September 7, 2025 • 24 mins
In this exclusive bonus episode, we're stepping away from our usual true crime format to bring you something extraordinary - a complete reading of Chapter 1 from our creator J.C. Reedburg's powerful new novelette "God's Hands: A No TearsFor Black Girls Story."
Follow Jasmine, a young Black woman surviving on the streets of Oakland, as she faces a life-or-death moment that will change everything. When a desperate robbery goes wrong, divine intervention appears in the most unexpected form - proving that sometimes God's hands work through the most unlikely people.
This raw, authentic street fiction explores themes of survival, mercy, and transformation that align perfectly with our podcast's mission of celebrating Black women's resilience. Host Samantha Paul delivers a gripping narration that will leaveyou breathless.
BONUS: Stay until the end for an exclusive preview of "God's Hands" by Datzhott featuring Jayda Truth - the song inspired by this powerful story.
FREE DOWNLOAD: Get"God's Hands: A No Tears For Black Girls Story" absolutely free on Amazon Kindle until September 10th, then free with Kindle Unlimited. Links in bio.
Content Warning: This episode contains mature themes including street violence, survival situations, and strong language.
#NoTearsForBlackGirls #StreetFiction #BlackWomenStories #FreeBook #Oakland #DivineIntervention
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:03):
Welcome back to NO. Tears for Black Girls, the
podcast. Where we not only do true crime,
but. Also celebrate the.
Strength, resilience, and untoldstories of black women
everywhere. I'm your host, Samantha Paul.
Today is a very. Special bonus episode.
Because we're stepping. Away from our usual true crime
(00:23):
format to bring you something completely different, an
exclusive preview of a brand newnovelette written by our.
Show's creator JC Reedberg The book is called God's.
Hands a no. Tears for black girls story.
And while it's fiction. It feels as.
Real and raw, as any true crime case we've.
(00:43):
Covered, it tells the powerful. Story of Jasmine, a young black
woman surviving on the streets of Oakland who experiences a
moment of divine intervention that changes.
Her life forever. This isn't just St. fiction,
this is a testament to how mercycan break.
Cycles of. Violence and transform lives in
(01:04):
just a few minutes. I'm going to read you the.
Entire first chapter. And trust me, you're going to be
hooked from the very first line.But first let me tell you.
How you can get this book absolutely free?
Right now, God's hands is. Available as a.
Free download exclusively on Amazon Kindle until September
10th. After that, it remains free with
(01:26):
your Kindle Unlimited subscription if.
You love what? You hear today, and I know.
You will please. Show some love.
With a 5 star. Rating and review.
And here's something extra special at the end of.
Today's episode. We'll preview the song inspired
by this. Book.
It's called God's hands. By dat's hot.
(01:48):
Featuring Jada Truth. Who?
Is actually the transformed version of our main character.
You can find it on SoundCloud, YouTube, and all our social
media channels right now, so getcomfortable.
Because. We're about to take you on a
journey through the streets of Oakland into a moment where
God's hands intervene in the most unexpected.
Way here's chapter. One of God's hands, A no tears.
(02:12):
For black girls. Story Chapter 1.
Ghost Ride. Jasmine wakes to the grind of
her cheek on raw concrete, sweatmatting her skin in the pre dawn
chill. Above her.
The ceiling gapes. Like a battlefield.
Wooden beams exposed like splintered ribs.
(02:32):
She blinks through the blue gloom and sees the bone white
walls. Scrawled with layer.
Upon layer of. Graffiti tags.
Threats, crude cartoons and there in faded blue spray paint.
RIP Marshawn Chavis, you're in God's hands.
Spray painted testimonies to 100sleepless Nights.
Cold seeps up her legs. And her thigh burns with the
(02:55):
ache of last night's. Bruises, she flexes.
Free one hand, feeling her. Backpack's zipper.
A small. Relief that it's still hers.
She rolls onto her side, hugs her knees and fishes out her
battered Samsung. No new messages.
Just Darius's last text sleep light.
(03:15):
Meet up tomorrow. Hunger knots her stomach.
But thirst is sharper. She shakes the lone water
bottle, only a throat tickling. Rattle of backwash.
She tips it to her lips, tastingdust, plastic.
And a. Flicker of copper like old
blood. A burnt spoon lies near her
(03:36):
shoe. She kicks it aside.
Stay sharp, jazz. Never too tired, too hungry too.
Soft the air. Is a weapon here, Urine rotting,
insulation, chemical haze from the paint.
She stands, joints cracking, then stills.
At a soft. Clatter beyond the broken
windows. Clutching her pack, she creeps
(03:57):
to the. Sill International Ave. is a
rumor, a single bus. Squeaks.
By empty save for one man asleepin the back in the alley, two
men in. Puffy jackets argue over a dirt
bike. One missing 3 fingers.
The other. Scratching at a.
Plastic wrapped wrist. No sign of.
Darius she. Scans for surprises, heart
(04:20):
tightening with a memory. The stairwell off. 59th 6 months
ago. His hand at her throat.
