"If I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all." --Old Southern Proverb

Prophet Tales, Vol 3
By PDB

"You know, Prophet, I still love ya."

It was early spring, late at night. The air almost sounded moist, the muggyness of it sticking to everyone. Prophet Brown was in an apartment in South Boston, looking out the window. He moved out of his apartment a few months earlier, after his mother died.

"Yeah.I know.", he said, not looking back at he.

Jessica Winsletta was 19, but mature beyond her years. She was a fairly attractive, about 5 feet tall with smooth brown hair that went to her shoulders. She wasn't really pretty, but more cute. Her eyes, though, could make a cold man melt. They were deep and of a color that had no definite name to it. She had known Prophet for years and took him in when he needed it the most.

".and, you know I'm always here for you."

She was standing next to the couch, slightly torn apart, but it seemed to fit in with the room. The green wallpaper was peeling at parts, and the TV, which sat upon a bigger TV, hadn't worked in years. The carpet was once white, but it faded into more of a yellow. The windows were nice, but only because Jessica cleaned them every day. The place was a mess, she always told herself, but you gotta make the windows clean. When your windows are clean, you can always see what's beautiful without getting fucked over.

"Jessica," Prophet started, "I don't wanna talk. Please, let me be."

"Prophet, you can't avoid this the rest of your damned life."

"I will if I want to!" He screamed, spinning around, feeling the mal intent grow inside of him. He let out a caveman-like cry and punched one of the TVs breaking the glass, breathing heavily, his face red, his knuckles bleeding. Jessica started crying immediately, breaking down and falling into the couch, plopping down, the springs crunching under her.

"Jessica.I.I'm."

"Damn it Prophet," She said in between weeps, "Don't bring your father into my house!"

Prophet was alone in the world. He had no family. His father left him when he was 8, taking with him all the fury and abuse that was him. A few months earlier, Prophet found his mother dead on the floor of a heart attack one day after school. No uncles. No aunts. Nothing.

Knowing Prophet most of his life, Jessica grew attached to him like a sister. When he was homeless, she took him in, letting him stay in her place. He resided on the couch, putting the sheets away every day.

Prophet saw Jessica crying and walked over to the couch, sitting next to her. He grabbed her hand, which she pulled away quickly, not looking up at all. He let out a big sigh and put his head in his hands, running his fingers over his scalp.

" know that I love ya too.I mean.I'd never hurt you."

"Prophet," she said, fiercely, "How do I know that? What if you bring your punk friends in here? What will happen then?"

"Jessica, come on, don't start with this."

Jessica jumped to her feet, glaring at Prophet, her hands on her hips.

"Now. you better fucking listen right the fuck now." she said, pointing her finger at him, he words sharp and cruel. "I will bring up what I fucking want when I fucking want to. Your friends are no good trouble makers, and will only get you killed."

"Damn it Jessica, you don't know my friends, you don't know me!"

He stood to his feet ready to say something to her directly, but received a quick slap to the face. It didn't hurt physically, but it just made Prophet's mind run like molasses. Jessica let one tear run down her cheek, rubbing it off quick.

She pointed to the door, and Prophet was stone face. He looked at her one last time, and then walked to the door. She didn't bother turning back to look at him, and neither did he. As he walked out of the door, he stopped in the frame.

"I guess this is it, huh?" he said, not looking back.

"Get out. Now."

He sighed one more time, and walked out, shutting the door, but not slamming it as he wanted to do.

Prophet was homeless again, but that wasn't the biggest thing on his mind. The fact that one of his best friends was now against him crushed him.

He never looked back after leaving, never apologized. But he always regretted that. Forever.

This story is dedicated to Jessica, whom I still haven't spoken to since. It's been too that's the way things go.