Everyone’s heard of at least one ghost story. Well, try living it every day of your life. That’s s what Cloud Beaudry’s had to do.
The voices of screaming victims, the apparitions of relentless killers have tormented the man ever since childhood. And after the death of his mother, Cloud embraced his ability to communicate with the departed and enlisted the help of vicious young ghost named Maggie. With Maggie by his side, Cloud is able to digs up secrets from the grave. And anyone who gets in his way just might find themselves haunted to death.
The bodies of five abducted majorettes are discovered on the old abandoned plantations around Augusta, Georgia. One girl managed to escape, only to die under mysterious circumstances in police custody. This all happens in the hometown of GBI Agent, Cloud Beaudry. He knows the Black Community won’t stay silent. Time is of the essence and Cloud is determined to get to the truth.
As much as he’d like to devote all of his deductive prowess to the case, several factors stand to distract him.
For starters, Cloud has to work with Det. Mark Griffin, the same detective who botched his mother’s homicide five years earlier. Transferring into Cloud’s unit is the brilliant Jessica Arroyo, an old flame who could easily discover his paranormal secret if he lets his guard down. And finally there’s Maggie the unfriendly ghost. Cloud promised to avenge her 1959 murder and there are still names on her hit list. Maggie’s growing impatient.
The following is a narrative fictional piece based on factual events.
…
I’d never been there before. To Philippe Park. I was invited by a colleague to attend his church’s barbecue in celebration of Memorial Day. I admit that I was reluctant at first. Not due to the religion or the fact that it was going to be held at noon when I’m usually a night owl…but because of my agoraphobia. While I accept that I do have a slight case of agoraphobia, I told myself that I wouldn’t let it hold me back from such experiences. So I went.
It was a beautiful day around noon that day. The sun was up but the heat was still manageable. There was a cool breeze rustling through my white cotton button up shirt. The sky could’ve been better. The clouds seemed smeared not painted, but the distinction between the blue sky and the white clouds were distinct, so I enjoyed it nonetheless.
The National park lay on the banks of the western waters of Safety Harbor, a northern extension of Tampa Bay. While the saltwater and the rare sightings of manatees were certainly a worthy attraction of the park…in my opinion the highlight and most noticeable feature of the park are its majestic Spanish moss trees. I’m a history buff, you see…Pulling up to the parking lot and taking a look around, I could tell from the winding serpent branches that stretched out in all directions that they’ve been around for generations. It’s weird…I love historical landmarks when it comes to nature, but feel quite the opposite when it comes to manmade landmarks…like when it comes to buildings, I prefer newer constructions over the older.
Greeting my colleague and his wife at the barbecue made me laugh on the inside. When I walked up to them, already in the line for grilled burgers and hot dogs, they seemed surprised. I told them that I would be coming, but I suppose they just weren’t expecting me to show up one way or the other. Still… they embraced me and introduced me to a few bystanders within proximity whose curiosity I had peaked.
Agoraphobia…I hate that it has the suffix of phobia because I’m not afraid. Just nervous and anxious. Being that I’m well over six feet tall and at one point used to be borderline obese, I still carry the paranoia that I’m always being watched. From a spectator’s point of view, my condition is similar to a formerly abused dog in a new surrounding. My voice shuttered and I struggled to release the words that I was trying to say. As I reached for the hot dogs and hamburgers, my hands and fingers rattled as if I had Parkinson’s. Not fear… It didn’t look cute and I didn’t feel special because of it. It annoyed the hell out of me, and I had to suppress the frustrations I had with myself. But the sensation didn’t last long, thank god. Once I got myself situated, seated and relatively out of the open…I could calm down. I could focus on being sociable.
Being that it was a church function, I felt obligated to inquire into the group’s religion, their beliefs and how they came to find their way to that particular organization. My colleague caught me twice staring off in deep thought. I’m still working on handling my facial expressions because I have large eyes and it’s easy to read my mood. I didn’t mean to be rude or draw in curiosity from my perplexed look, but rather, I find it’s important to digest such information on the spot so I can ask more questions while I still have the people there in front of me.
In the end, the group won me over and I had made up my mind to check out their next service. Not sure what to expect really. But I am a religious person. And more so, I’m a philosopher. What philosopher would turn down an open invitation to learn a new system of thinking, a new theology…I can’t wait.
