Fantasy Fiction

A place where everyone that loves Eminem can read news, write & voice their opinions on Eminem fan fiction.
HomeFAQSearchRegisterMemberlistUsergroupsLog in

Share | 

 Flight 187 [M]

Go down 

Posts : 83
Join date : 2009-04-14
Age : 27
Location : Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here, Michigan

PostSubject: Flight 187 [M]   Sun Sep 27, 2009 10:09 pm

Present day New Orleans, Louisiana.

Living in a highly dangerous, gang infested area, and scared by the memories of her past, young Morgan gets sucked into the gang life before she even turns twelve years old.

She grows up, escaping death more then once. Though the very hood she lives in could get her killed, she's proud of it and what it stands for.

She's seventeen now, and fresh out of high school. A gang war erupts over the shooting of a 14 year old boy, and Morgan is caught in the center of it.

Unexpected help comes for Morgan- a family member she never knew about- but the thing is; she doesn't want help.

Grudgingly, she's forced to take the help that she never wanted in the first place. Will Morgan and this family member ever get close after the not-so-wanted rescue job?

Last edited by Shady_Aftermath_Girl on Sun Sep 27, 2009 10:16 pm; edited 1 time in total
Back to top Go down
View user profile

Posts : 83
Join date : 2009-04-14
Age : 27
Location : Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here, Michigan

PostSubject: Character Discrptions   Sun Sep 27, 2009 10:12 pm

Character Descriptions

Name: Morgan Marie Carter
Age: 17 Years Old
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 115 Lbs
Hair Color: Long, shiny black hair
Eye Color: Deep brown eyes
Piercings: Bellybutton, ears, top of left ear pierced
One: 'Carter' across shoulders in fancy, black cursive.
Two: 'Hollygrove' down left ribcage in fancy black cursive
Three: '619' down right rib cage in old english

Name: Jasmine Taylor
Age: 18 Years Old
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 130 lbs
Hair Color: Long, shiny black hair
Eye Color: Brown
Piercings: ears
One: 'New Orleans' across shoulders in old english

Last edited by Shady_Aftermath_Girl on Sun Sep 27, 2009 10:18 pm; edited 3 times in total
Back to top Go down
View user profile

Posts : 83
Join date : 2009-04-14
Age : 27
Location : Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here, Michigan

PostSubject: Prolouge NC-17   Sun Sep 27, 2009 10:14 pm

Prologue: Hood Memories

If you looked at my school transcript, you'd think I was a guiness. A nerd. A band geek, at the least. Straight A's, all the way through middle school and high school. I graduated when I'd just turn 17, and I graduated with honors too.

If you looked at my arrest record, you would want nothing to do with me. Disturbing the peace, assault, petty theft, possesion. The list only goes on. Strangly, I've never been convicted of anything that the punishment would be more then probation.

I guess that law encorcment didn't want to waste their time with a teenage girl and would rather go after the big dogs; drug addicts, prostitutes, pimps, big time dealers. Most of the time, I got off pretty easy. That didn't stop the cops from hating me. Oh, boy did they hate me.

Most of the cops already didn't like the black people in my community- I was from New Orleans, so that was mostly everybody- but considering my record, they hated me. When something happened, and I was around, I was automatically expected.

I couldn't count with the number of times on my hands and toes that I had been in handcuffs. It wasn't that I was proud of what I did. Sometimes, especially in New Orleans, you had to do stuff get by.

From the time that I was eleven years old, I had been involved in the New Orleans branch of the nationally known Blood gang. I started because shortly before my eleventh birthday, I was walking home from school, and I decided to take a short cut.

It was a mistake.

I didn't know it then, but I was crossing from Blood territory, where I lived (I didn't know it, of course, but I'd lived on Blood territory all my life) onto the Hatian territory during an ever-present, extremly dangerous gang war.

There was a group of five Hatian gang members in they alley- all really tall, well built and strong. I remember a strong smell of alcohol on all of their breaths. They were all angry at the Bloods for the recent murder of one of their cousins that had really been comitted by Crips.

They saw me, a tiny little girl, in their eyes, coming down the alley and they mistaked me for a Blood's little sister, and they attacked. They all pounced upon me at once, clawing and pawing at me for several minutes before one of them took a knife and cut my shirt off.

I was held up against the wall- several feet off the ground by two of the men and another one was about to take my pants off, to rape me. I was wildly kicking and flailing, accidently nailing one in the nuts. He smacked me so hard in the face I tasted blood in my mouth.

He made another move to unbutton my pants when a gunshot when off at the end of the alley, followed quickly by another one. The five scattered, and I dropped to the ground roughly as the five ran away. Blood was still coming out of my mouth.