Wild Turkey breath. Hot against her ear, the small
animal sound she made still burns inside her.
Footsteps. Skip down the hall, She spins,
fist raised. But Darius?
Slips into the doorway, palms up, grinning like an idiot.
(04:42):
Yo, don't swing, I come in. Peace she.
Lowers her hand. You're late, He.
Shrugs under his. Hoodie cops swept the block.
Messed my timing but I got a plan.
You always do. She notes his wet shoes, mud
crusted knees. He's wired on something,
(05:04):
security cams dead for months. He steps in, eyes flicking
around 711 off. Foothill Quick Lick, old school
clerk. Won't.
Fight. He produces 2 balaclavas.
Black and Navy. Like party favors?
Jasmine studies the masks, then her empty bottle, then the few
(05:25):
coins hidden in her sock. She wants to refuse.
But her mother? 'S voice coils in her head.
You don't eat, you don't breathe.
She exhales. All right.
Quick, in and out, no lingering.Darius beams.
In and out, Promise. He fades down the stairs.
Jasmine let's her. Chest, relax.
(05:47):
She doesn't trust him, trusts only the plan.
The pulse. The need The sun's half risen,
but international still sleeps under long shadows that cling
like fear. Jasmine and Darius stick to the
margins, feet crunching glass. As they weave past busted bus
stops. And drifting trash.
Last night's rain has smeared everything.
(06:09):
Colors. Edges.
The thin line between danger andwhatever.
Passes for safe. Jasmine clutches her.
Pack knuckles, white eyes. Flicking over every.
Face for cops. Or anyone who might remember the
angle of her jaw. Traffic on the main drag roils
around them a. Slurry.
Of idling engines, weed smoke, old grease and damp cardboard a
(06:33):
woman in. Scrubs shuffles past.
Head down, earbuds sealing her off, Darius leans.
Close voice, low. Bet she's.
Carrying at least 20, Jasmine says nothing and lifts her.
Boot over a bloated. Rat in the gutter.
It's tail still. Quivering at the next corner,
they halt. A white van drifts by, windows
(06:55):
caked. With dust Darius.
Murmurs half. Chant half.
Plea. After this we disappear.
Lay low in San Leandro, maybe even see the ocean.
You ever seen the real Pacific? Jazz every word.
Stokes her anxiety. Upward, she forces out.
We do this clean, one slip up and we're both dead.
(07:18):
His grin is too sharp. I know I got you yet.
His thumb drums on his thigh andhis jaw twitches in the
lamplight. They veer behind the.
Taco Truck Depot. Into the flea market, fringe
vendors haul tarps and crates, chain smoke and shout over trap
beats. Darius nods at an old man behind
(07:40):
a folding table, half his teeth missing.
Gloves. Ski masks, Sunglasses fanned out
the vendor. Eyes the parked.
Cruiser then tucks. His lips together 2 black
balaclavas, Darius says. 10 bucks for both 15.
The man grunts, sizing up Jasmine, his muscle.
(08:02):
She counts out greasy. Bills, they slip.
Away with two masks rolled into a sandwich.
Bag Darius. Conceals his inside.
His sleeve. A horn blares.
Jasmine's skin crawls. She's yanked into a memory, a
mattress in a windowless room, her voice strangled.
By fear bleach. Stinging her nostrils, the vent
(08:22):
rattling overhead. She's 17, already spent.
Door crashes open. Aunt Keisha stands framed in
chaos, arms crossed. Storm cloud face.
You don't belong. Here, she'd said.
Scooping Jasmine up and wrappingher in a denim jacket that
smelled of cocoa butter and cheap.
Soap the 1st. Good smell in a.
(08:42):
Year, the scrape of a shopping. Cart pulls her.
Back they slip. Into an alley.
Scrawled with tags too sick loco.
Misdemeanor. Darius paces.
Spinning an unlit cigarette, Jasmine leans against damp
brick. Heart pounding, he finally
speaks and clipped breaths. We hit just.
(09:04):
Before shift change, old man behind the counter freaks at
masked. Black kids.
I'll wave the burner keeps him pinned.
You clear the register, we bolt the back door.
Cross the. Tracks dump everything in the
Creek by 20 3rd St. Silence stretches.
Jasmine watches him count Bricks123.
(09:27):
Her pulse echoes. You sure?
She asks. He stops the cigarette spin.
Yeah, no cameras until the alley.
His voice is. Steady, but his hand trembles.
You remember the safe code 7-4-1dash?
Zero, he says. Same as last.
Week. She closes her eyes.
(09:50):
Last job He. Puked twice and almost left his
phone behind. She did all the work.
You keep picking him even when you know better, because he
stayed when nobody. Else did.
Because nobody. Else ever will.
She rehearses the plan. Entry, countdown, exit.
They can't fuck up, not now. Darius pulls his mask down.
(10:13):
Breath. Fogs the fabric.
He grins in the dim. Light, we're ghosts.
She lets a thin smile slip, adrenaline dulling the.
Dread. She pulls hers over her.
Face sudden. Hush, the world reduced to two.
