Life is hard for David Thrine. While some exaggerate their conditions, his life is a true testament of living a hard knock life.
At the age of thirteen, the only thing he can be grateful for is the roof over his head. But that’s all he has. There’s no food in the refrigerator. Every morning he awakes to the same grumbling he laid upon the night before. He has no clean clothes and no means to wash them. His mother doesn’t want him, and she makes sure he knows that on a regular basis.
Left to fend for himself, his chances of survival are slim unless he takes matters into his own hands. Set on overcoming these obstacles, he turns to the street. What else does society expect from a teenager when his stomach touches his back, his mother sells the food stamps for cocaine, and he doesn’t know when his next meal will come?
At this point, what society expects means nothing. That’s until he meets a man who takes a genuine interest in his well-being. This man, knowing David’s background, takes him under his wing to show him a different life. David, falling into the crease of the man’s fold, soaks up every ounce of energy oozing from the man, while preparing for the future. Except, the Universe had other plans.
When the one person who could change his life is snatched away, David had to pick up that old shovel he sought to abandon and return to the streets to dig his own grave. He realized that his preparation for a different life has been an illusion. When headed back to reality, the grief associated with dancing with the devil is heartbreaking. He’d been running the streets for far too long to know that the streets had no love for a young soul. The streets loved everyone who played in them accordingly. Aware of that, he anticipates having to sign over his adolescent rights to those very streets if he intended to make it another year. And in the end, it will be that signature that lays the foundation for his future.
Excerpt:
The rain pelted against the window pane of the blind-less bedroom window, rinsing the grime and dirt from it. For hours now, the rain had been coming down non-stop. Initially, the sounds of the welcoming patter presented itself as a soothing tune from a familiar song. But as the eye of the storm unleashed a drone of raindrops on the planet earth, the addition of the lightning and thunder rattled the souls of the night-crawlers.
David, sitting with his back to the wall, faced the blind-less window, watching the raindrops appear smeared upon the glass. The downpour made it hard to see anything beyond the rain itself. This had to be one of the biggest storms the area had experienced in some time.
None of that matter the moment his stomach grumbled, loudly and painfully.
Pulling his legs to his chest, he calculated the hours in-between the last time he’d eaten. The hours had seemed like days once realizing that he hadn’t ate since lunch time. That revelation increased the grumbling inside of him. Usually, he could pat his belly, and that would quiet its cravings. Over time, that failed to do the trick. At this point, the only thing that would release his stomach from his back was for him to fill it with some food.
A series of soft moans filled the quietness of the house. In his room, the murmurs evaded his ear drums. It appeared his mother was having another one of her sexual escapades in the living room From time to time, she would entertain her guests in the living room, and upon the bottom of whatever bottle they’d explored, the festivities would casually take place on the raggedy sofa.
Like before, the series of soft moan systematically grew into outright wails of pleasure, mocked screams of delight, and intense cries of satisfaction.
David removed his holey socks, balled them into one, and stuffed them into the visible, empty door knob space with it. That didn’t lessen the excitement of the time his mother was having.
Inhaling his hunger, his stomach turned into a tighter knot. As he regarded his living conditions, he couldn’t see how he would continue to live like this. He was thirteen years old, staying with a woman who didn’t know the meaning of being a mother.
Outside of providing a roof over his head, and a room to call his own, she declared that he was on his own to obtain the necessities of life. Let her tell it, All my job consisted of was to give you life, a roof over your head, and a room to call your own. Other than that, I have other things I have to do.
Many times, he tried opening her eyes to his needs. As
a growing boy, he needed food, clean clothes, and adequate living conditions.
She laughed in his face. “If you need all of that, you better start getting it yourself. Because mama has needs as well, and taking care of a child I didn’t want isn’t one of them.”
David had heard that story too many times before. Where it went in one ear and out the other, it did sting his heart when he thought about it. Even now, with his stomach in his back, he wanted to push it into the foreground of his mind, but it wouldn’t go. Its stubbornness plagued him.
He snatched his socks from the door, placed them upon his feet, and stood up. He had to find him something to eat. Sitting in his empty bedroom wouldn’t get it. This wasn’t a four-star hotel where room service wheeled a cart of food to the assigned room upon being called. This couldn’t even be compared to a homeless shelter. At least, at a shelter, the patrons were well-fed and clothed properly. Not at Clarice’s. It was get it by any means. And that’s what David saw fit to do.
Creeping out of his room, he hesitated upon seeing the man behind his mother, gripping her hips, and thrusting hard into her body. Embarrassed by the activity, he dropped his head. The grumbling of his stomach snapped his head up and set his feet in motion.
Looking away from his mother’s sexual escapades, David bolted towards the door. His mother watched his every step as she massaged her love button. The man behind her grunted loudly, paying David no attention as he silently closed the door behind him. His task surrounded getting his money worth. And as he done so, Clarice bellowed out a brand-new song as she brought herself to climax.
Outside, David prepared himself for the journey ahead of him. It was raining hard. Unlucky for him, the rain hadn’t slowed down to accommodate his hunger. It actually appeared to have increased since he stepped outside. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t let some rain deter him from finding something to chew.
Jumping off the porch, he crossed the street, rounded the house on the corner, and hopped on the bike sitting under the porch. Riding off with his head down, he peddled as fast as he could despite his weak nature. The desire for food propelled him to find some inner strength, and after locating it, he used it for all it was worth.
Making it Uptown Humble Park, he rode down the alley behind a building known for having good scraps in their trash bin. He hopped off the bike, flipped open the trash bin’s top, and leaped in head first.