I remember being on my hands and knees, and looking up to see a black man, dressed in dark jeans, a white wifebeater, a black zip up hoodie and a red bandana around his head. I felt immediate trust in him- his eyes were concerning and worried, not at all like the cold, unforgiving eyes of my almost rapists.

"Here, take these and put them on," He said kindly, taking off his shirt and sweatshirt and handing them to me. I sat on the ground, obeying immediatly, to shocked and freaked out to say anything. He bent down to my level, "Where do you live, girl? I'm going to take you home."

He waited patiently for an answer.

"Hollygrove," I whimpered finally. I made a move to stand up, but my knees gave out as soon as I did. He lifted me easily into his arms and carried me bridal style out of the alley and to my house. I lived with my aunt, who at first, freaked out at the man, but then was so much more grateful when she found out what had happened. I knew that it if it hadn't been for him, I probably would have died.

After that guy saved me- his name was Andre, I'd found out- I started looking up to the Bloods. I was surprised when they let me, and a few other boys and girls my age, join.

The attempted rape wasn't my only brush with death. When I was just turning fourteen, there had been a massive Blood vs Hatian fist fight at a basketball court, and in an attempt to pull a rival gang member off of my best friend, Jasmine, I was stabbed in the stomach.

I was red-hot to get revenge, and two weeks after the stabbing- I still had stitches in- I went to look for the girl that had stabbed me. I don't ever remember being that mad. Jasmine came, too, but only because she insisted. I had wanted to do it by myself.

So I started to fight the girl outside of her house, which was a well known project building. I was fighting her one on one. Her sister and Jasmine stood and watched, letting us fight it out ourselves.

The girls boyfriend, how ever, wasn't too happy with what was going on when he pulled. He had a gun in his car, and he grabbed it. By the time that Jasmine pulled me off of the girl and made it clear that the guy had a gun, it was too late. He'd already started shooting.

He shot ten bullets. Three didn't hit any target at all. One narrowly avoided Jasmine's arm. The rest of them, six, hit me. I was shot four times in the back- one by my right shoulder, one by my left him and two very close to my spine. The other two hit me in the left leg.

I died twice in the ambulence, and was in a coma for two weeks.

The two events- the stabbing and the shooting- seemed to unnerve my aunt. She didn't let me out of her site for weeks after I got out of the hospital. I didn't blame here, though because I would have done the same thing.

She had taken care of me since I was a new born- my mother had dumped me on her doorstep just days after I was born. And as for my father? If you find out who the hell he is, let me know, because I sure don't.

All I know about him is his last name- Carter. Helpful, right?

There were about nine dozen Carters in the New Orleans phone.

Altough I got good grades in school, the teachers didn't like me. Bad attitude, disruptive in class, skipping. That was the only think that kept me from being valedictorian or salutatorian of my class. I really didn't care, though.

My Blood friends already made fun of me for getting good grades- I never would have lived it down if I had gotten valedictorian. I graduated when I had barley turned seventeen, because I started school a year early. I'd always been younger then my friends, so it didn't really bother me.

They joked around with me about alot of stuff. My height, my weight. I knew that they didn't mean it, so it didn't bother me. They always had my back.

In most towns, when you made a mistake, you ended up in the principals office, or grounded. But in New Orleans, you could end up shot dead in a parking lot.

I was tough- you had to be, growing up in New Orleans. But I wasn't ghetto like some of the girls. I was clean all of the time. I liked to look good and dress well, and I didn't talk all ghetto like them. Neither did Jasmine.

We'd been friends since we were in the eigth grade, and I don't know what I would do with out her. We're best friends. She'd almost taken a bullet for me. She had my back twenty four seven, and I didn't have to worry about her not being there for me.

Sometimes, I wondered what would have happened that day if she hadn't been there. I probably wouldn't have made it out of that altercation alive. At the least, I would have been crippled or in a coma for the rest of my life.

New Orleans was just as bit as crazy and dangerous as everybody thought it was. Shootings, violence, drugs, gangs. Things only got worse after Hurricane Katrina. There was so much shit on TV about how people were helping out New Orleans victims.

Volunteers helped the most, by far. The goverment didn't help shit. They just pretended to throw the sympathy card to us, so people didn't get on them about doing something for all the homeless people and people with out money, clothes, food, and homes.