Slits of vision and her poundingbreath, they press into the
shadows and slip onto the street.
(10:35):
Let's get paid. Darius whispers.
They slosh across the muddy lot.Each.
Footfall sucking cold sludge onto their sneakers.
Last night's rain clings and thick, oily clumps.
Up ahead, the 711 crouches undera flickering neon sign with one
letter dark. It's grimy windows reflecting
(10:57):
distorted St. lamps. The automatic.
Doors shutter as if afraid to. Open.
Jasmine feels the masks rigid curve against her cheek.
Every exhale fogs the plastic. Darius glides ahead, shoulders
low. One hand tucked into his sleeve.
10 years ago, they sprinted the same block, she clutching stolen
(11:19):
candy, he knocking over a magazine rack, heart pounding
with the rush of being unseen. We're invisible, he'd whispered.
Now she's older, steel in her spine.
This is no petty. Theft.
Tonight, they stake everything on one gamble.
Erase the past or die. Under its weight.
(11:39):
A delivery truck idle at the curb, hisses through its
exhaust. Jasmine nods.
At the drivers watchful eyes. Then ducks behind a drooping
display of roses. Pressing her damp palms to her
jeans, Darius makes a. Slow circle, a soft hiss of a.
Whistle under his breath. She counts distant noises, a
freeway rumble, birds squabblingon overhead.
(12:01):
Wires. Muted laughter from a parked.
Car. None of it matters.
She has tunnel vision. The store's entrance.
He slides back into view and inclines his head inside.
Only the old clerk perches behind the counter, hunched like
a tired Sentinel. Go time.
Darius murmurs. Jasmine's throat tightens, Her
(12:24):
mouth turns to dust. She exhales once, careful,
silent, and they step. Through the doors together the
bell. Emits A jarring shriek.
Jasmine drifts down the narrow aisle.
Toward the frosted cooler. Keeping her shoulders.
Loose. Her gaze casual.
Every overhead light buzzes. Every hum of refrigeration
(12:45):
presses against her. Skull Darius strides to the
register. Chin lifted mask.
Pulled high. The clerk looks up.
No startle, just slow, Precise. Calculation.
He's seen this before, Jasmine thinks, heart stuttering.
Darius raises. The gun open the register now.
(13:07):
His voice booms, cracking at theedge like a snapped wire.
Silence thickens. The clerk stays stoic.
Watching Darius's trembling hand, then glancing toward
Jasmine's frozen silhouette, he simply waits.
Calm as stone. The refrigerator's wine swells,
(13:28):
drowning out Darius's next words.
Jasmine catches fragments. Fast.
Don't fuck around, nobody wants to die.
Time fractures. Jasmine's eyes flick to the
candy display. Blue and white sunflower.
Seeds. Teetering on the.
Edge. She tastes.
Vertigo. Then the clerk moves with
(13:50):
deliberate slowness, reaches under the counter, and with one
smooth motion pushes the drawer open.
There's a metallic. Clack that echoes like a.
Starting gun. Darius stares at the fanned
bills as if he's forgotten what money feels like in his hand.
Her skin prickles. This isn't right.
A sudden ring of the doorbell. Jasmine whips around.
(14:13):
A man in a fluorescent construction vest stumbles
inside, nearly tripping over therubber mat.
His eyes. Widen at the sight of the gun,
the masks, the rigid tension in Jasmine's stance.
For a breath. Too long, none of them moves.
Darius's voice cracks the air. Get back, Get the fuck back, he
(14:36):
levels. The pistol at the newcomer panic
coils. Through his words.
His finger tightens on the trigger.
The shot rings out. Unplanned, A primal.
Reflex the bullet. Slams into a.
Rack of lottery. Scratchers sending cardboard
shards spraying like confetti. Jasmine dives behind the
coolers. A storm of dust and gunpowder
(14:57):
fills her nose somewhere behind her.
There's a wet. Sickening thump.
Darius keels over. Clutching his belly, pants
blooming red. Shit, he wheezes.
Jazz. Shit, he collapses.
To one knee, then slumps fully to the floor.
The gun skitters just out of reach Jasmine's legs.
(15:18):
Lock. She stares down at him.
His fingers tremble against the wound, blood pooling beneath
him. The world tilts, the clerk's
face blacks with fury. Then flickers to something else.
Fatigue or pity before? Jasmine can brace.
For the blast. He Yanks a pump action shotgun
(15:40):
from under the counter and Rakesit back.
With a practiced flick, he raises the barrel.
Aims at Jasmine. Her knees buckle.
Sure. This.
Is the end. But he hesitates.
Then. Lowers the barrel.
By inches. He says.
Go. Jasmine snaps.
Out of paralysis. She lunges to Darius's side,
(16:01):
kneeling in spilled milk and torn lottery.
Tickets. His breaths.
Come shallow rapid iron metallicin her nose she.
Rips at his. Shirt pressing down on the
wound. Don't.
You can't. Don't.
Die, she hisses, voice raw. He tries a smile trembling.
Told you we'd make history, huh?Sirens wail in the distance,
(16:25):
growing louder, closer. Jasmine glances up.
