A Giving Soul

Prelude to Change
It had been a week since Michael was released from the hospital and he spent all of that time on bedrest. He laid flat on his back in his large bed but gripped his hand tightly as a rope to a necklace stretch across his stomach. Gazing at the ceiling all he could do was think about the fight he had with that thing.

"This thing is bad luck..." He'd thought to himself, opening his palm revealing the red gem of the necklace which he'd taken from Lin. It seemed to have brought him back luck, but good luck at the same time. He felt as though there was something he had to do like he had been called into duty indirectly.

It'd also been a week since he'd last seen Sangius. Had he finally managed to get out of that thing's grasp? "Yeah, I'd rather not have to deal with that shit!" A proud claim he made to himself. Initially, going into all of this, Michael had neglected it all. I mean, he was a normal kid, star athlete for his school with a bright future of ahead of him. Things like this happened only is Japanese TV shows.

Among his extensive thinking, a knock came to his door, then slowly it opened revealing the face of a young lady. She was about five foot seven, dark-skin, long black hair, and red eyes. This was, Lamaria Pryor, a student at the University of Houston and longtime friend to Michael and his family.

Since his mother was busy with her book signing and other work-related things, Lamaria stepped in for her and had been partially nursing Michael back to full health. She came over from time to time to check on him and make sure he'd been making a decent recovery.

"You alright, Mike?" She asked.

"Yeah," he responded. "Imma' go to the gym in a lil' bit." Turning his body so that he could lift himself from the bed, he stood to his two feet, already dressed in his usual jogging suit attire, but this time colored black and white.

"I been feelin' like a bear stuck in a cave, man. I ain't tryna' stay in the house a day more, to be honest." Michael stretched his arms out and

Lamaria looked at him, "Yeah, she told me to not let you do that. But you're a grown man, I ain't stoppin' you." Pulling the door close she stated one last thing, "Just don't push yourself too hard."

Closing the door shut the dark skinned girl leaned up against it, closed her eyes and looked up. "What a stupid ass boy. I practically throw myself out there, for more than ten years!" She let out a sigh, "Calm down Lamaria, he's ignorant and VERRRRY conceited." Pushing off of the door she headed downstairs and out of the Davis' home.

Meanwhile, Michael had already begun brushing his teeth and washing his face so that he could do as he told Lamaria, and head to the gym to get some shots up. After taking about twenty minutes to prepare himself, take it he already had his clothes on, he exited the restroom and headed for his closet. Sliding the closet door open, he looked down where he met a lump sum of shoes.

Reaching for an all black pair of shoes with a black check on the side, he removed them from the closet and easily slid his feet into them. Sliding the closet down back close, he checked himself out in the mirror that rest on it. On the nearby dresser were a pair of hoop earrings, which he placed into his ears to get a better look at himself.

"Hold up," He smiled, turning his shoe to the side. "I'm lowkey kinda' fresh right now." A compliment he gave to himself despite no one being around to hear him.

Ending his self-admiration, Michael headed for the door of his room, rushed downstairs and exited his home. Heading for the all black car resting on the side of the road he got into it and turned the car on. Before putting the car in drive, Michael look at the passenger seat and had an insta-flash of Sangius sitting there.

"At least I ain't gotta' worry about that nigga' fuckin' with my seats." Shifting the car into drive, Michael pulled out of his neighborhood and began to make his way along to roads to his location.

After driving for about thirty minutes, Michael pulled into the parking lot of a gas station named "Shells". A large gas company known throughout the United States. While it had man chains and stores across the country, it was known for bearing a bad reputation when it came down to gas prices.

Currently, the digital sign read "$2.15 w/ cash.", meaning those using a debit or credit card would have to be a whopping $2.35. A grand finesse scheme to say the least. Luckily for the young man his car had been full on gas, courtesy of his mother who always made sure he was never low, providing him with her "gas only debit card".

Pulling into a parking spot near the main facility, Michael jumped out of his car and entered it. Once getting into the store, Michael paused in place as he became absent-minded. His expression gave off the feeling as though he'd forgotten something. That "something" was the fact that he'd forgotten what he'd came into the store for in the first place.

