To whom it may concern. Life delays. We delay. And now…
Warning this is part 6 a series post.
Chapter One: This Anit That!
Part Seven
“What’s your name, boy?” A cold-faced man barks.
“Candidate Willing T Azjaynee, sir,” Willing shakily responds.
“Az – Ja – Kay? Shit, sound like a sneeze boy!”
“What makes you think you can handle being in this core, boy?” the man snarls.
“It’s Ah-Juh-nee, sir.” Willing firmly corrects.
“Listen, boy. If I want your opinion, I will give you one.”
“There is no room in this core for a smart-ass, boy!” The man says, looking through papers on his cluttered desk before continuing.
“Word tells that your family has never been of slave blood. How is that boy?” he says, looking at Willing intensely.
“My family has always been here. We have been traveling to this country trading with the natives for centuries.”
“I can’t tell you how long we have been here.”
“I just know that we have always been here,” Willing states poking his chest out with pride.
“Get yo chest off my desk, boy!”
“This is not yo mama’s house,” The man barks at Willing, seeing the pride in his eyes.
“These white folks will hang yo black ass from one of these trees ’round here!” The man says, pointing to the forest outside his window.
The man looks at the trees for a moment while gritting his teeth.
He then turns to Willing and watches until the pride drains from his face before continuing.
“Do you understand me, boy?”
Willing nods his head, yes, and the man continues.
“My blood touched this rock in 1620. He was one of the first slaves and the first free,” the man tells Willing, eyes beginning to burn with passion.
“White folk left him for dead, but God, He had other plans.”
“You not the only one who comes from a proud blood, boy.”
“Now answer me. What makes you think you have the guts for this core boy?” he roars at Willing.
The man stares at Willing’s eyes as if looking into his soul.
The man’s glare increases intensity drastically, snatching the air out of the small room.
Willing does not back down from the staring contest, though his mind is racing.
The two men stare at each other like a pair of samurai warriors about to face off.
Each man raises their levels of energy intensity.
Willing looks into the man’s jet-black eyes filled with rage and murder while replying.
“Whether I have your blessing or not, I will get my father away from these crackers, sir!” Willing says, trying to match the man’s level of malice.
“Boy, Please. I can hear yo boot shaking from here,” the man says, leaning back in his chair and laughing.
“But, I like your spirit, boy!”
“Captain James Marcus, leader of Michael’s Wings.”
End of Part Seven
Thank you for reading.
See you on the next post!
Peace.
My name is Kinfolk Wellin and this is my original content.
All rights reserved.
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