12 AM Fiction

Black History Month and Science Fiction

2026-02-28T13:09:00.055-05:00

Happy Black History Month. Black history is world history, so we celebrate it every month, but February is when The United States has chosen to acknowledge it. As an author and a lover of history, it often rolls over into my work. Characters and events inspired by history or historical figures are a lot more common than most people would be comfortable admitting. This month for the newsletter, I thought I'd highlight three of my favorite characters inspired by Black historical figures.

Martin - Intercosmic

Martin is one of Efrem's adopted parents in my web novel Intercosmic. He's rancher, a youth scout leader and the understanding heart that Efrem always wanted from his own parents. He's based on Martin Delaney. Delaney was the first Black field officer for The United States army, an abolitionist and a writer. His works earned him the moniker, "Father of Black Nationalism." His most prominent work is Blake; or The Huts of America. It of course calls for Black people to overthrow their oppressors. More importantly, and the reason I chose to name a character in a science fiction work after him, is because many scholars consider this to be the birth of Black science fiction. There's a slave revolt, but also discussions about a utopia type society waiting for them if they can just get free.

Pauline - Intercosmic

Pauline is Martin's wife. She doesn't take any mess and is a shrewd business woman. She is the voice of reason and a walking lesson in how to advocate for your own rights and desires. I named her after Pauline Hopkins. She was the writer and a historian, things I'm all too familiar with. She wrote plays, essays, fiction, non fiction, romance and science fiction. Her most known novel, One Blood Or, The Hidden Self is a science fiction book surrounding a man who simply does not care about any attachments to other Black people, only wealth. It was serialized in The Colored American Magazine. Parts of the book are structured around actual history and travelogues; this is also something I do. At some point, I'll put together references for places in my some of my works. The love of history, the various types of writing, genres and serialization of novels is why she is one of the people I consider to be one of my writing ancestors.

Alexandre - Virtual Vagabonds

Alexandre is the main character of my web novel Virtual Vagabonds. I named him after another of my writing ancestors. Alexandre Dumas was also a historian, prolific writer of multiple genres and lover of serial novels as well. Please don't read The Three Musketeers in one sitting. It was mean to be spaced out, it's a serial novel. An underappreciated, in my opinion, work of his is called The Wolf Leader. People debate the placement, but it is most certainly one of the first werewolf novels ever written. Honestly, people call it trash. One thing about Dumas that I love is that as much as people praise works like The Count of Monte Cristo, he has some HATED works. The man just loved writing, and everything didn't work. It happens, trust me, I know. Another reason I call him a writing ancestor is because he would read other people's works or watch their plays, then write his own versions. That's really how I started writing. The first thing I remember writing was basically Power Rangers and Ninja Turtles stories because I thought they could be doing better. I was eight or nine years old, but I knew I did not like the lack of emphasis on character development.

Updates

Virtual Vagabonds has wrapped up the first book. I'm not even sure I can call it a book. There are about 65,000 words of people being stuck in a video game that people have been reading for over a year now. There's probably going to be a sequel because it's popular despite me rarely ever promoting it anywhere. I wrote more about it earlier this week.

I'm working on getting paperbacks of my already published works this year. My first shot at paperbacks went terrible, and Amazon still won't let me remove it. However, things have gotten way easier in the world of self-publishing since then. I've also made friends with an amazing woman who has wonderful paperback editions of her books and she has been a huge help.

On the history side of things, I've been covering the Black Panther Party, extensively for the last year or so. That includes a 30 minute video about the rise and fall of the party. It's been fun, and I'm not sure what my next big project will be or if it'll take an entire year to cover.

Be sure to follow me on Instagram, X/Twitter, and YouTube. Also subscribe to my newsletter to keep up with whatever I'm doing.

A SMART 2026

2026-01-02T00:07:00.005-05:00

As we begin 2026, I would like to reflect on the year that was 2025. There were been plenty of reasons to be down no matter what side of the political spectrum you fall on, or even which country you live in. Terror attacks and mass shootings never seem to end. Palestine, Sudan and The Democratic Republic of Congo are all facing what can only be described as genocides. The Indiana Pacers almost won an NBA Championship but Tyrese Haliburton was injured in the first quarter of the final game and Myles Turner showed us all why he doesn’t have that dog in him. Natural disasters like California’s wildfires or Tibet’s 7.1 Earthquake found their place in the year as well.

Despite that, there were plenty of reasons to smile in 2025. There were promising new cures on the radar for cancer and HIV. In Sri Lanka, over 300,000 land mines were removed allowing people to return to homes they haven’t seen in decades. Timbuktu had its archives returned and digitized for the world, Brazil’s murder rate has dropped by 20% and leopards are returning to the coasts in Africa. Orcas are still attacking yachts. Nature is healing.

At the risk of sounding arrogant, this is a newsletter about me. I’ve also had some good thing happen this year. Bi All Accounts was a success, at least for me. I don’t know what the financials look like, so I’ll just say it made $1,000,000 in profit, not gross sales. For some reason signing a contract to have my work published made me hungry for more contracts. My mother was right; I should have been a lawyer, or engineer, or somebody rich.

Ultra Black History, my YouTube channel survived YouTube’s new AI powered moderation system and surpassed 2,000 subscribers. Most channels don’t get that big so it’s a huge win. When do I get to buy a mansion?

Virtual Vagabonds, one of my (too) many web novels brought in 4,000 monthly visitors with little to no promotion. Do you know what that means? Sequels. It also means new chapters of the web novels will be dropping every other week starting on January 5th for Virtual Vagabonds, The 7th for Intercosmic, and the 9th for Exsanguinate.

While looking back can be fun, it is also important to look forward to the future and 2026. I’ve never been a fan of declaring resolutions; however, I like SMART goal is one that can be described as specific, measurable, attainable, relevant and timely.

I’d like to hit at least 3,500 YouTube subscribers. I think I can do it if I manage to get videos out on time. I’d also like to collaborate with at least four other people for larger videos this year.