After sitting with my hosts for a little over half an hour, the inner child in me compelled me to get up and walk around. Such a beautiful place…People get on airplanes and travel all over the world in search for adventure. The amazing thing about Florida is that there are so many untapped places for me to explore. So explore I did.
The following work is completely fictional. Some spelling is incorrect intentionally for flavor.
“…I’m sorry what?”
“English, motherfucker! Do you speak it!” Said another officer before laughing his ass off and wandering down the hall.
“…Royes…” Det. James mumbled as a double-stream of smoke blew out of his nose. “I apologize on his behalf. The graveyard shift on a Tuesday night is boring for all the uni’s.”
I rolled my head and batted my eyelashes. My head was bangin from two white Russians and rum and these pigs was asking me every damn question in the book.
“Mmmhmm…Whatever muthafucker. Go ahead on… talkin about the graveyard duty. I got a double shift at Home Depo in four hours!” I wasn’t yelling at him. Just stessin ma point.
“Then, what were you doin at a bar on Corona Avenue?” James asked.
“That’s my business, you pale face motherfuckuh. Don’t worry about it!”
“You’re right. That is your business. So I won’t worry about it. Instead, I’ll handle mine. All right? And my business is all about figuring out what the fuck happened at the Smooth Umbrella at around 10:30pm on a goddamn weeknight.”
“So why are you asking me!?” I shouted, raising my voice to match his.
“Because you literally puked all over the hood of my Buick!” He said, squinting his eyes and moving his chair closer.
“What? You wanna a special certificate? You want a cookie for being dragged down here? You’re an adult, princess. Get your shit together and answer my goddamn questions! And let me tell you. You better drop the attitude before I run an intoxilyzer on ya ass. Toss a DUI in your lap. Yeah! Believe me, princess. That shits hard to get off your record. Mugshots all over the goddamn internet. Good luck picking up a guy who Google searches ya ass. Try me.”
Detective Patrick James. I saw from his badge that he was a senior officer and from the way he switched it up on me, I can see why. Caucasian, but he could talk like a nigga if he wanted to. Didn’t blame him. In fact, I respected it. I don’t like talking to cops or suits but James got raw on me all the sudden. Made me smile. But if he ain’t stop waving that muthafuckin pen all up in my face, they might had to be somethin.
“Tell me what happened, Michelle. Start from the beginning, alright. Tell me what you saw.” James said as he moved a Dixie cup of coffee my way.
It’s always a heavy thing for me to write about a terrible incident that’s purely fictional, yet realistic.
I worry about those who may use my inventions as a blue print to carry out those incidents. Much like the movie “The Raven.” Should I not write them? It would be a bit hypocritical of me, I think. Once upon a time, I scoffed at rappers who brushed off responsibility when young kids idolized their ghetto mentality. If the day comes…I won’t brush off the responsibility. My conscience will be crushed, but I’ll continue to write regardless. If you were to ask me why, fully aware of the consequences…I’d tell you its because its worth the risk for a good story.
Foreign Beggars ft. Noisia – Contact (dubstep) Press Play
“The Boys from Racetrack Road” is an edgy action comedy about a wisecracking competitive delivery driver with a penchant for street racing where the opportunity presents itself.
In episode 1, we’re introduced to the world of Maxwell Blaz. It isn’t an easy one, and right from the get-go he’s put in a risky race through a suburban neighborhood. Consequently his skills are caught by the eyes of Mirror, the vice-head of the Bronze Tigers race team. In dealing with his friends and time-consuming sisters, Max has his hands full on Good Friday and the night hasn’t even started yet.
Episode 2 – Coming Soon
In the upcoming episode, Max begins his Friday night shift at the Pizza Shack and the fun begins. Joined with his delivery/racing buddies Eric and Robbie, a competition ensues for who can collect the most tips. Add that with the non-stop bickering between shift leaders Jon and Chris and you have your typical night working for a pizza delivery joint. Then of course there’s Mirror. Completely captivated by Max’s reckless driving skills, Mirror’s determined to see for himself if Max’s previous win was a fluke or something more…
Stage In The Sky 