Hey, Shorty! Whatchagon' Do? (Prologue)

As the speeding car approached, he bunkered down in his seat and braced himself for action; all he could hear was, "Hey, Shorty! Hey, Shorty! Whatchagon do?" His heart pumped feverishly with excitement as the headlights of the rouge car raced faster and faster in his direction, closing the distance between it and him in milliseconds, like a raging bull, borne of Detroit steel, charging at him in the dark of night. The closer the car got, the harder his heart pounded. It felt as if his heart were trying to jump out of his chest. The bright headlights pierced his eyes like white-hot needles. He knew who was in the car. He knew what they wanted. He also knew what he wanted. He wanted justice. He wanted a chance to avenge his friend's death. The time had finally come for him to settle the score. It was either do or die. The likelihood of his impending doom forced him into a reality that he had almost completely forgotten existed: the contempt and hatred he felt for the person who had made victims of his homeboy, Spooky, and of him. He was pumped! All of a sudden he felt like he had been injected with a super dose of adrenaline, and some form of memory enhancing drug. Like scenes from a graphic horror flick, all of the terrible morbid visions of pain and suffering were replaying in his mind. The visions hit his senses so fast, so hard. Boom! Bang! Bam! Grotesque images of blood and guts caused involuntary muscle spasms that made him cringe and clutch his gun with all of his might. His trigger finger tingled with anticipation. He was scared to death, yet had never felt more alive. Vengeance was his!

After all he had been through in his short life, everything had come down to one deciding moment. It was as if his entire existence had merely been a dress rehearsal for this final scene. The thought reminded him of a saying, From the cradle to the grave. His life had been one big drama, filled with violence, death, deceit, anger, hate, revenge and most of all fear. Still, he thanked God for allowing him to have lived as long as he had. He had gone from rags to riches. He had gone from no money to being worth millions. He had gone from dreaming about wealth to owning property, expensive cars, and priceless jewels. He had experienced both the worst and the best life had to offer. He could buy damn near anything on earth, but with all that he had seen and done in his short life, one problem remained: he could not escape the demon that continued to torture his soul. This night meant one of two things for him, either kill his demon, or his demon kills him.

The drama that was this young man's life began to spin out of control when he was still a little boy. Innocence is a valuable commodity in this mad world. Though it's true that all children are born with an abundance of innocence, it is fleeting, and a child's heart, mind and soul, as precious and delicate as they may be, can be easily damaged, at anytime, creating a beast. His innocent, pure nature was taken-- no-- snatched away from him at a much too early age, in what now seems like an instant. One traumatizing event led to him being morphed from a happy-go-lucky little boy, into a young knuckled head, hell-bent on doing everything but the right thing. They call him Shorty. Welcome to his life...