On the writing front, I’d like to have more works submitted to anthologies and collections. As well as getting more books out. That has always been my biggest struggle. I can write them, but I never want to do the work to get them to shelves. I’m always surprised by the successes because the reviews don’t necessarily seem as if there is success. But a few libraries bought copies of my books this year and they pay much better than selling individual books. That is mind blowing to me. Maybe I’ll look into an agent for some of my non-web novel works.

There is a local project I’m hoping to complete at some point in the year, but I can’t really say what it is without giving away too much.

2025 was hard, for a lot of us. The economy was trash, our rights are being taken away and trampled on. I ended up in therapy (again). A big shout out to my therapist (he’s way better than the last guy). Still, there were reasons to smile. There will be more reasons to smile in 2026. I’m hoping for a better year, I hope you experience a better year as well.

If you’ve goals of your own for next year, I’d love to hear them and as always you can reach me on socials.

Bi All Accounts

2025-09-13T16:43:00.117-04:00

Greetings and salutations,

I did not forget about the newsletter. We are going strong with two months in a row. In general housekeeping news, I've started moving my web novels over to Substack. The main reason is I'm tired of maintaining four different sites, one for each web novel. That means I probably won't be posting new chapters as I move those over, because it a slow process.

September is Bisexual awareness month. On the YouTube side, I have a few videos about bisexuals. The most popular is the story of Emile Griffith. A man I call the best professional boxer that most people haven't heard of. For the few that have heard of him, it is said that he killed a man named Benny Paret during a fight after he taunted Emile about being gay. In reality, with modern medical precautions Benny would not have been in that fight. Emile didn't use the word bisexual, but did wear matching tuxedos with his boyfriend, during the wedding to his wife.

Richard Pryor was once lambasted for an appearance at The Hollywood Bowl. During the show he described the relationship he had with another man. Unfortunately it was seen as homophobic because nobody believed him. Despite constantly discussing relationships with other men and trans individuals, in both his standup and autobiography, people simply did not believe him because he primarily dated women. I understand it, at this point I may need to drape myself in a bisexual flag. I was thanked for being an ally during Pride Month this year. That's a form of bisexual erasure, which makes a great segue.

Bi All Accounts is a collection of works by Bi+ individuals discussing bisexual erasure. There is both fiction and non fiction, some poetry as well as artwork. It doesn't officially release until Bisexual Awareness Day, September 23rd, but you can pre-order a digital or physical copy today. [you can also get it from Amazon if you want to be that person]

This collection is very near and dear to my heart; because I am also one of the contributors. Specifically, I contributed a piece called Mr. Irrelevant about how we as bisexuals have a tendency to erase ourselves. This goes doubly so for Black and Latino men. We aren't exactly the flag waving kind of people, but perhaps we should be. Richard Pryor was extremely open an nobody believed him because they thought he was joking. Kuwasi Balagoon was another Black man who was extremely open and a very proud bisexual. He was a member of the Black Panther Party and later the Black Liberation Army. Despite his sexual orientation being a big part of his platform, many sources erase that. It's only when you read his own words, or interviews with his friends that you learn the fact.

I suppose, on some level, I'm doing the same thing. It wasn't until recently that I realized I've only written one bisexual lead character. However, Efrem from my Intercosmic web novel is my favorite, just barely edging out Maddox from Retrograde, who I toyed with making bisexual, and is also dating a bisexual woman. I am an author, and sometimes people do read my books. I know because I combined two newsletters when I joined Substack and probably 70% of you were from the one focused on books.

I haven't written enough newsletters to wrap this up cleanly, so take naps, drink water and go for a walk.

Thank you for sticking with me,

Darrell

Monkey off Our Back

2025-08-01T00:00:00.038-04:00

Hello fellow insomniacs. You're probably wondering why you're getting this email, and the answer is you signed up for it. You may not remember since the last newsletter was in January of 2024. This is also the first issue sent out through Substack.

Needless to say, I hate sharing content. I don't know why I do, I just do. It could be some type of anxiety that I need to talk to a therapist about. Just the idea of being a content creator makes my skin crawl. I write books, I make YouTube videos, I even do a podcast. I create a lot of content, but I am not a content creator. I often tell people, the things I share with the world are things I would have been doing anyway. I've been writing since I was child, so I self-publish books. When my father was still living we'd spend hours talking about different history topics. He's no longer living, so now I make YouTube videos about various history topics. I enjoy professional wrestling, so I do a podcast and guest spots on other podcasts. But I was going to talk to people about it anyway.

A newsletter doesn't require me to directly share things with people in person, or through social media. It should have made things easier, and at first, it did. However, Mailchimp kept making it harder. They kept lowering the limit for subscriber numbers, removed a bunch of customization features and hid other previous free features behind multiple levels of paywalls. It really made the process tedious. If you're here, that means you're part of the 72% of people on the list who opened the last email in 2024. Thank you for that.

I'm making a new effort to share things I create because admittedly, that's what I'd rather be doing for a living. I recently got to know someone who is a full time author. The phrase, "closed mouths don't get fed," is something I've heard countless times before but she took it to a new level. I suppose I needed to hear it from who is entirely authentic to how they present themselves to the world. I'm not saying that you'll be getting weekly newsletters. You will absolutely not be getting weekly newsletters, because I hate getting weekly newsletters. I can't even promise to give you monthly newsletters. That hasn't worked the previous three times.

Lastly, Bi All Accounts is an anthology about bisexual erasure. There's some fiction, some non fiction, maybe a little poetry and artwork. If you're interested in getting an advanced copy. You can fill out the form here and one of the wonderful team members will get in contact with you. Officially, it's not available for purchase until September 23, 2025 but this is a fun way to check it our early if interests you.

Stay gold,

Darrell

You can read this on Substack if you've been reading here.

