Mic Check

Being broke wasn't a struggle. It was a lifestyle. My name is KJ Reid.

I was sixteen years old and living in a one-bedroom apartment with my mom and three younger siblings. The walls were thin, the fridge was empty half the time, and the sound of sirens outside the window was just background noise at this point.

Mom worked two jobs—cleaning office buildings during the day, flipping burgers at night. She was barely home, barely slept, barely had time to breathe. And even with all that work, the bills stacked up like a mountain we could never climb.

I knew one thing for sure: I wasn't about to live like this forever.

Some kids in my hood turned to hustling. Others hooped, hoping to make it big. Me? I had my words.

I wasn't the biggest. I wasn't the strongest. But I could spit. I could tell a story, make people feel something. I spent nights on YouTube, studying the greats—Pac, Nas, Hov, Wayne—breaking down every bar, every cadence. I wrote rhymes in my school notebooks, on scrap paper, even on my arm when I ran out of space.

But writing wasn't enough. If I wanted to make it, I had to prove myself.

That's why I was here.

Standing under dim lights at The Dungeon, a hole-in-the-wall rap battle spot where legends were born or buried.

And right now, I was about to get buried.

The crowd was packed in tight, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and anticipation. The host, a tall dude with shades and a gold tooth, held up the mic.

"Ayy, y'all ready for this next battle?"

Cheers. Laughter. A few boos from the back, just for the hell of it.

I swallowed hard, my hands sweaty as I gripped the mic. Across from me stood Blaze, a local beast. He was eighteen, tall, confident, and undefeated. His crew stood behind him, hyping him up before the battle even started.

"Look at this lil' dude," Blaze smirked. "Y'all really got me battling a high school kid?"

Laughter. I clenched my jaw.

I couldn't afford to be scared. I had spent weeks preparing, practicing, making sure my flow was tight. This was my shot to prove I belonged.

The host flipped a coin. Blaze won.

"Aight, my guy Blaze goin' first."

The beat dropped. Slow, menacing. Blaze stepped forward, confidence dripping off him. He didn't even hesitate.

"Man, this kid look hungry—somebody get him a plate,

But he ain't eatin' tonight, not when Blaze in the place.

Tryna step up to me? Bro, that's a disgrace,

You ain't makin' it out—somebody dig him a grave."

The crowd erupted.

Blaze paced in front of me, eyes locked on mine like a predator playing with his food.

"Your shoes dusty, your fit weak, you broke as hell,

Talkin' 'bout bein' a rapper? Bro, that ship done sailed.

You ain't got no mic skills, you ain't got no clout,

Only time they say your name is when the garbage get took out."

Cheers. Laughter. A couple dudes slapped hands in the back, shaking their heads.

Blaze leaned in, voice low but sharp as a blade.

"Pack it up, lil' man. This game ain't for you."

I felt my heartbeat in my ears. My fingers tightened around the mic.

This was it. My turn.

The host nodded at me. "Aight, let's see what the kid got."

The beat kept rolling. I took a deep breath, stepped up, opened my mouth—

And nothing came out.

My mind went blank.

Everything I had practiced, everything I had written, gone. Just static in my head.

The silence stretched too long. The crowd started whispering. Then laughing.

I heard someone yell, "Spit something, man! Damn!"

But I couldn't.

I stood there, frozen, with every second feeling like a nail in my coffin.

Blaze smirked, leaning back. He didn't even have to try.

I lost before I even started.

The host shook his head. "Damn. Aight, that's it. Blaze wins."

The crowd clapped and cheered. Not for me. Never for me.

I turned, my face hot with embarrassment, and pushed my way through the bodies, heading for the door.

I had dreamed about this moment for years.

And now I wished it never happened.

The walk home felt longer than usual.

Every step echoed the words Blaze had thrown at me. Every streetlight seemed to flicker in time.

I began to have seconds thoughts after walking home if I give up here now I'll never become one of the greats.

Turning back around I made my way back to the dungeon.