Haze
He racked his brain for a solution, something that would help him relax. A thought crossed his mind, something he hadn't done in a long time but felt necessary now. Malik had some weed, didn't he? He hadn't smoked in ages, preferring to keep his mind clear, but tonight, he needed it.
Arell took a deep breath and made his way inside the house, heading towards Malik's room. As he approached Malik's room, he hesitated for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt. He knew that turning to weed wasn't the healthiest way to cope, but he felt desperate.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room for the stash. Malik always had a specific spot where he kept it. Arell walked over, reached up, and pulled down a box. He opened it, revealing a few neatly rolled joints and some loose buds.
Arell picked up one of the joints and rolled it between his fingers, feeling the texture of the paper and the weed inside. He took a moment to steady himself before heading back outside. He found a spot on the porch steps and sat down, the wooden surface rough against his skin.
He lit the joint, the flame from the lighter dancing in the darkness. He took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. The familiar taste and sensation hit him, and he felt a wave of relaxation wash over him almost instantly. He took another drag, his mind beginning to quiet.
As he sat there, smoking, he reflected on everything that had happened. The anger, the frustration, the guilt—all of it swirled together in his mind. He thought about Cdai, about how things had escalated to this point. It wasn't just the violence that disturbed him; it was the sense of loss, of friendship turned into enmity. They had once been close, and now Cdai was dead. It wasn't just the violence that disturbed him; it was the sense of loss, of friendship turned into enmity.
The realization hit him hard: when he left prison, he wanted to be far away from all this, to live in peace. Yet here he was, caught up in the very cycle he had hoped to escape.
He felt fed up with all of it. Kenny, his closest friend, had almost died. Kenny, who was so excited about finally going to college to play basketball, had come so close to losing everything. Arell knew Kenny could get back into condition, but it would take time. Time that would delay his dreams of playing basketball.
Devon had been doing his own thing, working a lot on his music and starting to make beats. They were decent, showing promise. Malik was running around, making money from sports betting. Arell realized how detached he had been from their lives, caught up in his own struggles and ambitions. He had been so focused on his music and his brand that he hadn't noticed how much his friends had grown and changed.
Now, as he sat there, he felt a strange sense of calm. The weed was doing its job, numbing the pain and quieting his mind. He took one last drag, flicked the joint away, and stood up. It was time to head back to the studio and finish his recorded songs. He couldn't let this momentary lapse hold him back.
<>
Four hours later, Arell was back in the studio, alone. The room was filled with the thick smell of smoke, and Arell sat at the mixing desk, rapping into the microphone.He was deep in his zone, lost in the music, when the door creaked open.
Geoffrey walked in, immediately noticing something was off. He had never seen Arell smoking since he had been summoned. The sight of him, slumped in a chair with a blunt in his hand, alarmed him. Geoffrey approached slowly, his expression one of concern.
"Arell, what's going on?" Geoffrey asked, his voice steady but filled with worry.
Arell hesitated, the smoke from his blunt curling around him. He looked at Geoffrey, remembering how he would always be 100% loyal. Geoffrey was someone he could trust completely. He took a deep breath and decided to speak his mind.
"It's just... everything," Arell began, his voice low. "Cdai, Kenny, the violence... I thought I left all this behind when I got out of prison. I wanted peace, you know? But now it's all crashing down on me."
Geoffrey listened intently, his mind already working on possible solutions. "Arell, I understand how you feel. But you need to channel this into something constructive. You're an artist. Use this pain in your music."
"I've been trying," Arell said, frustration creeping into his voice. "But every time I start, without the weed, all I see is Cdai's body. It's like…it's haunting me."
Geoffrey nodded, understanding the depth of Arell's turmoil. "Look, Arell, the way I was customized, I automatically put things into a business or legal perspective. I'm not the best with emotions or psychology. But maybe... you should consider seeing a therapist."
"Hell no," Arell said instantly, shaking his head. "I'm not doing that."
"Just think about it," Geoffrey replied. "It doesn't make you weak. It makes you strong enough to face your demons."
Arell took another drag from his blunt, the anger and frustration still simmering beneath the surface. "I'll think about it. But for now, I just need to finish this."
<>
King Von sat on his bunk, eyes scanning the room with a mix of detachment and keen observation. Around him, the usual crew lingered, exchanging idle chatter and waiting for news or entertainment to break the monotony.
