This is a voyage through the possibilities of who he is and who he can be in various universes. I welcome you to a world of each and every characteristic of DeVanté is existing as a separate entity in its own universe.
created: 23 February, 2018
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DeVante's on my mind so I decided to throw out another something from my drafts. Once upon a time, I was considering a Distractions sequel. This book was to take place 10 years after the ending of Distractions. No worries to anybody planning to read that book or up to date. This excerpt is spoiler free. This is the first two chapters and an explanation to the DeVante's Diary intermission of Distractions.
Donald.
"You ain't who you used to be!"
Rolling my eyes, I exhale the smoke of my cigarette as I pull the cap off the sharpie marker in my possession. I find myself mumbling lowly, "Yeah, yeah, bitch. I done heard it all before." The disrespect rolls off my tongue as second nature. I can't say I'm sorry 'cause I'm not a liar like that. If you don't want to be addressed as a bitch, don't act like one. The same rule applies to all you hoes, skanks, sluts, cum-buckets, broads, jump-off, and whatever else you bitches prefer not to refer to yourself as.
"I'll gladly tell Dalvin to come get his crackhead ass, has-been brother."
I'm gone keep it real, I done did a lot of shit. I mean, I done did a lot of shit but crack? That's a new one. She must be a bitch with magical powers to tell me something I didn't know about me. That makes her a magical bitch, so that mean, she's a special bitch.
Halting my motions, I look over my shoulder and meet her eye to eye. "Aye, lemme' ask you something... If I'm a has-been then what the fuck you think my brother is?.... Bitch." That one really got her roaring. All you can hear is fuckyou this and nigga that. Translation, all you hear is a wop load of bullshit and that's why I ain't paying her no mind as I label my CD. Eventually, it grows silent. I look up in relief. The room seems to be empty.
She got mad for no reason, man. You can't get mad if you're a talentless ass bitch coming in my shit requesting tracks but when I say you gone have to drop that ass for it, all of a sudden I'm wrong. Bitch, you broke! You think I'm about to give up my shit for free? You think a box of crayons and a bent straw from out your damn glove compartment is compensation for what I'm cooking up? If you don't drop that ass or drop to your knees and stop playing with me. I don't even need your throat, all I'm trying to prove is that nothing in this game is for free... She acting like she ain't suck me up two weeks ago for free. That's why I can't stand bitches. If she didn't already do it, I would've told her to suck my dick, on some real shit.
Two knocks on the studio door interrupt my mental rants. As inquires grow deep within me, I turn in my chair to look over at whoever is about to walk through the door.
"Come in," my voice booms.
As the door opens, I am met face to face with a fellow peer of mine. He's got green on from head to toe looking like a damn leaf in the jungle. The shade he chose really clashes with the soft charcoal coloring of the walls behind him, same with the multicolored mix board and black chairs that also sit behind him. This nigga's out here looking like a piece of asparagus and that reason alone is why I don't even want to hear shit that he has got to say.
