OurWorld Chronicles : By Lovon Parham

© Copyright by Lovon Parham, 2025All Rights ReservedNo portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.The stories, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products are intended or should be inferred.

The Leap

The sky above the city’s tallest building pressed down on Cortex, heavy and gray. The air carried the scent of rain, car exhaust, and hot pretzels from a vendor on the corner. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, fingertips brushing a lighter he hadn’t used in months. A crumpled pack of gum sat in his chest pocket.

Some habits die hard—others, even harder to live without. The building’s glass doors reflected his distorted figure, the empty street behind him, and the looming sky above. A deep breath. The face staring back didn’t look ready, but ready didn’t matter. He pushed through the doors. Inside, the marble lobby stretched wide, cold as a mausoleum.

At the front desk, Security Officer Richards nursed a steaming cup of coffee, eyes sharp as ever. “What’s your business, kid?” No pleasantries, just suspicion. “Need to get to the roof.” Richards raised a brow.

“Restricted. What’s up there for you?” “Just… the view.” Cortex forced a steady voice, but the slight quaver betrayed him. Richards snorted.

“Go to City Tower’s observation deck. Now turn around before I have to get serious.” The vial in Cortex’s pocket warmed against his leg. He had nurtured this secret for months, a final gamble. No turning back.

As Richards glanced at his monitor, Cortex bolted. “Hey!” The guard’s shout rang through the lobby, coffee splattering as he shot up from his chair. Cortex hit the stairwell, legs burning as he took the steps two at a time. Footsteps pounded behind him. He didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop. The echoes of judgment chased him harder than Richards ever could. You’re a disappointment, Cortex. You’ll never measure up. His father’s voice rang in his head, razor-sharp.

Scientists, all of them. Perfection, all they knew. A single failed test shattered everything. The silence at dinner, the way his father had looked at him that day—less than what they wanted, less than what they needed. Fiftieth floor. His lungs screamed.

His body shook. He shoved open the rooftop door, and the city exploded before him in lights and motion. The wind roared in his ears. Richards burst through seconds later, breathless. “Kid, whatever you’re thinking—don’t.”

Cortex turned, the vial now in his hand. It pulsed with a faint glow. “They said I’d never be good enough. They’ll see.” Richards stepped forward, cautious.

“This won’t solve anything. Just step back.” Cortex smiled. “For science.” He uncorked the vial and downed the contents.

It burned, metallic and sharp. His stomach lurched, but he swallowed every drop. Then he ran. Richards lunged—too late. Cortex leaped. For a heartbeat, he was weightless.

Free. Then gravity seized him. Wind howled; city lights streaked past. Fear clawed at him. Then—impact.

A sickening crack. Bones shattered. Pain—blinding, raw. The world dimmed. Then his heart thumped.

A surge of energy. Bones knitted. Skin sealed. His lungs dragged in air. Gasps rippled through the growing crowd.

Above, Richards stared from the rooftop, mouth slack. Cortex sat up. Dusted himself off. Smiled. “I told you; He called up.

“They’ll see.” The crowd hesitated, caught between awe and fear. Cortex just stood, stronger than ever. He had made the leap. And he had won.

PAIN OF Sirus

Log 142: The Awakening A sharp, sterile hiss filled the chamber as the cryo pod unsealed. Ice cracked, vapor coiled in the dim emergency lights, and Sirius gasped for air, his lungs burning as if he had been drowning in his own frozen stasis. His body ached—limbs stiff, muscles frail. His mind lagged, lost between dreams and reality. Then, the alarms blared.

A deep, guttural groan echoed through the ship’s hull, metal bending under impossible pressure. Warning lights flickered red, casting jagged shadows across the frost-coated control panels. Struggling to his feet, Sirius grabbed onto the nearest console, blinking through the haze. “GRAVITATIONAL ANOMALY DETECTED
TRAJECTORY: COLLISION COURSE WITH BLACK HOLE.” The words flashed in eerie pulses.

His pulse quickened. "How long have I been out?" He staggered forward, boots slipping against the cold steel floor. The ship's AI should have woken him before things got this bad. Something had gone terribly wrong.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced his body toward the armory. He needed a suit—something, anything—to survive the descent. His fingers brushed across the access panel, but the ship lurched violently, sending him crashing into the bulkhead. Stars exploded behind his eyes. A calm voice, mechanical yet ancient, echoed through the chamber.

"You must synchronize. Or you will die." Sirius spun, breath hitching. A containment unit in the corner flickered to life, revealing a floating black sphere, its core pulsing with eerie blue light. The Orb Suit. It had been experimental classified.

His father had spoken of it only in whispers. He hesitated. Then another warning blared. EVENT HORIZON APPROACHING No time. Sirius lunged forward, pressing his palm against the orb.