Long Time No See

2024-10-01T00:00:00.031-04:00

Hello wonderful people,

You may be wondering why you're receiving this email, and the answer to that is simple. You signed up for it. You might not remember signing up for this newsletter because I haven't sent one in two years. That is completely on me. Just as a refresher, I'm Darrell, I'm an author. You may have read my book SWIFT, one of my web novels, Exsanguinate or Intercosmic. You may have even found this from various guest appearances I have done. But, rest assured, you signed up for it because I'm too lazy to steal an email list and I'm right below the limit of subscribers before MailChimp starts charging me. I self-publish books I'm very cheap. You may not be interested now, but you were at some point in time.

With that out of the way, you're probably wondering why I'm sending this after two years. Like so many things in life, it's complicated. I've spent a good portion of that time creating a YouTube channel called Ultra Black History. The channel takes a look at some of the lesser known moments in history and I usually upload at least once a week. Most recently I took a look at the life of boxer Emile Griffith.

Now for the sad part. I lost my confidence. SWIFT is a book that I wrote and published in less than a month after my father's death. I've always said that I write purely for me and sometimes other people find enjoyment in that. During that time I really needed to write a story about grief. A story where a young man loses his father and needs to find a new path in life without his number one supporter. To my surprise, a lot of people bought that book, and still continue to buy that book. More so than the rest of my books combined on the month to month. Admittedly, that upset me a little. Majority of what I write is science fiction, or urban fantasy. I like space marines, hunting vampires in big cities and trapping people in video games. Yet my biggest success as an author came from writing Urban Fiction.

On some level it hurt me that my best seller was in the same genre as novels such as Foodstamp Bitches. I say that with all due respect to Teresa Patterson. She is building an empire over there. It just hurt because I spent so much time writing science fiction and fantasy for people ask me when the SWIFT novel is coming out. It drove me crazy knowing I was dropping 52 chapters a year for two different web novels; the equivalent of two novels a year, every year for 5 years straight, and nobody cared. It just took me a while to understand, people do care. People read the web novels, they donate to support them and when I publish them in book form people by them.

YouTube actually got me over that hurdle. YouTube is random. You can do everything you're supposed to do and a video that you worked on for weeks will get 42 views, and then a short video made about people drowning in poop will get thousands, every day. However, the way YouTube is set up you can't just take a break. You have to move on to the next video. I got hung up on SWIFT and I realize that now.

Through that time, I never stopped writing. I still write every single day. I started another web novel, Virtual Vagabonds so if you've seen that, I really thank you for being tapped in with me. I sent a single tweet about it; I don't know how you saw it with the ridiculous amount of tweets I send.

I feel this newsletter has gone on long enough, thank you for sitting through all that. Feel free to reach out to me on social media, or respond to this email.

Be safe out there.

To Kill For

2024-09-21T00:00:00.018-04:00

"I would kill you, if it meant that I would never have to worry about you again," my father doesn't lift his head as he speaks into the phone.

"I'm sorry," the words fall from my lips, floating through the air, leaving me unsure if they're reach him.

"You're always sorry and what do I always say?"

"Apologies don't mean anything without action," I speak the words I've heard so many times.

"Every time you pull one of these disappearing acts, your mother worries that it'll be the last time. We'll find you dead on the side of the road, buried in some shallow grave or worse. I used to try to console her. Tell her you're a big boy, that can take care of himself but I was wrong. You've been gone for three weeks, and we find you here in some rinky dink jail, in bumblefuck Kansas. For what? Shoplifting. What the hell are you shoplifting for? You're 26, get a real job," he pauses as the sheriff motions for him to lower his voice.

It's not as if we'll disturb anyone, the three of us are the only people here. Usually the silence would be good for thinking but right now it only serves to let his words burn into my brain. He's right, my dad is always right, even when he's wrong. This time, he's just right. I'm a fuck up. Every time I apologize to them, I really mean it. I get things together and inevitably I ruin it. I wish I could blame drugs or some terrible upbringing, but I can't. I've always been like this. If things are going to well, I get afraid and look for ways to ruin it. I don't know why I'm this way.

My father's hand slams on the table, "say something," he shouts ignoring the sheriff's earlier warning.

"I don't," I try to swallow a lump in my throat. "I don't know what to say."

"You never do," there it is. His disappointment hurts more than anything else. I always wished he'd just hit me or something.

"Do you hate me," I don't know why I ask the question.

"No," he answers in instant without hesitating. "You disappoint me sometimes."

"A lot."

"A lot, but I could never hate you. Despite the constant missteps, there are times you make me proud as well. I just wish you were that version of you more often."

"I'm going to try to make you proud again."

"I hope so, I really hope so."

Promises Were Kept

2024-06-29T00:00:00.000-04:00

The price was high, but promises were kept. As smoke from the flair floated through the air Nathan couldn't help but smile. Help would be coming soon. If not for him, then for those he left back in the cave. Even if he wouldn't make it, they would.

The bullet wound he received earlier had reopened. The suit's system kept him high enough that he couldn't feel it; but as he glanced at the path he had taken he could see that he had lost too much blood. Adin had always felt he'd go out fighting but in that moment he accepted death without a fight. It was a warm welcome. A gentle greeting from an old friend he had never met.

Mind over cuffs

2024-06-22T00:00:00.018-04:00

Was he a duke? A king? An emperor? A god? We were unsure but the man carried himself with an aura that signified he was above the rest of us. Yet here he was, in the same police transport as the rest of us wearing handcuffs just like us. Worry and concern cover the faces of everyone in the vehicle, except for his. I'm the first to notice, but I'm not the last. Soon, I spot others glancing at the man.

"I see I've drawn your attention," the man speaks. His voice isn't as deep as I would expect, but it's smooth and it's dignified. "Would you all like to see a magic trick?"

An odd question that doesn't get an immediate answer. He smiles, and waits for an answer as the rest of share confused but curious glances. Nobody answers the man immediately. Grown men aren't often fond of tricks in the city we're from.

"I want to see," a young boy, probably just over eighteen speaks up.

"Wonderful," the strange man speaks. "The thing about being arrested is that they can imprison your body, but as long as you have your imagination, your wits and desire to learn, they can never imprison your mind." A sly smile crosses his face.

