A 22 jump street Fanfriction- a crossing of two roads

I almost jumped when I saw him. That gringo knew it

And I knew it.

This street, the 22nd one was not to be the last.

I realised I was being asked a question.

My name.

I was scared. If they found out I wasn't Mexican… They'd kill me.

I turned my head, summoned my demons, spirit and all the passion in my heart.

It took some time.

"My name Jeff."

They looked confused.

"My name Jeff"

I stared with blank eyed defiance,half fear half determination all… Jeff.

"My name Jeff"

It became palpable, I could feel the words rise out my mouth. "My" had a discernible taste, like a hot chilli (red because I ain't no inferior green chilli muncher). It felt like something i could roar out at someone.

Next came the "name". I felt right and wrong to say, much like putting my identity itself out for display. On one hand it made me vulnerable, showed my weaknesses and all that I am. But on the other, it displays me. Me. It is the essence of who I am and if that is not something to be proud of , something not to challenge the world with, not matter the risk, then I don't know what is.

Finally, that succulent Jeff. Jeff. Jeff. Jeff. Jeff.

It's so sweet and tender yet so distorted and painful, like a fleeting kiss from lips made of fire or gently grasping a butterfly made of barb wire. The pain teeters on the edge, too much and it would sting, too little and you wouldn't feel anything. A euphoric knife's edge that no one can take from me. It takes up my whole being, forces me to concentrate on it like a knot in my stomach, a Gordians knot that must be unfurled and solved in my esophagus before it is allowed to thread between my teeth. The fear, the risk, the… Beauty that it elicits from me is nigh on indescribable, so much so that my efforts here are much like that of a 2 year old trying to convey the meta-analytical message of "a picture of Dorian Gray." ( unless it's one of those little genius ones with the pianos and such; but they don't count for anything as they often don't make it past 10 before their obscura obliterates them.)

All in all, this divine battle of the fates one must endure in order to convey such meaning is well worth it for the asceticism that one achieves.

All it requires is a mob of Mexican gangsters staring you down as you pretend not to be a Gringo. The thrill of being caught plays into it but there must be something more.

My partner, a dumpy man whose last name is appropriately "Hill", turns his portly frame towards me after spending some time attempting to disengage us from these mobsters. I had remained silent, the use of those holy trinity of words now becoming a savour experience. I would wait some time before I would speak them again.

The words would haunt me for the rest of my life, soon leading me to start a cult movement of those who have heard the call.

But that is for another day….

Jeff.

Cont-

AN: hey guys what did you think of my first fanfiction? I wanted to tackle a serious topic in one of the most serious fandoms. The exploration of one man's psychosis and how he uses it to garner followers is an idea I've wanted to write about. Channing Tatum's stunning persona and performance in 22 jump street really gave me something to pour my creative juices into. Let me know if you want me to continue or not and if I should change from T to M for some … lemon.

That's about it, thanks for reading and please review!