She Who Led the Dead

Proluge

Let me guess. Your here for the exact same reason I wrote this. You want blood. A thrill . A damned romance story hidden underneath the cool exteriors of disorder and anarchy. You want a read worth reading for. Something that creeps pleasant chills down your spine at night. Something that makes you, even just for a moment, wish that you were bad. A story that plagues your thoughts throughout the day with an itch to, maybe perhaps get drunk off the Jack Daniels' bottle you know your dad keeps in his special cupboard at the top. Or maybe be the b***h that your mommy tried so hard to bury with manners and whats that word?... etiquette. Makes you wish to be the delinquent kid you know you are, that hides behind glasses and textbooks. Call out the b***h at the front of the class room smiles sweetly at her screen computer as though she were checking your "good" grades but in fact, is watching lesbian porn her closet girlfriend Janitor Wendy had emailed her earlier. Then welcome to the dark side. We have whisky and a cancer stick as a party gift.

Robberies, murder, drugs, alcohol, rape; it was all here. At this rate they should just make that s**t legal, because obviously, the law doesn't do squat for the Police of Detroit, Michigan. I dwelled in between the ridges of abandoned facilities and warehouses. South of the city was, nothing but a ghost town.  Trash littered streets with newspapers rustling in the wind. All kind of living plant life was brown and dull. Dead. Poverty was the new black and going to school in crummy buildings with good for nothing teachers that slept through class was a regular. To my kind of people though, this part of town was a paradise. It was where all our major deals, runs, shipments and other s**t happened. Gangs, were like a cancer in the old brick buildings. You couldn't go anywhere with out a gun handy, knowing if you didn't, you'd probably get killed or simply disapear.

I guess you could say that the police had basically given up with us. At least I wish they would, because, no matter how many times they tried to find us, or break down our door,they never did. I would like to say that I wasn't involved with any of that s**t. That I was in fact of good proper lady and I was every teachers wet dream. Shoot, my brother would like to be able to say that. But that would make me a bigger liar than i already am.

So my dad wasn't the kind that grilled hotdogs on family reunions on a sunny Saturday. Nor was he the kind that read you bed time stories about the princess that built a straw house and turned into a frog. And that's ok. Those stories really f**k you over anyway.

You see, i really love my him. If we are completely honest here, he was the best father in the world. He still tucked me in at night, and told me everything would be okay. He still hugged me on his way out to 'work'. He never got drunk, and never brought home his friends when he knew i was there.

That's a lie though. A lie full of horse s**t. No, by the age of 6, instead of buying me the barbie I'd alway's wanted, he took me out to a gun range and taught me to shoot. My first gun i'd ever shot from was a 9mm pistol. That was my birthday present. Thanks dad. I hated every second of it too. I hated the recoil that sent shocks shuttering my chest, or the sound of war at my hands. Nope, not for me. 

  At age ten He had taught me how to fight to the point i knew how to pack a good punch. I knew every vulnerability a man,or woman had, and i could disarm them at the young age of 11.

Your dad probably thought a good way to bond, was what fishing? A movie? My dad's version of a good time was teaching me how to hold 2 liters of Vodka down, while playing poker and not loosing. At the age of 14 I'd become a master at every trade my father had introduced to me. I was allowed to hang out with his friends that would come over, because not matter how much of an a*s you think my father is, he does in fact, love me. If the men at his, ah, 'get togethers' so much as even looked at me the wrong way, they'd be fucked over to next month. I was daddies little girl.

So I could pit pocket, and lie with out a blink of sympathy towards the victim. Don't think me as some foolish little b***h though, i was actually smart. I had the top grades at my school, no matter how much my teachers, hated to admit the fact. The b******s. I was insightful and strategically brilliant. But that didn't change the fact that i was the biggest b***h you could ever know. I pranked and made an a*s out everyone that pissed me off. It also didn't change the fact that I could stop a persons heart beat at the end of my Colt Defender .45 with out a breath of hesitation. It was a sleek ink black gun that on the side of the pistol was a silver engraving in latin saying, "iamiam mortuus direxit" which meant, "she'd guided the dead". Age 16 everybody. 

