Samson exited the gas station holding his two cigars in his hand.  As he placed them in his pocket, he noticed a white man approaching the door that he was walking out of.  It seemed to happen in slow motion.  This gave Samson time to notice that this man was very clean cut.  His suit seemed like it costs hundreds of dollars.  It was crispy and fresh, like he just bought it an hour ago.  His shoes and sunglasses gave off a very powerful shine as he held his cell phone up to his face, speaking with force.


Samson seemed to become more responsive to this man as he approached the door.  It almost seemed like he was a police officer, coming to arrest Samson.  Samson stood to the side and let the man pass him while still holding the door open. 


"Well, that seems like the best move that we should make at this time, so I'll have my assistant forward all of the emails over to your inbox," the white man said as he passed Samson.


Samson, still in awe of this man, was still holding the door open, even though he had already made his entrance.  Samson watched the man approach the clerk and produced a credit card from the inside of his coat jacket.  He handed it to the clerk and pointed to his car.  That's when Samson looked over to pump seven and noticed the brand new BMW that was obviously this man's. 


Samson found himself drifting in thought.  He wondered what it would be like to be this man for a day.  What it would be like to be rich with no worries.  Samson never even owned a debit card or credit card in his entire life, but he was watching this man walk into a store and get whatever he wanted, just by swiping a card. 


Samson's hand fell into his hoodie pocket and he felt his cigar pressed up against the loose change that was in the bottom of the pocket.  The loose change made him realize that he needed to change his life.


I gotta quit smoking, he thought to himself.


Before he could finish that thought, the white man was exiting the store, repeatedly smacking a box of cigarettes against the back of his hand.  As he brushed pass Samson for the second time, Samson could smell the cigarette smoke in his jacket.  "Every since Smith joined the team, we've been unstoppable," the white man was stating to whoever was on the other end.  He exited the store, and Samson stood there staring at the ground.  He had no idea why he was still standing there.  It felt like God was trying to show him something, so he just stood there, staring at the ground, trying to figure out what it all meant.


"I wish I had an assistant," Samson uttered to himself as he walked away from the door.  As he headed toward his house, he kept an eye on the white man who was pulling a cigarette out of the box and placing it into his mouth.  He removed the gas handle from the pump and put it into his BMW.  He lit a cigarette and began pumping his gas.


I bet if that was me standing there doing the exact same thing, I bet I would get arrested for smoking at the pump.


Samson carried on toward his house.  His mind returned to his fantasy of what it would be like to have an assistant.  She would be beautiful and sexy, making all of his business easier.  She could add a woman's touch to his office.  She could set all his appointments and remind him of what he was supposed to be doing.  A smile came across his face as he visioned himself in an expensive suit, walking out of the gas station talking about his assistant.  He visioned himself in an office on the phone, and his assistant walked in and told him that his appointment was on time.

Samson told his assistant to let them in.


In walked K-Blao, the most popular rapper in HoodX.  K-Blao sat across from Samson, and his assistant placed two bottled waters on the glass desk.  She smiled at them and said, "You boys play nice, okay?"


She exited the room and closed the door. 


"That's a really nice assistant you have," K-Blao said.


"Thanks.  She's great.  What type of business do you have for me?"


"Well I was just dropping by to let you know that we are clear to start shooting the video now that we have recruited all the people that we need under the Joseph Papers."


Samson sat back in his chair and felt a huge amount of relief.  All of his dreams were coming true.  "Excellent!  I just always knew that if we kept doing what we have been doing and never give up, then one day we would be sitting at a table just like this, closing big deals."


K-Blao nodded, opened his bottled water and took a sip.  "Indeed.  Law of averages prove that if you never give up, then you are bound to succeed."  K-Blao removed an ipad from his brief case and placed it on the glass table.  He slid it over to Samson, who looked down at the screen.


There was bank account information on the screen.  It said that there were two new deposits made into his new bank account.  "That's your new corporate account, so make sure you use it wisely."


Samson felt his heart flutter as his feet trampled through the mud and snow, imagining himself in his corporate office with a glass desk, sitting across from his idol.  It was at that moment that his phone rang and he reached into his pocket.  The ringtone was from his favorite album Muddy Waters by Redman. 



"Pick it up!  Pick it up!  If you find a bag of weed on the floor, motherfucker what the fuck you gon' do?  Pick it up!  Pick it up!"


He removed the phone from his pocket and looked at the caller id.  It read a familar name.




Samson answered the phone.  "What up, G?"


"Shit, you in the matrix?"  Styxx asked.


"Naw, I'm cool.  Just walking back from the store.  Copped me some cigarillos.  Bout to blow back and cross over.  What's good?'


