It’s a dark, quiet night in the neighborhood we call the ghetto. A young boy, no older then nine years old cringes at the sound outside the sound of ammunition clips being inserted into multiple automatic guns. “Click Ch-Ch” is what the boy hears outside his window. The boy sheds a tear because he knows someone will meet the ill fated death that no one wants to meet. Even though he is young, he is also smarter then most his age. That’s what the ghetto does. To survive you must understand what is what. Whether it be a group of guys standing around each other or the rat-tat-tat of a gun in the distance. He hears them talking quietly as they all pile into the old black van they use for the deeds they do at night. What he hears after that makes him cry a little more. The sliding door of the van closes, the start of the engine, and the screech of the tires as the driver hits the gas. The boy gets out of bed and prays to god that no one will encounter that van.
May 21, 2010