( Clap Now )

Sure I didn't get a father that read the newspaper in the morning, but l was sure as hell damn thankful. My dad had never been born, to be a dad. I knew that, my older brother knew that, and he himself new that, but my father, Carter D'Angelo, did his damned best. 

Now my dad, wasn't a sales rep. or a Walmart manager. He was the bad a*s President of Lucifer's Seven; the most highly feared and highly respected gang in Michigan. He did the biggest trades of it's kind and had contacts to every drug lord and every dirty rabbit f*****g congressmen there was. You can imagine the teachers reaction when i had to tell them why daddy coun't come in for Daddy Career Day in second grade. 3 weeks in the foster program.

Me and my brother grew up in the club, learning the ways of the gang life. Now, there's something you always need to remember. No matter who you are. You better keep in mind of these three things. The 3 R's : Respect, Reputation, and Retaliation.

If you want to survive around here, you better get some f*****g respect. Do whatever it is. Be the best at what you do, and don't go pissing off the wrong people.  Especially if your just getting the hang of s**t. People around here, get where they are, there jobs, there level of supioriority, from how they shoot, how valuable they are as an asset to use is, and experiance, unless you can prove yourself. So don't f**k up.

Then, you better come with the most sick, badass, s**t filled rep you can find. The more you are feared, the better off you are. So if you're some little pansey that likes to look at clouds and find what type of shape it is, just do us all a favor and leave. Don't f**k it up.

Now one last rule. Retaliation. You got you're brothers back till the death okay? In a gang, no matter who you are, you better have you're partners back. But the minute you f**k us over we will find you. Doesn't matter where you run, where you hide, who you are, we will come. We will find you. And we'll beat the living s**t out of you. You crawl up our asses, you're dying there. I wil see to it myself that a thorn branch is shoved up your a*****e and is yanked out as I dig my high heeled boots up your nose. I'll skin you and drink your blood from a boot. 

So. Don't. F**k. Up.

My story will most likely be over looked by most. A piece of forgotten history. But there are a few of you, that will find this story a read worth reading for. My jagged glass shards will leave a scarring imprint in your mind, your thoughts forever ensnared by this forsaken love story. I hope you learn from my mistakes. I hope you realize what i never did. That there are no situations where, the guy saves the girl. 

I remember once i had asked my father when he had gotten this distant look on his face," What do you see?" The most heart shattering look would shadow across his face, forever haunt me for the rest of my life. It was an emptiness you couldn't quite place. A brokeness, never fully healed. A pain never soothed. An endless torment. A sad lonelyness would reflect in his dark eyes as he had said with a voice, crackling with agonizing emotion.

" I see everything. It is my curse." He had reached his calloused hand to my softer cheek and spoke," I can never redeem myself for the sins which i've comitted, and i can never truly give you all that you truly deserve. I will never forgive myself for your mother's death." Tear at the corner of his troubled eyes.

" I don't know why we always fall in love with what death can touch... and I see it in you now. You grew up too fast. Your eyes are already trained and skeptical. Always ready for the worst. Somthing you should have never had to be ready for. You see things too don't you my sweet girl?"

I nodded my head as i watched helplessly at this man i so very much adored. I gripped his hand in mine and said," I love you daddy."

He tightned his hold on mine," Oh Raziel, my child, I do too. Just remember, there are no such things as fairy tales. You have to be the one to save yourself my dear, you understand? No one can or will do it for you." I nodded at him and with kiss  and he left.

 

So what ddid I do? I took my fathers words to heart. I put on some black stilletto boots, all with my trademark gun strapped to my upper thigh. 

My name is Razial Lilith D'Angelo, and this is my story.