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BAD INTENTIONS PREVIEW: "NOTHING BEFORE FAMILY" - PT. I

NOTHING BEFORE FAMILY… Washington DC, a decade ago… Life is all about choices. The expression of one’s God-given free will. An individual’s prerogative to do what they want and live how they see fit. In life, a person makes choices that will serve as a kind of blueprint for how their existence will play out. Game-changers. The kind of choices that will affect their life and the lives of everyone around them. Sad thing is, sometimes, a person fails to think about the choices they’ve made until those very same choices come back to bite them in the ass. It’s funny how that works. Hell, it’s just plain funny how life in general works… Speaking of choices, Maurice Broadnax had made plenty of choices over the years. And just about all of them were bad. Most of his choices consisted of doing dirt and stepping on the neck of anyone who stood in his way. Like a broken GPS, his choices had led him all the way down the wrong path. Lost and fallen, he no longer had any choices left to make. Kind of like jumping off a cliff with no parachute and no bungee cord… Now, Maurice found himself alone and searching in the darkness for a way out. Hoping for a second chance to erase his long list of regrets instead of adding to it. But there was no way out and no chance of a “do-over.” It was much too late in the game for Maurice. Someone had just made his final choice for him… Moe, as he was known in the streets, lay dying on the filthy basement floor of an abandoned apartment building. Desperate now, he clung to life like a fly clung to shit. Trapped in a fight he had no chance of winning. Each strained gasp for air, each weakening heartbeat failing to do anything more than to delay the inevitable. He could feel the life evacuating his body. The Grim Reaper closed in fast on him now, having seized the upper hand in this tussle thanks to several shots of semi-automatic gunfire. Moe struggled to speak but the blood pooling in his throat forced him to gag and cough. His gurgled wheezing, trembling left leg and the crimson stains blooming from the jagged holes in his chest forecasted tonight’s outcome. Death had punched a one-way ticket on the expressway to hell for this man’s soul.