The man claps his hands together and as if magic were real his shackles vanished. If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it. He stands and and walks around, "If your mind can not be chained and you believe your mind is stronger than your body. You can simply overcome any obstacle placed in front of your body. This van, is nothing but an obstacle." With a laugh he walks to the back of the van, and through the door without opening it.

"What the hell was that," one man asks.

"Yeah, I have to be high," another says, trying to pull his own cuffs apart.

---

Author Notes: There was a time when MLK would have died if he sneezed.

7 Minute Drill #2

2024-06-08T00:00:00.002-04:00

"You make me feel like, I'm not good enough," the words I've wanted to say for so many years leave my lips with ease now as rehears in the mirror.

"Are you talking to me," Alice asks.

I turn to see her standing in the bathroom doorway. I hadn't even realized that she was home, and I don't know how long she's been listening. I've been venting in the mirror for at least ten minutes, trying to come to grips with my life and staring myself in the face. I've got problems, but I've made them myself.

"Hey, Alice, I didn't hear you come in," I smile at her.

"I heard a lot," her voice says she's pissed.

"I don't think you have all the context."

"That I make you feel like trash. That you think my accomplishments are greater than yours and you can't be satisfied with just being yourself," Alice asks as if I'm one of her patients.

I contemplate before answering. The cat is already out of the bag, she knows how I feels. But she's going to try to make me feel bad about my feelings. It's manipulation, it's her greatest skill. Even now, I know what I want to say but I'm not sure if that's what she wants me to say. She's supposed to help people be proud of who they are and carry themselves with pride; instead she uses all those skills to break people down and make them hate themselves.

"I hate when you try to make me feel like the bad guy for having reasonable feelings. I'm not wrong, I'm not bad and I'm not one of your therapy patients. You constantly keep me in a loop of feeling like trash and then being in love with you. It's not healthy, it's wrong. I'm sorry, but I can't keep doing this."

"So what are you going to do? Go be an engineer? You graduated, but then never did any work. You're starting from zero; all your knowledge is outdated," Alice smiles as if she's won.

"You're doing it right now. You're shaming me for accomplishing something I should be proud of. The only reason I haven't found work engineering is because I moved here to be with you. But you lied about loving me. You lied about how great the city was. You lied about our future. You lied about everything."

"I can see you're upset right now. But have you stopped to consider your anger is misplaced? Could the poison you're directing at me really is for yourself?"

"No, fuck you Alice. That worked too many times. I'm done, I'm packing up my stuff and leaving."

"Where will you live," she shouts.

"I'm going to buy a bus ticket home. If I have to sleep in the bus station until then, I don't care."

"You really think you can survive on your own," she laughs smugly. The mask that briefly slipped is back in place.

"I won't know unless I try. By the way, poison is when you bite an animal. Venom is when the animal bites or spits at you."

Author Comments: I started making YouTube videos again, this one did well. It made me really happy even if I wasn't satisfied with the audio. Am I doing too much? YouTube, writing books, and working full time.

7 Minute Drill #1

2024-06-01T00:00:00.002-04:00

I hold me breath, trying not to breathe from fear that a single breath would disturb a pebble beneath me and signal my location. I pray to God that my heart will stop beating so hard as two pair of feet stop in front of me, just out of my reach. If they look beneath this car, I'm done. They'll snatch me from beneath it and they'll kill me.

"Nah, we not done yet. There was a guy who saw us, I know I saw him," the first voice says.

"If there was one more, he got away already," a calmer voice speaks.

"And if he got away, then we've got a witness, and we don't need that," the first voice speaks again.

"Shit, alright, keep looking," the second voice agrees.

Not long ago I was at a house party, enjoying myself. I stepped outside to get some fresh air on the back porch. Further into the backyard three men were talking. It seemed extremely calm, until it wasn't. One man was held by another and the third stabbed him repeatedly. I screamed in shock then took off running. I don't know what they did with the body because one of the men started chasing me through the neighborhood before the scream could fully exit my mouth. A few minutes later, his friend joined the chase.

Sirens in the background lead to the footsteps quickly running from the area. I don't move, I don't plan to move until morning when I know it's safe.

In an attempt to get back to writing, the proceeding was written in 7 minutes, with no prompts. I'm recovering, like an athlete with a torn ACL. Slowly getting back to peak levels.

Day 218

2023-09-11T00:00:00.036-04:00

Day 218 of travel and Azure awakes to a sight she never imagined she would see. The planet Earth, once thought to be lost, was here after all. Azure and a dozen people fled the space station that they had spent their lives on. A caste system had been created, and mutiny became a common occurrence. The stolen ship lacked many of the comforts of their former home, and there was no guarantee that Earth was still livable. But they had to go, there was no other logical choice for them. They had been told their entire lives that Earth was destroyed by pollution and the air was poison. It would be another few days before they actually reached Earth, but they could see it, still there and that was enough for now.

Azure stepped away from the screen that served as a window and tossed herself back into her bed. She buried her head into a pillow and shouted. The excitement simply couldn't be contained. Earth was right before her. Not in her reach, but a few more big leaps and she would be there.

The sound of shouting echoed and bounced off the ship's walls, but it wasn't Azure's shouts; it was the shouts of her friends. No doubt waking up to their own views of earth. They had come so far, and the future may not be as bright as they hope, but there was hope. For 218 days, they waited for hope, and it had finally arrived.

Not sure where the picture came from, I saw it on Reddit but we all know Reddit doesn't do much original these days.

Hot Chocolate

2023-09-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

There's this little coffee shop a few blocks from my job. Not the Starbucks that always has a line around the block, just a quiet coffee shop. The kind where they've got tables and chairs but also a corner with rugs and beanbag chairs. It's got the warehouse lighting fixtures that hang down, the big bulbs are surrounded by little cages but they fill the place with that warm yellow light that's just perfect.

