Nicole Jackson, known as Niki Jilvontae in the literary world, is an author and single parent of two from Memphis, TN. Nicole developed a passion for writing early on as her late aunt Devon Russell-Wirt, always instilled in her the importance of reading and expressing her emotions through words. By the age of 10 Nicole had already written over 60 poems and several short stories as her passion for writing continued to grow. Her interest in children’s books began in 2011 after her son was diagnosed with autism. This inspired her to write six children’s books under True Glory Publications designed to teach children acceptance, understanding, and tolerance of differences. Nicole has also written two urban/drama novels under True Glory called A Broken Girl’s Journey, which depicts the struggles one has to endure while growing up in the projects of Memphis. Niki Jilvontae is a very descriptive and alluring writer as her books appeal to various emotions and senses, drawing you in with her vivid imagination and ability to convey her message clearly.
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/NikiJilvontae or by her real name Nicole Jackson (Memphis, TN)
I got to our house in The Haven from South Memphis in less than ten minutes. I was so consumed by my fury, overtaken by my pain. I feared nothing, not the police, not jail, not death…Nothing. I was flying through red lights and daring muthafuckas to hit me while still raging and talking to the voice in my head. When I pulled up on our street, I parked in front of the house instead of the driveway. I didn’t want to alert the low-down muthafuckas inside.
I got out of my truck and snuck up to the door slowly twisting the knob, finding it locked. That was a muthafucking red flag in itself because most of the time when LiLi was home she left the front door unlocked until everyone was in the house for the night. After hearing what I heard on the phone and coming home to the door being locked, that monster inside of me burst forward. I stuck my key into the door slowly and quietly, unlocking it without making a sound as I snarled and clenched my teeth. As soon as the locked clicked, I twisted the knob and burst the door open, shattering the mirror on the wall.
What I saw when that door opened was enough to make a muthafucka commit double homicide in a church. There on the steps in the house I broke my back to pay for every day was my wife being fucked from the back by my best friend as he pulled her hair and our two year old son looked on. I couldn’t stop myself as I ran over and grabbed Dee up by his neck and launched his little hoe ass across the room. His body hit the curio cabinet by the door, shattering the glass and a couple of his bones in the process. I glanced at LiLi trying to slip her pants back on as she stared at me with her mouth open.
I knew that she had to be screaming, but at that moment I couldn’t hear anything. All I heard in my ears was a ringing sound and everything I saw was tinted red like blood was running down my face. I ran over and began kicking Dee in his face and head while picking up pieces of wood from the broken curio cabinet to beat his punk ass with. The next thing I knew I felt LiLi grabbing my arm trying to pull me off of him. I stomped that pussy in his face causing blood to splatter all up my leg and on the wall. He tried to use my leg to get up as LiLi continued to pull my arm, but I didn’t let up. I kicked Dee repeatedly in his face and head until my leg got tired.
“The pimp game ain’t been the same since these hoes figured out they had a brain,” echoed in my ears as I sat in the driver’s seat of my brand new 2007 Cadillac, waiting on Tammy to bring me my paper.
Those were some of the last words of wisdom my father, Pimpin Black as they called him, had given me before he disappeared five years earlier. He showed me the game at a young age always reminding me that a man hustled to eat, whether it be by slanging dope, robbing niggas, or pimping hoes. No matter what the hustle was you just had to have one, and once you had your hustle you had to do it to your best ability.
“Ain’t no muthafucka gonna give you shit Moe.” My dad would say. “You gonna have to take it. You gonna have to make yo own way and the easiest way to make a million dollars on these streets is by getting in these bitches head.” “The hoe game will never die son, its been here since the beginning of time and will be here when the world end. Always remember the female is a hot commodity.” “Bitches got something between they legs that will sell even when cotton won’t. Yo job is to use these bitches son.” “Use these bitches before they use you and then throw they ass away. Never let yo feelings get involved with a bitch cause that’s when you teeter the line between being a pimp and being a trick…and I ain’t raising no fucking tricks.” “I fucked up once and fell for a hoe, but NEVER again. You gotta be smarter son…Break these bitches maine!”
I remember my father saying shit like that to me everyday as I sat and soaked it all in like a sponge as if what he was saying was law. I was destined to be Big Moe, Mr Break-A-Hoe from the time I fell out of my mammy’s womb. What else could I be with my background? A doctor? A Lawyer… a Preacher?
“Hell naw!” I said laughing to myself as I strolled through the memories of my life in my mind.
The OG kush I was inhaling had me in a mellow mood, so much so that I didn’t even dwell on the fact that my bottom bitch Tammy was 10 minutes late dropping off my paper. I ignored the anger starting to build up in me as I leaned my seat back, cut up the heat, and turned the radio on. I let the lyrics to I Choose You by Willie Hutch calm the rage building inside, sending me on a trip down memory lane.