No gun insight. The clerk talking quietly into a
phone behind the counter. She shifts her weight.
Presses harder on Darius's wound, counting each second.
His eyelids flutter. Run Jazz, he murmurs.
She shakes her head, tears bright as.
(16:46):
Splintered glass. Her chest hammers, the bell in
her ears, the sirens in her blood.
She remembers the garden shed 10years.
Ago the sticky. Candy.
Their childish laughter. We're invisible, but they were
never unseen. The world watches.
The world never forgets. The sirens crescendo.
(17:08):
Jasmine stays. She's not running.
She's not invisible. Not anymore.
And that's where we'll leave youfor now.
Right at that. Pivotal moment where everything
changes for Jasmine. But trust me, that's just the
beginning of her incredible journey from the streets to
salvation. If you want to know what happens
(17:29):
next and you, absolutely. Do go get your free copy of God.
'S hands a no. Tears for Black Girls story by
JC Reedberg. Right now on Amazon Kindle,
remember it's completely free until September 10th and free
with Kindle Unlimited after that.
And if this story moved you the way it moved me?
Please take 2. Seconds to leave a.
(17:50):
Five Star Review It helps other people discover these powerful
stories. That need to be told now.
As promised, here's something extra.
Special you just heard. Jasmine's story.
But what you're about to hear? Is her transformation.
This. Is God's hands by dot?
'S hot. Featuring Jada.
(18:10):
Truth, the artist. That Jasmine becomes.
This track will be. Featured on our upcoming No
Tears. For black girls.
Volume 1 compilation You can find this song right now on
SoundCloud, YouTube, and all oursocial media channels.
Links are in our bio. Before we go.
(18:30):
Remember every black. Girl has a.
Story worth telling, a strength worth celebrating, and a voice
worth hearing. Don't let anyone convince.
You otherwise stay loved, stay blessed.
And stay safe. This is Samantha Paul, and we'll
see you next time on No Tears. For black girls.
(19:00):
Sometimes when you've got. Nowhere to go and nobody to turn
to you Find out who. Really got you when you got
nothing left. To lose.
And the. Word on turning back on you.
That's when you. Find out what's true.
(19:25):
Hands got me, got me, got me. When no one don't want me, hold
me, God's hands hold me, hold me.
When the devil tried to own me, hold me, God 's.
Hands. God's hands.
That's who really understands hands.
Hands. God's hands got me when I.
(19:47):
Couldn't stand in years. Cold concrete, my bed where you
sleep warm food dreams dancing in my head.
What you need East Oakland nights in the national spread
Where you from Mama go home. Listen daddy, go to birth.
Foster home spell me left questioning my birth desperation
whispers got my thinking. Wow $20 bills for what makes me
a child. Virginity traded for roof and
(20:08):
something. Oh the creditors circling young
flesh. They see gas station bathroom
fluorescent light flickers. There shows a girl, but the pain
runs thicker. Nasty ever streak in heaven.
Why God, if you're real, why youlet me cry.
Aunt Keisha's Honda pull into the curb.
Baby girl, come home. Let love be your bird.
(20:30):
First warm meal, first clean sheets in weeks.
He knows First time I felt God. When my spirit speaks.
I hear you. God's hands got.
Me got me got. Me when the world won't me.
Won't me my hands holy, holy, holy.
The devil tried to own me. God.
That's who really understand God.
(20:58):
God. God, there, it's been my eighth
since 2nd grade recess. Now he's 17.
He's preaching about some success.
Easy lick J, just be the lookout.
The same 711 robbery, but my soul filled with doubt.
The mass tight, adrenaline pumping fast, Gina's bounce, but
the moment can pass. Clerk duck low.
(21:19):
Derry's finger got nervous now, my childhood homie breathing on
the surface, Chrome barrel pointed at my trembling frame,
froze like a statue, couldn't even say his name.
Old man's hands shaking, tears in his eyes.
And you right now, but God hearsyour cry.
Thank the universe child. God got your back.
Leave my store now. Get your life on track.
(21:41):
Garry's blood pooling on the linoleum.
Flo. That night I prayed like I never
prayed before. Three years later, still sending
(22:11):
money to his Mama. Baby girl born never met her
daddy's drama. Lil Grace got his eyes smile his
chin to convince the Mama to name after my sin.
Every month I send what I can spend because everything here
but see he can't guilt eating atme like cancer in my chest.
Sometimes I wonder if death willbring me breasts.
(22:33):
Part of me wishes I went with him that night, part of me
curious about that eternal life.If I spoke up more.
Would he still be breathing if Ipulled him back when we both be
leaving? What?
To be sincere, since he ain't here.
I shed invisible tears crystal clear, his soul resting in God's
mighty hands. The same hair strong enough to
(22:54):
crush Satan's plants. Look in the mirror.
I see her. I've kissed myself for choosing
fervent destruction. Since that.
Night I've been listening, calling.
God has caught me when I was falling.
Never let go. Every star tells the.
Story of survival. I'm still here.
