The night had wrapped the housing blocks in heavy clouds, with the pale light of the moon occasionally piercing through. The city slept. Silence.
Isaiah lay in bed, wrapped in his blanket, his breathing steady, almost rhythmic. He was about to drift into deep sleep when suddenlyā¦
Tuk tuk tuk!
He frowned, opening one eye. Someone was knocking on the window. Tired and irritated, he lifted his head. Outside stood Dushane. His face looked different than usualāexhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days.
"Broā¦ You need to come downstairs," he said quietly, but his voice carried something that immediately filled Isaiah with unease.
Reluctantly, he got up. He threw on his tracksuit and went downstairs, where his friend was waiting. The cool air brushed against his skin, amplifying the feeling that something was wrong.
"What is it? It's the middle of the night," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Dushane didn't answer right away. His gaze was empty, as if he was somewhere else. Finally, he spoke, and his words cut through the silence like a knife.
"Tony is dead."
Isaiah frowned.
"Don't even joke about that."
Above them, the moon disappeared behind the clouds.
"You think I'd joke about something like this?" Dushane's voice was rough, barely audible.
He dropped to the ground, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled. Isaiah watched him in disbelief.
"But we played Payday with himā¦ like three hours agoā¦"
Dushane didn't lift his head.
"His mom called me an hour agoā¦ She was crying her eyes out."
Silence fell. Isaiah felt a strange, unpleasant sensation growing in his chest.
"How did it happen, man?" he finally asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Dushane took a deep breath, but his voice still shook.
"I don't fucking knowā¦"
The memory hit him like a camera flash. Tony, a dark alley, a figure by a car. A conversation that shouldn't have happened.
"Those fuckers from Davis shot him."
Isaiah felt something break inside him. His eyes burned, but he wouldn't let the tears fall. He clenched his fists.
"We have to avenge him."
---
Years later.
The gas station was quiet. Neon lights reflected in the window, casting pale glows on Isaiah's face. He stood behind the counter, staring at the register while soft music played in the background.
"ā¦you're listening to Westside FMā¦ late-night vibes for the sleepless ones out thereā¦"
He lifted his head slightly, snapped out of his thoughts. His eyes held memories he couldn't erase.
Maybe if I hadā¦ done something differentlyā¦
Through the glass, he saw a sedan pull up. Nothing unusual. Another customer, another routine.
Ding!
The door opened, and the man who entered headed straight for the fridge with drinks. Just another night. Just another life.
Isaiah yawned and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the clock. 02:37. He sighed softly.
"It could have been differentā¦" he whispered, knowing no one would hear him.