"I hate sunlight, I hate the moon--" Glean went to ranting as we came inside the house. "I hope niggas that's in the ground, do a back flip. I hate it here, I hope to God--"
"Glean!" Rank calls. "I hope when we eating somebody cough!"
"Oh my God," I smirk. "I hope to God this house fall apart. I hope I runaway! I hope I fucking start flying and the ceiling fan decapitate me--"
"Nigga!"
"And I hate what we eat. I'm afraid to shit! I wanna jack off, I can't get no privacy!"
"GLEAN!" we yell. "Calm down, what are you talking about!" I approach him. He starts crying, "I hate outside!" he racks his face with his hand. "I hate bugs I hate the color of the earth--"
"The earth didn't do nun to you." says Rank.
"WEED TRIED TO RAPE ME!"
"We inside the house. It's ok." I hug him and he hugs me back tighter. "I don't even know her!" he whines. "I don wanna go outside no mo…"
"Where's Dexter?" asks Rank. "Still outside." I rub poor Glean's back. "I'm 16." he wails. "My life flashed before my eyes."
"Do you regret anything?"
"I watched my daddy eat my mama." his entire tone changes. We're both quiet. "He used to eat her ass. She switched bodies and daddy found out she was cheating. Aleigha threw me in the red water."
"Glean…?" I stop rubbing his back. He blinks and stares at me. "What?"
"You a spirit in you again." Rank rolls his neck. "No, that's just my soul." he pats his chest. "What you mean?"
"Yeah, I'm torn." Glean smiles putting his hands on his hips. "When I was young, I went through some stuff. My soul is like two," he holds up two fingers. "But like kinda stuck together. Basically I'm bipolar."
"Speaking of!" comes by a singing Ms. Simpson. "Arthur, you have your nine o'clock appointment with Ms. Potato."
"Alright, what time is it now?"
"It's now." she says.
"Oh…" Glean looks at us. "See y'all."
"Alright, go get therapy man." It sounds like he needs it.
.
.
.
We were in the kitchen.
Step one: Take a tin pan
Step two: butter tin pan
Step three: You need to make dough. How do you make dough? You get all purpose flour. You make a well on the counter top. This means dumping about two cups of flour on the counter top. Ball up your fist, press it into the flour. That's your well. Next you get two eggs, crack the two eggs into the hole you made. Beat the eggs, get the eggs all dusty (that's what Dexter said). That means you throw in flour while you beat the eggs. Rank told me to count to 60 while I beat the eggs. After that you combine everything and form a fucking dough (in Dexter's word). add some more floor, sprinkle about 1/2 cup of flour on the counter top. Get fucking dust in your nose and sneeze .
You want the dough to be kind of round now take your rolling pin and beat your dough. YOU DO NOT ACTUALLY ROLL DOUGH. Dexter said it's much easier if you beat it with the rolling pin. Next, you have to beat the other side of the dough. Once beaten, pick the ball up and slam it down about three times. Now, this is the moment you actually use the purpose the rolling pin was made for. You will actually roll the dough, now take a shitty cup or the tin pan to measure how big the top will be.
Set the top to the side and combine the dough with a big ass hole in it so that you can put it in the tin pan. Once you have all that figured out. You lay down the pie curst inside the damn pan.
Next comes the filling. So, Rank has that covered. We brougham in the dates from outside. And Dexter said you have the slit the mouth of the date which is the Voice. You part the mouth with your fingers and inside the date you'll find the Adam's apple of the date. Which can be eaten, because it's like popcorn.
It might yell at you but that's part of the process. SAID DEXTER.
"How long have you been here?" I have to ask at this point. "Don't forget to add sugar." he tell me. Rank sits down a bag of sugar. It says, 'Yee-Old Sweet Sugar'. "I never heard of that."
"It comes from sugarcane. The smiley family grows it. They got about eight hundred niggas."
"What you mean by that?"
Rank hits the table, "D-Did you just come out the coffin?"
"No…"
"Magna, the Smiley family are Black Owners. They got most the black market locked down!"
"We go to parades…" Dexter says lazily. "They have a Candy Apple Business."
"Are we selling the goods to them?" Why do I ask questions? "Yes and no." Rank leers. "You hungry?"
"Kind of…"
"You did your work?"
"I'm doing it now."
"You get a piece of pie." he states.
We kept working until Dexter started yawning. I still had energy. As a whole I made twenty pies today. I lost track of time and just kept going. "You might get a piece." Dexter's slacked over the counter. "You doing good."
"What does this do for the soul?"
"Make you tired." says Rank. "It's simple shit but it wears you down spiritually."
It's just pies.
A bell sounds and Ms. Simpson comes ringing. "Alright cooks, let's eat!" She so happy all the time. How?
We all get ready to eat. Sit at the table, check. Watch zombies of niggas that died. "Ooo!" Rank frowns. "We got a new one."
"That's Phil!"
"Not Phil…"
"He passed out, they keep putting him outside. He was already blind!" Do they want the soul to just float away? That's not how it works. A little girl comes and sits in front of me. Her eyes are brown and her air is blonde. She sniffles. I don't want to have a conversation… I made enough friends, I don't need a home within a home.
The servers come out, it hits me how fucked up we have an entire slave scenario and we're being carted to. The plate is in front of me. We have us some Strawberries, waffles, and bull dick with a side of cream cheese in a saucer.
"They ain't even give us honey glazed dick…" complains Dexter. "My dick still dead."
"I don't wanna eat…" I say.
"Finish your plate." Rank cut a piece of penis with half a strawberry. "I hate the smell."
Dexter cut's his waffle up and sets the strawberries on top. It folds it in on itself. "You want some extra cream cheese?" he looks over at me. "Nah. I'm not eatin."