This was the most challenging problem that I'd ever battled in high school. It really shed some...
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Reality vs. Virtuality
Meanwhile, he introduced me to his friend Ian T. Ian was apparently a man of the streets; a good looking drug dealer who lived on the dark side. I had a slight crush on this boy as well; his dangerous appeal was attractive. He was a wildfire, and it excited me. In January, about six months after I had first met Connor, I saw I had a friend request on Facebook from celebrity Rick Ross. I casually mentioned this to Ian, whose interest flared up with a roar. He asked if he could talk to him on my Facebook, and I stupidly agreed, my trust overpowering me. I gave him my password, and watched from my computer as him and Rick Ross conversed, and then I watched as a message from Perrin, my friend and old love, popped up. I sprang to reply to it, and watched with horror as Ian did the same. I quickly explained to Perrin that Ian was also on my account, and that it was he talking. They began to chat as well, and it seemed to be a positive conversation, and then it turned ugly. Before I could step in, my mom ordered me off the computer, because it was getting late. She then took my computer; all I could do was to wait until the next day to see what had happened. I asked Connor first thing what had happened. “It didn’t go so well…” was all Connor would say about it. I finally reached Ian that day, and found him livid. The two boys had apparently gotten in a huge fight, and Ian was furious with him. Ian claimed to know a gang of Bloods in Virginia; seven Blacks and a Mexican, of who he had called upon to travel to my city to beat up, and possibly kill Perrin. I was terrified. I begged Ian not to do it, but he was defiant, and said the only way he would stop these people from coming was if Perrin apologize. I hastily called Perrin, who was annoyingly skeptical about it all. “Perrin, you have to apologize. I don’t care if you were right or wrong, just do it. It’s the only way he will stop the Bloods from attacking you.” Tears streaked down my face and I somehow failed to see how utterly stupid the whole situation was and how disgustingly gullible I was. Nevertheless, I begged Perrin to apologize, and much to my surprise, he agreed, and told Ian he was sorry; clearing the air. I was relieved once again. “They won’t stop” Ian notified me the next afternoon. My heart nearly stopped as I heard these words. I instantly began reviewing my options when Ian said, “We have to fight them if we want to save Perrin” He immediately launched a series of commands and demands, ranging from materials for a bomb, fake identifications for guns, and asking a friend of mine for backup, as her sister was truly a Blood, and might know others. Days seemed to melt together, and thought it was only three days, it felt like a year. It felt like years of planning, of drama and suspense. I was instructed to tell no one of the incident and help fight the gang. It was possibly the worst feeling I’ve ever experienced. It was planned that they would arrive on February 14 at Perrin’s house and attack him, and I would hide somewhere and shoot at them. As he explained the plan over again, my body went totally numb; the blood drained from my head and everything seemed to fade away. My heart pounded in my ringing ears and time seemed to slow down considerably. That night, I cried so hard my body convulsed and writhed in internal pain and agony. I watched as the sky turned red-orange against the black shadow of the treetops. I cried for my family, and how I would miss them so terribly. I was sorry for all the things I’d ever done to them, and thought how I was too young to die, and wanted to live some more. I cried so hard that my chest ached, my stomach twisted, and my throat closed up. My head was throbbing against the pressure and I almost threw up several times. I lay awake until early morning, sweating and struggling to breathe. So many things flew through my mind that night. It was the most horrifying and terrible feeling I have ever felt in my entire life, deaths included. I was scared that I would die. The cold depression that gripped me so tightly made me wonder if it was possible to internally die from a depression that forceful and raw. I got to the point where I could no longer cry; it was just a deep, dry, dragging sob, which turned into guttural moaning.