"I'm calling you to give you some new lit,"  Styxx stated.


"Add on, Godbody," Samson replied.


Styxx cleared his throat and began speaking.  "Ok, first we got the Jesus in His Own Land Lit." 


"What's that?"  Samson asked.


"That's when you start to realize that even though you try to walk with God and be like Jesus, you start to realize that people actually treated Jesus like shit.  They would rather let a murderer Barabas terrorize the streets and get whatever he wants, than to see you get the crown that you deserve.  Instead of crowns, we get crosses to bear.


Samson walked off the curb and headed across the street in the direction of his house.  He noticed the mud collecting on his brand new Air Jordan shoes as he walked across the muddy street.  As his mind began to think about how much he paid for his shoes, that's when he noticed that he had missed out on about half of what Styxx was saying.



" Smith makes you think that it was of your own doing," Styxx stated.  "So how the hell are you going to fight something that you can't even see?" 


"Wait," Samson said.  "Go back.  I missed some of what you said.  I keep getting distracted."


"Aww, man what did I tell you about that.  You think that it's just a coincidence that you can't focus on my words?"


This question caught Samson off guard.  "I can focus.  I was just trying to cross the street without getting mud all over my shoes."


"But that's just the point," Styxx stated.  "Now your muddy shoes are more important than the ressurection of self through the lit."


"That's not true.  I don't think that my shoes are more important than me learning my knowledge of self.  And you can't act like everytime somebody doesn't listen to every exact word that you say that they don't think that what you are saying is important."


"Aww, man, you don't fucking get it.  It doesn't matter if YOU don't think that keeping your shoes clean is more important that building.  I didn't accuse you of that.  But can you not see how the conversation has now been manipulated by unseen forces into making us start talking about your shoes?  THEY made your muddy shoes more important that listening to what I'm saying, regardless if you agree or not.  This is how shit works.  I'm not trying to play the blame game or manipulate you into feeling bad.  I'm trying to get you to see how we got from talking about Jesus, to now talking about your shoes.  Why are we talking about your shoes?"


Samson didn't reply.  He didn't know what to say.


"Why are we talking about your shoes?"  Styxx asked again.


Samson thought.  "Because I didn't hear what you said while I was trying to walk across the street."


"Why didn't you hear what I said?"


"Because I was trying to get across the street without splashing mud all over my shoes."


"Exactly.  Now is it more important that we find fault in your actions and judge you, or try to learn something from this little story?"


Samson had no idea what to say.


"In the City of Isreal papers, they point out that we are already programmed to be having conversations about our shoes to keep us from talking about God.  How that actually maifests is up to us.  It doesn't matter how we started talking about your shoes.  But here we are.  You actually think that that's you holding that phone up to your ear and walking down the street don't you?"


"Nigga, but I AM walking down the street with a phone up to my ear,"  Samson chuckled.


"Yeah, but that's not who you ARE!  You can only see what's right in front of you!"


Samson froze in his tracks.  Right when he began to understand what Styxx was saying, he heard his line beep.  There was another call on the other end.  Samson looked at the phone and saw another familiar name.




"Hold on, Godbody," Samson said as he clicked over to the other line.  "Hello?"


"Can you bring me back some hot Cheetos and some chocolate milk?"  Delilah asked.


Samson looked up from the puddle of mud that he was standing in and noticed that his apartment complex was only thirty seconds away.


"Why the hell would you wait this long to call me back and ask me to get them?  I'm almost home now."


"Well, go back nigga!  The baby wants hot cheetos, and I want some chocolate milk!"


"We already have hot Cheetos in the house! And we've already got milk and chocolate!  Just mix the damn milk with the chocolate!"


"I told you that I don't like skim milk, and you can't force me to drink shit that I don't want to drink!  Why the fuck are you always trying to control my life?  It's my life and my body, so I can choose to do what the fuck I want to do with it!  And those hot Cheetos are my Cheetos, but the baby want's her own, so go back!"


Samson stood in the puddle of mud and snow, staring at the ground.  It was at that moment that he heard a roar that sounded like a jet taking off.  He quickly looked over his shoulder and saw the white man in the BMW drive pass him, splashing mud and snow all over Samson's shoes.



"Fuck!"  Samson yelled as he tried to back away from the splash that had already hit him.


Delilah chuckled to herself and hung up the phone.  The last thing that Samson heard was her holler out,


"Go somewhere and sit your ass down, before I whoop your little ass!"


Samson shook his head and looked up to the sky to ask God why he had forsaken him.  When he looked into the sky, he noticed a gigantic black cloud over his head.  It looked like it was about to start raining ice.  He zipped his hoodie all the way up to his chin and headed back toward the gas station.  He clicked the line back over to Styxx and said,




No answer.