Every tear was a prayer for revival.
(23:16):
Me knew. From the streets to the.
Station. From the pain.
To the light. Your pants told every pain.
Everything's going. To be OK.
Grace Running. Round calling me Auntie J, you
lie. Darius lives on in a different
way. God's hands got me, got me when
(23:36):
the world will want me for me. God's hands hold me for me.
When the Devil. Tried to own me, on me, my
hands, God. 18 Now scars tell my story, but
(24:07):
God's hands held me, gave me glory.
From the streets to the stage, from the pain to the light.
Jerry's watching over me. Everything's all right.
Little grace got us now I got his memory.
God's hands got us all. That's my testimony.
Welcome back to NO. Tears for Black Girls, the
podcast. Where we not only do true crime,
but. Also celebrate the.
Strength, resilience, and untoldstories of black women
everywhere. I'm your host, Samantha Paul.
Today is a very. Special bonus episode.
Because we're stepping. Away from our usual true crime
(00:23):
format to bring you something completely different, an
exclusive preview of a brand newnovelette written by our.
Show's creator JC Reedberg The book is called God's.
Hands a no. Tears for black girls story.
And while it's fiction. It feels as.
Real and raw, as any true crime case we've.
(00:43):
Covered, it tells the powerful. Story of Jasmine, a young black
woman surviving on the streets of Oakland who experiences a
moment of divine intervention that changes.
Her life forever. This isn't just St. fiction,
this is a testament to how mercycan break.
Cycles of. Violence and transform lives in
(01:04):
just a few minutes. I'm going to read you the.
Entire first chapter. And trust me, you're going to be
hooked from the very first line.But first let me tell you.
How you can get this book absolutely free?
Right now, God's hands is. Available as a.
Free download exclusively on Amazon Kindle until September
10th. After that, it remains free with
(01:26):
your Kindle Unlimited subscription if.
You love what? You hear today, and I know.
You will please. Show some love.
With a 5 star. Rating and review.
And here's something extra special at the end of.
Today's episode. We'll preview the song inspired
by this. Book.
It's called God's hands. By dat's hot.
(01:48):
Featuring Jada Truth. Who?
Is actually the transformed version of our main character.
You can find it on SoundCloud, YouTube, and all our social
media channels right now, so getcomfortable.
Because. We're about to take you on a
journey through the streets of Oakland into a moment where
God's hands intervene in the most unexpected.
Way here's chapter. One of God's hands, A no tears.
(02:12):
For black girls. Story Chapter 1.
Ghost Ride. Jasmine wakes to the grind of
her cheek on raw concrete, sweatmatting her skin in the pre dawn
chill. Above her.
The ceiling gapes. Like a battlefield.
Wooden beams exposed like splintered ribs.
(02:32):
She blinks through the blue gloom and sees the bone white
walls. Scrawled with layer.
Upon layer of. Graffiti tags.
Threats, crude cartoons and there in faded blue spray paint.
RIP Marshawn Chavis, you're in God's hands.
Spray painted testimonies to 100sleepless Nights.
Cold seeps up her legs. And her thigh burns with the
(02:55):
ache of last night's. Bruises, she flexes.
Free one hand, feeling her. Backpack's zipper.
A small. Relief that it's still hers.
She rolls onto her side, hugs her knees and fishes out her
battered Samsung. No new messages.
Just Darius's last text sleep light.
(03:15):
Meet up tomorrow. Hunger knots her stomach.
But thirst is sharper. She shakes the lone water
bottle, only a throat tickling. Rattle of backwash.
She tips it to her lips, tastingdust, plastic.
And a. Flicker of copper like old
blood. A burnt spoon lies near her
(03:36):
shoe. She kicks it aside.
Stay sharp, jazz. Never too tired, too hungry too.
Soft the air. Is a weapon here, Urine rotting,
insulation, chemical haze from the paint.
She stands, joints cracking, then stills.
At a soft. Clatter beyond the broken
windows. Clutching her pack, she creeps
(03:57):
to the. Sill International Ave. is a
rumor, a single bus. Squeaks.
By empty save for one man asleepin the back in the alley, two
men in. Puffy jackets argue over a dirt
bike. One missing 3 fingers.
The other. Scratching at a.
Plastic wrapped wrist. No sign of.
Darius she. Scans for surprises, heart
(04:20):
tightening with a memory. The stairwell off. 59th 6 months
ago. His hand at her throat.
Wild Turkey breath. Hot against her ear, the small
animal sound she made still burns inside her.
Footsteps. Skip down the hall, She spins,
fist raised. But Darius?
Slips into the doorway, palms up, grinning like an idiot.
(04:42):
Yo, don't swing, I come in. Peace she.
Lowers her hand. You're late, He.
Shrugs under his. Hoodie cops swept the block.
Messed my timing but I got a plan.
You always do. She notes his wet shoes, mud
crusted knees. He's wired on something,
(05:04):
security cams dead for months. He steps in, eyes flicking
around 711 off. Foothill Quick Lick, old school
clerk. Won't.
Fight. He produces 2 balaclavas.
