Reading Time: 2 minutes

My father is a respected gangster.

I’m just a pathetic thug.

But I was born with credibility entrenched in my genes. I’m Simon Lobo’s only biological son.

My father had other children, but they weren’t his. They were offspring of the streets, stuck to its asphalt like chewed and spit out gum. My father scraped them off, giving them homes and a reason to live.


Not to consume but to peddle and smuggle.

He was known as White Simon. Not for his skin color but for the two drugs he dealt in.

Cocaine and heroin.

The pair gave him everything.

Money, respect, the contradictory title of ‘Honorable Drug lord’.

White Simon was a man of his word. Be it friends, family, or his enemies, promises were upheld, threats were executed.

I watched my father. His every move was like a stroke of art, his actions painted pictures of tough love and devotion – his drug trade his only passion.

I listened to him speak, the smoothness of his voice, that no-nonsense tone, every sentence elevating him to a divine level of authority.

But no matter how hard I tried; my plainness never fulfilled his expectations.

And a drug lord without a worthy heir was a disgrace to himself and his community.

Rumors spread, the search for White Simon’s successor had begun.

I was humiliated.

Mocking eyes stared right through me. Whispers and laughter confirmed I was an incompetent failure.

In this business, reputation is everything. And mine had little left to it.

But there is more to me than others can see.

My father sits smoking a cigar in his favorite chair. The gun is in my sock, no one has bothered to check me.

I will go down in history as White Simon’s killer. Beat that if you can.

There’s a war raging between a brain and a heart. Whose side will Traitor John take? Read to find out.

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3 Comments on “Flash Fiction Story – Honorable Drug Lord

  1. Pingback: Elvis Presley Always Makes Me Cry - Flash Fiction Story | It Ain't Right Till I Write

  2. My Grandfather Santo died on Christmas Eve 1924. He was run over by a train and he didn’t even work for the railroad.

    That taught me to never sleep on railroad tracks late at night!

    • Some lessons are terrifying. Unforgettable! Railroad tracks freak me out for no apparent reason. Maybe have heard and read too many bad stories.

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