"Hello?"  The light in the phone turned red, signaling that the call had been dropped.  Samson began to dial Styxx's number again, but accidentally dropped the phone in a puddle of muddy water.  Ironically, his phone began to play his favorite ringtone again from the Muddy Waters album by Redman. "Pick it up!  Pick it up!"



"Fuck!"  Samson yelled as he reached down and picked up his phone out of the water.  The muddy water dripped from his phone, back into it's source, the puddle of mud.  Samson shook his head and pressed the green button in a hopeful attempt to answer the phone.

"Hello?" he yelled, hoping to get a response. 


"Yeah, what happened?"  Styxx asked.


"I dropped my phone in the damn mud.  Man, why the fuck does this always have to happen to me?  Why does all this bullshit keep happening to me?  Like you said, everytime I learn something new, it's like somebullshit comes and fucks up everything that I already have.  It's like there's nothing that I can do to stop it.  I'm sick of this shit!  Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life going through dumb shit like this?  Why the fuck does a white man get to drive all over the country and just swipe a card and get everything that he wants, but I try to do good and live by God, but I keep going through torture?"


Samson walked back across the street toward the gas station.  "Like, why the hell does my girl wait ten minutes to call me right when I get back in front of the house, only to tell me that I need to go back and buy some shit that we already have in the house!  Why the fuck do I have to be stuck doing stupid, fickle ass shit, like arguing with my girl about the same shit everyday?  Why is it that everytime I get a car, it ends up getting fucked up?  Everytime I get a job, I get fired or laid off!  Everytime I try to make Delilah happy, it's like she gets even more miserable?  What about what I want?  Am I supposed to just keep sacrificing my life so that everyone else can be happy?  I wanted to build things!  I wanted to make music!  I wanted to do carpentry and mechanical engineering!  She doesn't even know that!  It's like if I stay out all night selling drugs, then I'm not shit.  But everytime I try to make a change, shit gets fucked up and I'm right back to selling's like I'm trapped!" 


Samson felt the muddy water entering his ear as he approached the gas station door.  He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it.  That's when he realized that it wasn't even on anymore.  It was dead.  He had been talking to himself the entire time.


He dropped his shoulders and shook his head.  At that moment, he heard a loud thunderstrike and noticed the drizzle falling out of the sky onto his cheeks. There was a large dark cloud over his head.



If I just had one chance to be somebody.  If I just had one chance to get away from all this bullshit...I would never look back.


A car drove up to pump seven, blasting a familiar song.  Samson took a step toward the door to enter the gas station, but was drawn in by the song that was playing.


If heaven was a mile away

Would I pack up my bags And leave this world behind?

If heaven was a mile away Or save it all for you?

If heaven was a mile away Would I, fill the tank up with gas

And be out the front door in a flash

Before reconsidering, this hell with you
It ain't you it's the things you do

It's tearing my heart in two I would of fell with you,

To hell with you


Samson felt a tear in his eye as he continued on his path.  He opened the door to the gas station and continued his thought process.


"If I had just one chance."



"Don't move motherfucker!"  a voice yelled out.  Samson jumped in shock when he realized that he was staring down the barell of a gun.  He felt his stomach get hot like it was on fire.


Samson looked over in front of the counter and noticed a masked man pointing a shotgun at the belly of the pregnant clrerk.  She was frantically removing all of the money out of the drawer, while crying.  "BItch, I know you don't want to be a hero, or nothing because you've got kids to feed.  I make niggas bleed.  Those the nightmares that you don't need."


Samson quickly realized what was happening.  He put his back to the door as the man raised the gun higher and put it to Samson's forehead.  "You already know what this is, nigga, so don't try no hero shit!"



Samson looked down on the floor and noticed that there was a woman who was cradling her son, praying the Lords prayer.


The other masked gunman turned around and noticed Samson.  He seemed vaguely familiar.  "Hey, I know that nigga!  I fucked his bitch!  Haha!"


Samson felt a headache coming on, followed by a surge of energy.  "What?"


"You Samson, right?"  the man asked.


"Who's asking?"  he replied.


"The nigga with this big ass shotgun, nigga, that's who!  But don't even trip, though.  I'm just here hitting a lick real quick, but tell Delilah I said I'mma call her on Friday."


The man with the gun pointed to Samson's head began laughing hysterically.  Out the corner of his eye, Samson noticed the pregnant clerk reaching for her cell phone, while the gunmen were distracted.  Samson decided to distract them some more.