Black and Navy. Like party favors?
Jasmine studies the masks, then her empty bottle, then the few
(05:25):
coins hidden in her sock. She wants to refuse.
But her mother? 'S voice coils in her head.
You don't eat, you don't breathe.
She exhales. All right.
Quick, in and out, no lingering.Darius beams.
In and out, Promise. He fades down the stairs.
Jasmine let's her. Chest, relax.
(05:47):
She doesn't trust him, trusts only the plan.
The pulse. The need The sun's half risen,
but international still sleeps under long shadows that cling
like fear. Jasmine and Darius stick to the
margins, feet crunching glass. As they weave past busted bus
stops. And drifting trash.
Last night's rain has smeared everything.
(06:09):
Colors. Edges.
The thin line between danger andwhatever.
Passes for safe. Jasmine clutches her.
Pack knuckles, white eyes. Flicking over every.
Face for cops. Or anyone who might remember the
angle of her jaw. Traffic on the main drag roils
around them a. Slurry.
Of idling engines, weed smoke, old grease and damp cardboard a
(06:33):
woman in. Scrubs shuffles past.
Head down, earbuds sealing her off, Darius leans.
Close voice, low. Bet she's.
Carrying at least 20, Jasmine says nothing and lifts her.
Boot over a bloated. Rat in the gutter.
It's tail still. Quivering at the next corner,
they halt. A white van drifts by, windows
(06:55):
caked. With dust Darius.
Murmurs half. Chant half.
Plea. After this we disappear.
Lay low in San Leandro, maybe even see the ocean.
You ever seen the real Pacific? Jazz every word.
Stokes her anxiety. Upward, she forces out.
We do this clean, one slip up and we're both dead.
(07:18):
His grin is too sharp. I know I got you yet.
His thumb drums on his thigh andhis jaw twitches in the
lamplight. They veer behind the.
Taco Truck Depot. Into the flea market, fringe
vendors haul tarps and crates, chain smoke and shout over trap
beats. Darius nods at an old man behind
(07:40):
a folding table, half his teeth missing.
Gloves. Ski masks, Sunglasses fanned out
the vendor. Eyes the parked.
Cruiser then tucks. His lips together 2 black
balaclavas, Darius says. 10 bucks for both 15.
The man grunts, sizing up Jasmine, his muscle.
(08:02):
She counts out greasy. Bills, they slip.
Away with two masks rolled into a sandwich.
Bag Darius. Conceals his inside.
His sleeve. A horn blares.
Jasmine's skin crawls. She's yanked into a memory, a
mattress in a windowless room, her voice strangled.
By fear bleach. Stinging her nostrils, the vent
(08:22):
rattling overhead. She's 17, already spent.
Door crashes open. Aunt Keisha stands framed in
chaos, arms crossed. Storm cloud face.
You don't belong. Here, she'd said.
Scooping Jasmine up and wrappingher in a denim jacket that
smelled of cocoa butter and cheap.
Soap the 1st. Good smell in a.
(08:42):
Year, the scrape of a shopping. Cart pulls her.
Back they slip. Into an alley.
Scrawled with tags too sick loco.
Misdemeanor. Darius paces.
Spinning an unlit cigarette, Jasmine leans against damp
brick. Heart pounding, he finally
speaks and clipped breaths. We hit just.
(09:04):
Before shift change, old man behind the counter freaks at
masked. Black kids.
I'll wave the burner keeps him pinned.
You clear the register, we bolt the back door.
Cross the. Tracks dump everything in the
Creek by 20 3rd St. Silence stretches.
Jasmine watches him count Bricks123.
(09:27):
Her pulse echoes. You sure?
She asks. He stops the cigarette spin.
Yeah, no cameras until the alley.
His voice is. Steady, but his hand trembles.
You remember the safe code 7-4-1dash?
Zero, he says. Same as last.
Week. She closes her eyes.
(09:50):
Last job He. Puked twice and almost left his
phone behind. She did all the work.
You keep picking him even when you know better, because he
stayed when nobody. Else did.
Because nobody. Else ever will.
She rehearses the plan. Entry, countdown, exit.
They can't fuck up, not now. Darius pulls his mask down.
(10:13):
Breath. Fogs the fabric.
He grins in the dim. Light, we're ghosts.
She lets a thin smile slip, adrenaline dulling the.
Dread. She pulls hers over her.
Face sudden. Hush, the world reduced to two.
Slits of vision and her poundingbreath, they press into the
shadows and slip onto the street.
(10:35):
Let's get paid. Darius whispers.
They slosh across the muddy lot.Each.
Footfall sucking cold sludge onto their sneakers.
Last night's rain clings and thick, oily clumps.
Up ahead, the 711 crouches undera flickering neon sign with one
letter dark. It's grimy windows reflecting
(10:57):
distorted St. lamps. The automatic.
Doors shutter as if afraid to. Open.
Jasmine feels the masks rigid curve against her cheek.
Every exhale fogs the plastic. Darius glides ahead, shoulders
low. One hand tucked into his sleeve.