The suit moved before he could react, unfolding like liquid metal, slithering across his skin. A searing heat crawled up his spine as the armor fused with his body, embedding itself in his neural pathways. Visions struck him like lightning. His father’s voice. A battle.

Betrayal. The shadow of a murderer. Then—the knowledge came. The ship’s controls, the gravitational calculations, the means to survive. Sirius exhaled; his body no longer weak but renewed—empowered.

The ship groaned again, the black hole’s pull becoming unbearable. He sprinted to the cockpit, overriding the failing thrusters, angling the ship into a last-minute trajectory shift. It wasn’t about escape now—only survival. The ship spiraled, breaking apart in the sheer force of the black hole’s gravity. Fire and debris swallowed the viewports.

Sirius braced, gripping the controls, feeling the Orb Suit enhance his reflexes, his mind pushing beyond human limits. Then impact. Darkness swallowed him whole. Silence. Then, a whisper in his mind. "Wake up, Sirius. We have vengeance to claim." His eyes snapped open. The journey had only just begun.

"804 & Heartbeats"

The laundromat was muggy, loud enough but not too crowded. The hum of the machines mixed with MTV Jams and the occasional obnoxious laugh. I sat on an uncomfortable seat, the floor sticky beneath me, waiting for my clothes to wash—just another cycle in life. The rain outside mirrored my mood, gray and heavy. The air smelled like detergent with a hint of heartbreak.

Then, Erika walked in. Brown-skinned, smart, the type who always had her life together. The room lit up everywhere she moved. We had history—she let me copy notes in high school, but I was the stoner kid who barely graduated. Yet here she was, in my air, as I breathed.

I had to speak to her. I psyched myself up, moved beside her at the dryers, heart racing. Before I could talk, she sat at a table, head down. No backing out now. I tapped her shoulder.

She looked up, serious—then smiled. My heart slowed. I told her she was beautiful, introduced myself. She remembered me, a little. For a moment, there was no laundromat, no dirty clothes—just space, just us.

I pushed forward. "What are you doing after this?"
"Going home!" she said playfully.
"And just to make sure, your name is Erika, right?"
She blushed.

"Yes, you really remember me." I had to go for it. "Can I get your number?"
She countered with, "I’ll give you, my Instagram." I wasn’t settling for that.

I told her I was old school—I text first. She respected it, gave me her number, but something about it sounded off, like a fake mattress commercial. I shot her a look. She shot one back—it’s real. Both our machines beeped.

Reality snapped back, but this time, everything felt lighter. As I packed my clothes, I told her I’d text. She smiled. Walking out, time slowed, the air felt fresh. I walked in broken, left feeling whole. The machine cleaned my clothes. She, somehow, cleaned my soul. God really works in mysterious ways.

Speed Team – Book 1: Tereza Episode 1:

Boot Camp Breakout The boot camp on the outskirts of Righteous was a wasteland of drills, barracks, and endless discipline. Tereza, 17, rebellious and sharp as a blade, stood at the shooting range, effortlessly nailing every target. She could feel the envious eyes of the other cadets burning into her back. "Think she’s better than us," one muttered. "Let’s show her she’s not," another sneered.

They moved in, pushing, taunting. Tereza's pulse spiked. Instinct took over. The air around her crackled, and before she knew it, objects shifted, reshaping into sleek futuristic rifles in her hands. "Stay back!"

she warned. Lasers sliced through the air, missing bodies but hitting enough targets to send the camp into chaos. Whistles blew. Officers shouted. But Tereza was already gone, sprinting toward freedom.

scene2: The Invitation Neon lights painted the streets of Righteous in hues of electric blue and purple. Hover vehicles zipped through the sky, leaving trails of light in their wake.

Tereza moved through the crowd, eyes wide. Above, a race roared through the night—sky bikes teleporting between checkpoints at dizzying speeds. The leader? A cocky rider named Chase, 19, grinning as he crossed the finish line first. As he landed, he tossed a handful of wanted posters into the crowd. "Want to join the Speed Team?

Put in an app!" Tereza caught one, her pulse quickening. This was it. Her next move.

scene3: A Daring Escape The apartment smelled like cheap food and burnt circuits. Chase lounged inside; his teleporting bike parked beside him.

"I want in," Tereza said, stepping forward. "I’ve got skills... and powers." Chase raised an eyebrow. "Show me." Tereza’s fingers twitched. The air shifted.

The old furniture in the room morphed into sleek metallic weapons. Chase smirked, impressed. Then, sirens. "Looks like it’s time for your initiation," Chase said, tossing her a knowing look. The door burst open.

Police officers filled the hallway. "Freeze! You’re surrounded!" Chase didn’t hesitate. He teleported past them, his staff taking down the first wave of cops.

