Warring Souls Part 1...

It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of others, of measuring one's soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his twoness,--an American, a Negro; two warring souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.- Excerpt from W.E.B Bubois' book THE SOULS OF BLACK FOLKS





"How in the hell did I get here?" I asked myself over and over again. I took a long pull from the warm and crusty brown blunt filled with marijuana. "How the hell did I get here?" I could barely hear my own thoughts from the pounding of my heart beat. The thumping growing louder as my paranoia began to takeover my mind. I sat there in the passenger seat staring up at the lanky steel street lights that in my fog seemed to be sinister eyes watching my every move. The buzz from the constanly flickering bulbs coupled with my heartbeat and the light drizzle from the rain became the soundtrack to this scene in the movie of my life. My hand ran across the cold steel gun in my lap. My eyes as if burnt burgundy, bespoke revenge as I loaded the clip. I inhaled the marijuana into my lungs one last time and then slowly pulled the mask down over my face.

"Yall ready to do this shit?" I said in a cool, calm albeit somber voice to my two associates. There was no response. I looked to my left and saw Tony with his eyes closed and his head leaning back dripping sweat on the leather head rest. He was mouthing the words to the song blaring through the speakers and his face showed little to no emotion. I asked my question again and he slowly sat upright nodded approvingly and pulled his mask down over his face. I turned to the backseat and saw Takim who was trying to mask his fear through an uneasy smile. It was going to be a long night.

Just hours earlier I had been enjoying sultry jazz offerings with my business partner, my main supplier and our respective dates for the evening. This was the good life. I was a business man enjoying the company of a beautiful woman, my friends and the sensual sound of the singer's voice that was as sweet and auditorily delicious as the finest chocolate.

It was just then as I feasted upon her soulful stylings about pain, and pressure, truth, and lies that the conflict inside me would bubble forth. There was a war going on within me between the man I used to be and the man I had become.

I had been the shy little boy who was taunted because of his dark complexion. Studious and courteous I never raised my voice or caused any ripples. I was the all American boy. Now here I was dining with gangsters, my blackboard cool skin was now considered sexy and the shy little boy had been replaced by a man who was capable of talking dog shit into diamonds.

But now here I am with a gun in my hand, one on my waist, as an unholy rage enveloped my being. I was behind a mask but not just the one that covered my face. My life had become a masquerade. I was living out a gangster movie, a gangsta rap song. "How the hell did I get here?" I asked myself again. Just then the doors of the car flung open violently and Tony in a wicked whisper said "Let's get these motherfuckers."

I wanted to take my mask off. Both of them.