10 years ago, they sprinted the same block, she clutching stolen
(11:19):
candy, he knocking over a magazine rack, heart pounding
with the rush of being unseen. We're invisible, he'd whispered.
Now she's older, steel in her spine.
This is no petty. Theft.
Tonight, they stake everything on one gamble.
Erase the past or die. Under its weight.
(11:39):
A delivery truck idle at the curb, hisses through its
exhaust. Jasmine nods.
At the drivers watchful eyes. Then ducks behind a drooping
display of roses. Pressing her damp palms to her
jeans, Darius makes a. Slow circle, a soft hiss of a.
Whistle under his breath. She counts distant noises, a
freeway rumble, birds squabblingon overhead.
(12:01):
Wires. Muted laughter from a parked.
Car. None of it matters.
She has tunnel vision. The store's entrance.
He slides back into view and inclines his head inside.
Only the old clerk perches behind the counter, hunched like
a tired Sentinel. Go time.
Darius murmurs. Jasmine's throat tightens, Her
(12:24):
mouth turns to dust. She exhales once, careful,
silent, and they step. Through the doors together the
bell. Emits A jarring shriek.
Jasmine drifts down the narrow aisle.
Toward the frosted cooler. Keeping her shoulders.
Loose. Her gaze casual.
Every overhead light buzzes. Every hum of refrigeration
(12:45):
presses against her. Skull Darius strides to the
register. Chin lifted mask.
Pulled high. The clerk looks up.
No startle, just slow, Precise. Calculation.
He's seen this before, Jasmine thinks, heart stuttering.
Darius raises. The gun open the register now.
(13:07):
His voice booms, cracking at theedge like a snapped wire.
Silence thickens. The clerk stays stoic.
Watching Darius's trembling hand, then glancing toward
Jasmine's frozen silhouette, he simply waits.
Calm as stone. The refrigerator's wine swells,
(13:28):
drowning out Darius's next words.
Jasmine catches fragments. Fast.
Don't fuck around, nobody wants to die.
Time fractures. Jasmine's eyes flick to the
candy display. Blue and white sunflower.
Seeds. Teetering on the.
Edge. She tastes.
Vertigo. Then the clerk moves with
(13:50):
deliberate slowness, reaches under the counter, and with one
smooth motion pushes the drawer open.
There's a metallic. Clack that echoes like a.
Starting gun. Darius stares at the fanned
bills as if he's forgotten what money feels like in his hand.
Her skin prickles. This isn't right.
A sudden ring of the doorbell. Jasmine whips around.
(14:13):
A man in a fluorescent construction vest stumbles
inside, nearly tripping over therubber mat.
His eyes. Widen at the sight of the gun,
the masks, the rigid tension in Jasmine's stance.
For a breath. Too long, none of them moves.
Darius's voice cracks the air. Get back, Get the fuck back, he
(14:36):
levels. The pistol at the newcomer panic
coils. Through his words.
His finger tightens on the trigger.
The shot rings out. Unplanned, A primal.
Reflex the bullet. Slams into a.
Rack of lottery. Scratchers sending cardboard
shards spraying like confetti. Jasmine dives behind the
coolers. A storm of dust and gunpowder
(14:57):
fills her nose somewhere behind her.
There's a wet. Sickening thump.
Darius keels over. Clutching his belly, pants
blooming red. Shit, he wheezes.
Jazz. Shit, he collapses.
To one knee, then slumps fully to the floor.
The gun skitters just out of reach Jasmine's legs.
(15:18):
Lock. She stares down at him.
His fingers tremble against the wound, blood pooling beneath
him. The world tilts, the clerk's
face blacks with fury. Then flickers to something else.
Fatigue or pity before? Jasmine can brace.
For the blast. He Yanks a pump action shotgun
(15:40):
from under the counter and Rakesit back.
With a practiced flick, he raises the barrel.
Aims at Jasmine. Her knees buckle.
Sure. This.
Is the end. But he hesitates.
Then. Lowers the barrel.
By inches. He says.
Go. Jasmine snaps.
Out of paralysis. She lunges to Darius's side,
(16:01):
kneeling in spilled milk and torn lottery.
Tickets. His breaths.
Come shallow rapid iron metallicin her nose she.
Rips at his. Shirt pressing down on the
wound. Don't.
You can't. Don't.
Die, she hisses, voice raw. He tries a smile trembling.
Told you we'd make history, huh?Sirens wail in the distance,
(16:25):
growing louder, closer. Jasmine glances up.
No gun insight. The clerk talking quietly into a
phone behind the counter. She shifts her weight.
Presses harder on Darius's wound, counting each second.
His eyelids flutter. Run Jazz, he murmurs.
She shakes her head, tears bright as.
(16:46):
Splintered glass. Her chest hammers, the bell in
her ears, the sirens in her blood.
She remembers the garden shed 10years.
Ago the sticky. Candy.
Their childish laughter. We're invisible, but they were
never unseen. The world watches.
The world never forgets. The sirens crescendo.
(17:08):
Jasmine stays. She's not running.
She's not invisible. Not anymore.