As much as I thought my life was crazy, that was nothing to what it was about to be.
Back to top Go down
View user profile

Posts : 83
Join date : 2009-04-14
Age : 27
Location : Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here, Michigan

PostSubject: Chapter One NC-17   Sun Sep 27, 2009 10:26 pm

Chapter One: The Stranger

I was leaning up against a car that was parked in a dark alley. I crossed my arms, casting glances up and down the alley every few minutes to see if somebody was coming. Impatience was growing inside me, rather quickly. It was nearing three o' clock in the morning. I'd like to go home and get some sleep.

"Man, where the fuck is this nigga?" Came the impatient male voice from the drivers seat. It was as if he was asking me, like I made this guy be late. I tossed him a glare, irritated. It was his fault I was here.

"Adrian, how the fuck am I supposed to know?" I snapped, "You were the one who made this drug sale for this time, and you were the one who was dragged me along. This is your damn fault."

"That son of a bitch told me he would buy twice as much if I brought you," He said as a matter of factly, "And his ass better show up."

"You pimping me out or something, Adrian?" I said, raising my eyebrow at the 6'3" man who was wearing dark jeans and a red wife beater. He had a red bandana around his head, and had corn rolls that went past his ears.

"Trust me, baby girl, if I was pimping you, we wouldn't be in a dark, secluded alley that aint nobody in," He said. I rolled my eyes and continued to watch out for the guy that was supposed to have been here at two thirty.

Normally, I wouldn't have gone. But Adrian's cousin, DeAndre, was a Blood gang leader. DeAndre was doing a two month prison sentance, and Adrian was in charge. So I didn't really have a choice.

I had to sneak out of my house after my Aunt Danielle went to sleep. If she knew what I was doing, she'd put me in the grave faster then you can say 'funeral.'

"Finally," I huffed as I saw the '92 Cadillac rolling slowly down the alley way. The car rolled to a stop, and I jerked the zipper up on my zip-up hoodie so the pervert- whoever it was- couldn't get a look at my boobs.

I looked in and saw that he couldn't be more then 22 or 23, and he was pretty good looking. But that didn't stop me from being irritated that I had to wait more then an hour for this guy. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at him.

"Where is it?" He said, narrowing his own pair of dark brown eyes at me.

"Fat chance," I scoffed, "Give me the money first."

"You're a mouthy little one, ain't you?" He said, sounding amused. I laughed, looking to the side for a second before returning my gaze to him.

"It's quarter after three in the mourning," I said, "I've been here for more then an hour. Irritated? Very. Mouthy? Hardly."

"You are just like-" He stopped himself in mid sentance, as if he was going to say something that he clearly wasn't supposed to say.

"Just like what?" I asked. But before he could answer, he shoved the money into my hands. I rolled my eyes, too tired to care what he comparing me for. I turned, walked across the alley and handed the money to Adrian, who then handed me two big bags of pot.

I turned around and gave the guy, who I'm sure had been looking at my ass, the drugs. I huffed a good bye at him and got back in the car.

"Where am I dropping you off at?" He asked, rolling out of the alley.

"I'm guessing the same place that you picked me up at," I said, leaning my head against the headrest, closing my eyes.

"Why you always such a smart ass?" Adrian asked.

I shrugged, opening my eyes, smiling and showing off my pearly white teeth, "It comes natrually. Come to think of it, drop me off down the block. I don't want my aunt hearing your car."

"That afraid of your aunt?" He said, flicking on the blinker and taking a right turn. I lifted up my head and looked at him.

"Ain't you?" I asked.

"Yeah, your aunt is kind of scary when she get mad," He said, rolling to a stop, "See ya tomorrow."

"Peace," I said, getting out of the car and quietly shutting the door. I watched as he drove off, and then set off for my house. I was wearing a pair of G-Unit jeans, a red low cut wife beater and a black zip-up hoodie. My long black hair was in a pony tail, and a red bandana was tied around my head.

Though it was the dead of night, and New Orleans was especially dangerous, I felt safe. I was in my neighborhood, on my block. Nobody was going to touch me. Now, if I was on Crip territory, I probably wouldn't get out of there with out getting raped, jumped or killed.

Especially the way that I was dressed.

I stepped onto the first step of my porch, then skipped over the second one because it creaked. I opened the door slowly so I wouldn't make any noise. My aunt was a pretty heavy sleeper, but I didn't want to take any chances.

I snuck up stairs and once in my room, I breathed a sigh of relief. I closed the door before flicking the light on. I took off my clothes and changed into shorts and a tank top, then crawled into my bed and fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up around ten. I usually didn't sleep past nine or ten. I was a night person, but I hated wasting the day sleeping. I could go a whole day on four or five hours of sleep.

I cleaned up the house and did the dishes, then swept and vaccumed. I helped keep the house clean, and my Aunt Danielle gave me thirty dollars every Monday. And today, the thirty dollars, plus an extra five for planting some flowers in the front yard a few days ago.

