sure, no doubt.
Fuck, he didn’t feel like getting into a fight. Not when things going so good with Nichelle. It’s weird how brothers and sisters can be different like that. That’s what he likes about her so much. She ain’t one of these long-nailed, horse-hair hood rats say mother fucker every other word. Some got stretch marks they show with those lil ass tank tops with no bras, titties out for all the other niggas to see. Tone ain’t about to fuck around with hoes gonna have him a dad in less than a year, livin’ in the hood rest of his life. If Tone don’t fight, Tone stays. Probably Nichelle too.
He straightens his shit out right before knocking, tells himself if mother fuckers are gonna jump him, he’s takin’ them down. They ain’t keeping him and Nichelle here forever.
Hector Duarte Jr. is a writer out of Miami, Florida. To keep himself financially stable, he teaches English to seventh graders. To keep himself mentally stable, he reads, and writes as many stories as he can.
His work has appeared in Bewildering Stories, Flash: The International Short Story Magazine, Sliver of Stone, Foliate Oak, Flash Fiction Offensive, Shotgun Honey, Rockwell’s Camera Phone, Near to the Knuckle, and Shadows and Light: An Anthology to Benefit Women’s Aid UK.
He loves his cat, Felina, very much.