Zechariah 14:12-13
Entertainment!
Darius Robinson
Turnt
By: Mr. A.Himself
Entertainment LLC
Eastwood Heights: The Story of Turnt and the Robinson Family
Eastwood Heights: The Story of Turnt, the Robinson Family, and the Shadow of Big Mo
Eastwood Heights, deep in Rolling 60’s Crips territory, is a neighborhood where the weight of economic hardship and systemic oppression bears down on every resident. The streets are lined with crumbling buildings and graffiti-tagged walls, each corner echoing with stories of survival and loss. For the Robinson family, Eastwood Heights is both home and battleground, a place where they navigate the dual realities of gang life and community ties.
Turnt, born Darius Robinson, grew up in this harsh environment, shaped by the powerful influence of his father, Big Mo, and the relentless example of his older brother, Marcus, who was a splitting image of their dad. Marcus, known on the streets as Big M, embodied everything Big Mo stood for—strength, ruthlessness, and a commanding presence that demanded respect. To Turnt, Marcus was both a brother and a rival, someone he admired but also someone whose shadow he could never escape.
Big Mo was a legendary figure in Eastwood Heights, a man whose name carried weight far beyond their block. He ruled his territory with an iron fist, teaching his sons that in this world, power was the only currency that mattered. "Never show weakness, Darius. Never let anyone think they can get one over on you," Big Mo would say, his voice as heavy as the lessons he imparted. These were the rules that governed Marcus’s life, and as Big M rose through the ranks of the Rolling 60’s, he became the spitting image of his father—cold, calculating, and unyielding.
Turnt idolized his older brother, often following in his footsteps, trying to live up to the impossible standards set by both Marcus and Big Mo. But while Marcus embraced the life fully, Turnt found himself torn. The streets called to him, but so did another voice—the voice of his Auntie Sharon.
Auntie Sharon, Big Mo’s sister, represented a different path, one that Turnt often found himself yearning for, even if he couldn’t admit it. She was the heart of the community, dedicating her life to uplifting Eastwood Heights despite the challenges. Auntie Sharon ran community programs, mentored young kids, and fought for the kind of change that seemed impossible in a place like theirs. She was the only one who dared to tell Turnt that there was more to life than gang warfare.
"Marcus might have chosen this life, but you don’t have to, Darius," Auntie Sharon would tell him, her tone firm but caring. "You’re smarter than this. You have the chance to be something different, something better."
Turnt’s life became a constant push and pull between these two influences. On one side, Big Mo and Marcus represented the power and respect that came with being feared, while Auntie Sharon offered a vision of hope and redemption, a life where he didn’t have to follow the same violent path.
His older brother, Marcus, only added to the pressure. Big M’s success in the gang set a high bar for Turnt, who felt the weight of living up to the Robinson name. Every time Turnt looked in the mirror, he saw traces of his father and brother staring back at him, reminding him of the legacy he was expected to uphold. But there was a part of him that resisted, a part that clung to Auntie Sharon’s words, even as he tried to bury them beneath the expectations of his family.
Turnt’s battles with Spillz, a rising figure in the Denver Lanes Bloods, became more than just territorial disputes—they were a reflection of Turnt’s internal struggle. Each confrontation with Spillz was a test of his loyalty to the path his father and brother had laid out for him, and each time he raised his weapon, he felt the weight of his decisions pressing down on him.
To Marcus and Big Mo, taking down Spillz was a matter of pride, of proving that the Robinsons were not to be trifled with. But for Turnt, it was something more—a desperate attempt to reconcile the conflicting parts of himself. He knew that every act of violence pulled him further into the life his brother and father wanted for him, but it also distanced him from the person Auntie Sharon believed he could be.
The tension between Turnt and his older brother only grew as the feud with Spillz intensified. Marcus pushed him harder, expecting him to step up and prove himself, while Auntie Sharon continued to plead with Turnt to find another way. The more Turnt tried to live up to Marcus’s expectations, the more he felt himself slipping into the darkness that had consumed his father.
Eastwood Heights had made Turnt into a product of his environment—a young man caught between the legacy of his father and brother, and the hope for something better instilled by his aunt. His story is one of survival, power, and the constant battle between the path laid out by Big Mo and Marcus, and the flickering light of redemption that Auntie Sharon desperately tried to keep alive within him. As long as the feud with Spillz continued, so too did Turnt’s internal war, each day bringing him closer to a decision that would define who he was and who he would become in the shadow of the Robinson family legacy.