I dressed in jean shorts and a black wife beater type shirt that was low cut and cut off before my belly button. I put on make up, deodorant, and perfume and slipped on a pair of DC shoes. I pocketed the money and my ipod and was out of the door.

I went for a long walk, going through some old neighborhoods. Well, they used to be neighborhoods. After Hurricane Katrina hit, everything was demolished. Our house had some pretty good damage, but the insurance my aunt had got it fixed immediatly.

I remember that day so clearly.

My aunt was at work, and we had the school day off because of the oncoming hurricane. The water came up so quickly, I didn't know what to do. First, I was frantically running around the house because the water was up to ankles and rising fast.

Then, I went upstairs, and with in a half an hour, the water was up there too. It was up to my waist by the time that I had gone onto the roof. I was scared out of my mind. My aunts work was only a few blocks away.

I didn't know if she was alive, or where she was. Then, I saw her floating by on her car. With out thinking, I made the jump to get onto it. I barley made it, and if she wouldn't have grabbed onto my wrists.

That was the scariest day of my life.

I passed a corner where I had a pretty amusing memory when I was barley thirteen. I had been scared then, but now, I laughed at it.

A group of twenty or some Bloods hanging out. Me and a few of my friends were the youngest there. I was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. My hair was in braided pig tails, and a red bandana was tied around my thirteen year old head.

I was bored, throwing rocks over a fence. I aimed bad accidently, and the rock hit a cop car that happened to be going by the fence. The cop turned the corner and stopped in front of us.

The cop- white, of course- got out of the car and walked towards us.

"That's a brand new police car," He said as a matter of factly as he approached us. As if we cared. My attitude with athourity had sky rocketed since I joined the Bloods. I rolled my eyes. I was standing behind the gang leader at the time, Jason.

I hadn't hit five feet yet, and next to his 6'5", I looked like a midget. I glared at the cop.

"Which one of you threw the rock?" He asked.

None of us said anything. I wasn't sure if any of them knew it was me, but I sure as hell wasn't going to give myself away.

"Which one of you. Threw. The rock?" He said again, more slowly. All of us started to look around, but still said anything.

"You the leader," he said, approaching Jason, "Either one of them fess up, or I'm taking you in for destruction of goverment property."

I couldn't let my leader taking the fall for something that I had done. He was older then me, so he'd get in alot more trouble. I probably would get a warning. I took a deep breath.

"It was me," I said, stepping forward.

Everybody in the group looked around. I was the shortest of the group, including the friends my age. Why I was so scared, I don't know why.

"Are you sure it was you?" He asked, leering at me as if he thought I was taking the fault for my friends.

I showed him my hands, which still had dirt on the m from picking up the rocks.

"I'm going to let you go this time, but you better not do something like this again, got it?" He asked. I nodded and watched as he drove of.

Jason slapped me, hard, on the back of the head. I stumbled forward from the force of the blow, and turned around. I opened my mouth to make a retort, but thought better of it.

"You a dumb fuck, ain't you?" He snapped, "If that mother fucking cop searched me, I would have gotten possesion charges. Now you take your ass out of here and don't let me catch you out of your house again, got it?"

He got arrested two weeks later.
Back to top Go down
View user profile

Posts : 83
Join date : 2009-04-14
Age : 27
Location : Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here, Michigan

PostSubject: Re: Flight 187 [M]   Tue Sep 29, 2009 9:48 pm

what do you think?
Back to top Go down
View user profile

Posts : 976
Join date : 2008-02-10
Age : 33

PostSubject: Re: Flight 187 [M]   Wed Sep 30, 2009 8:34 pm

It's a new flavor so keep rolling with it. Sorry, i've just ben busy. Smile cheers
Back to top Go down
View user profile

Posts : 83
Join date : 2009-04-14
Age : 27
Location : Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here, Michigan

PostSubject: Chapter Two   Thu Oct 01, 2009 6:00 pm

Chapter Two: Overheard Conversation

"So what do you want to do tonight?" I asked Jasmine as we walked side by side on the sidewalk. It was about seven o' clock in the night, and still pretty hot out. I was wearing a pair of jean shorts and a black tank top. My hair was down and I had a red bandana sticking out of my right back pocket. Jasmine was dressed in a like manner.

"I have no idea," She said, shrugging, "It's a Wednesday night, so there's nothing really to do. I wish there was a party or something going on. DeAndre getting out of prison next week, and he's having a huge party at his house."

"Good," I answered, "I could use some excitment before my head explodes, its been hella boring around here lately."