I like hot chocolate, most people do. But, I can drink it year round and on a rough day, I seek it out. Inside, there's a few batistas, they don't have uniforms or name tags. It's not that kind of spot. There's a guy there, light skinned, super skinny, nappy afro and a lot of acne; he somehow looked 28 and 18 at the same time.

Didn't matter if there was a line, or other baristas he always made my hot chocolate himself. We'd chat a little about anime or pro wrestling because he frequently wore shirts with references to each. Occasionally, he would compliment my skin. He'd always put an extra pump of caramel syrup in my hot chocolate. It's not something I requested, but he recommended it one day. I liked it, and from there, he just did it. One day, he was just gone. Probably was a student at the nearby college and graduated.

As I drank my hot chocolate today after a morning full of meetings; I realized I missed him. Not just because he made my hot chocolate perfectly every time but because I did enjoy our conversations. It's been about two years since I've seen him, but I still remember the hot chocolate he would make for me. The watery hot chocolate I got today somehow reminded me, I couldn't remember his name.

El Camino

2023-06-21T12:00:00.004-04:00

One of my dream cars, has always been an El Camino. A mass produced affordable vehicle was my dream car? Yes. I remember seeing one on the way to King's Island as a kid and I was obsessed. It's like, a sports car engine, with a truck body and a station wagon frame. Suddenly, they've become collector's items during COVID. Prices have jumped up to 15K for a poorly cared for vehicle, and I've seen some going for over 50K. Another issue is a lot of them have been suped up to race and run into the ground.

Well, I periodically search for them, just to see what's up. I saw one in the city going for 10K in January but the photos weren't right and I had some questions. Milage listed is "1" and the dealer is like "It's an 88, no 88 has a working odometer," but there were no 88 Ep Caminos. Against my better judgement, I go check it out. The paint looks magnificent, beautiful tasteful rims fit for a classic, 5% tint so you can't see up in the windows. The interior is nothing short of, fucked up. Radio ripped out, holes in the seats, steering wheel missing the padding, just fucked up. Dealer won't let me start it, says "it is what it is means as is," his words. Despite wanting this car for over 20 years, I said "no." It's still sitting on that lot.

Early May, I see one in Ohio for sale from a private seller. Now, working at a credit union and doing hundreds of car loans a year, private sellers can be a gift, or a curse. On top of that, this one is selling for 7000. What's the catch? Well, it's got 141,000 miles on it, which is insane for some modern cars. But, a well taken car of V6 will run forever. It was purchased 2nd hand by a couple and they kept it for years. In 2020, the husband died. It sat in the garage for 3 years. It's had 2 accidents. It's had some "unique," modifications. It's also not the base model, or the popular SS, super sport, not nazi. It's the Conquista model. The interiors a little more luxurious, built for cruising not racing. Upside is it has power windows and locks. A basic feature now, but witchfraft for most back then as all El Caminos didn't come with those. The engine has had some upgrades, it's now dual exhaust, and I shit you not in the smuggler hatch, a hidden area behind the seat that's technically between the truck bed and frame, there are three house stereos. As in, these came straight out of someone's home.

I can't go to Ohio, but I speak to the son of the couple. Sounds like an honest guy. He sends me photos, videos, but there's one problem. It doesn't start. He promises me a white man's promise of, "for $1000 I'll get it running, and get it to you." Against my better judgement, I wire this white man $8,000. You know why banks and credit unions send checks? Because once a wire is sent, it's damn near impossible to get it back.

Two weeks go by, I don't hear anything from this man. I start to panic, my money is gone. This is the stupidest shit I've ever done. I stay on my family's ass about not falling for scams. I've taught a class on not falling for scams. I write the scam alert section of our newsletter at work. And I got gently fucked out of $8000.

The end of May rolls around. I get a call from some random number. Guy on the other end is super country, and says, "Connor got in some trouble with the law, but he wanted to make sure I got this truck to you." 2 days later a Tiny Lister looking fellow pulls up to my house while I'm cutting grass, says "some construction in the way, I got your El Camino at the church around the corner." Against my better judgement I get in the car with this complete stranger, Jesse. He big, I'm big. If he tries something, it's gonna be two big meaty men slapping meat in a construction zone. We pull up to this church, and his trailer is sitting there with my motherfucking El Camino. He tells me to go start it up and back it off the trailer. I never did that before, but fuck it. I hop my ass up on that trailer like Bobby Lashley in 2007. I'm tall, gotta duck a little to get in, but once I'm in, there's plenty of leg room and head space. The seats are mad comfortable, wheel feels good in your hands. It smells old, but the carpeted dash is plush.

I turn the key and the car doesn't start. I try again, nothing. In the way only an old Black man can, Jesse says, "you young boy's don't know shit about cars but rims and going fast," and laughs.

I know these cars don't have fuel injectors. But I never considered what that meant for starting it. He tells me, gas peddle to the floor, hold for 3 seconds, and turn the key as you slowly release. I'll be damned, that engine roared to life. Loudly, not messed up car loud, but there's a lot of power loud. I must have had the most pure look of joy on my face that a 31 year old man could have. Jesse starts smiling and laughing as and I find myself smacking the dashboard in celebration like I just won a race with the car. I put it in reverse and ease off the trailer. I attempted to pay Jesse for delivery but he said it was a favor to Connor who can't leave the state of Ohio.

Without a doubt, the car needs work. The power steering is gone, but that hasn't stopped me from driving it. There's some oil leaks but nothing where it's leaving puddles. It cost me $70 to fill up on gas. But dammit, I've been having a lot of fun with it. The paint is chipping, but it still gets plenty of looks and conversation. They had me stressed, but I'm really grateful for Connor, Jesse and even Connor's dad for taking care of the car for a very long time before his death.

When driving a car that old, the experience is just different. You really feel when it accelerates and slows down. There is no accidental speeding. It very much feels as if you're piloting a ton of metal through the streets. Corners are just smooth even with no power steering; it's as if you just float as you turn. I promise I'm getting the power steering fixed next week, I'm not going to Kevin Hart myself but for the last few weeks I've been taking little drives. Haven't gone further than 15 minutes away or over the speed of 45, but it's been so damn fun.

