A Night in New York

August 20, 2017 by Patrick Starks 


(Episode II to Night Light)

“What kind of writing is this?” Night asked. “It looks familiar, I swear I’ve seen it before, even the smell of it brings back memory, although the memory is faint.” The letter was no ordinary letter, for that it had the writings of Night’s ancestors, of his childhood. Nights parents had shown him these writings before, however there was only four that he knew of that could’ve known such—his sisters. It couldn’t have been his parents he thought, but they’d passed years ago. Those were sad time for him and his sisters he thought—annoyed by the pain in his heart, he swayed any remembrance of them, at least what was left. But the letter… it still brought curiosity.

The letter said:

Dear Night,

“I am close, I am near, but be cautious, all that surrounds you, including me—you should fear. Be happy inside and worry not about the external, for that your heart burns with pride, and the soul is eternal. I told you that one day I would come back to the Night, for that not even the heavens understand, not even they are right. You could be the answer I’ve waited, the answer I seek, but you will know nothing, if not step through the curtain—step to take a peek.”

The letter was beautiful, yet he felt disturbed. Night hadn’t a clue to what it meant or who even wrote it. The only way he knew he could find his answer was to enter the world of evil, the very world his sister Ada had fled to—on that day, Night would be on his way to not only peek through, but step through the so-called curtain written on the letter.

After a week of packing, Night would say goodbye to his other three sisters—Abebi, Abiola, and Adamma. “Don’t worry you three, take care of each other while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon, and hopefully Ada will be with me in my return,” Night said. The sisters cried. After the passing of their parents, they always felt it was their responsibility to take care of Night and Ada—they were the oldest after all—and the oldest had to protect the young, they thought. However, Night and Ada would greatly succeed anyone’s control, anyone’s expectations.

It was now the day of “Eshe,” meaning “life” from the village Night had now abandoned. But where he was now seemed to not have any life at all, at least not the kind he he knew. The trees, the oceans, the creatures—all gone, and only to be replaced by what he believed to be towers of evil, and beast within beast that passed him on the trail he walked—moving faster than any cheetah or gazelle.

“Get the fuck out of the way! You fucking idiot! I’m trying to drive here!” an anonymous one yelled. Night was lost, he didn’t know what the hell was going on, neither did he want to stick around to find out. The anonymous one reeked of cigars and alcohol as he passed by—two scents that Night had never pulled within his nostrils, and so he continued to move forward, away from the madness.

“Get ya hot dawgs here! Get ya hot dawgs!” a man yelled, but Night stared at him ironically confused. “Say kid, you ain’t from around here are ya?” The man asked, Night shook his head. It was obvious, he wore clothes made from the skin and blood of a lion. The coat he wore looked cozy, however reeked of the dead, that in which became the fate of the lion he’d hunted. On the other hand, the man feared he would ruin his sales, the smell was enough to make any food addict lose their appetite. Nights hair was barely braided as there was only half of it to be called such. His skin was a different pigmentation of the hot dog man, chocolaty some would say, however, it wasn’t new to him—there were many pigmentation’s of skin from where he lived, although, he knew Night was different, not of his world.

Night then asked the man where he was, the man replied. “The big apple son! New York, New York, oh sweet New York. Take it, breathe it in man!” Night looked around, gave it chance—as evil as the world he entered appeared, it would seem the hot dog man would change any assumptions that Night had of it, although the man would be just one of the many he’d encounter that day.

Before Night departed, the hot dawg man would leave him a hot dog in a good gesture, on the house they would say. Night took a bite, and instantly became addicted, asking for more right after he’d finish one. “Dam son, slow down, I’m already on probation—last thing I need is some kid choking and dying in front me, I’d go to jail for life if that ever happened. Although, it would be a funny way for you to go out, greed gets everyone my friend, greed gets everyone” the hot dog man said, but Night ignored, just kept eating until there was nothing left of the stand.  Eventually he would officially depart, with his stomach breaching through his coat, as if he were pregnant or had way too many beers in his life time, and so the hot dog man would close early that day—thanks to Night of course, no product was available.

