Terror Firsthand #16: From Kingston to Actionville

 ©Terror Firsthand is a fictional short story blog series that was created in 2024. It is for entertainment purposes only, and I wrote it from the top of my head. Photos are reenactments and dramatization. The following story is for mature audiences only. Please, do not try any thing dangerous at home. 

Warning: extreme terror

Terror Firsthand: From Kingston to Actionville 

In Actionville Florida 

I checked out of the hotel in Miami and then went to Actionville. I needed to get away from the heat, and I figured that Ghana Bwoy wouldn't find me there. I checked into a room on the Southside because a tent was too dangerous. After I got into the room, I started becoming more thankful that I wasn't disfigured. 

People were extremely cruel to me, and they could've done more than just stalk me, harass me, infect me with a disease, and rape me. They could've set me on fire or multilated my body parts, or stabbed me across the face. That's why these days, I always wear fireproof and bulletproof clothing, especially during times of extreme distress. 

I was running out of money and Ghana Bwoy was hot on my tail. I recieved a text soon I checked in the room that read,

"I know you're in Actionville, and I'm almost at your doorstep." 

I didn't reply. A minute later, there was a knock at the door. I peeked through the peephole and saw that it was Ghana Bwoy and Kingston Rasta Bwoy, all the way in Actionville, Florida. I started screaming from the top of my lungs. 

"Yeah we hear yo ass in there open up the door b*tch!" Said Kingston Rasta Bwoy, while banging harder and harder. 

After 5 minutes, the knocking stopped. I knew that the two Jamaican men would spot me on checkout day, which was tomorrow. I sat in the room calling the list of numbers that the human trafficking hotline gave me, and none of them were able to assist me. They were getting crueler. 

"The f*ck am I going to do now?! I can't snitch! And they already think I did!" I yelled in agony. 

I put on my bulletproof vest and helmet, safety glasses, and other protective gear and called the hotel front desk.

"Hello my toilet is stopped up. Can you send maintenance over here?" I asked, scared for my life.

"Yes. I will send them to your room." Said the Indian clerk. 

About five minutes later, maintenance was at my door, and I didn't know if the two Jamaicans were still sitting out there or not.

"Hello, is your toilet stopped up?" The maintenance guy asked.

"Yes, and someone is trying to k*ll me and my puppy. Can you watch him for a second while I walk to the car. I will come back to get him in a few minutes. They're going to start shooting at me." I said. 

"I'm calling the police." Said the maintenance guy, as he started calling the police. 

I walked outside towards the car and the Jamaicans started shooting at me.

Clat clat clat clat clat! Pow! 

I could hear the sound of the gun. One of the bullets struck me in the back, and one struck me in the head. The bullets bounced off the helmet and the vest and I was able to get inside of the car safely and drive away. I left Big C in the room with the maintenance guy. The black SUV started following me down the highway. The police eventually got behind them and they were arrested. 

I pulled over at a fried chicken joint and got out of the car. There were holes all on the side of the car, but I was still alive. I know that story happened to other rappers in Actionville, and I couldn't believe that it happened to me. I threw up on the ground and then drove back to the hotel to get Big C. The maintenance guy told me that I can stay as long as I need to for free. He said don't worry about paying. I told him okay. I guess he had felt sorry for what had happened to me. I stayed in the room for a couple of days. On the third day I cut the TV on.

"Ghana Bwoy finally arrested in Actionville for a string of crimes including the murder of Emanuela Manuela, the Baltimore City transwoman that shot and killed several people in Norfolk Virginia. One of his gang members, Kingston Rasta Bwoy was also arrested in connection to a shooting in a motel parking lot in Actionville and the death of Oya Negra Capone in Miami...." The reporter said.

"My goodness! Everytime I cut the TV on it's something wrong going on!" I said, and cut the TV back off. 

At least I was able to get Ghana Bwoy off my back. I didn't know if he had more people that would come after me or not. I still wasn't the one that called the police. I went to the store brought a bottle of wine, a lobster, and a filet mignon. I cooked it outside the hotel room on my gas stove. I was finally able to eat, without throwing up. I gave Big C a whole filet mignon to himself, and he enjoyed it. I knew I needed to make some more music, but I decided to stay low for a few more days. I looked at my royalty account and there was a little more in there than usual. Someone was listening to me obviously. 