Mr. Hop

2023-03-13T00:00:00.001-04:00

"Hey, I have to kill your rabbit," the demon hunter says bluntly.

"No," young Bobby tightly hugs the rabbit enclosure turning away.

"It's the only way."

"But why Mr. Hunter, why," tears now streaming down his face.

"Because you distracted me when I pulled the demon out of Old Man Grif. I didn't get it fast enough and now it's in your rabbit," Mr. Hunter has no tact.

"He's not possessed," Bobby argues.

"Andrew Tate did nothing wrong. Hustle hard. Get jacked, stop being a brokie," the rabbit gurgle out in a deep and gravely human voice.

"Okay," Bobby says, "maybe Mr. Hop is a little possessed. Why can't you just pull the demon out?"

"Tools are too big to use on a rabbit without killing it."

"I won't let you have my bunny," Bobby grips the cage tighter.

"Well, I tried," Mr. Hunter sighs, causing Bobby to loosen his grip on the cage.

Mr. Hunter packs up all of his gear and prepares to go. He digs deep into his pocket and pulls out a hand full of money. A $20, a $5 and and two $1 bills. "Yoink," Mr. Hunter shouts as he snatches the cage and begins to run. When Bobby screams Mr. Hunter throws the handful of money at him. "Buy a new rabbit," his voice fades as he runs out the front door.

Willie O'Ree - The First Black NHL Player

2023-02-01T19:53:00.002-05:00

This year for Black History Month, Darrell will provide us with 28 short videos about Black History and culture. More of the same content be found on his YouTube channel, Black Friday.

As of right now there are 23 Black players in the National Hockey League but have you heard of Willie O'Ree? The first Black man to play a game in The NHL. #BHM2023

Black Friday #2 - WTF is Lee-Jackson-King Day

2023-01-25T12:30:00.001-05:00

I'm sure you know who Martin Luther King Jr is, and you likely know Robert E. Lee. So why do they share a day?

Subscribe to Black Friday to learn more about Black history, past and present.

Phantasmagorical

2023-01-22T01:25:00.008-05:00

Four strangers are forced to form bonds to escape captivity. Once escaping the mad man holding them for their awakening metahuman abilities they learn the that outside world has changed as much as they have. Will they be able to go back to normal life, or be forced to live as outcasts?

Devonte, Vivian, Jin and Orlando were abducted after witnessing an event that changed the evolution of humanity as we know it. The four are forced to form bonds in order to escape captivity. Once arriving back in the world they left behind they learn that chaos has descended on the outside world as well. With others awakening their metahuman abilities as well it is up to our survivors to bring peace in the midst of riots and fighting.

Buy The Book

SWIFT

2023-01-22T01:18:00.009-05:00

Javon Swift is stuck in a bloody feud for the family business. His uncle Grady has married his mother before his father's body could go cold. Tiffany is a police officer claiming that his father was a confidential informant, and wants him to follow the leader. His best friends are trying to build their own drug empire. It doesn't help that he's fallen in love and has a crooked police officer trying to extort him for his father's hidden stash of money.

All this is going on while Javon is quickly losing track of who he is. He wants out of the drug game, but the only career path in front of him is that of a snitch, a role he doesn't want to play. If he's out, he's going to lose his friends, and he has nowhere to turn. To survive it all, he'll need to go places he's never gone before, and do things he didn't think he was capable of. The question is how far he can go, before he stops recognizing himself?

Buy The Book

Ultra Black

2023-01-21T22:00:00.001-05:00

You should watch some youtube videos on Black History that I make. I don't even know how you got to this page, it should redirect to Black Friday on YouTube

Virtual Vagabonds

2023-01-21T21:57:00.001-05:00

You should read Virtual Vagabonds, a new web serial. I don't even know how you got to this page, it should have redirected you to virtualvagabonds.12amfiction.com

Black Friday - Arthur Ashe

2023-01-14T12:30:00.001-05:00

I've been working another project which is why chapters have been delayed, sorry. I'll be back on point next week. For now, enjoy what I've been working on.

Do you know who Arthur Ashe is? Do you know how Magic Johnson changed his life? What about how he helped to change South Africa? Don't worry, we got you.

Subscribe to Black Friday to learn more about Black history, past and present.

[Sustentation] Chapter 9 - Kareem - The Noose

2022-05-13T00:00:00.004-04:00

Wesley hasn’t avoided me for the last week or so. He’s been more aggressive, but conflicted about something. He’ll join me for a movie, but get up half way through or only watch for the ending. He’s not going to church or class every day. On occasion, I can hear him arguing with himself. Just going back and forth with himself over some guy. I’ve started to wonder if it was my fault, if I broke him. The whole vampire thing, and the dead body. I haven’t exactly eased him into my life. Sometimes father will say that I’m strong and can’t force others to be bred and raised the same way I was. I can’t expect others to make the same choices and react the same way I do. He’s not reacting well to what I’ve done, or maybe he was always like this. I didn’t pay much attention to him before he saw the body and started trying to kill me. No, he wasn’t like this. I broke him, ruined him like everything else. Nothing I can do now but wait. He’ll either kill himself, someone else or I’ll kill him in self-defense. It might be easier to just, do it myself. No, he talks to his family all the time, they’ll be worried if he suddenly vanishes. I have to remember to ask the next roommate about family ties.

I’m thinking about this too much, a movie should take my mind off it all. Casino is an underrated classic. People go so far as calling it a copy of Goodfellas or saying it can’t compare to Mean Streets but it has a charm that belongs to nothing else. It doesn’t just tell a story, but focuses on the history of the characters as the city. It has similarities to Goodfellas but it’s more evolved, and refined. It’s a beautiful film.

But I can’t seem to enjoy it right now since Wesley is arguing with himself again. Odd, because it’s 3am and he should be asleep by now, even crazy people have to tire themselves out sometime. But it sounds like it’s coming from outside, the neighbors won’t like that. I better go get him inside. Do I need to bring a blanket? I always see firefighters and paramedics give out blankets. He’ll be fine without one.

