Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Truth Hurts, Lies Kill: Truth Hurts, Lies Kill, #1
Truth Hurts, Lies Kill: Truth Hurts, Lies Kill, #1
Truth Hurts, Lies Kill: Truth Hurts, Lies Kill, #1
Ebook140 pages2 hours

Truth Hurts, Lies Kill: Truth Hurts, Lies Kill, #1

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

1/5

()

Read preview

About this ebook

At only 18, SK is young, ruthless and on the run. After committing a crime that forces him out of his home state of South Carolina, he finds himself all alone in the streets of Philadelphia. Without a familiar face to turn to, SK is forced to learn to survive. Miraculously, with all the odds against him, SK manages to make ends meets. Life is good, until a regrettable incident changes everything. Drama and suspense filled, SK's journey proves the harsh reality that the Truth Hurts, but Lies Kill.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 30, 2019
ISBN9781386352631
Truth Hurts, Lies Kill: Truth Hurts, Lies Kill, #1

Read more from Raymond Francis

Related to Truth Hurts, Lies Kill

Titles in the series (1)

View More

Related ebooks

African American Fiction For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Truth Hurts, Lies Kill

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
1/5

1 rating1 review

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    This story is filled with lies and deceit, running from a past and trying to find a new life with people who won’t question anything that is done. It wasn’t my type of book.

Book preview

Truth Hurts, Lies Kill - Raymond Francis

Raymond Francis

© 2019 by Pleasure Principle Publications. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

The room was pitch-black. I knew I was dead. I could feel the cold steel from the barrel of the gun pressed into the back of my head. One squeeze of the trigger and my brains would be blown out. Running through my mind, I envisioned all the bad things that I had done in my life. Then I thought about the good things that I had done for people. I thought about all the people I hated, and then about the few people that I could actually say I loved. I wondered if they truly loved me back. Finally, I stopped thinking all together, because I knew none of it mattered anymore. I was done. My run had come to an end.  

As I felt the gun press even harder into the back of my head, my mind went completely blank. Silence filled the room as I closed my eyes. In my mind, I was already dead. I had seen and done so much, there was nothing left to do and nowhere else to go. I was absolutely sure death was certain... until I heard the door swing open.

Before I get into all that; let me take ya’ll back to the very beginning...

Chapter 1

I guess most people with life stories as crazy as mine end up in jail, but for me a jail was where it all started. Abbeville County Jail in South Carolina, in January of 1977 to be exact. Believe it or not that’s where I was conceived.

My pop was 20 years old and had gotten locked up when the 66 Cutlass he was riding in was pulled over for bad tags. The cops searched the whip and found a dirty gun and some heroin. Since my mom was riding shotgun, they booked her too. Anybody knows men and women are locked up on separate sides of the jail, but since Abbeville is a small ass town and the C.O. was my pop’s first cousin, he turned his back and gave my pop 10 minutes alone with my mom.

I guess my pop knew he wouldn’t see the light of day for a long time, because during those 10 minutes, he created me; Shawn Knight or SK for short. I was their first and only child. Some people grow up resenting their father for not being around; but not me. I don’t blame my pop at all; I blame the Feds for giving him all that damn time. I love my pop no matter what, and I save my hate for the police, the judges, and the whole entire legal system.

Since my pop manned up and took the charge, my mom walked free. Being a single mother wasn’t easy, but she did her best to raise me the right way. She did factory type work which kept a roof over our heads and put clothes on my back. Sometimes my mom was able to buy me exclusive shit, but most of the time it was just the basics. Not being able to have everything I wanted bothered me, but most of the people around me were in the same situation so I tried my best to deal with it. There were times that I just couldn’t take it, though. I refused to accept being poor forever. Those hungry, cup ramen noodle soup nights, really motivated me to want more out of my life.

Around 9 years old, sports became a major interest for me. I liked all sports, but none as much as basketball. The pace of the game was so much faster than any other sport and that intrigued me. I loved action. Growing up in the 80’s watching Magic Johnson, Isaiah Thomas and Dominque Wilkins made me an instant fan of the game. Luckily, I took after my pop and inherited his height, eventually growing to be 6’4.

By my early teens, basketball was my life. I played all year round and I was pretty damn good. Bringing home MVP and 1st place trophies was nothing; as a matter of fact I had so many trophies I had to put some in a box and store them under my bed because we ran out of room in our living room. Everybody who saw me play knew that I had talent so they pushed me really hard, but nobody pushed me as hard as my high school coach did. He was more than a coach to me; he was like a role model who only wanted the best for his players. He had seen so many kids with talent make the wrong choices in their lives and he was determined to do his part in stopping that trend.

