The door
slammed behind me as I stumbled into the rain. I looked back to see
the the shutters close and hear the lock bolt closed. “Hey!” I screamed
as I pounded on the dark wood, “I want my money! How am I supposed to
survive on this?”
I
slumped against the door. “I can't live on this...” I looked down
at the twenty dollar bill in my hand. A stupid twenty when I had been
promised fifty. A sob racked my body. How was I supposed to support
my mother with so little? I was only twelve but I had been scraping
by, making just enough money to pay for food for the two of us. All
the extra money that I earned I put into my college fund; a jar that
I kept in our home, hidden from my mother.
I
dreamed of one day doing something with my life, something important.
But for now I was stuck in the homeless slums of Miami, working low
paying jobs for whoever would hire just to keep my mother and I
alive. My father, who should have been providing for us, had left us
when I was seven, leaving to join the Revolution. He said he left to
bring us a better life, but after he left we never heard from him
again, not even after the Revolution was brought down and things
returned to the way they had always been.
A siren
began to wail somewhere in the distance, echoing down the empty
street. I stood up, hoping the rain would hide my tear streaked face
and began the long walk home. This part of Miami was poor, one of the
poorest places in the world. And Miami's law enforcement seemed to
always turn a blind eye to this part of the city, making it one of
the main crime hubs in the area. The major gang, led by a crime lord
named Winter, held a heavy hand over the area.
I heard
a gunshot come from somewhere nearby, probably about a street over.
Screams erupted from the area. I cringed, but other than that I
ignored it. Gunshots were common, daily sounds around here. I don't
think there was a day in the last few years that I hadn't heard at
least one. I had only ever made one real friend in my life and he
and his family had been killed by the gang in a brutal murder. I
hadn't made any friends after that. I didn't want to. I was afraid of
losing people that I loved.
I
finally reached my home, a rusty beat up bus in a dark alleyway. The
bus was covered in the debris of a fallen building, so only the door
was really noticeable. I could see a light coming from under the door
and knew my mother must be home. I walked up to the opening and pried
the door open with a crowbar that I always kept with me. As I walked
in I looked at the floor. It was covered in bottles, beer bottles.
I knew
something was wrong; we didn't have enough money to buy beer. Where
did my mom get these? I took a step toward the back of the bus and
saw my mother, curled in the corner sleeping. Surrounding her were
about twenty drained bottles and a jar, my jar. The jar was empty,
all the money that I had spent the last two years saving was gone. I
heard myself yelling, screaming at my mother. As she woke up she was
crying and holding her head. I didn't care. I was too distraught to
care. In my rage I threw the jar at the wall, glass scattering
everywhere, cutting a deep gash into my right hand. I screamed some
more and ran out of the home, back into the rain, with tears
streaming down my cheeks again.
I ran
and ran, not knowing where I was going. I just ran. It didn't matter
to me where I was going, just that I was going somewhere. I was tired
of being stuck in these slums, tired of having to provide for a
useless drunkard mother, tired of trying so hard without getting
anything back. I ran back the way I had come, onto the street where
the gunshot had sounded from. I saw, as I ran, the body of the victim
lying alone on the street. This place was horrible. How could I ever
amount to anything when I had started out here? Time began to blur as
I ran, until I lost track altogether of when and where I was.
Finally,
I stopped. My rage dying down, having been completely depleted. I was
exhausted. I had used up all the energy I had, running and crying. It
was dark; night had fallen. Suddenly, a horrible stench filled my
nose. As the odor filled my senses I realized where I was. I had run
straight to a corner of the neighborhood that was known as Pelvel's
Canal; it was the worst possible place on earth. Pelvel's Canal was
the gang's killing grounds, an empty canal littered with rotting
bodies. People who came here didn't come back, ever. I turned around,
facing back the way I had come. Standing in the alley that led to the
canal was a large dark figure. Fear and anguish filled my soul. I was
already exhausted and my body couldn't handle any more. I felt myself
losing hold of my mind, fear taking place of sanity. My eyes started
darkening and my head hit the ground as I lost all consciousness.
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