I stayed at the hotel for as long as I could. One day, I cut on the TV and saw that Ghana Bwoy had been sentenced to 5 years in prison and Kingston Rasta Bwoy was sentenced to 20 years in prison. He was actually the one that shot at me, but I didn't press any charges. 

I stayed at the room for almost a month. One day the maintenance guy came in and told me it was time to go. I packed my things and drove to a campground nearby. I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I purchased a Golden Tree cabin pass at the Golden Tree campground that would allow me to stay in any cabin at any of the Golden Trees in America for up to 7 days at a time. There were 200 locations. 

"I'm tired of going to the same places and going through the same things. I really need a change and a fresh start." I said.

When I got to the Golden Tree campground in Actionville, it wasn't that packed. I checked into a cabin and it was pretty decent inside. 

"It's cool in here." I said, as I walked in. The air conditioner was on and it was about 90 degrees outside. 

After I got inside I received a phone call.

"Hi you have a collect call from Ghana Bwoy at the D.C. jail, would you like to accept?" The automated system asked. 

"Yes." I said.

"What's up? Look I'm extremely sorry about what happened. Look, I'm not going to be in here long. I want to see you when I get out or you can come up here." Said Ghana Bwoy. 

"Look nigga, I almost d'd. I'm not going to say too much over the phone." I said. "That nigga KRB almost d'd me. That wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. And nigga you was in the C with him." I said. 

"Yeah I understand that and I didn't even know that nigga was like that. I don't know that man like that. I'm telling the truth. I need some money on my account. Can you do that?" He asked. This motherf*cker almost killed me and is now asking for money. What kind of world is this?

"Why don't you get your lil Jamaican B to do it? The one that tried to D me in Jamaica?" I asked.

"I'm not in Jamaica shorty. I'm in America. She has another boyfriend." He replied. 

"Yeah whatever. I'm a lame to you. You're just using me. I'm the wackest bum you ever saw remember?" I replied. "You just want money from me because you think I'm retarded and desperate. Go find one of the funky women to do it." 

"See, it's that kind of talk right there that's making me believe that you told. Shorty it's all good I don't need your money." He said, and hung up the phone. I was hoping he wouldn't call back. I started to believe that he told on Kingston Rasta Bwoy. 

A few minutes later, my phone rang again. 

"Hello?" I said.

"What's up?"  He asked. He sounded like DJ Vazquez, and it was. 

"Who is this?" I asked. 

"Man you know who this is. Stop playing." He said. 

"Look DJ Vazquez, I am not your type. Go bully somebody else for more p*ssy. I don't have nothing to give you nigga! Bye! And f*ck all of your events!" I yelled.

Those parties were so damn lame. I never got to meet or connect with any real men. All of them were extremely superficial and phoney. I didn't want to go to another lame event, and I didn't not want his d*ck after he went that long without speaking. He could've been with 100 more people since then, and that isn't safe. I already got burned before, and have no time to repeat that again. I blocked his number and sat in silence. 

A few days later, the police knocked at my cabin door.

"Mam you are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon." Said the ugliest cop I had ever seen.

"What the f*ck!? What did I do?!" I yelled.

"You are under arrest for stabbing Denisha Montego. Does that ring a bell?" Said the cop, as they handed me the warrant. 

That gay funky man told on me! Ew! I couldn't believe it. She punched me in the face first. 

"You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you." Said the funky racist motherf*cker as they slapped the cuffs on me and threw me into the back of the police car. 

Denisha Montego's age was listed as 25 on the warrant. She was a lot younger than me, and light skin. I knew that the whole world would take that funky b*tch side, even though she hit me first. That's how funky and gay the world really is. Stupid f*cking b*tch! The cops took all of my property including my animal and threw me in jail. I vomited the whole time I was in the holding cell, and I didn't eat the bologna sandwich. The deputy came back to the cell door.

"How long am I going to be here?" I asked.

"Mam your court date is scheduled for August 3rd, and then you will be extradited to Jamaica." Said the ugly correctional officer. 

"August 3rd! That's three whole months! What about my puppy?!" I screamed.

"Mam if you don't calm down I'm going to take all of your property and put you on suicide watch!" Said the mean looking butch. She looked like a dude. "I will give you the number to the pound and you can call up there about your dog!" 

She handed me a piece of paper and walked away.

"Wait! I'm on my period! Can I get a pad?!" I screamed.