In the end, Coach’s desire to keep me on the court and out of the streets would eventually backfire. I remember it like it was yesterday...

November 1995

Jasmine, let me rap to you for a second! I hollered down the semi-crowded hallway of my high school.

The bell had just rung, signifying the change of 3rd period to 4th. I knew that Jasmine Miller went to her locker every day at that time because I’d had my eye on her for a few weeks. Jasmine was a real cutie; a 17 year old who was built like a grown ass woman. Hips, tits, ass; the whole package. She was the type of girl I could see myself being in a relationship with, but during basketball season Coach didn’t allow anybody on the team to have a girlfriend. He felt like the players should all be focused on two things; basketball and academics. It was a crazy ass rule, but if you wanted to play, there was no other option.

Now that the annual winter dance was coming up though, I needed a date. My mom had already told me I could borrow her car, a 77’ Cadillac Impala, and I had already grabbed a white on white suit. I had it all planned out in my mind. Me and my boys from the team were all going to rock all white suits and white shoes, I was going to whip the caddy, and pull up knocking my Notorious B.I.G. One More Chance cassette tape with Jasmine riding shotgun.

What’s up? replied Jasmine, as she put her remedial English textbook back into the top part of her locker; she was sexy as hell, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Jasmine was looking cute with a knockoff Gucci tee shirt and a tight pair of Girbaud jeans on. She had some doorknockers in her ears and her hair was cut into a Mary J-like bob. I adjusted the collar on my Chaps Ralph Lauren shirt and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I had been thinking of how I was going to come at Jasmine all weekend and what I was going to say to her, but I couldn’t come up with anything clever so I had decided on the straight-forward approach.

I’ma be straight up. I think you fly as hell and I want to take you to the dance. I said, with confidence.

Jasmine raised her eyebrows and glanced away from me.

Uh, nah. I already gotta date. she said, breaking my heart with just six words.

My heart sunk deep into my chest as I blurted out the first response that my brain and mouth agreed upon.

Who? I know you ain’t got no boyfriend cause I don’t never see you with nobody!

Jasmine wasn’t about to just tell me no without providing an explanation, I wasn’t having that shit! I needed some more information.

You don’t see him cause he don’t go to this wack ass school. He live in Atlanta and I go out there to be with him on the weekends. He’s driving up here to take me to the dance this weekend, though.

The look on my face let Jasmine know that I didn’t believe her one bit. For further confirmation, Jasmine opened her locker back up. Taped to the inside of the door was a picture of a boy wearing a bright red Tommy Hillfiger shirt and some cargo shorts. He was light-skinned like me, but a little bit more muscular and not nearly as tall. Around his neck, and lying on top of the Tommy shirt was a yellow gold Jesus piece that looked like it had a little ice in it. Immediately, I started hating hard!

That chain probably ain’t even real. was all I could manage to say.

Drew’s chain is too real. said Jasmine, as she closed the locker back.

Is there anything else you wanted, cause I ain’t trying to be late to this class again.

Nope. Nothin’ at all. I said dejectedly, as Jasmine sashayed her thick legs down the hallway and towards her classroom.

I was crushed that I had gotten played, but as it turned out, my boys from the basketball team were having the same problems getting dates for the dance as I was. We were supposed to be the jocks of the school and be popular, but girls didn’t want a nigga who couldn’t pay them any attention from November through February, which was the length of the season if we went to the playoffs like we always did. The white girls might put up with that shit, but not the black girls that I was attracted to. They were after the fly flashy niggas who had money, clothes, jewelry, and their own cars. Being dedicated to basketball had taken all that away from me.

It was at that point that me and my nigga RP (short for Robert Peoples) made a decision that would affect our lives forever!

*****

Alright, pass me the bag RP. I said, standing on top of the sink in the bathroom of our high school gym.

Friday’s basketball practice had just ended and RP and I had crept into the bathroom pretending to be getting some water. In actuality, we had a whole other agenda.

Here. said RP, as he passed me an Adidas gym bag.

I took the black bag with my right hand, while I used my left to push up the vent that was in the ceiling. I pushed the vent up just far enough to slide the bag in, and then slid the vent back into position.

Yo, jump down, folk. Here come Coach. whispered RP, as he played the role of lookout.

As I hopped down off of the slightly wet sink, I slipped a little bit. Being the athlete I was, I used my hands to brace my fall and caught myself. I stood up just in time as Coach flung the bathroom door open.

Peoples and Knight! Let’s go. Practice is over, time to go home and study unless you wanna run 10 more suicides. bellowed Coach.

Nah, not at all. My legs still hurtin’ from the 15 we already ran. said

Enjoying the preview?
Page 1 of 1