Home > Stories > Mini-fiction – “The Ghetto Fantasy”

Mini-fiction – “The Ghetto Fantasy”

Based on an exaggeration of a misunderstood aspect of a culture I am unfamiliar with. This story is not intended to be realistic in any way, or be imitated in any way. Furthermore, it may be very offensive to people who actually understand the culture that this story misinterprets. If I keep adding disclaimers, it might become offensive to people who hate disclaimers before they consume their media. Enjoy.

“Just think about it, man!” he said. “A place where you do nothing but listen to rap, drive a big car, get shot at, sell drugs, shoot people, go to clubs, bang hoes, and all sorts of things.”

“I don’t know. You think they going to put up with that? I mean I like bangin’ hoes but most women ain’t hoes and most hoes don’t like bein’ hoes,” his friend responded.

“But if we could be havin’ a place like that, would we?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“What do you mean I?”

“I wouldn’t want you bangin’ my hoes or on my turf.” His friend drew a pistol and shot him several times in the chest. Feeling an immense pain in his body, he looked down – blood was spilling out of him as if from bottles of beer.

“Oh god, what you do that for?”

“I said I don’t want my hoes banged.” His friend walked away, leaving him to collapse in the street and fall into unconcsciousness.

He woke up several hours later in a trauma center, where a nurse was attending to some machinery around him. His friend was there.

“I had a dream while I was dead where that ghetto fantasy I tell you about was true, and it felt good for a bit. Then it got boring, so I’m conflicted,” he told his friend.

“What do you mean it got boring?” his friend snapped.

“I don’t know, maybe it be the fact that it kept going and going and going over and over again…”

The nurse walked over to his bed, and pressed a button. He began to feel drowsy.

“You need to rest. Gunshot wounds don’t heal easily, and if you keep talking like that you’ll only be in here longer-”

He didn’t hear the rest, as the button had triggered the release of tranquilizers into his system. He slept, woke up, lived in the trauma center for two more weeks, then left, and never thought more of the incident. Life continued normally for him and his friend.

Categories: Stories Tags: , , , ,
  1. Kevin Ayala
    2010/05/06 at 03:21

    I suck at Quake.

  2. 2010/06/05 at 20:45

    heheh now that’s mini fiction! lol

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: