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Author Topic: Ka$h Daddy  (Read 497 times)

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Offline Aozora

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Ka$h Daddy
« on: July 05, 2015, 02:58:40 AM »
Thought of a new story idea and rolled with it thanks to the Hot Seat. Quick note: every writer should do the Hot Seat. I was reluctant at first but once I started it, I've had no regrets. Story was supposed to be more light and comedic but it ended up taking a more dark/serious turn, which I'm okay with. Synopsis is simple: Indian kid, kicked out of his house, trying to become a rapper on the streets of NY. It's a WIP. Enjoy.

Kash Daddy

“Put your hands in the air, like you got facial hair!”

But they didn’t put their hands in the air, not a single person.

The sudden shift in mood was jarring. He didn’t know how to continue with the cold, silent stares of an unimpressed crowd bearing into him.

That is until Draymond, his opponent, threw his head back and guffawed. He pulled up his sagging pants and tried to control his amusement. “Aye man, you being serious with me right now?” he asked through stifled chuckles.

He didn’t back down, looking at Draymond square in the eye. Though he had to tilt his head up, since he was a bit shorter and smaller than him – actually he was a lot shorter and smaller. It’s not that he was a midget; just everyone else was a tower. Where he lived, every other guy seemed to have the physique of a basketball player so being the 5 foot, eleven plebian that he was, he often found himself having to strain his neck whenever he spoke.

“Aye, I’m being damn serious man.” Just as he finished, he knew he had messed up. And for a moment, the brief silence led him to think no one noticed but then the hall erupted in laughter.

He usually hid his thick Indian accent fairly well, but this time it came out in full force, like a loud hiccup that scares everyone in the room or a really long burp that won’t stop until it’s finished. His embarrassment was obvious from his fidgeting and looking at the ground.

Draymond was laughing so hard, his dreadlocks had joined in the laughter too, flailing and dancing around. And every time he’d try to say something, he’d just start cackling again. When the laughter had finally subsided, he was practically out of breath. “Get this dumbass off the stage,” he said to a pair of men double his size.

The emcee stepped forward and grabbed the mic from him.

“Aye wait man, just give me another chance!” He protested only to be answered with another spurt of laughter. No matter how much he tried, he just wasn’t able to hide his accent today. And he knew why. Tense situations like these had a tendency to repress the American in him, and expose the Indian – that’s just how it’d always been, ever since he first set foot in the star-spangled country. 

The guards gripped him and forced him off the stage. He raised his chin, flared his nostrils, and shrugged his shoulders. Though it was clear his pathetic attempts at acting cool weren’t fooling anyone there. Because underneath all that bravado was just a devastated high school dropout, who didn’t fit in anywhere.

As he was thrown out the building, he fell in a pile of sludge and grime that littered the dark alleyways of New York’s ghettos. He wiped it off and got back to his feet, looking at the building once more. This was where the useless and hopeless denizens of New York would gather every Saturday to watch two failures hurl insults at each other in beats and rhymes. And he had finally gotten his chance to be one of those failures up on that stage but he had failed at that too.

He had been trying for the past six months to participate in a rap battle. And every single time he had volunteered, shouting and waving his arm like a madman, they had ignored him. It must have been because of how he looked. A scrawny Indian kid fresh-off-the-boat with glasses and disheveled black hair didn’t exactly scream “rapper”, and he knew that. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to be on that stage and today it had finally happened.

No one had dared to face Draymond, apparently the best rapper on the streets. So he had jumped on the opportunity, and had pushed his way to the front of the crowd declaring to the emcee that he would do it – he would battle the almighty Draymond. But of course, they had acted like they couldn’t see him and desperately searched for another brave soul to speak up. No one did. So, before anyone could deny him his moment to shine, he had swaggered onto the stage ready to rap, only to be later humiliated in front of all those people, his one chance completely shattered and ruined.

The thought brought tears to his eyes as he walked through the slums. Though, he quickly wiped them with the sleeve of his tattered jacket, which he had found in a dumpster the day before. Crying was not an option, especially in these parts of town. It was a sign of weakness that would only give others a reason to prey on him.

He stopped at a small, dilapidated building – the kind that a corporate tycoon would have demolished long ago to build a McDonald’s but couldn’t because people like him needed a place to live. As soon as he entered, he heard the cries of children wanting their fathers and mothers needing support. He climbed the stairs in the racket. He was used to it by now.

When he got to his room, he wanted to go inside and escape this unforgiving world so badly that his hands shook, fumbling with the key. But a New York accent he recognized immediately caught his attention.

“How’d it go today, Kash?” Mrs. Haley, his neighbor so to speak, stood outside her room, cradling her infant daughter in her arms.

He forced a smile. “It was alright. I didn’t win but it was close.” He lied and he was surprised at how easily he was able to do it. That’s what humiliation can do to a person, he supposed.

“That’s alright,” she smiled. “Just keep trying and doing what you’re doing. I’m sure-” Her daughter’s siren sounded, drowning out her voice. She tried to calm her wailing babe with playful faces and sounds. But it was in vain. He knew all too well that that baby was not going to shut up anytime soon, because all the babies in this entire building never shut up anytime soon. It was a curse.

On the verge of a splitting migraine, he turned to his door and unlocked it. He was just about to go in when he heard Mrs. Haley’s voice.

“I don’t know why this always happens.” She tried to yell over her daughter. “I put her to sleep and everything’s fine, but then she just starts crying for no reason.”

The tears rolled from her eyes like small rivers. And that’s when it hit him – the realization that everyone’s struggling with something. For him it was humiliation and crushed hopes; for Mrs. Haley it was helplessness. She had given birth to her daughter out of wedlock, and the father had left her to raise their child on her own while she juggled college and a part-time job on the side. It didn’t work out in the end. She had failed all her classes and had been fired from her job. A pity, since she had been a bright student with dreams of becoming a lawyer, all of which had been crushed in just one night because she decided to have one too many drinks. In those helpless tears, there was bound to be some remorse and regret swimming in there too. Because the once aspiring lawyer had been reduced to a maid, cleaning bathrooms and babysitting elderly folk for schmucks too lazy to do it themselves.

There was no way he could just leave her like that. He took his hand off the doorknob and walked over to Mrs. Haley. “Do you think I could try?” he said, extending out his arms.

Mrs. Haley looked up at him with a glimmer of hope. She tried to act hesitant but it was clear from the manner in which she handed him her daughter how relieved she was to have some help.

He took the babe in his arms and rocked her back and forth. “Ssshhh,” he said in his most soothing voice. And for some reason, it was working. The siren had become more like a drone, and before long, quiet whimpers.

Mrs. Haley’s expression lit up and she beamed at him. “How did you do that? Thank you so much!”

“I’m not really sure,” he chuckled as he gazed into the babe’s face. All that crying always made him avoid the babe so this was his first time holding her like this. He kind of liked her without the screaming. In fact, he found her beautiful: the pink cheeks, the wide eyes, the flawless skin. But all of those qualities paled in comparison to her smile. When she opened her mouth and stretched her thin red lips into a toothless grin, he forgot everything. All the pain, hardship, suffering he had endured since coming to this country – he had forgotten it all if only for a split moment. Without knowing, he started crying because the amount of love and happiness contained in just that one smile was overwhelming. He knew right then and there that he now had a reason, a purpose. He would work to never let the smile on this babe’s face turn to sorrow. All the other rappers could have all the money, prostitutes, and fame they wanted. That was not his desire, and it never would be.   

To be continued...

« Last Edit: July 07, 2015, 01:06:13 AM by Aozora »
The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it.

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