[They say that when you lose a loved one, that loved one will always be by your side spiritually. I never bought into that until it happened to me... or at least that's what I thought. He was gone in an instant, a few seconds and that was the end. It was my fault... my past came around and got me. My past destroyed my future... destroyed my mind. At least, that's what I thought. What I found was a new me, and with a new me comes a new life. And with a new life... comes new challenges. This is my story, these are... The Pages On The Concrete. ]

Abrupt Awakening

It's twelve in the morning on the streets of Queens, New York, and still there are people out. Talking. A police unit slowly cruises by, but says nothing to the men as they laugh in the brisk night air. In the middle of the group stands one man. He is about 6'3'' and 230 pounds. A muscular build, in his mouth is a black and mild cigar, vanilla flavored at that. He exhales a puff of smoke, and they all continue their chattering. Down the street, an escalade takes a corner with a fishtail and speeds out of it towards the crowd of men. The windows roll down... BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG! Every single person in the group is shot and falls... except for the man in the center. He stands in the pool of their blood and looks on in a stoic face. A bloody pile of corpses, the men in the escalade get out and start pointing and laughing at the man in the center. They shoot him once in the leg, he does nothing. The other leg, he does nothing. His chest... he does nothing. His head... he does nothing. They still laugh, and though he is shot all of those times he does not bleed or move. He stands frozen, and now the men unload every bullet they have in their guns into the flesh of the man. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM! Still nothing, still laughing, still solid. One of the men opens the passenger door to the escalade... and out comes a man that looks slightly like the man in the center, but that's what we see. The man in the center, full of holes with no blood, doesn't look up. He steps face to face with the man and speaks... Passenger You did this, you caused all of these people to die, but you won't accept when it's your turn to die now can you, can you? YOU caused all of these problems, and you... you caused ME TO DIE! The center man looks up, and his face breaks down. He falls to his knees, in the puddle of blood, and begins to cry. The passenger doesn't take note, and kicks him in the face so he falls face first into the blood. The fallen man doesn't get up, just lays in the pool of blood crying. He lifts himself out of it finally, and speaks... Center Man I didn't mean to... this isn't my fault... none of it is. None of this is my fault. I didn't mean for this to happen... I didn't mean for you to die. Take me instead, bring yourself back. Passenger It's too late... And from the belt of his pants he pulls out a nine millimeter pistol. He points it at the mans forehead, where he was already was shot once, and cocks the hammer. As he pulls the trigger, the man covered in blood screams no, and right when the shot goes off... He wakes up screaming, bolting upright in his bed in a cold cold sweat from the disturbing nightmare. He looks to his right at the alarm clock on his dresser but can't manage to focus on the numbers. He rubs his eyes once and comprehends that it is currently four AM in the morning. He still breathes heavily, his heart racing still from his abrupt awakening, but in his face we can tell that he isn't about to try to go back to sleep. He gets up out of his bed, walks over to his closet, and puts on a pair of pants that fit loosely. Over his white shirt he puts on a zip up hooded sweat shirt, and then finds his shoes and tosses them on. He gets his belt and tightens it around his waist, pulls his hood over his head, and runs out of the door... literally. [ That dream really did something to me... it made me realize so many things in my life. I was going through life a mile a minute, and I wasn't ready to slow down for anybody. Maybe it was my fault that it all happened... after all... this all started when I was thirteen or fourteen... thing is I'm twenty six now, and I've grown out of it all. I couldn't catch my breath after I woke up, I just got up and left. Left it all behind. I had to find him before he found me, but I wasn't even sure how. I was confused, lost in everything going on at the time. ] It's four thirty AM now, and the man is roaming the outer streets of his home, Queens, New York. The place where he grew up, learned, lived, bled, and loved. The streets are still empty, as it is quite early for a summer day for anybody to be out. The air is still chilly, and all of the windows surrounded by chipped bricks and broken blocks are all frosted over. He walks slowly, in solitude, trying to piece together what just happened exactly. He had to find Cerda before Cerda found him... but it has been years. Years since that one night that changed it all. [ There was only one place I knew I could find him but it was a risk. A risk because the fourth floor of the apartments he once lived in breathed his beliefs. Breathed his thoughts. It was really against my own heart to do it, but I had to settle it for good. I had to make sure I ended it all and got my revenge. ] He goes right on a corner, and then another right into a brown building. He walks over to the elevator and hits the up button. Nothing happens for two minutes, so he looks left and begins walking up the flights of stairs. First floor... second floor... third floor. He stops. He feels on his waist to make sure it's there, and he takes one last deep breath before his life changes all over again. Step... step... step... step... step... step. He is on the fourth floor. He slowly walks towards the end of the hallway. Room 227, within it who knows what resides. He walks up to the door... tries to turn the knob... it's locked. He tries to look within the peep hole but it's pitch black. The lights in the hallway flicker once, electricty must be iffy here. He knocks once and reaches for his waist, but from behind him he hears a click and a voice... ??? It's a little too early for little kids like you to be out... I think you need some extra sleep Tyrone. Before he can do anything he is hit over the back of the head with the pistol and it's lights out for Tyrone... [ I was too late... again. He got to me first. Out