Uncle Traison

He goes by Traison and he is a lanky, tall kind of man; the kind that towers over all other family members at a family reunion and is about one hundred and forty pounds – considered underweight for a thirty-seven year old at 6’ 2”. His hands are dark brown, shaped almost like pitchers mitts, an effect for the weed he smoked a bit over six months time as a teenager at the local community college and every knuckle protrudes gently out the back of his hand. Between his fingers, a bit of ashy-ness is visible, the size of about two teenagers hands. Little muscle can be spotted, with a keen eye, through his infamous wife beaters and muscle t-shirts.

            His face has distinct features: a slightly pointed nose, the one that his nephew inherited and deep set eyes, a bit “chinky” indicating the bit of Spanish descent from his great-great grandfathers side of the family. His top lip curls upward, almost like a disgusted pierced lip and the bottom one sits inward. The jaw sits slightly upwards, as if he is always clenching it close and his chin, a bit smaller than the average man. Overall his face carries a slight immaturity, as compared his outer appearance.

Plus he is always dressed in the same clothing: jeans that are dark and oversized for his apparent limber legs. His sneakers might not be brand new, but they are clean nonetheless, he is the one always saying, “cleanliness is next to Godliness.” He is the type of man that would put his family first, of course taking into account his feelings as well and gets a bit frustrated easier. It is this attitude that gives him a slight temperament to others: one time, his niece was being picked on in school and instead of going to the school first to allow them to, as he states “take their own damn sweet time,” he confronts the parents first. He takes not a slightest drop of bull*!&$ and is very concise. He walks with his head held high, a bit more pride about the places that he has come from and the things that he has seen. Furthermore, his nose is always ‘investigating’ a small case around the neighborhood.

There was never a close bond between his nephew, Mikhail, nineteen years old, also known as Mick around the neighborhood. His bond was closer to his niece, Katalynn at sixteen years old, whom he saw as a bit more mature than Mick. Mick was infamous for acting a bit more dependent on others, and Traison believed that it was his duty, since Mick’s father left, to try and build a relationship with him. But at a very young age, Mick pulled away and denied all that Traison wanted to offer and that was why Traison was about his wits end with him.

Although Mick was a defiant child, he never went on and on causing trouble, the calmness that he inherited from his mother. On the other hand, Katalynn drew closer to her family, especially her Uncle Traison because he granted her with the feelings that a father should provide for a child. It was the death of Mick, the feeling of justice and the circumstances that surrounded it pushing Traison towards the investigation of the death…he wondered where it would all lead him to.

Mikhail’s body was found on the sidewalk: his head had hit the sidewalk and was blood was slowly pooling onto the floor from the open wound over his right eye. The bullet entered through his right shoulder blade and exited through his breastbone, shattering to a million pieces. His Abercrombie & Fitch grey muscle tee was drenched in blood and a black hole was visible on both sides of his body, an indication of the bullets burn. Both his arms were snapped backwards, his right hand bent so far forward that the wrists’ white was visible and his left arm lay bent backwards so that his palm faced towards the sky. His skin color began to pale, almost like a muted brown color and his eyes were glazed over. With the naked eye, no fluids were visible and no trace of evidence could be found on Mick’s exterior. But there was something more… The silver 34 caliber revolver was found to the left of the dump bin, smoke still emitting from it. Blood was splattered across the window directly in front of Mikhail but no one was witness and could never find out why he was in the alley behind the West Crocket apartment buildings.

Uncle Traison called Mikhail’s cell phone about thirteen times but no one would answer. It was not until he called Adair to ask him if he knew the whereabouts for Mikhail that Adair confessed everything. Adair and Mikhail were walking from the park where they usually met after Adair’s after school program and they took the shortcut behind the West Crocket apartment complex, where Adair lives. As they neared the corner of the building, a bullet hit Mikhail in his back, forcing his body forward, and all Adair could do was cup his arms, to catch Mikhail before he hit the ground. Adair started screaming Mick’s name and at his unresponsiveness, dropped the body, contributing to the blood stain on the chest of his shirt. Adair then took off towards the front of the West Crocket apartment building and as he turned the corner, saw the silver 34 caliber revolver near the garbage bump bin.

Adair and Mikhail went way back. Since they met that day on the playground, they have been like brothers, Adair always playing tagalong. They walked along the streets late into the evening and anytime Adair had trouble communicating with his parents and they got into a fight, he stayed at Mikhail’s. It was something that everyone in their families grew accustomed to. But in the back of Mikhail’s mind, there was always something daunting about their friendship. Uncle Traison sensed it and so did Katalynn, no matter how naive she might have been. It was the wavering trust and the look over the shoulder that no one could fully embrace. You see, Adair had no family he could really depend on. His father died at a young age, and his mother vowed she would love other man the way that she loved his father…but she was wrong. About three months after Adair’s fathers death, she was married and traveling the world with Lucas and forgetting all about the vow she made to Adair. So, he turned to Mikhail, although he knew deep down that he could no longer trust anyone, not even his own family. It was upon always hanging out with Mikhail that he came to envy the family and union that Mikhail had and he lacked.

 

            Traison was in the garage and under the hood of the Trudy’s blue Cadillac. She was an old feeble woman, whom still drove the Cadillac around Philly. Even in her old age, she was flamboyant and outgoing, wearing pastel orange and yellow colors outrageously flagged in loose and drapey shawls and ponchos. She often flirted with Traison, the only man that she knew would always be kind enough to talk reply back. But today, Traison was not focused trying to fix her car. He was fumbling with the oil cap, thinking about reasons why Mikhail would not pick up his cell phone when his mother called. She called him hysterical wondering where Mikhail could have been and worried because this would be the second day no one would see him.

            Traison, called to Joe, the garage shop owner and asked him for the rest of the day to investigate the case more. Traison pulled off his overcoat, got his keys and ran to his car. Driving down the avenue, he wondered who could have seen Mick last and decided it would be Adair. He pulled up outside the West Crocket apartment building and ran inside to buzz him down. Standing there for five minutes, he wondered why Adair was not there yet took a walk around the side of the building. As he crossed the driveway, he saw a body, with Mick’s grey muscle tee and apprehensively took steps closer.

            What was facing him caused him to lose balance and stumble backwards. There was Mick’s body, flies buzzing around the gunshot wound, knags eating away at the dead body and a pool of blood surrounding the body. Traison grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911, screaming to the operator for them to get an ambulance to the West Crocket apartment building because he has discovered the body of his nephew. After hanging up from the operator, he furiously dialed Mick’s mother and said “I found him! Mick’s dead!”

            It was at that point that he ran furiously towards the stained body. Flies buzzing about, and his phone wrung again, but he ignored it and headed towards his car. After shooting down Main St. he arrived at the puce brown two story house that his sister and her children called home. She ran outside upon hearing the skidding tires with the dish towel still in her hand and hysterically screaming. As they approached each other, he instantly thought of reasons why Adair would not have notified them and come downstairs when he was called.

 

Comments

[Carl R. Ellison]

Is this a story or a news?

The news of Traison pulled off his overcoat, to get the keys and ran to the car.

or the story about your uncle Traison?


^_^ just kidding

[Kareena D. McCalla]

No, this is the first part of a short mystery story I'm working on.