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Boomer Assassin
The Story of Turnt and Boomer: Blood Ties and Street Names
The sun was setting over Eastwood Heights, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The neighborhood was quiet, but there was an underlying tension in the air—a tension that always came before something happened. Inside a small, dimly lit apartment, Turnt and his cousin Boomer were gearing up for another night on the streets. The two of them had been inseparable since they were kids, and now, as young men, they were even closer, bound by blood and the life they had chosen.
Boomer, Auntie Sharon’s only son, was notorious in the neighborhood. He had earned his reputation early, a mix of ruthless efficiency and a cold, detached attitude that made people uneasy. The Crips called him “Boomer Assassin,” a name that carried weight, a name that people whispered with a mix of fear and respect. It was a name that came with a lot of blood on the hands of the young man who wore it like a badge of honor.
Turnt, always looking up to his older cousin, admired the way Boomer carried himself—unapologetic, unflinching, and always ready to handle business. But there was something different about Boomer that set him apart, even from the other hardened members of the Rolling 60’s. Maybe it was the fact that he was Auntie Sharon’s son, raised in a home where he was constantly pulled between the world his mother fought for and the one his father’s legacy had dragged him into.
As Turnt adjusted his hoodie and checked the gun tucked into his waistband, he glanced over at Boomer, who was leaning casually against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. The two of them had plans tonight—plans that involved a rival gang that had been encroaching on Rolling 60’s territory. It wasn’t personal; it was business. But for Turnt, it always felt a little personal when he was rolling with Boomer. His cousin had a way of turning everything into a game, one where he always seemed to come out on top.
Just as they were about to head out, the door creaked open, and Auntie Sharon stepped in. She was a woman who had seen too much, lived too many lives, and yet she still tried to hold on to the hope that things could be different. She looked at Boomer with a mix of worry and resignation, her eyes searching his for something she hadn’t seen in a long time—remorse, maybe, or even just a sign that he still cared.
“Darius,” she said, addressing Turnt by his real name before turning her attention to Boomer. “And you, Marcus… why do they call you Boomer Assassin?”
Boomer’s smirk widened into a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He shrugged, glancing at Turnt, who was watching the exchange with mild interest. Auntie Sharon crossed her arms, her voice softening as she pressed on. “That’s not just a nickname, Marcus. Names like that… they don’t come easy. What have you been doing out there?”
Boomer chuckled, the sound low and almost mocking. He leaned forward, getting close enough that his breath brushed against his mother’s face. “Ma, you know what it is,” he said, his tone almost playful. “You were part of the set back in the day. You know the streets gave me that name for a reason. Ain’t no point in worrying about it now.”
Auntie Sharon’s face tightened, a flash of pain crossing her features. She had been part of the set once, had walked these same streets and earned her own share of respect, but that was a lifetime ago. She had left that life behind, or so she had thought. But now, looking at her son, she saw the cycle repeating, and it broke her heart.
Before she could say anything more, Boomer stepped back, his laughter echoing in the small apartment. He turned away from his mother, waving for Turnt to follow. “Come on, Darius,” he said, using Turnt’s real name in that same easy, confident tone. “We got work to do.”
Turnt hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking between his aunt and his cousin. He could see the desperation in Auntie Sharon’s eyes, the silent plea for him to stay, to not follow Boomer down the path she had once walked herself. But the pull of the streets, of the life they had chosen, was too strong. With a nod to his cousin, Turnt followed Boomer out the door, leaving Auntie Sharon standing alone, her shoulders slumped with the weight of everything she couldn’t change.
Outside, the cool night air hit them, and the tension in Turnt’s chest eased a little. He looked over at Boomer, who was already lighting up a cigarette, that same grin still plastered on his face. “You ready for this?” Boomer asked, the excitement in his voice unmistakable.
Turnt nodded, but there was a lingering unease in his gut. “You think your mom’s gonna be okay?” he asked, surprising himself with the question.
Boomer shrugged, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “She’ll be fine. She’s tough. Besides, she knows what it’s like out here. She knows what we have to do.”
Turnt nodded again, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. He knew Boomer was right. Auntie Sharon understood the streets better than most, but that didn’t make it any easier. As they walked down the block, Turnt couldn’t help but glance back at the apartment, a flicker of doubt creeping into his mind. But Boomer’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.
“Don’t worry about it, Darius. We’re gonna handle this, just like we always do,” Boomer said, his tone as light as if they were discussing what to eat for dinner.
Turnt forced a smile, nodding in agreement as they approached the car that would take them to their next target. But in the back of his mind, Auntie Sharon’s words lingered, a reminder of the life they had chosen and the price they would eventually pay.
As they drove off into the night, Boomer’s laughter filled the car, a sharp contrast to the silent storm brewing inside Turnt.