like a light, I didn't think he would be up yet. I guess he felt it too. He felt I was near. I had been gone from Queens for years now, and I finally decided to go back because something strange was going on. I thought I would find answers if I revisited my past places, but it was the complete opposite. Only more cofusion was made from it all...] Tyrone's eyes slowly open, his head throbs with pain. He tries to rub it to see what exactly happened, but he can't move his hands. Come to think of it, he is sitting upright and can't move his legs either. He raises his head to see what is going on, and in front of him sits the man he was looking for... Cerda. He is wearing a white under shirt, black shoes, and dark denim blue pants. About twenty eight, he is a fairly small man with a bad attitude. Not that he is small muscle wise... just height wise. He stares into the glazey eyes of Tyrone, and the two lock eyes for the first time in ten years. Cerda So you finally came back around Tyrone. I never thought I would see the day that you actually found it in yourself to come back and face what you had left behind. What was it Tyrone... ten years? Ten years since you brought on all the pain and sorrow into your life that you haven't been man enough to go into conflict with. Ten years since you left behind a world of chaos, in chase of dreams and opportunities. I always knew you were a coward, ever since the day we met in the sixth grade. You didn't know a soul and were scared to try new things. You were the kid that was always left out, but I brought you in. I made you the man you became, and then you backstabbed me. Tyrone You backstabbed yourself. Cerda Did I now Tyrone? Or should I call you Streets? No... you aren't Streets anymore. That was back then when we used to run these streets. Do you remember those days Tyrone? The days when we would sit back and count our money... by the hundreds? When we used to polish our egos with platinum and diamonds that we stole? When we used to make sure that everybody knew... you walk across our concrete and you'll be left as a page in the history books. Those were the good ol' days weren't they? Tyrone doesn't look up at the man, just concentrates on trying to piece together what the hell is going on. Cerda Answer me Tyrone... you have one chance. Say what I want to hear, not what you want to say. I could really care less how you feel. You were always in touch with your "inner bitch", you know what I mean? So, those were the good ol' days... right? He still doesn't answer. Out of frustration, Cerda kicks Tyrone hard in the chest and it makes him and his chair fall over. Now Tyrone has a view of the ceiling, the fan revolving round and round. It mesmerizes him in this surreal world he faces, but Cerda isn't through yet. Cerda Strike one Tyrone, strike one. You have no one to blame but yourself for what happened. Matter of fact... he wasn't even the target. You were... you know that don't you? When you were pushed aside and he was left in the line of fire... I'm sure you knew that. You knew it was your time to go Tyrone, but somehow you dodged fate. Somehow those bullets sunk into him not you. You dodged fate once though... you feeling lucky again today? You think your time is up now? Tyrone Go ahead Cerda, take my life for all I could care. I deserve to die, you and I both know that. You and I both know that I am a man more sinning than sinned against. But, you want answers, you'll get them... Cerda looks at his downed rival and Tyrone closes his eyes Tyrone I never backstabbed you Cerda. No matter what you want to think, your brought it upon yourself. You were getting too greedy and he warned me. He had already been through what I had and HE told me to walk away while my hands were as clean as possible at the time. It made sense to me because I knew sooner or later it would catch up to us. Nothing lasts forever. You did just what he told me you would do and put a price on my blood. It was too bad for them that I wasn't nicknamed Streets Disciple for nothing, right Cerda? You knew what I was all about, and you knew it wouldn't be as easy as bang bang I'm dead. It still isn't, even though you bluff like it is even now. You think I would come into something like this without knowing what was going on? I'm worth nothing dead Cerda, but I am worth something alive. Your boss wants me alive so I can lead his little operations doesn't he? Cerda cringes and cocks back the hammer for his pistol, he stands directly above Tyrone, aiming for his head. Cerda My boss doesn't mean a thing right now. We have a personal score to settle, and he was the easiest way to ensure you and I were face to face one last time before I sent you to the same place I sent him. I just wanted to see you one last time... I wanted to be the man to hear your last words. To see your last facial expression, and feel your blood in my hands. What a rush of adrenaline Tyrone. [ He wasn't bluffing... I knew him too well to fall into the trap that was set. I knew he didn't care about anything else but what he and I had between ourselves. He had tried once before, and all he did was shatter my shin with a stray bullet. But still... something in me said to try and call his bluff. He was greedy then... maybe he still had that greed in him. That need for extra money and extra luxuries. Maybe not. I took that chance...] Cerda So long, old friend, tell him I said he made a bitch out of you. Cerda centers his aim on Tyrone, begins to apply pressure... and a shot goes off. [ But I guess I'll never know whether or not he was bluffing. He didn't get his shot off before I did, I can only thank god for being able to get my right hand loose and grabbing my gun from my waist just before he could do anything. He was too focused on his aim, lost his concentration on my hands. He fell over spurting blood from his chest, staining the white carpet. I was untying myself as he was breathing his last breaths. I was becoming free as he was becoming a slave to Hell. I knew what I got myself into now... I thought this was bad enough... my life as I had known it didn't mean a thing now. Now... it was about to get alot more interesting...] Tyrone You can tell him yourself if you still feel that way. Michael Cerda, rest easy now. Next issue it's time to begin putting the puzzle together, as we dive into The Preminitions of the Past. Till then, take heed to the apostle's warning.

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