And that's where we'll leave youfor now.
Right at that. Pivotal moment where everything
changes for Jasmine. But trust me, that's just the
beginning of her incredible journey from the streets to
salvation. If you want to know what happens
(17:29):
next and you, absolutely. Do go get your free copy of God.
'S hands a no. Tears for Black Girls story by
JC Reedberg. Right now on Amazon Kindle,
remember it's completely free until September 10th and free
with Kindle Unlimited after that.
And if this story moved you the way it moved me?
Please take 2. Seconds to leave a.
(17:50):
Five Star Review It helps other people discover these powerful
stories. That need to be told now.
As promised, here's something extra.
Special you just heard. Jasmine's story.
But what you're about to hear? Is her transformation.
This. Is God's hands by dot?
'S hot. Featuring Jada.
(18:10):
Truth, the artist. That Jasmine becomes.
This track will be. Featured on our upcoming No
Tears. For black girls.
Volume 1 compilation You can find this song right now on
SoundCloud, YouTube, and all oursocial media channels.
Links are in our bio. Before we go.
(18:30):
Remember every black. Girl has a.
Story worth telling, a strength worth celebrating, and a voice
worth hearing. Don't let anyone convince.
You otherwise stay loved, stay blessed.
And stay safe. This is Samantha Paul, and we'll
see you next time on No Tears. For black girls.
(19:00):
Sometimes when you've got. Nowhere to go and nobody to turn
to you Find out who. Really got you when you got
nothing left. To lose.
And the. Word on turning back on you.
That's when you. Find out what's true.
(19:25):
Hands got me, got me, got me. When no one don't want me, hold
me, God's hands hold me, hold me.
When the devil tried to own me, hold me, God 's.
Hands. God's hands.
That's who really understands hands.
Hands. God's hands got me when I.
(19:47):
Couldn't stand in years. Cold concrete, my bed where you
sleep warm food dreams dancing in my head.
What you need East Oakland nights in the national spread
Where you from Mama go home. Listen daddy, go to birth.
Foster home spell me left questioning my birth desperation
whispers got my thinking. Wow $20 bills for what makes me
a child. Virginity traded for roof and
(20:08):
something. Oh the creditors circling young
flesh. They see gas station bathroom
fluorescent light flickers. There shows a girl, but the pain
runs thicker. Nasty ever streak in heaven.
Why God, if you're real, why youlet me cry.
Aunt Keisha's Honda pull into the curb.
Baby girl, come home. Let love be your bird.
(20:30):
First warm meal, first clean sheets in weeks.
He knows First time I felt God. When my spirit speaks.
I hear you. God's hands got.
Me got me got. Me when the world won't me.
Won't me my hands holy, holy, holy.
The devil tried to own me. God.
That's who really understand God.
(20:58):
God. God, there, it's been my eighth
since 2nd grade recess. Now he's 17.
He's preaching about some success.
Easy lick J, just be the lookout.
The same 711 robbery, but my soul filled with doubt.
The mass tight, adrenaline pumping fast, Gina's bounce, but
the moment can pass. Clerk duck low.
(21:19):
Derry's finger got nervous now, my childhood homie breathing on
the surface, Chrome barrel pointed at my trembling frame,
froze like a statue, couldn't even say his name.
Old man's hands shaking, tears in his eyes.
And you right now, but God hearsyour cry.
Thank the universe child. God got your back.
Leave my store now. Get your life on track.
(21:41):
Garry's blood pooling on the linoleum.
Flo. That night I prayed like I never
prayed before. Three years later, still sending
(22:11):
money to his Mama. Baby girl born never met her
daddy's drama. Lil Grace got his eyes smile his
chin to convince the Mama to name after my sin.
Every month I send what I can spend because everything here
but see he can't guilt eating atme like cancer in my chest.
Sometimes I wonder if death willbring me breasts.
(22:33):
Part of me wishes I went with him that night, part of me
curious about that eternal life.If I spoke up more.
Would he still be breathing if Ipulled him back when we both be
leaving? What?
To be sincere, since he ain't here.
I shed invisible tears crystal clear, his soul resting in God's
mighty hands. The same hair strong enough to
(22:54):
crush Satan's plants. Look in the mirror.
I see her. I've kissed myself for choosing
fervent destruction. Since that.
Night I've been listening, calling.
God has caught me when I was falling.
Never let go. Every star tells the.
Story of survival. I'm still here.
Every tear was a prayer for revival.
(23:16):
Me knew. From the streets to the.
Station. From the pain.
To the light. Your pants told every pain.
Everything's going. To be OK.
Grace Running. Round calling me Auntie J, you
lie. Darius lives on in a different
way. God's hands got me, got me when
(23:36):
the world will want me for me. God's hands hold me for me.
When the Devil. Tried to own me, on me, my
hands, God. 18 Now scars tell my story, but
(24:07):
God's hands held me, gave me glory.
From the streets to the stage, from the pain to the light.
Jerry's watching over me. Everything's all right.
Little grace got us now I got his memory.
God's hands got us all. That's my testimony.
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