"Hey, Michael buddy!" A man shouted from behind the register, his facial features revealed that he was a man of Pakistani descent.

Snapping back to reality, Michael remembered what it was he came in there for and then spoke back to the man, "Wassup Fred." A quick response, rushing to the display of chips surveying it he reached for the bag labeled "Funyuns" on one line and "Flamin' Hot" on the other.

Grabbing two bags of the chips he turned himself to head back towards the front of the store where he met with a cooler type of thing that had fruit in a clear container sitting on a boatload of ice. The containers had pineapples, grapes, melons, and watermelon.

Michael grabbed two of these as well and headed for the register where the man he'd called Fred stood. He opened both of the containers and moved the watermelon from the second container to the first one. And the placed all the remaining fruit that wasn't watermelon from the first container into the second one. Once done he pushed the second one to the side.

"You already know. Charge me for both, but I only want the watermelon." Reaching into his pocket as the cashier rung him up, Michael pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to the man.

"The usual," Fred started "but congratulations on winning the tournament." He finished, placing the twenty into the register and beginning to count the change.

Placing the items into a white plastic bag he responded, "Keep tha' change and appreciate it, next is the league." His southern accent emphasizing the word appreciate as he turned to exit the store. Reaching his car, he opened the door and placed the bag over into the passenger seat.

"Well damn, if it ain't College Champ himself, Michael Davis." A voice called, relatively close, causing the mohawked male to lift himself up meeting face to face with the man.

The man sported a short taper fade and had skin very similar to Michael's own. He was a few inches taller than the latter, but Michael still managed to make eye contact with him. "The fuck you such close to me for, Chris?"

"Damn Mike, it's like that now?" Chris let out a soft chuckle. "Damn you started takin' basketball serious and forgot all about a nigga. You don't even wanna be gang no more."

Chris was a childhood friend of Michael's who took the wrong path in life. Drug dealing, robbing, all of the above. For the past years the two have been on bad terms due to Michael choice of wanting to do something positive with his life, yet Chris couldn't accept this and often tried intimidating him.

"Think imma' have to catch yo momma at one of those lil' book signin's or some shit like that." Chris laughed, "Yeah, some public type shit man, hahahaha."

Without a single thought in his mind or cocking his hand back which had already been formed into a fist, Michael smashed his fist against the center of Chris' face. Before the latter could recoup his fist would be met by a strong hook this time with the opposite hand, the right.

Grabbing ahold of his shirt, Michael pulled him all the way up to the side walk and threw him against the store's wall. Consecutive left and right jabs were throw at Chris' face and abdomen. Each punch heavier then the last.

"Yeah nigga, let's squabble!" Michael shouted throwing more punches.

Finally Chris managed to smuggle enough strength and push Michael off of him so that he could throw a punch of his own.

However, with a simple weave, Michael launched another strong left hook this time making direct contact with Chris' eye and ultimately lead to Chris falling to the ground, Michael stood over him and began throwing punch after punch.

Chris' face was bloody, every inch of it painted in the maroon substance. "Get yo' bitch ass up, nigga!" Next he began to stomp on him with his foot, lifting it and slamming it down with all of his might, truly intending to break something on his foe.

"YOU BALLED UP LIKE A BITCH NOW! GET YO WEAK ASS UP AND SAY THAT SHIT AGAIN, NIGGA! WATCH I KNOCK YO' BITCH ASS SMOOTH THE FUCK OUT!" Michael's words were filled with rage. He hadn't even noticed the large number of people watching him deliver this beating.

Fred, the store worker, flung around the corner grabbing Michael away from doing further damage to Chris. "Get out of here! Hurry up before these people notice you!" Fred shouted, pushing Michael to his car as the teen launched his hood over his head, jumped into his car and pulled off with haste.

Offering the Soul
"FUCK!" Michael shouted, smashing his hands against steering wheel as he pulled into a abandoned junk yard. Turning his hand around so that he could see the front side of it, he noticed the skin of his knuckles had been peeled off. A result to the countless hard punches he threw at Chris.