The juvenile

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The overpowering smell of paint penetrates through your white medical mask. Your gloved hands shake with fear as the black paint flows over the side of a train. The overflowing hood on your head acts as a shield for your identity towards the outside world. A sound from behind breaks the cold silence and you sharply turn your head. Your heart absent of a beat while looking all around you. Though, all you are greeted by is the frigid darkness of the early morning. A sigh of relief escapes your icy lips. Regain your focus and get back to your illegal task. One last coat of black and you are finally finished. Stepping back to admire your work, you can’t help but “ooo” and “aww” at your own talent. Your pride swelling more and more every second added to your staring. Once a blank, pointless cart train now turned into something meaningful. A message, a sign. A symbol of power that will pass by on rusty railroad tracks and be seen by thousands of eyes for years to come. You soak in everything in this proud moment. Feeling every goose bump on your skin, becoming numb to the frozen air, being enveloped by success so overwhelming it takes over your whole being. This is better than just some gang sign or threat to someone’s life. This is a deep statement. Knowing this makes your pride grow even more and you allow yourself to become arrogant. Just in the mist of your inner celebrating, a deep yell cuts through the silence like a sharp blade. You are quickly forced out of your prideful daze and are brought back to the cruel reality of vandalism. An immensely bright light showers over you. What once was a feeling of confidence and accomplishment is turned into an intense fear. The can of paint automatically clanks to the dirt and your feet take off turning into a blur. Running as fast as your body is capable of. Your lungs start to burn as the oxygen supply is slowly decreasing. Your body growing heavier with each step but the fright keeps you moving forward. The rage filled voice soon begins to fall father away from you. A reassurance of safety washes over you as you fly across the empty train station. A chance of catching you is now nearly impossible. Out of nowhere, your foot collides into a scrap of metal. You are sent spiraling downwards. Meeting the dirt, you know there is no chance getting up with the intense pain pulsating through your foot running up your whole leg. When the big firm hand grabs a hold of your shoulder, it is silently telling you this is all over. Failure hits you hard, taking your breath away.





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