Today, the news came in the form of Trell, a longtime associate of Von's who approached with an urgent look on his face. He made sure no guards were nearby before leaning in close to Von.
"Yo, Von," Trell began, his voice low. "You heard about what went down in Atlanta?"
Von raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Nah, what's up?"
Trell glanced around once more, ensuring their conversation was private. "Cdai, Tato, and Jax got killed. Word is, Arell did it."
Von's expression shifted from curiosity to surprise, then to a mix of respect and disbelief. "Arell? The dude who was in here the other day?"
"Yeah, same one," Trell confirmed, nodding solemnly.
Von shook his head slowly, processing the information. "Damn, I ain't know he was really catching bodies like that. That's crazy."
The others in the room, sensing a significant conversation, gathered closer. Von's words were always worth hearing. His reputation preceded him, and any news he deemed important was immediately relevant to everyone else.
"Man, Reese lost three of his homies and ran back to Chicago? That's some shit," Von said, a smirk forming on his lips.
Jay, one of the younger inmates, couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, Reese out here moving like he on a field trip. Can't handle the heat in the A, so he came back to the Chi."
The group erupted in laughter, the sound echoing through the cell. The tension in the air dissipated, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared humor.
"Reese gotta chill," another inmate, Damo, said, shaking his head. "He ain't ever been that reckless before."
"Man, you know how it is," Trell added, leaning back against the wall. "Dude's trying to prove something, but he just making shit worse."
Von nodded thoughtfully, his mind still processing the news. "Yeah, Reese always been a hothead, but he need to think smarter. Losing three homies like that ain't no joke."
The conversation shifted to other matters as they planned their day, discussing the latest prison happenings. They laughed about a guy who had tried to sneak contraband in and got caught, and they made plans to handle some business later.
"We beating that dude's ass today, right?" Jay asked, a grin spreading across his face.
Von nodded, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Hell yeah."
Suddenly, without warning, Von jumped up and playfully slapped one of his boys, Lil Mo, on the shoulder. "Pussy," he said with a laugh, initiating a slap-boxing match.
The group burst into laughter again as Lil Mo tried to dodge Von's quick jabs. The slap-boxing match was all in good fun, a way to blow off steam and keep their skills sharp. They ducked and weaved, trading playful slaps and laughing the whole time.
Von moved with ease. He had always been a natural fighter. He feinted left, then right, landing a slap on Lil Mo's cheek. "You gotta be quicker than that," he taunted, a grin on his face.
Lil Mo laughed, shaking his head. "Man, you got me. But next time, I'ma get you."
The slap-boxing match ended as quickly as it had started, with Von and Lil Mo collapsing onto their bunks. The mood in the cell was lighter now, the earlier tension dissipated.
<>
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit studio in Chicago, the air was thick with the scent of weed. Lil Durk sat at the center of it all, a look of deep contemplation on his face. Around him was, Buka, Memo600, OTF Ikey, and a few others—were engaged in their own discussions, but the recent news had a grip on everyone's mind.
Durk's phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced at it and saw a message from an old friend. The news from Atlanta was spreading like wildfire, and it wasn't long before everyone in the room knew about the deaths of Cdai, Tato, and Jax.
"Bro, I just spoke to Arell the other day," Durk said, shaking his head. "I told Reese to chill on that nigga, but he don't listen."
Buka leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "What you mean? Reese was still on that?"
Durk nodded, letting out a sigh. "Yeah. He was pushing hard. I told him Arell wasn't the one to go around, but you know how Reese gets when he's heated."
Memo600 chimed in, lighting a blunt. "Reese always been stubborn. Thinks he gotta prove something to everybody."
Durk took a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Now look at this. Three of our niggas gone, and Reese back in Chicago, running from the heat."
OTF Ikey shook his head, his expression somber. "This gonna cause more problems you know."
Durk rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Yeah, I know. And now we gotta deal with the fallout."
The room fell into a tense silence as everyone absorbed the gravity of the situation.
Durk finally broke the silence. "Folk, Arell was always cool with us. He's been about his business, trying to make it out since like.. day one."
Buka nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's been grinding. His music's blowing up too."
Memo600 puffed a cloud of smoke, his face serious. "You think Reese gonna come after him again?"
Durk considered the question, his jaw tightening. "I hope not. But you know how this goes. Ain't no telling what's next."