October 4, 2008
By Jasmine Beasley, Columbia, SC


I’ve heard a lot of people say that every story has a happy ending, but not this story. The book I am living in has come to an unhappy ending. But I’m glad it has ended. Maybe I can start over. I’ll start over has a new person, a new girl, a new attitude, a new me. But until I get everything together, I am no longer November Amari Boston. I am unknown.

Chapter 1
Early one morning, it all started with a deafening bang! I was only the age of twelve. And as long as I have lived in the ghetto, I recognized the sound of that bang. I hurried out of my room into the quiet living room. It was dark and foggy. And the air smelled of gunpowder. I tried turning on the light switch. Our house was so old that you would have to play around with the switch. On my third try the very dim light came on. But it was bright enough that I saw my mother’s body lying across the floor in a pool of sickening blood. I didn’t realize until five seconds later that I was screaming. I guess I was loud enough that my neighbor came to see what was wrong.

“What is it? What happened?” asked Ms. Robinson. I was speechless. Ms. Robinson looked at my eyes and slowly looked down to where I was looking. She gasped.

“Who did this? Surely you didn’t!” said Ms. Robinson more franticly this time. Again, I was speechless.

“Answer me!” she said.

“I … I don’t know I just woke up to the sound of a gunshot.” I said. I was still in shock and barely managed to let those words come out of my mouth.

After that it was all a blur. I just remember how hot my face felt, the wetness of the tears coming down my face, and feeling dizzy. Ms. Robinson had to go to her apartment next to ours to call 911. Mama was always late with everything. Then the loud sirens came. I finally started paying attention when the ambulance arrived.

I saw the men take mommy away. She looked so helpless and limp on that stretcher. Ms. Robinson closed the door behind them. Ms. Robinson and I got ready fro the day. She insisted that I would go see my mother soon. As I started to walk to me room, I looked back at the carpet. That big red stain scared me for life. We never did go to the hospital. Ms. Robinson claimed that my mom was in a deep sleep. But I’m no fool. I knew at the age of 12 that when I saw my mom all limp on the stretcher was going to be the last time I ever saw her.

On the day of her funeral I didn’t shed one tear. I knew crying would do nothing but make me feel more pained. A lot of relatives I never met came up to me giving me pity, hugs, but nothing to feel the hole that bore in my heart. But one thing I learned is I would go live with my mother’s parents. With my dad being in jail and his side of the family having a reputation of living on the streets, two 58 year olds were the only hope of me surviving.

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