He’s easy to spot, right outside the kitchen window in nothing but his underwear. I always laugh when there’s a grown man wearing tighty whities in a film. I don’t know why; they just seem like something you stop wearing when you stop being a kid. Wesley keeps yelling at himself, name calling mostly as he struggles with a rope. I’m not sure what he’s doing until he holds the end up. Tying a noose, or trying. He pulls at it with his hands, testing it, until it easily comes apart. Soon he’s trying again. Wes this, Wesley that the argument continues. He’s trying to kill himself, and he’s going to be sloppy about it too. I can just let him do it. That’ll solve my problem. He just looks so pathetic, trying to tie a noose the same way over and over again, just to get the same results. He’s got all the enthusiasm of someone who never really tried to kill themselves. A black man trying to hang himself, he’s not even thinking about this. There’re easier ways to do it than a janky noose. Gunshot to the heart, slitting your wrist, jumping off a tall building. He doesn’t seem to care for pain so a cocktail of random pills, intentional drug overdose. I’ve tried it all but he’s not a vampire, so he should be just fine. If fine means he’ll be dead.

After thirty minutes of watching, he finally gives up on the noose and ties the rope around his neck before making a knot that satisfies him. He spends the next fifteen minutes clawing at the tree, slipping down over and over again as he tries to make it to the top. He should have tied the rope once he got in the tree and made sure he knew how to climb a tree. Another fifteen minutes passes with him sitting in the dirt, arguing with himself about why the tree was a bad idea. Wesley hops to his feet and rushes over to the shed, tossing objects around, still dragging the rope behind him. I’m hoping he chooses something messy, like a nail gun, or chainsaw. In the end, he settles on a ladder. He tests the length and easily ties it to a tree branch.

I’m forced to watch as he struggles, kicking his legs in the air. The goal of hanging is to snap the neck, not a slow and painful death, he’ll pop his head off like this. I’m reminded of a puppy I had named Micro. It was right after the whole vampirism thing kicked in. I had bitten a stray cat, because I was thirsty and didn’t know why, but my body told me if I bit the cat, I’d be satisfied and I was. When she found it, she beat me. I was so used to the beatings at that point that I didn’t care. One day, while I was on my way to school, she took Micro and tied his leash to a radiator, then tossed him out the window. I watched as he tried to bark and break free. By the time broke down the front door and made it upstairs, he was already dead. I didn’t go to school that day or anymore after that.

I can see blood starting to cover his neck as Wesley claws at the rope. He really did choose a terrible way to die. He hasn’t looked in this direction the entire time I’ve been watching, but now it feels like he’s staring right at me. Asking for help, but can’t get the words out. I wonder if Micro knew I was trying to save him. I hope he didn’t spend his last moments thinking I had abandoned him. Maybe it’s a good thing Micro died. His life wasn’t ruined by knowing me anymore. I haven’t thought about Micro in years. Maybe Wesley isn’t the only person going insane. I can’t do it, I can’t let him die even if it would solve my own problems. Why can’t I let him die? I never cared about anyone dying before, I killed people. Fuck.

I don’t rush out the back door, and I’m not in a hurry to get to him either. I’m still conflicted over the whole thing. As I get closer, I’m watching him jerk and kick towards me. I don’t know if he wants my help because he’s afraid to die or if he’s trying to keep me away from him. He’s running out of energy; he won’t die soon but he’ll pass out. I step back when he kicks me in the head, watching, waiting. I don’t know why. I’m reminded of the scene in The Green Mile when everyone just watched as they knew an innocent man was being executed. The Green Mile, that’s so basic, is that all I can think of? Wesley’s fighting less, more swinging and trying to keep the rope from closing on his neck than anything else. Occasionally he kicks out. I can’t help but laugh when I realize he’s trying to get back on the ladder. I suppose he does want to live. I climb the ladder, and place my hand between the noose and his scratched bloody neck. One quick yank and the rope is broken, there’s a thud as Wesley hits the ground. He’s knocked out, but still breathing. I nudge him a few times with my foot but he doesn’t wake up.

I lift him up into my arms and carry him inside, for a moment I think about dropping him on the couch but he’s dirty, sweaty and smells bad. I watch movies on that couch. Instead, I carry him up the stairs to his bedroom. He keeps whispering about angels saving him. Delusions of a mad man, there are no angels in this house, only devils. As I place him on the bed, he strokes my cheek repeatedly despite me pulling away.

“Stop touching me, I don’t like to be touched,” I smack his barely awake hand away from my face.

Looking at him now, he’s pitiful looking. I should have left him there to die and saved both of us some time. If he hadn’t kept fighting, and just gave in this could all be done by now. Maybe my mother did Micro a favor when she made sure he wouldn’t need to keep living in this world. I could have done that same favor for Wesley.

Use Me

2022-05-09T12:00:00.015-04:00

"The High Kith have no morals. All they care about is decadence. Nothing matters except what they want. Wait and see. She will try to use you."

"I want her to."

"What?"

"I want her to use in me. I want to be used by anyone. Any use, that anyone would find for me would be fine. Instead I am supposed to wait around in filth like some peasant because father has no plans for me in the future. No, she uses me, and I enjoy it. I do not care if she views me as some play thing, some toy to be discarded when she has had her fun. At least, she will use me and I will know the joys of having been used."

"You are sick!"

"I am sick brother, I am sick of the world having nothing for me. I am not able to fight in war, father does not see me as worthy to operate one of his stores. I am not smart enough to be an academic but far to smart to victim some labor racket. I am too distraught and overwhelmed to be a poet, yet too free to fall victim to the addiction. There is no place in this society for me. Yet, she has made a place for me at her side. Even if she were to abandon me today, at least I have known love. At least my life has been shown some sort of value. Even if fleeting, I have been used, and I have been loved. For you, who has been loved since birth, you have no right to shame those of us seeking but a taste of what you find ordinary."