Usually, there were shootings or stabbings you would hear about, even if Bloods weren't involved. But lately, things have been quiet. That wasn't a good thing. Because when things weren't quiet, it usually meant they were about to blow up. Like that saying. 'The calm before the storm.'

It made me nervous, jumpy. I felt like it was going to happen when I least expected it.

"We got do something," Jasmine said, taking a long drink from her Mountain Dew. It had to be somewhere around ninety five degrees. We were wandering aimlessly, not really doing anything or going anywhere in particular.

"I know," I agreed, running my fingers through my hair, "I'm sure we'll think of something. We always do."

I cracked a smile at my best friend. The two of us together- we were always the life of the party. Always lively, loud, and fun. Especially when we were drunk. I loved having her around. Some people thought we were sisters.

We had the exact same skin tone and eye color. A few times, we'd been mistaken as twins.We didn't deny it, either. We just went along with whatever anybody thought. It was pretty funny to us.

"We could...go to the roller rink?" I suggested. Jasmine shook her head.

"It's always lame there on weekdays," She explained, then added, "We could go hang out in the Lot?"

'The Lot' was a parking lot in front of a popular gas station in south side New Orleans.

"The cops are always got an eye on that place since it got robbed that month," I said, shaking my head, "They wouldn't let us out of their sight."

We were both stumped.

We went to a couple of sites where we had tagged alot and wern't surprised to see that our work was still there. We were both really good. We'd had alot of practice. I liked to write songs, too. I was pretty good, especially for a girl, but I was never really serious about it.

Plus, I was too shy about it to show anybody anyways. Only Jasmine had seen a few of the pieces that I thought were really, really good. I liked to draw, and I was really, really good at that.

I drew to get stuff off of my chest. I drew people, scenes that I had personally lived. I drew me in a hospital with my aunt holding my hand after I got out of the hospital after the coma. I drew a scene of me, a younger me, being grabbed and undressed by a group of men dressed in blue.

It helped me forget about stuff.

I was about to walk across an alley, but I heard something that made me grab Jasmine and pull her backwards. She looked at me, puzzled, but I held up one finger to my mouth to tell her to be quiet.

"So this is a deal?" I heard one man. I didn't know who it was- I didn't recognize the deal.

"Yeah, its a deal," The second voice said, who I immediatly recognized. It was one of DeAndre's close friends. I felt suspicious. If he was going to do business with a Blood, he'd do it on Blood territory. Not on territory not claimed by any gang. I knew something was up.

I turned to Jasmine and mouthed "It's Show." That was, of course, his nickname. I didn't know his real name. I barley ever saw him, and when I did, I just adressed him as 'Show.'

My heart thundered in my chest.

What's going on??? I thought.

"I'm sick of the Bloods," Show said, "I'll pretend to be on the Bloods still, and turn and tell you guys whats going on. On attacks and stuff, so you can be ahead and attack them before they attack you."

"Us," The guy said, "You mean us. You're one of us now."

I stood there, stunned, my mouth hanging open. I turned to Jasmine, who had an equal look of shock on her face. He'd stabbed us in the back. He'd betrayed us. The question who?

I wasn't sure what to do. If they came out of the alley, and they saw that we had overheard what we said, we'd probably be dead.

I had heard Show had a really bad temper. And he wasn't exactly what you would call 'small.'

A mixture of shock and confusion had welled up inside my stomach. I wanted to jump into the alley, and stop him from betraying us, but I knew that there was nothing that I could do about it. I couldn't risk being exposed.

I had no idea who he was ith, or how dangerous that person is. It could be some serial killer or rapist. They could have a gun, or a knife. It wasn't a safe bet. I stayed rooted to my spot.

"Aight, nigga, I got to get out of here," Show said, and I heard them slap hands in that man-hug sort of thing, "I'll see you later."

I grabbed Jasmine, who seemed frozen, behind a group of trash cans. We ducked down and waited.

Show must have gone out of the alley the other way, because who emerged out was not him, but a Hatian gang member.
Back to top Go down
View user profile


Posts : 60
Join date : 2010-06-30
Age : 28
Location : Minnesota

PostSubject: Re: Flight 187 [M]   Thu Jul 01, 2010 11:16 am

This is interesting, you should write more. I like it.
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Sponsored content

PostSubject: Re: Flight 187 [M]   

Back to top Go down
Flight 187 [M]
Back to top 
Page 1 of 1
 Similar topics
» Fireflight's trailer was stolen
» High Flight Society's drummer dies

Permissions in this forum:You cannot reply to topics in this forum
Fantasy Fiction :: Marshall Mathers Fanfiction-
Jump to: