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The Autumn Aircraft - #1 - Little Sister Becka

He proceeded forward, grimacing as he went upstairs, blood pouring from his right nostril, his side, and the
corner of his le ft eye. His movements were purposeful, his entire body tense.
“We gonna blindside this nigga,” says a male with braids and a large automatic weapon. The gun he
holds was stolen from a police car after he murdered a cop during a traffic stop last, and was a firearm that the
general public didn’t have access to. It was highly powerful. Highly dangerous. Many consider it one of the first
real weapons of the future, which brought only minimal pleasure and intrigue considering it was really one of t he
last weapons that would exist on the planet Earth.
He is on the fourth floor, standing with five men and one girl behind a door that stands slightly ajar. They
all hold guns. The one with the weapon of the future leads the group. He wears a black T -shirt and a bulletproof
vest and since news of the end of the world first reached him he has been mentally prepping for war. With anyone,
anywhere. He didn’t have to know this nigga. He knows that the man is invading the complex he knows as home.
Blasting his people. That shit is not going to play here. No sir.
The man waits. He hears the sound of commotion down a couple of levels and wants to go out but is afraid
of being blindsided himself. People are dashing down the staircase, past the opening in the door, trying to get out of
the building, but by the looks of it many are not yet aware of the man, they only know that there’s gunfire and they
want to get out. Fights and shootings are a normal part of life and it is only the fact that utter chaos has brok en out
in the building that there is any real reaction at all.
“Have your shit cocked nigga” the man screams to his people. “Have the motherfucking safety off.”
From downstairs: “Motherfu—Aahh! Aaaaahhh!”
The sound of a gunshot, loud and prominent explodes one or two levels below. What follows i s a loud
curse, the sound of what could be a number of hard punches and kicks. There’s a loud snap. The sound of gurgling
and three quick snaps in succession follow.
More curses from downstairs: “Bitch ass—” starts a female voice that is quickly choked off. A heavy male
grunt and another snapping sound comes right after.
“Bitch motherfucker,” the leader by the door murmurs. His eyes are wide. The area around him feels
suddenly hot. Had someone turned up the heat? The large firearm he holds in his h ands—the weapon of the
future—though lightweight, feels suddenly heavy. He’s no longer certain that he wants to do this. He’s been in a
gunfight three times in his twenty-three years, but he’s no longer sure he wants to be a part of this one. Whatever is
going on below him doesn’t sound good. And suddenly he feels his bladder and it feels distinctly full.
A wail, loud and agonized, rolls up the stairs, sending the hairs on the man’s back up. The gun slips from
his hands and he has to bend down to pick it up.
“Jax,” the female asks. “We still doing this?”
“Yeah we still doing this. Shut the fuck up!”
“You looking a little—”
BANG! The sound of a shotgun blast from below.
“They probably got the dude,” the girl says. She’s just behind Jax and holding a handgun. “My cousin
said he just saw one guy downstairs.”
“And didn’t he say the motherfucker was running amuck? Shit I could hear the sound through your fuckin
“It’s one guy with a gun! Ain’t nothing—”
“Okay! Just shut the hell up, I think I hear him coming!”
“What was that?” Lena asks. She’s heard what could’ve been a gunshot from far off in the stairwell.
Sound carries far in her complex.
“Some dude downstairs, beating down niggas and shooting up the place or something. A boy of mine’s
down there, he just called me. Dude’s trippin’, says it looks like the motherfucker from the news.”
She has just sat back down at the kitchen table to join the men playing dominoes, all of them JD’s friends.
JD is still in the room with her daughter and should be out to join them momentarily.
“I know this,” the man says, a lit cigarette jutting from his lips, and a handgun on the table. He picks it up
and cocks it then puts it back down. “He comes up to this floor for whatever reason, the nigga gonna wish he