As the time passed, the day had become darker and Night was to seek shelter—as hard as the rain poured he felt he’d drown, floods were common in his village, but it was fine, they had tree-houses to keep them safe, and so he looked for something equivalent to such. As Night walked through the dark streets of New York, he found an ally way, or what he believed to be an open tunnel. He was amazed, hundreds of tree-houses his mind would interpret—they were small he thought, however still magnificent to discover.

“Help! Someone help me! Please stop!” a woman yelled. But it appeared no one was around to help, although Night was. “You ain’t going nowhere bitch! You’ve been ducking me for months now, teasing me in your tight little dresses, it’s time I get what’s deserving of me. Hold her down boys!” the man yelled. The woman was surrounded, beaten, held down by not just one, but five men, as they ripped off the clothes she wore. “No please, please don’t, please stop!” the woman pleaded, but neither man cared for that they would all get their turn of the one known as “Sweet Red.”

Night ran over, he yelled for the man to let her go, he was thankful, nothing had been done to her, at least not yet. “Oh piss off kid! One day you’ll be able to get sweet ass like this, but feel free to watch if you want,” the man said. Night took his blood color coat off, he’d heard enough of the evil that stood in his presents. And as he prepared himself to stop what was about to happen, he thought of his sister for a slight moment—wondering if the same would happen to her, or if it did, that he was too late.

Night then fell to the ground harder than a sack of potatoes. “Just hold her down boys, nobody does shit, I’ll be her first, only me, but first let me deal with this little shit of kid, hell… I think he’s knocked out,” the man said. Night however smiled, he thought it was funny, he even began to burst out with chipmunk like laughter. The men, even the woman thought he’d gone mad as they stood frozen. “Da fuck is so funny?” the man asked, but the only words that came from Nights mouth was ‘Light up the night.’ And as the words flowed from his lips, as his eyes glowed of radiant gold—the ally that was once dark, had now become bright.

“What… What the fuck is happening to me!” the man yelled, but there was only silence, only smiles. The darkness that man once had in his heart was now being pulled out by the light Night had instilled within him. “Jesus! What the fucks happening to him!” another man yelled, watching the very insides of his friend being spilled out on to the damp ground.  And as the gut spilled man became the depiction of a deflated water balloon, the rest of his gang fled like the sewer rats that lurked the streets. The woman that would once be violated was now safe, and was grateful that Night, her Knight and lion skinned armor, came to her rescue.

Night then took his coat, wrapped it around the woman for warmth, and told her that she was safe now, that she shouldn’t be prowling around the darkness alone, she replied. “I wasn’t prowling first of all, second, no one even uses that word, just say I shouldn’t be walking alone… your obviously not from here—by the way you talk, the clothes you wear, and the crazy shit you just did to that fucking rapist, call me crazy, but are you like from another planet or something, did god send you?” the woman asked. Night was confused he didn’t even know if the gods existed, but his father would’ve told him otherwise if he were still present—to his father Night was a creation of the gods, the very blessing he’d beg for.

Before he departed, Night told the woman he was looking for his sister, she was about the same height as him, if not looked the same—that being they were twins. “I knew it, I knew you looked familiar, you look like Adana Clark. That, that dance choreographer in downtown,” she said. Night became curious, he then asked the woman where he could find this Adana Clark, he felt it had to be Ada.  “Oh, you actually want to meet the Adana. Well… that’s going to be tough. She’s highly protected and lives in the heart of the city—Manhattan that is. Everyone wants to meet her, but don’t be silly I was joking, she couldn’t possibly be your sister, right?”

Night was already on the move, and was not concerned with answering the woman’s question. He only headed towards the direction she’d point. “Wait! You don’t want your coat back!” she yelled, but Night didn’t care, besides, he felt she needed it more than he did—after all, her clothes had been destroyed by the hyenas that scavenged for her body, and the weather was way to muggy for any woman to have to endure, for that she’d endure enough that day—he was well bred gentleman.

As the woman’s vision of Night became blurry, deep in the heart of New York is where the destruction would become reconstructed, for that it would be one hell of a Night in New York.



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