The first bag he ripped into contained some old lettuce, sour tomatoes, and the trimming associated with making salads. He tossed the bag to the side. Like a hound dog, his nose directed him to the bag to his right.
Digging into it, his fingers drove into a half-eaten baked potato as he ripped open the trash bag. He devoured the buttered potato with a hint of sour cream, tossing it to the side. Licking his fingers, he went back into the bag for seconds. He found a barely eaten Porterhouse steak. Thanking God, he chomped down on the tough meat, and the greasy fat. For a second, he felt like a king sitting on a throne. His mother would have never fixed him a steak, let alone bought one in the first place. Whenever she got her food stamps, they were quickly sold for only God knows what.
The man, Aja LaGrand Blount, is one of a kind.
That’s definitely expounded on by his given name. The name Aja is of African origin, and by definition it means “goat.” Taking into account the acronym of the word, the meaning in itself can imply a contrary impression. The Greatest Of All Time mantra casts a different kind of shadow to wander into. To enlist that title, Aja LaGrand Blount must first exceed the threshold of his middle name: LaGrand. The word Grand instills an impressive resume by itself. When coupled with the prefix La, it elevates the requirement to excel beyond a comprehensible means. Together, LaGrand, by definition, takes an ordinary situation and transforms it into a majestic one.
That could be the weigh of the world towering over a man unfit to shoulder those expectations. But we’re not talking about just any ole man. We’re talking about Aja LaGrand Blount.
Aja LaGrand Blount is a man who has unconsciously attempted to live up to a higher standard not known to him. To those around him, he had the ability to excel at anything he participated in; yet, he refused to commit himself to a full effort. He simply did enough to get by. At an early age, he experimented with marijuana and alcohol and sometimes ran with a group of guys that done less favorable things. Still, he had the aura of something great. It didn’t matter what he did, whether good or bad, he excelled in it.
Partaking in a few bad things, it would take some time, and a lengthy prison sentence, for Aja LaGrand Blount to come full circle with his ability to stand out. He wouldn’t have figured it would come in a form of writing but it did. Writing for him all started as a simple means to an end. But once the pen bleeds upon the pages, it opened up a world that Aja LaGrand Blount hadn’t been privy to. Entering with an anew spirit, it unlocked a creative chest brimming with a voice reckoned to be heard. Taking his imagination and his life experiences, his pent-up emotions became real in a fictional setting. The knowledge he had gained up to that point filtered through his fingertips and gave a purpose to each story he told.
Today, Aja LaGrand Blount is a published author under his own imprint, Aja LaGrand Presents, INC. To date, he has six urban/crime/suspense/thrillers published with many more on the horizon. Each story brings something different to the table. But the essence of them is all the same. They are parts of a story not yet told. On the surface, things can appear to be similar; except, when forced to scratch more than the surface, the revelations will leave you scratching your head, failing to breathe properly, or with your mouth gaped open.
Aja LaGrand Blount has a very unique writing style and the presentations of his characters and plots insists that he digs deeper into the creative chest opened for him. More than once, Aja LaGrand Blount has been likened to the late Donald Goines, a formidable African American author who has a huge impact on the literary world. To have received that accolade at such an early stage of his career releases the bounds of limitations, if there had ever been any. And because the world of authors is so diverse, Aja LaGrand Blount believes he has picked the perfect time to enter it and leave his name etched in stone.
Why not? From birth, there has been only one pair of shoes molded for his feet. He merely had to learn how to tie the laces for himself. With his shoes tied, it’s a matter of trudging the path now.
Get to Know The Author Aja LaGrand Blount:
When did you know you wanted to be a writer?
From the moment I put the pen to the paper. Initially, the motivation was money. I was told a few publishing companies were buying manuscript from guys in prison. I figured if I wrote what they were looking for, I could go home with a couple of dollars and that’ll be it. But when the story flowed from me, I seen I had a gift and that changed everything.
What kind of stories do you write?
As far as genre, I write urban/crime/suspense/thrillers. Below the surface, I write to plant seeds. I inject life experiences of people, not just my life, but a host of others. I give the readers just enough to keep them guessing, maybe think they have it figured out, then give them the shock of their lives. Ultimately what I write are life lessons drawn from one important law of life: The Law of Cause and Effect.
What inspires your writing?
Reality. What people are going through on a daily basis. The disparity between classes of people and how each class live. My inspiration dwells on shedding a tiny light, from my perspective, through characters by showing how people deal with the scenarios of life. Despite it being created through my imagination, a lot of the scenarios are real.
What do you set out to accomplish within the literary world?
My goals center on giving a standout catalog for the readers to enjoy. A good book will eventually sell itself. It will fall into the hands of many, and that in turn, will be the greatest accomplishment I could ask for. As a new name in the game, publishing a book is an accomplishment. Starting a publishing company is an accomplishment. But it means nothing without a loyal reader.
How many books do you have published to date?
To date, I have seven published. The Multiples series (Multiples, Multiples – The Unloved One, Multiples – A Price to Pay), A Vulture’s Bond, Death of a Boy I & II, and A Shadowed Accomplice.
What do you have for the readers in 2019?
I have something in the making. Definitely have Death of a Boy III dropping in March. I’m currently working on a release schedule for some others. It’s all about the feeling I get about the timing.
Where do you see yourself in five years?
In five years, I’ll have quite a few of books published. I’ll be looking to venture into TV or film if I haven’t already begun that transition. I think I’ll be working more of the business side of the publishing game to help others get their work out there.
How to Find the Author and The Book: