Terror Firsthand #15: A Horrifying Destination

 ©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: A Horrifying Destination 

After I watched the tragic news story about Emanuela Manuela, I changed the channel to a music video network. I saw Oya Negra Capone on TV shaking her funky ass in a thong with a bunch of gay women in thongs. They looked like the female versions of Lil Nas Flex in his video "Industry Lady". It was the same dyke from the studio in Iowa and it was the same women that walked out of there with her in her video. The f*ggot had like 6 million views on the stank video. The women were smacking each other on the asses and I was disgusted. I don't like gay sh*t. After her garbage went off, an old Ray Rock song came on. 

I searched for Ray Rock on the internet and found out that he had been released from prison. I didn't give a f*ck. I hated artist like him, and I never wanted to do another feature again. After his trash went off, Big Eisoob came on, then ABN OldBoy. That's when I cut the TV off. 

"You don't see anything you like huh?" Asked Ghana Bwoy.

"Hell nah, ain't nothing on. The same ol trashy niggas and rich white folk." I replied. I began feeling enslaved. I was hoping the cops wouldn't lock Ghana Bwoy up for k*lling Nuela, especially around me. Nuela needed to die. 

"Do you think the cops are going to come for you? I mean, do you think you're on America's Most Wanted?" I asked, crying. 

"Nah, I'll be dead by then." He said. "I ain't going in there behind no Nuela." 

"Don't say you'll be dead. You won't die." I said. Then he hugged me closer. I knew he was a gay man, and wasn't going to rape me like Nuela did. Ghana Bwoy started crying profusely. I ran in the bathroom and gave him a roll of toilet paper. 

"I don't know shorty, you know people evil out here. They hate me bout as much as they hate you." He said, with tears pouring down his face. His crazy f*cking boyfriend just died, and he was the cause. I know he felt it. 

"Nah, I'm pretty sure the world hates me more. I can bet that." I said. 

I went back to the bathroom and threw up. I couldn't stop thinking about those funky gay thots in Oya Negra Capone's music video. They looked like they all slept in the same bed. I kept hearing them calling me tard in my head over and over non stop. They sounded like robots. It was extremely stinky and nasty.

I hate women, and I hate downlow dykes that abuse me and torture me even more. I have absolutely nothing in common with them. I don't even know them and they're mean and disgusting. I have never been with any women that way! I've been 100% straight all of my life! Those funky cruel women act just like gay men! They're a bunch of Emanuela's and Armando's without a penis and they need to die! Ghana Bwoy came rushing in.

"You alright? You need anything." He asked.

"Yeah I need a ginger ale. Can you order one from the machine? And a pack of crackers. I need to put something on my stomach." I said. 

"Okay. I'll go get that." Said Ghana Bwoy, as he walked out of the room.

After that I started praying for Oya Negra Capone's death. I didn't even pray to San La Muerte. I went directly to Satan. 

"Satan, please kill Oya Negra Capone. Please wipe her, her fans, and those funky looking, monstrous, fishy, incestuous, lesbian bullies that keep harassing me and calling me a tard off of the face of the f*cking earth. Please make sure they die so I can breathe again. Thank you Lucifer. Amen." I prayed. I knew they wouldn't be praying to the same thing. 

As quick as I said the prayer, Ghana Bwoy was back in the room with the ginger ale and crackers. I still couldn't eat, but I took a sip of the ginger ale and got back into the bed. 

"How long are you planning on staying here?" I asked. 

"Um I don't know, more than likely I'll be pulling out in a day or two." He said, like he wasn't scared of the cops. "Why? Are you in a rush?" 

"No but I don't feel all that safe. I mean this is Point Pleasant. I'm pretty sure they're fake around here. New Jersey ain't all that." I replied. I wanted him to get the f*ck out of New Jersey. 

"Oh don't worry I'll just leave tomorrow morning." He said.

"Where to next?" I asked. 

"I don't know, you tell me. I still got the money from the orgy, plus the money that Nuela had in his wallet." He said. He didn't say how much it was, but I'm pretty sure the 10 men paid well.

"Do you have to give the truck back?" I asked.

"Nah that nigga got like 10 cars he don't care about that truck." He replied.

"Well don't you think you're going to get tracked in it?" I asked.

"Listen shorty. Don't start bugging out. You stuck with me this far so just chill. If I feel the car need to be swapped I will do that. Right now just get some rest. I know it's been a long day." Said Ghana Bwoy, acting like he had everything under control. There was no way he had everything under control after what just happened, but there's also no point in freaking out. 

"Okay. Good night Ghana Bwoy." I said.

"Goodnight Shorty." He replied. 

The next morning was checkout day. I ate the pack of crackers and got some breakfast from downstairs. I hopped in the truck with Ghana Bwoy and headed down the freeway. He started driving southbound, avoiding New York. I started throwing up again because I couldn't stop thinking about the gross negligence I was forced to put up with from all those people that were on the death list. I ate my breakfast for nothing. Emanuela Manuela wasn't even the last person like I thought. Oya Negra Capone was. She was the funkiest, gayest competition I had ever seen, and needed to go.

I found Oya Negra Capone's social media profile, and she was bragging about going on a yacht party soon in Jamaica with a bunch of half naked dykes. The loser had her face on a flyer, and the exact location of where she would be.

"Let's go to Jamaica." I insisted. Maybe I could get those f*ggots to fall of a cruise ship or maybe the whole cruise ship would get blown up or something. Ghana Bwoy had no idea what was going on in my mind. He had no idea that I had beef with Oya Negra Capone. 

"Oh, I have family in Jamaica!" Said Ghana Bwoy.

Oh goodness. I don't wanna be there now. 

"I thought you said your family was from Richmond?" I asked.

"I'm originally from Jamaica, I just live in Richmond." He replied. 

Now I was really terrified. How am I going to get rid of those f*ggots when he knows people out there? I figured I'd go anyway just to get a feel for the place. I didn't have to do anything. On Oya Negra Capone's Wikipedia page it said that she was born in Iowa, so there should be no connection to her in Jamaica. 

"I'm going to take you to my mother's house." He said. I was hoping he had a better mother than mine. I was hoping is mother wasn't a mean, funky, racist freak. 

"Okay." I replied "How am I going to get Big C on the boat?" 

"Oh don't worry. I got a private plane connect. He can get on." Said Ghana Bwoy. 

"Wow you're more rich than I thought. Why you selling yourself?" I asked. 

"That's how I became rich." He said. 

After driving for almost a day, Ghana Bwoy finally pulled up in Atlanta Georgia- another stinky gay negligent city. 

"The private plane will leave from here." He said.

He pulled up to a plane station, parked the car and and walked right over to the jet. I got on the jet with Big C and flew with Ghana Bwoy for about four hours. After landing in Kingston Jamaica, Ghana Bwoy rented a car and then stopped by a Jamaican restaurant. 

"I know you're hungry." He said.

"Yes, but I don't want these Jamaicans cooking my food. I'm pretty sure they're fake. Bout as fake as Bob Marley." I said. "I want to cook my own jerk chicken and curry. I know all the Jamaican recipes and can probably even cook better than them. If you want to go be with your family go ahead. I'll just find somewhere to stay and you can come visit me." 

"Nah I don't think that's a wise idea shorty. You don't know anyone here. That's not okay. " He replied. Oh goodness, here comes the gay man acting like he's my protection but really isn't. 

"I'm a grown woman, not a child. I know how to travel by myself. I'm not retarded. I don't need a babysitter and I don't think meeting your moms is a good idea. Nobody moms has ever liked me. I was never good enough for their wack sons." I said, not wanting to be around a woman. 

"Now you're switching up. I'm not wack like those niggas. We get all the way here and you're acting like you run Jamaica? Shorty you're just a bum. Be real with yourself. I got family all over this place. You'll never make it by yourself." Said Ghana Bwoy, switching up too. 

"Man look, I just need some time to myself. Drop me off at the yacht place." I requested. 

"Shorty can you even afford a yacht? You don't look too wealthy my dear." He said. Now he was really acting out of character. 

"Yes, I have enough for the yacht." I replied. I was ready to get the f*ck away from the murderer. 

He was getting phonier by the second. If he had a family he was a fake. I rode with Ghana Bwoy to the Yellow Kingston Yacht Club, where he dropped me off. I was getting more afraid of him. He had too much power. I rented a yacht and sat in there with Big C. I went to a nearby grocery store by foot and brought enough groceries to last for a week. I fixed curry chicken on the first night. I cut the TV on...

"Vybez Kartel sentenced to life in prison...." Said the news reporter.

"People fake as f*ck!" I screamed. Then I cried. "What the f*ck!" 

I couldn't take what I was seeing so I turned the god-d*mned channel. There was a music artist on there name Movado singing around a bunch of half naked thots. Then Oya Negra Capone came on. Then I cut the TV off.

"Why is the world this way? Why?" I cried for about nine hours, until I finally drifted off to sleep. I was hoping the boat wouldn't start drifting because I didn't know how to sail or swim. I started having second thoughts about getting revenge on Oya Negra Capone but I knew that I had to get it over with. I had no time to get soft all of a sudden. I was hoping Ghana Bwoy wouldn't get fake either. 

The next morning Ghana Bwoy called me.

"Hello what's up shorty. I'm sorry about my attitude yesterday. Where you at?!" He asked.

"At the same place you left me." I replied. 

"I'll be there in a few, but I have a request." He said. 

"What's that?" I asked.

"Can you fix a nigga a plate or something? Like a nigga really want to see what your cooking taste like." He asked. 

"I guess! Be here at 1 pm, and wear all white." I said. 

"Aight shorty. I'll be there." Said Ghana Bwoy. 

I began to wonder where his kids are. They must've been in the U.S. because that's where his baby mother was shot by Nuela. I began to wonder if he had more kids in Jamaica. It didn't matter though. He was still gay, and I saw him having gay orgies in the flesh with my own two eyes. There was no way I could get too emotionally or romantically attached to a man that gay. I picked up the phone and called him back. I forgot something. 

"Hello?" He said.

"Yeah I need some marijuana. I know you said you have people here and all. Can you get me ounce and can I test it first? If it's good I will keep buying." I asked.

Some people are so phoney that they'll sell me garbage weed just because they know that I don't have access to a more potent quality. 

"Yeah I'll call around for you. I'll see." He replied.

"Please. Thank you." I said, and hung up the phone. 

I rather deal with him than to go out walking into the streets looking for it. I sat on the yacht in peace until around 12 pm. Oya Negra Capone's live performance in Jamaica was only two days away, and I needed to figure out how she and her crew was going to die, so I kept praying. 

"Satan, Please get rid of Oya Negra Capone and her entire following. Amen."

Then I started cooking the meal for Ghana Bwoy. At 1 pm, he arrived at the boat. 

"Hi. You look nice in that white." I said.

"What's up, you're not looking to bad yourself." He replied. 

First he was looking like a transwoman back in the states, now he has finally turned into a real clean man, and all he had to do was get rid of Nuela. Sad. 

"I made jerk chicken and cabbage, with rice and beans and macaroni and cheese, and here's a glass of champagne. I hope you like it." I said. 

If it had been any later in the evening, it would've been more romantic. There would've been candles burning and a sunset, but like I said, I can't fall for a gay man. He had too many men already, and I know they're not letting him go. Ghana Bwoy sat down and started eating the meal.

"Oh yeah! You really can cook! Wow! Taste like it came right out of Jamaica!" He said. I ate with Ghana Bwoy and finished the meal.

"I need to go exercise, and there's no gym on this boat. I'm going for a walk." I said.

"I'll go with you. You don't need to be walking the streets of Jamaica alone." He responded.

"Okay let's go. I need to record some new music too. I'm going to switch to a new genre and change my style to reggaeton and dancehall. You know any producers out here?" I questioned, while walking with him. "Oh yeah, and where is the weed at?" 

"Yeah my uncle is a producer, and yeah I'll get on the phone and tell the weed man to bring you that." He said. 

Ghana Bwoy did not smoke as much as I did, because if he did, he would have his own stash, and I did not want to meet his uncle. I shouldn't have asked. After he made the phone call the man showed up on the corner about a mile away from the boat. 

"What's up Bwoy! It's nice to see you back in town! You looking good nigga, everything alright?!" Asked the weed man to Ghana Bwoy. I looked away and rolled my eyes. They dapped each other up and gave each other a hug. I hated that.

"Yeah I'm doing good nigga, this Oya Obinidodo right here and she is from the U.S. and she is the one that needs the pack." He said. "Oya Obinidodo, this my nigga Kingston Rasta Bwoy." 

"Nice to meet you. Y'all have a lot of culture out here. It's very different. I feel out of place. I can't even catch on." I said, honestly. 

"Don't feel that way little lady. Here, I have something that will cheer you up." Said Kingston Rasta Bwoy. He pulled out a bag of weed and opened it up. It smelled delicious and I said, 

"I'll take it." 

He handed me the bag and I handed him the money. 

"Ayo my nigga big Ghana Bwoy! There's a big Yacht party going on this weekend at the same spot you said you and your girl would be! I have tickets do y'all need any!? Everybody is going to be there!" Said Kingston Rasta Bwoy. 

He pulled out two Oya Negra Capone tickets and handed them to me and Ghana Bwoy. 

"Yeah nigga we'll take these and call me on the day of nigga so we can get a VIP seat." Said Ghana Bwoy, handing him the money for the tickets. 

Ghana Bwoy and Kingston Rasta Bwoy hugged one more time and then Kingston Rasta Bwoy walked away. 

"Do you know who Oya Negra Capone is?" Asked Ghana Bwoy, while walking with me away from the corner back towards the boat. 

"I mean I heard of the b*tch but I don't listen to her. I ain't even interested in the concert for real. She is not my style. I just wanna go stay at a hotel or something." I replied. 

On the way back to the boat, I saw a Botanica. I was wondering if they were as fake as the one in Alcapulco. 

"I want to stop in here right quick. I need candles." I said. I needed to burn them on Oya Negra Capone as soon as possible. I walked into the botanica with Ghana Bwoy and purchased 100 candles right in front of him. Then I walked back out. 

"Shorty you don't have to go." He said. 

"I know I don't." I replied. I'm pretty sure he had plenty of women lined up that would love to accompany him to an event like that. I wasn't one of them.

"I'm going to give my uncle a call now and see if he'll let you use the studio." He said, while getting on the phone to make the call. The call was very short. Then he turned to me and said,

"My uncle said he is too busy. You'll have to find another studio. Just Google one. I'll go with you so you can stay safe." He said. 

I didn't want to meet his uncle anyway, like I already said. Sounded boring if you ask me. People's uncles are real funky these days. They're more like aunts than uncles, if you catch my drift. People keep acting sickening towards me, and I'm sick of it and don't want to be around them. They're like a disease. They're still an infestation. 

"Okay. Do you have any kids out here?" I asked.

"Yes I have one daughter." He replied.

"What!? So you have two kids in the U.S. and a daughter out here? Is that all?" I asked.

"Um yeah, why you ask?" I asked.

"What do you mean why do I ask? I hang around you almost every day! I need to know!" I yelled. "I don't want any beef with your baby mama." 

"I understand that shorty." He said. Me and Ghana Bwoy were back at the boat. 

"I'm going to bounce I'll come back later." He said. I was growing tired of his company now that I knew he had a baby mother nearby. 

"Aight." He said and walked away. 

I went back in the boat with Big C and sat down. I was really disgusted with Ghana Bwoy and I didn't want to be in Jamaica after I made sure Oya Negra Capone was destroyed. I don't give a f*ck about any nigga family or their momma or their uncle or their homies or they baby mommas. They all stinky and funky and fake! Yuck! 

I burned the candles for the next two days. It was Saturday. Event day. The whole yacht club was packed with people. Ghana Bwoy came to my boat with Kingston Rasta Bwoy. They might've had sex. They were really close.

"What's up Oya Obinidodo, let's go get a VIP table shorty." Said Kingston Rasta Bwoy. 

I walked with him and Ghana Bwoy to the f*cking table. Oya Negra Capone was on stage rapping and the same background dancers from the studio and the music video were on stage twerking. It was funky. People in the crowd were dancing and I could barely squeeze through it to get to the table. The bottle girl brought over a bottle of champagne. I was ready for Oya Negra Capone to die and get the hell away from Jamaica. That's when Ghana Bwoy baby mother walked over to the table with his mother and daughter. 

"So this who he f*cking now?" She yelled.

"Is this the new b*tch?" Asked his mother. 

"Who you calling a b*tch motherf*cker and yeah he dug me out!? What are you going to do about it?" I yelled.

His baby mother walked over to me and punched me in the face. I grabbed a knife and stabbed her in the throat. She fell to the ground. The whole crowd started screaming as they called for police. Oya Negra Capone and her gay puppets rushed off stage like the little scared b*tches that they were. 

"F*ck your gay ass. Don't call me anymore. I hope you die like Nuela. You're on your own. And I hope that b*tch die like your other baby mother did!" I said, as I threw water on Ghana Bwoy face and ran away from the crowd before the police got there. No one tried to stop me from running. 

I hopped in a nearby cab with my dog and went straight to the bus station. How was I going to get back to America with my dog? I didn't have a private plane connect. I cut my phone off so no one could call. I needed to think, and fast. I sat at the bus station for an hour. I went in the bathroom to change my clothes and take off my wig. I put a ski mask on and then I cut my phone back on. I recieved an instant message on social media.

"Yeah this Kingston Rasta Bwoy.. you alright?" He asked. I ignored his message. Why would I want him? He was way too close to Ghana Bwoy. I eventually found a boat that would take me to Miami that I could board my dog on. I really didn't want to go to Miami, especially after what happened with Nuela. He was the reason I was in this mess in the first place. 

I called the phone company and changed my number. I finally found the strength to cut Ghana Bwoy off. He had a baby mother and daughter, and he needed to tend to them and all of those gay men that he was f*cking for money behind her back. He also needed to look over his shoulder for the cops. He had too much going on, and I wanted no parts. I blocked Kingston Rasta Bwoy and purchased a boat ticket back to the U.S. I knew I didn't kill his baby mother. The knife wasn't even a whole centimeter deep into her skin. She wasn't even bleeding. She had no right to punch me in the face. The boat would be pulling out in three hours, so I caught a cab to the departure port.

"I'll worry about Oya Negra Capone later." I said out loud. 

While at the departure port, I saw a news story playing in the waiting area. 

"37 year old Ghana Bwoy, wanted in connection to the murder of Emanuela Manuela in the United States. He was last seen in the Washington D.C. metro area. If anyone knows this man whereabouts, please call the crime line." Said the black reporter. 

I started crying. I felt bad for him. I mean, he did have my back during the worst times of me being bullied by Nuela, but it was time to let go of the gay man and move on. I wasn't going to snitch on him, and I hope he doesn't start thinking I will, just because I turned my back. Like I said, I had no time for his baby mother or his boyfriends.

The boat finally pulled up and I got on board. The trip took about three nights. After I arrived in Miami, I rented a car and drove to where I first met Nuela, on Miami Ave and 83rd. I put down a bouquet of flowers and the candles that I brought in Jamaica for the sake of humanity. Then I checked into a hotel on Collins Ave. I stayed in the hotel for three nights and on the fourth night, I received a text from Ghana Bwoy. I guess he got my number from my record label website, like all the other predators do.

"Look bi*ch, I know you told on me. I'm going to k*ll you like I did Nuela!" He said in the message. 

"I did not snitch on you! Your homies in Jamaica and those gay ass men you trusted in D.C. told on you! You think that they're your people and you think I'm the enemy. Wake up! Stop blaming me for your problems and face those rats that you keep on showing love to! They don't have your f*cking back! You should've just isolated yourself!"  I replied. I waited, but I did not receive a reply. 

I stayed in the room for fear of retaliation. I didn't leave for anything. 

"Here I go again." I said out loud. "Forced to hide out." 

I checked Oya Negra Capone's social media profile and seen that she was back in the U.S. with her gay puppets. They were all on the internet looking rainbow, prideful, and queer. The most recent pic though really set me off. She was dressed in a grey jilbab and was carrying a black puppy. Just like I was on my song cover 'Telling A Fib Remix'. 

"This bi*ch tryna steal my f*cking style! She should be half naked like she already been!" I said. I felt sick. The hoe was really competing with me. I got off of her profile. The next day, I received another text from Ghana Bwoy. 

"I know you're in Miami, so you might as well leave. If you go to LPC, I'm going to know you're there too. So you better start hiding, because me and Kingston Rasta Bwoy are coming fa that ass!" The message read. 

I began to get scared so I started packing my things to get ready to leave. The next morning was checkout day. I cut the TV on. 

"Hip Hop Superstar Oya Negra Capone found dead in Miami. She was walking out of a hotel near South Beach when the killer attacked. The rapper subcomed to multiple gun shot wounds to the abdomen. The killer is still in the loose." The news reporter said. Oya Negra Capone was wearing the same outfit I had on when she died, and thought she could hide like me. 

"What the f*ck! This b*tch thought she was me and got popped! That's what she get! She shouldn't have been trying to be me!" I yelled at the screen. 

Ghana Bwoy was behind it. He thought she was me and it was a tragic case of mistaken identity. The killer missed their target! At least I didn't have to worry about her anymore, but how was I going to get Ghana Bwoy off of me!? It started feeling like Nuela all over again. I didn't snitch!