A Gangster's Cry

45. the broken brotherhood.

i'd rather have loyalty than love 'cause love really don't mean shit. — 21 savage.

omniscient.

Things were far from calm on the south side of the river Thames. In a luxury apartment, in an even more luxurious area remained two brothers. They shared similar characteristics, yet the pair did differ. Ironically, they were the same height— but their complexion contrasted with one another. One was more melenated, like his mother, whilst the other one was caramelised like his diabolical father who art in hell.

There was originally four of them, yet unfortunately one was nearing death. The oldest was the most level headed, the one with the most money and intelligence. The one after...was street smart, books weren't really his thing. The only time he touched paper was even he counted money, and money wasn't even paper anymore: it was plastic. The next one was a lost cause, a handsome one at that. A rebel without a cause. A shit stirrer, an attractive bastard. He rolled with man his brothers considered 'opps' without a care in the world. He loved trouble and trouble loved him right back. The last one was what I, the omniscient, called 'misunderstood'. A young man with so much potential that was lead to bad things all because he knew no better. A troubled victim with no guidance whatsoever. An angel in disguise, not a devil. An Adonis who fell victim to his brother's and his opp's brother's sick and twisted games of death.

Cairo.

"—Cairo?" Bakari leant against his marbe island, staring at Qahir.

They were conversing about their youngest brother's well being. Two more days, that's how long the make had to wake up before he was officially regarded a dead man. It hurt: the revelation of his death. Yet the truth hurt and with the life the boys lead, they'd grown accustom to this fact. They were all to familiar with pain. It grew to the sick point where pain even excited them, when pain made them smile with thrill.

They were all sadistic, unloved bastards. Every single one of them, even Bakari.

As much as Bakari disassociated himself with the street lifestyle, him falling back into his old ways was inevitable because the life followed him around like it was getting paid to do so. His younger brothers were literal human embodiments of the negative effects of the lifestyle, his Jezebel sister to.

He kissed his teeth at the thought of her.

Qahir looked over at him with confusion.

"Nefertiti," was all he had to say for Qahir to kiss his teeth as well.

Nefertiti had not made a single visit to see her dying brother, yet she had the time to post herself all up on social media like the failing influencer she was. It didn't help that she had a bit of clout from being a bintu-Sesay daughter. She was a young mislead damsel, that got her head boosted up by the older men she fetishised daily. It was a true sad sight to witness. Bakari sympathised with his little sister —at times- knowing she resonated with older men and women because of her mummy and daddy issues. The lack of parental guidance in her life, as well as her brother's diabolical influences truly made her the person she was today.

A living reincarnation of Delilah. The descendant of the infamous, sinning eve. Nefertiti, a woman muck like the Potiphar's wife from the bible with har far fetched ideologies and sinful schemes.

Cairo, Nefertiti, Qahir, Pharaoh, Bakari.
All beautiful bastards with the same devilish fate as antiheroes set of brothers you readers are all to familiar with.

You call one of them Forty, yet I say—

*

"Hezekiah?" Eziekel's reeked of concern as he looked at his big brother who was seated on his favourite recliner seat with a solemn look painted onto his handsome face.

It was a rare sight to see him look so...defeated.

Hezekiah never flinched or moved, his eyes stayed glued to the childhood pictures Eziekel had placed up in attempt to make the new apartment Hazaiah and him had moved into more homely. His chest rise and fell slowly, indicating his breathing pattern as he seemed to be consumed in his own troubling thoughts. The light from the sun shone through the windows and placed a small shadow on Hezekiah's stoic countenance.

Forty felt like he was carrying the whole world on his shoulders, and it certainly wasn't a good feeling.

The infamous Hazaiah stood leant against the manga walls, his inked arms crossed over his toned chest as he analysed his twin brother. Hazaiah, void of any emotion, looked towards his baby brother, Eziekel, before shaking his head.

"He's been like that since he came." He stated, finally breaking the ice.

"And when was that?" That question was asked by Eziekel.

"Quarter to four." Hazaiah retorted.

Eziekel looked down at his simplistic wrist watch, the time read half past five. His elder brother had been in a dazed state for nearly two hours.

Eziekel racked his mind, trying to remember the last time Hezekiah had asked both brothers to accompany him to the pharmacy to pick up his medicine— he couldn't remember. That was bad, very bad. Following Forty to get his prescription was the three brothers ongoing, unsaid routine. They went on the fourth of every month, just to make sure.

"His medicine." Eziekel mumbled to himself, yet Hazaiah still heard.

Hazaiah let out a faint profanity as he and Eziekel looked eyes, worried about their sibling's well being. They knew they had to handle the situation with caution, Forty must've been off medication for approximately four months all because of all brother's joint forgetfulness. They began to stress, thinking about the things Forty could've done within the four month time period. His medicine kept him sane, it helped him cope. Without it, he made unconscious decisions without regard for the consequences. He moved erratically, like a person without guidance.

How didn't they notice? That was the main question, maybe it was because Forty had hidden it so well...or maybe, just maybe it down to their shared negligence in regards to their outcasted brother.

*

The broken brother hood of the Kabil Sesay and Ysan Umar boys— and two misguided sisters too.

A Fatal Gangster's Cry.

*

1041 words.
Excuse mistakes.

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— taimoni.