Radio

2022-05-06T00:00:00.042-04:00

The old station seems to be in good condition. It's dusty and most of the glass is gone. It's been stripped of anything the wanderers feel is useful, but nothing seems to be broken. When we flipped the power switch, we were certain the whole place would just explode. We crossed the wasteland for days searching for this place. Faced off with nomads, fled from the corps and most of all survived. If this station wasn't in working condition, or didn't exist, I might have put a bullet in my own my skull and one for Ratface too.

"Hey, we should play this one, or maybe this one," Ratface scrolls through a list of songs.

"Just pick a song, it's not like we've ever heard any of these old tunes."

I wipe away some of the dust on the old pilots chair. It squeaks as I sit in it, putting weight on it for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries. I'm not a historian. I wipe away the dust on the control panel, just barely able to read the old faded writing with instructions, labels and arrows. I flick the switch to go live across the airwaves. We'll be the first radio station in Neo Kitcham that isn't owned by a corporation. The only reason Farriver Corp didn't chase us further is because we're out of their boundaries. They didn't want to spark another war. They won't come here without weeks of negotiations and we'll know they're coming then.

"Hello Neo Kitcham," I speak into the microphone, pausing for a response.

"You can't hear them respond," Ratface says.

"Shut it. I know that, I was just thinking what to say."

"Tell them we're here to play old tunes and rile the people up with some illegal talk radio."

"Well you just told them since we're on the air."

"Cool. Here's some tunes. 'Jet Black Beauty' by Venom Johnson," Ratface presses play.

"How do we know it worked?"

"We just wait to see if anyone contacts us on The Nexus."

Light Seekers #19 – Светлый

2022-04-18T00:00:00.005-04:00

As we get closer to the top, most of the snow has cleared. The green portions of the mountain have been replaced by stone walls that seem to grow closer and closer, almost as if the mountain is trying to trap us. The light filling the space is still bright, but almost more focused, or closer. The color has changed, now a strange mix of reds, oranges and yellow. It seems like there’s a big ball, giving off the light, it hurts my eyes to look at it, so I try to avoid staring for too long. A single beam of light is shooting directly down, landing on a spot up higher that I can’t see from here, the stairs ahead and walls to the side block my view, even using magic. From where the beam of light lands, another is shooting out above our heads. I don’t know for sure, but it seems like that’s the beam of light that the migrants have been following around. I’m so far from home, no wonder the light is so weak all the way out there. I wonder if it’ll be different when the sun can light the entire world.

“I miss sunsets,” Jabez says, almost as a whisper.

“What are sunsets?”

“When the sun goes down for the night. It’s just really, nice.”

“It’s calming. Almost like it’s congratulating you on surviving.”

“We haven’t survived just yet. I think it’s telling us to calm down and prepare for whatever happens next so that we’ll make it out okay.

“I like that.”

We don’t do as much talking now. As the last bits of light start to fade the top of a tower comes into view. Slowly more and more of the temple comes into view. It’s nothing like any temple that I’ve ever seen. It’s massive. The staircase splits into two leading up to twin entrances to the huge stone walls. Towers larger than any building I’ve ever seen stand in the center and on each end. They reach out to the edges of both mountains. Appearing as if the temple was carved out of the mountains themselves. Even in the dark the torches that line the walls, and lanterns that light the windows show the bright white stone of the building that sparkly gently when the light hits it. Massive statues hang on top of the doorways on either side of the building. Each features some kind of sorcerer wearing a mask and pointing towards the other. My first thought is how beautiful the place would be when the sun is shining. My second thought is how haunting it is now to be staring down at the building.

A bell begins to ring gently as we approach the temple. Slowly more lights appear within the building. Someone must have been waiting for visitors. The doors open, welcoming us inside.

“Hey, things are going to get a little crazy in here. Just trust me, and stick by my side,” Jabez whispers as we get closer to the door.

I don’t have time to ask what he has planned before we enter the temple. The doors lead into a massive room. This place has to be even larger than it looks from the outside. A group of seven sorcerers await us as we reach the center of the room. Each wearing long yellow robes with various chains hanging freely. Their faces are covered by large oversized hoods revealing nothing above the mouth.

“Welcome visitors,” the first speaks in a light voice. “Have you come to submerge yourself in the world of magic?”

“We’ve come to,” I begin speaking before Jabez covers my mouth.

He removes his mask once again, “I’ve come to challenge for control of the coven.”

“And who might you be,” an enraged, old and deep voice comes the sorcerer in the center.

“Jabez, bringer of pain, taker of light.”

“What,” the words come from my mouth.

“Stand by my me, I promise, I’ll explain.”

I don’t have anything to say. What can I say? The sorcerer who stole the light is right next to me. But I don’t know if I can believe him. He doesn’t look old enough, the light has been gone for years. Despite his strange look, he doesn’t look to be any older than I am. The sorcerers speak amongst themselves all while Jabez waits as if this isn’t shocking. Everything is going as he planned it. He warned me things wouldn’t go how I expected it but he doesn’t seem shocked.

“How do you wish to challenge,” one of the sorcerers asks.

“I believe combat was the preferred method in my youth,” Jabez answers.

There’s more discussion amongst the sorcerers before the angry sorcerer from earlier speaks again, “Challenge accepted, if you can prove yourself worthy. You will need to first survive a two on two battle with two sorcerers of my choosing.”

“I have nothing to do with this,” I speak up.

“Silence,” the building shakes as he raises his voice. I’m not sure if it’s fear or surprise that silences me. “You stand with the taker of light. You are his ally and you will fight with him.”

“We accept,” Jabez speaks with confidence in his voice.

“You shall rest tonight and tomorrow. The day after, you will fight,” another sorcerer speaks calmly. “My friend shall show you to the guest quarters.”

I keep shooting glances at Jabez but he’s not showing any signs of emotion. None of the deep thoughts he shared on the way here. He’s just walked me into a monster’s den and picked a fight, yet he’s not bothered at all. I can’t help but wonder if he set Levi up to die now. I was wrong to trust him.