"If you want to join," he called back, "help me get out of here." Tereza's heart pounded. She summoned drones from the air, laser bullets raining down the corridor. They fought through the swarm, dodging, weaving—until they reached the window. One last leap—and they were free.

scene 4: Breaking Out Cyber Beast They landed on a rooftop, catching their breath. "Not bad," Chase admitted. "But we’ve got a problem. One of ours, Cyber Beast, got locked up in a tournament jail." "What did he do?"

Tereza asked. "Blew up some robot cops," Chase shrugged. "Now they’ve got him fighting for sport. Your first mission? Break him out."

No hesitation. "Let’s do it," Tereza said. The tournament jail was more of a war zone—an arena where prisoners were forced into combat. Inside, Cyber Beast, a half-gorilla, half-cyborg warrior, was locked in battle with a T-rex covered in armor plating. "That’s him!" Tereza gasped.

Cyber Beast turned, his mechanical eye glowing. "I got this," he rumbled. A blinding Flash Beam erupted from his head, obliterating the T-rex—and blowing a hole in the wall. The way out.

scene5: The Showdown Outside, alarms blared. The warden of the jail smirked, pressing a button. The ground trembled. "The Speed Team? Finally, I’ve got them!"

From the depths of the prison, massive transformer-like Tank Officers emerged, surrounding the trio. Cyber Beast gritted his teeth. Chase flexed his fingers over his staff. Tereza clenched her fists, preparing for another fight. Then—an explosion. From the smoke, a figure walked forward, flames curling around his boots.

Flair. 25. Leader of the Speed Team. "You call these toys?" he scoffed.

He raised a hand. Snapped his fingers. Half the tanks crumbled to dust. Tereza's eyes widened. "He destroyed all of them?"

she whispered. Flair didn’t even break a sweat. He turned to the warden, casually grabbing gold bars and stacks of cash from his stash. "I’m taking this," he said, whistling. Above them, a massive ship—the Comet—descended, sleek and cloaked in blue energy.

The team boarded, taking off into the night, disappearing from sight. scene 6: Joining the Team The inside of The Comet was unreal—high-tech, futuristic, alive with glowing panels and soft neon lights. Flair leaned back in his chair; eyes sharp as he studied Tereza. "So, Tereza... do you want to join the Speed Team?" The weight of everything hit her. The breakout. The fight. The escape.

And for the first time in a long time—she felt like she belonged. Tereza smiled."Yeah. I’m in."The team shared a look, knowing they had just gained something special. As The Comet sped into the stars, the next adventure awaited.

Meditation The Way of Stillness

The air in the dojo was still, bathed in soft golden light that filtered through the paper windows. The scent of aged wood and incense lingered, a timeless presence within the sacred space. In the center of the room, Sensei Ryu hovered slightly above the polished floor, his legs crossed, his breath steady. His robes barely stirred as he meditated, an image of absolute tranquility. The door slammed open. Kai stormed inside, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, frustration burning in his dark eyes.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white from the tension surging through his body. "Sensei!" he barked, his voice raw with frustration. "How do you do it? How do you stay so calm all the time?"

Sensei Ryu did not stir immediately. Instead, he took a slow, measured breath before allowing his eyes to open. They were deep pools of wisdom, seeing through Kai’s anger rather than reacting to it. With a fluid motion, he lowered himself gently to the ground and motioned for Kai to sit. "Calm is not something you simply ‘do,’ Kai," the old master said, his voice quiet but strong.

"It is something you must learn to be." Kai hesitated, his frustration still bubbling beneath the surface, but he dropped down onto the wooden floor, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "I don’t get it. I try, but every time something goes wrong, I just… I lose it!"

Sensei Ryu studied him carefully, his expression unreadable. Then, with the same quiet certainty, he spoke. "Anger is like fire, Kai. It can either warm you… or consume you. The choice is yours."

Kai frowned, his brows furrowing. He hated when Sensei spoke in riddles. "But how?" he demanded. "How do I control it?"

Instead of answering, Sensei Ryu simply closed his eyes once more, settling into his meditative posture. "Close your eyes, Kai. Breathe. Focus on the air entering and leaving your body." Kai let out an irritated sigh but followed the command.

He shut his eyes, drawing in a slow breath. The dojo fell into deep silence, broken only by their synchronized breathing. "Feel your anger," Sensei Ryu’s voice guided him, "but do not cling to it. Let it pass through you, like the wind." For a moment, Kai felt it the calm, the stillness, the weightlessness of simply existing.

His shoulders loosened; his mind cleared. He could almost grasp it. Then, like a dagger to the gut, a memory shot through his mind. The mission. The failure.

The weight of disappointment. The fire inside him flared once again. His eyes snapped open, frustration twisting his features. "I can’t do it!" he spat.

"Every time I try, it just comes back!" Sensei Ryu opened his eyes, watching his student with patience. There was no disappointment in his gaze, no reprimand. Only understanding. "It is not about never feeling anger, Kai," he said gently.