"No mam. Use the toilet paper." Said the nasty b*tch. 

"Can I use the phone to call the dog place please?!" I screamed.

"No mam. You can call them next week." She replied and walked away again. 

"What the f*ck do you mean next week?!" I asked, but no one would hear me. I lost my car and my dog at the same time. I was hoping I wouldn't loose my royalty check. It was now June, and August was two months away. I was transferred out of the holding cell and into a medical cell due to a mental health alert and other reasons.

I cried every single day but I never let anyone see the tears. I buried my face into the pillow. Crying around criminals is a sign of weakness, and I didn't want anyone to see. I had to act tough. Denisha Montego was funky as hell, and so was her gay baby daddy. She thought he was so fine and attractive and the whole time he was sleeping with all those men in the United States, and dressing like a tranny. What a stupid young girl. Her baby daddy was my age. She should've been talking to someone her own damn age. 

The following week, I was allowed to use the phone for 5 minutes to call a lawyer and the dog pound. My bail was set for $10,000. I was able to find a bail guy to get me out. I was released the next day, after spending a week in the Actionville jail. I went to pick up my dog and get my car out of the pound two days later. I had to sell sex to do it. I posted an ad on NudeCallgirl.com, soon I got out, and had sex with 9 different men. None of them tried to kill me. 

Money made from escorting in Actionville 

I couldn't stop thinking about Denisha Montego. She was a funky little naive light skin girl, and she did not have to put me through that behind a man that likes men. I went back to the same cabin at Golden Tree Campground, and sat in there in silence. One of the clients that I had started becoming a regular. His name was Joshua. He was a white man. He was into "swirling". I didn't have anything against that so I agreed. I didn't know his last name. I used the money that Joshua gave me to hire a lawyer in Jamaica. The lawyers name was Attorney Goatee.

I also used the money to buyout NudeCallGirl.com. I became the new CEO, and anyone that had to make a post would have to be approved by me. People were so scared of me, that no one wanted to post on there. No one wanted to be pimped by me. Being pimped by me is nothing to play with. No one wanted to put their life on the line. Most of them had a family that cared about them and they were all being p*ssies. I took over the whole site myself and then became the only featured model on there. I was the only nude call girl. I also then realized that because I stabbed the little Jamaican girl, I was beginning to put more fear and terror into people's hearts.  

On my nude call girl site, I offered dates, porn videos, and nudes for a fee. I didn't do certain fetishes, such as sub and dom, gay sex, threesomes, pedophilia, beastiality, incest, golden showers, anal, and brown showers. Alot of men didn't call me because they were either too scared of me, or was into a sick fetish that I did not agree to. Even Joshua stopped calling me and told me not to call him anymore. He said that he was on a better level now, and that he had moved on from tricking. He said that he had gotten a better job, and had recently had a baby with a white woman, and that he couldn't see me anymore. 

Some of the men were complaining about my nails not being painted and complaining about how black I was and how old I had gotten. All of them were freaks and weirdos, and business started to slow down. I started noticing more women doing the same thing, and the men did not choose me anymore. I still left the site up anyway. I had already brought it. Then I started a weed site. I started posting different strands of weed for sell, and the money started rolling in. I was trying to hustle as much as I could before my court date. I had already been labeled a criminal, so I decided to be one. 

One day I had a ounce of weed to deliver. I met the man on the corner and he was wearing a rest in peace Oya Negra Capone T-shirt. 

"So you're an Oya Negra Capone fan huh?" I asked.

"Yeah I am. Why?" He asked.

"I can't sell you to then. I'm sorry. You gotta find someone else." I said, and walked away.

The more I went out in public, the more I would see people wearing Oya Negra Capone T-shirts. It was irritating. I knew they would be wearing them near Iowa too. I wanted to get away from Actionville. The money was dried up anyway, and the younger generation was taking over. The old men were still busy chasing young thots, and they didn't need me for anything. I started packing my things and booked a cabin in Portland, Oregon. It was my first time going there, and I planned to leave in two more days. 

My court date was now less than a month away, and I knew that the only way I would make it back to Jamaica was by boat. I would have to leave from Miami again. I could fly, but I didn't want to leave my dog behind. I didn't want to go, but I didn't want to go back to jail, so I knew I had to go anyway. I didn't want to see the light skin thot or her mother or family. I just wanted everything to be over with.