"See, that's how it works," Samson stated.  "You come in here to rob this place, but then you get distracted, and now we're talking about pussy.  But how did we get here?  You actually think that's you standing there holding that gun?"


The masked gunman with the shotgun took a step toward Samson and placed the shotgun to Samson's belly. "Nigga, what the fuck did you just say?"


Samson nervously smiled and tried not to look in the direction of the pregnant clerk who was now dialing 911.  Samson stared into the eyes of the gunman without fear.  "You see, everytime you try to do something, something will always come along and distract you, especially when you get close to succeeding.  That's what we call Smith."


The two gunman looked at each other with a confused look on their face.  Samson's eyes accidentally glanced over to the pregant clerk, who quickly tried to lower the phone down to the counter, so the gunmen wouldn't see.


Too late.


"Bitch, what the fuck are you trying to do?"  The masked man with the shotgun snatched the phone away from her hand and looked at the screen.  The woman let out a cry that shook Samson to the core.  "You trying to call them people's on me? Didn't I just tell your goofy ass that I make niggas bleed?  All you had to do was just give me my money, and I would have been gone!"


The masked man cocked the shotgun and pointed at the woman's belly.  That's when it happened.  Samson didn't even think.  He simply grabbed the hand of the gunman who had a gun to his head.  Before the man could react, Samson had already punched him in the face and removed the gun from his hand.  The man fell on the floor, knocking over a stand full of pork rinds. 


The masked man with the shotgun turned towards Samson and fired his gun.  Samson fell onto the floor, closed his eyes, and began firing the gun.  He didn't want to see what was happening.  He didn't want to see the bullets go into the man.  He didn't want to see the man hit the floor.  He didn't want to kill the man.  He just wanted to save the pregnant woman. 


The first gunman quickly got up off the floor and brushed crushed pork rinds off of his clothes.  He took off running out of the store into the raining ice.  Samson tried to get off the floor and realized that he couldn't.  There was blood gushing from his abdomen. 


"Oh, shit, I'm hit," Samson said.


That's when he realized that the pregnant woman behind the counter was still screaming at the top of her lungs.  Samson looked over at the mess that he created.  There was blood all over the floor, mixed with gunshells and crushed pork rinds.  The masked gunman with the shotgun turned over on his stomach and curled up into a fetal position.  He appeared to die. 



Samson put his hand to his stomach, trying to keep the blood from pouring out.  All he could think about was the man with the shotgun shooting her in the belly.  He could actually see it in his mind.  That's when he realized that he was losing a lot of blood fast and starting to hallucinate.  He looked up at the pregnant clerk who was now holding his head up.  Samson tasted blood in his mouth and felt a pain in his stomach like never before.  He had been shot before, but not with a shotgun. The pain that he was feeling was unbearable.  Why would God make him experience pain like this?  Samson began getting dizzy.  It felt like the room was spinning.  TIme was moving way faster than normal.  He tried to look around the room and make sense of what had just happened.  The room was spinning so fast.  He couldn't make out any images. 


Suddenly he noticed the boy and his mother, who were on the floor.  They were now standing over him, crying and praying. 


"Thank you!  Sir, thank you so much!  You saved my life!  You saved my son's life!  You're a hero!  Can you hear me?  You saved my life!"


Samson felt a tear run down his cheek as his thoughts returned to him and K-Blao in his office. 



"Make sure you use it wisely," K-Blao repeated.  "You've got the power now to change your life.  You can change other people's lives too.  It's not about the money.  It's about helping people.  A lot of people don't realize that anything is possible.  They don't know that they need you to show them these things.  But just keep doing what you're doing, and you're going to be a hero."


Samson let out a long sigh, and realized that he had completed his journey.  He finally got his chance to be hero.


"Somebody call an ambulance!"  the boy hollered out.


Samson smiled at the boy and blinked.  He knew that he was about to die.  At that moment, he heard a familiar song.


"PIck it up!  Pick it up! If you find a bag of weed on the floor motherfucker..."


The ringtone began to scramble from the water damage.  It began vibrating as the text message came through.  Samson gathered the last little bit of stamina that he had and reached for his phone.  He looked down at it.


"What does it say?" the boy asked.


Samson noticed the red words on the boys shirt.  It read:




Samson smiled and coughed up more blood as he looked at the text message in his phone. 


"Well, what does it say?" the pregnant clerk asked while crying.


It was from Delilah. It read


"Grab some barbecue sunflower seeds too."



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Comment by Hru Anipu Mntchu Htp on November 23, 2014 at 11:00am
This iz the realest shit I've ever read...Hoodx Lit should be made into actual bookz and scrollz...This iz great literary work God...

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