"It is about learning to let go of it when it no longer serves you." Kai stared at him, struggling to wrap his mind around the idea. Could it really be that simple? He hesitated, then shut his eyes again. This time, he didn’t fight the anger.

He let it rise within him like a wave—but instead of holding onto it, instead of letting it drown him, he allowed it to pass. He let it fade. He breathed in, and with every exhale, the fire inside him cooled. The silence in the dojo deepened. The world around him blurred.

His body felt lighter, unshackled from the storm within. Then something incredible happened. Kai felt himself rising. A breath caught in his throat as he realized—he was floating. His body, weightless, hovered just above the wooden floor. A sense of peace washed over him, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His eyes fluttered open, wide with awe.

"I’m… doing it," he whispered. Sensei Ryu, still grounded, watched with a knowing smile. "You see, Kai," he said, "the power to control your anger lies within you. It always has." Kai slowly drifted back down, his feet touching the ground once more. But he was no longer the same.

The fire inside him no longer controlled him—it was his to command. He turned to Sensei Ryu and bowed deeply. "Thank you, Sensei," he said, his voice steady. "I… I understand now."

Sensei Ryu nodded, his eyes filled with quiet pride. "Remember, Kai," he said, "the true strength of a ninja is not in his ability to fight, but in his ability to master himself." Kai held onto those words as he stepped out of the dojo, his heart lighter than it had been in years. Outside, the sun shone a little brighter, The End.

Belly: The Early Days A Fan Fiction Short Story

Harlem, 1986 The summer heat in Harlem was relentless. Radios blasted from open windows, sneakers swung from power lines, and the block never slept. On the corner, kids played dice, but two young hustlers sat on the stoop, watching the world move. Tommy "Bunz" Gibbs, twelve years old, full fro with a fresh Caesar cut, always looking sharp leaned forward, flicking a bottle cap into the street.Beside him, Sincere, or Sin, sat quiet, always thinking, always calculating.

Bunz was fire, all action, while Sin was water, calm but deep. "Yo, Sin, you ever think about what we gon’ be when we grow up?" Bunz asked, cracking his knuckles. Sin exhaled slowly. "Yeah... but not like you do. I don’t just wanna be ‘somebody’ on the block.

I wanna be bigger than this." Bunz laughed, shaking his head. "Man, you sound like an old head. We just kids." Sin smirked. "Yeah, but one day we won’t be."

The Hustle Begins That summer, they made their first real move. It started small, stealing candy from the corner store and flipping it at school. Nothing big, just a taste. But Bunz? He wanted more. One day, he pulled Sin aside. His eyes burned with that same fire he always had.

"Yo, I heard Big Lou runnin’ numbers out the barbershop. If we handle runs for him, we can stack real money." Sin frowned. "Numbers? That’s real street shit, Bunz.

We twelve." "Twelve, thirteen what’s the difference? We gotta start sometime." Sin knew Bunz was reckless, but he also knew he wasn’t wrong. They started running for Big Lou.

Dropping off envelopes, picking up cash. Early mornings, late nights. Bunz thrived in the rush. Sin? He played it cool, blending in, keeping low.

Until one night, everything changed. The Lesson They were cutting through an alley after a run when a group of older boys stepped out of the shadows. "Where y’all lil’ hustlers goin’?" Bunz tensed. Sin knew it was bad.

These dudes were at least sixteen, and one had a blade. "We ain’t lookin’ for trouble," Sin said carefully. "Yeah? Too bad trouble lookin’ for you." One of them snatched Bunz’s envelope, ripping it open. That’s when Bunz lost it. He lunged, swinging. Sin jumped in, throwing a punch that barely connected before he felt a hard fist crack against his jaw. They were outnumbered. The fight was quick, ugly, and ended with them laid out, pockets empty. When they finally got up, bruised and breathless, Sin expected Bunz to be pissed. But Bunz just laughed, wiping blood from his lip. "We gon’ get ‘em back, Sin. Just wait." Sin, still aching, shook his head. "This ain’t the move, man. I want money, not beef." Bunz smirked. "Sometimes, they the same thing."

The Beginning of the End That was the moment things changed. Bunz only got hungrier. He wanted respect, power, feared nobody. Sin? He still wanted out. He saw the bigger picture how the streets didn’t love nobody. Years later, when they were grown and making real moves, Sin would look back at that summer and realize that was the moment their paths split. But back then? They were just two kids trying to survive Harlem. And that was only the beginning.

Lovon Parham is the creator of OurWorldEnt.com, a platform for digital storytelling and creative content. He has a passion for blending urban culture, sci-fi, and action-packed narratives. Website: [https://www.ourworldent.com] Social Media -https://www.linkedin.com/in/lovon-parham-35302134b/

Dedicated to Leanna Parham, My world, before it all.