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Piece of a short story. - Writers Nook

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The conception and birth of Gage was an unforeseen mistake. A bad night at a house party. Two people that didn't see eye to eye unless alcohol flowed like wine at a wedding. The music shattered the silence for miles. Sweat filmed bodies pressed together like pieces to a cataclysmic puzzle. It only lasted a night and both parties received a life that would stay with one of them until the very end. Passion was swept under the rug to collect dust and be trampled on. The two one night stand lovers had become parents with a careless act, taking pleasure over priority of safety. The dilemma they both faced was whether to abort or keep the growing human tadpole that took shape every second it parasitically stole nutrients from its host's body.

Days went by, the time that was preferred to reject parenthood was growing closer. There was a point of no return. Roquemar, her mother, and her father, Carter both decided to take the role of parents. Tradition was something they weren't accustomed to. The American Dream just sounded like a potential rap album they'd buy. Roquemar was unemployed but never refused cash from someone that she parted her legs for. Carter worked in a drug cartel that held no specific drug, they sold whatever was high in demand. He made enough to support a little one bedroom apartment with running water and stolen cable.

The days grew longer and hormones seemed to have replaced the plasma essential for Roquemar's blood. With a swollen belly, she waddled around the tiny apartment, knocking over things when she turned quick enough. It was one day, a hot sweltering summer that she burst. Roquemar sat on a couch, the date was July 3rd, 1990, and mistook her water breaking for her bladder short circuiting. It wasn't under the excruciating pain kicked her into a rude awakening that she realized that was in labor and screamed until one of the neighbors called and filed a noise complaint. She was escorted to the hospital by an on-duty officer and was later joined by Carter who was contacted from there.

Thirty-six hours of torturous labor until a baby girl was squeezed out to be hit with her first breath of air. Roquemar didn't care to hold her daughter. She refused to even name her and left it all up to Carter. The neighbors hissed rumors about the child's mother. It was no surprise when they found out that Roquemar skipped out of town, leaving just a note saying that she wasn't fit to be a parent. The child was Carter's. The weight of responsibility was stationed to crush through the man's sternum.

How was he suppose to raise a child?

No Man's Land

There were no baby books, there was no school, and no baby sitters that were hired for long. Carter let his daughter stay at friend's houses when he could not take her long to play around the cartel yard. Months went by before the genetic copy of Carter was finally named by a few of his friends while they were drinking around the apartment.

The conversation went a little like this:
Joey: "Carter, who is this kid?"
Carter: "That's my daughter, man. Haven't you seen her around the [cartel] yard?"
Manuel: "Yeah, that's the baby he had with that whore that ran off. Man, I'd would have like to her go. Maybe have my cousin Felicia take a few shots at her."
Carter at this point falls silent and begins to bring out more beer to pass off to the two other men.
Joey: "Well, what is her name, Cart?"
Carter: "I've just been calling her kid for the past few weeks, and before that, I didn't call her anything."
Joey: "So the kid doesn't even have a name? Dude, we should name her right now."
Manuel: "What about Felicia?"
Joey: "Man, shut the fuck up and have another beer. The way you talk about her, sounds like you've been fucking Felicia."
Manuel: "Hey, don't talk about my cousin like that. You might be my friend but I'll still cut you."
Joey ignores Manuel's threat and mulls over other names. "She's precious to you, ain't she, Carter?"
Carter, after setting the beers on the table: "Yeah, I guess she is."
Manuel: "Call her Gold."
Joey: "Manny, drink your beer and shut up." Joey pauses before going on, "But maybe he's got the right thinking. Not Gold. Don't call her Gold. What about Silver?"
Manuel: "Sterling Silver!" He laughs and chokes on his beer. No one offers to help him.
Joey: "Sterling, I like. Carter Gage. Sterling Gage. How about it, Cart?"
Carter: "It's as good a name as any. What do you think? Do you like that name?"

The only thing the baby could do was smile at her father. It was all the confirmation that he needed.

Years Went On..

When Gage became old enough to be cognizant and able to multitask and carry out complex instructions, Carter let her help with the drug business. He taught her what to do when there was a chance the cops would show. He showed her the different drugs they sold and when to sell what product. When she was 16 years old, Gage's father started having her push to kids her own age, having her stand near the school and act as though she attended. At 18, she was helping make runs and doing business with people other than street kids. Carter would leave his daughter a list to wake up to. The list had names, phone numbers, addresses and meeting times. Sometimes it listed a product to be brought. She would burn the list once everything on it was taken care of.

It was exactly twenty-two days after her 19th birthday that the bronzed young woman caught wind that her father had been mixed in with a deal that went south. He had been shot three times. The third bullet caught him in a lung that collapsed. He died in the ambulance. Hurricanes of emotions came and went. Weeks stretched into months that she did nothing but work. Gage left the cartel and set off to do what work she wanted and crashed wherever she could. That apartment was abandoned and the people that occupied her life just became fainted fingerprints along her memory and each day, she took a cloth to the imperfections and scrubbed them away.

It wasn't until the mid-way point into reaching the age of 20 that Gage had ever held a gun, let alone fire it. She could hold her own without a hand held cannon. It was a deal gone bad, so flashbacks of what she had assumed happened to her father plagued her mind like swarming locusts. Carter's death was on a permanent repeat that could sometimes be filtered out like white noise. The switch was coke for money but the man she was dealing with decided that she could put in more than a little vial of coke. Filthy hands groped, his mouth spewed out foul words, threats that he promised to fulfill. Gage knew he had a gun and to this day, she swears that the details are blurry. That she shot him by accident.

She'll never admit that she liked the feel of metal in her hands and that taking a life was something she wouldn't mind partaking in again.


i really like your story. It's great to see a woman writing in what is considered a male domain. A woman writing in this area gives a different tone to the subject, therefore more layers. if you are open to advice i only have one constructive critism. Sometimes you write a lot of passive sentences. This can make reading difficult. There is nothing wrong with the way you write but if you want to get published, stay away from passive sentence structure. A short story is fine but have you ever read a novel and binned it after one chapter? if you go back and look at that novel you will find the author writes passively. This is the best piece of advice anyone ever gave me and im passing it on to you. Its not a great deal of work to change the sentence structure. Avoid words that end in 'ing.' And basically rearrange your sentences... an example 'Roquemar was unemployed but never refused cash from someone that she parted her legs for.' This is a clumsy sentence structure and would read much better this way ...Roquemar was unemployed. She would open her legs for anyone with cash.' Do you get what i mean. Im not a know it all, i did English for my degree. Its just little things that can take a story from hum drum, to a - here i am and in your fucking face story - good luck, keep at it. i like your style.


Thanks for the suggestion and I'll be sure to work on it. I love writing and I'm always looking for ways to make it better and more interesting for other people to read. We'll see how the next piece goes.


i really love the way you write its straight forward and easy to follow yet really elegant and done with a lot of skill and aristry i really like it is basically what im trying to say

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