Part one: Memories

As I walked down the street, shadows slowly enveloping the buildings surrounding me, the sense of fear surrounding my mind. It’s not a usual sight to see a 14 year old walking through the slums of the city alone, but this kid was different. As he walked he could hear footsteps from a dark ally. His heart rate increased as the sound came closer to him. A tremble shot down his spine as memories flooded back into his head like wine into a cup.

It was a hot summer day in east side Los Angeles. Me and my brother were walking down the street, trying to find some homies to party with that night. The sun began to sink behind the skyscrapers lined up on the horizon, leaving a feeling of comfort in the dimming shadows. The sound of a base system filled my head. As I turned to see the car, there was a shot and the smell of gunpowder burning in the air. My ears began to ring from the sound of the gun. I looked at the sidewalk trying to figure out what had happened. A puddle of blood was surrounding my feet. Could it be? Was this the end? So many dreams, wishes that never came true. But then, I realized that I had no pain. I jerked my head to see my brother lying on the ground, lying in a pool of crimson. My heart stopped, as if I were the one dead. I fell to me knees, a state of shock devouring my thoughts. His hat was laying on the sidewalk, a hatchet man with blood stains splattered all over it.

Years have passed. and I still have the horror of sharing the fate with my brother. The hat has been washed many times since that horrifying day. I carry the hatchet man with pride, trying to live up the expectations my brother had made so many years ago.

Frozen in place, the footsteps drew closer and closer until they were right on top of me. Another shot. This was different. There was a shot of pain in my chest as my hand flew up to ease the suffering I looked as blood dripped down off of my white shirt. Fear. Black killed my sight as I fell.

White lights, blinding at this point. Was I dead? No. Too much pain for death. My sight began to replenish. I realized where I was strapped to a stretcher being rolled down the hallway of the E.R. Panic had taken control of my heart as I tried to understand. Then, out of nowhere, my mother’s voice echoed in my head. I saw her face, crying. I’ve never seen my mother cry. Was it my fault? What had I done wrong? My eyesight faded and my body relaxed. No pain, just numb.

Was I asleep? Had I finally passed on? The immense white light hit my eyes, what had happened? Had I gone to heaven? No, definitely not. I sat up. It was hot. Fire was burning all around me. Was this hell? Why was I here? I had decided that I had finally passed through. My sight started to fade again. It felt like an eternity of pain flooding into my nervous system shaking my body uncontrollably. It was the most intense thing I’ve ever felt.
A shock to my body and my eyes shot open. I was surrounded by doctors holding tools stained in blood. The pain as syringes pierced my muscles trying to prevent the shaking. I was crying. The feeling started to come back. The pain was spreading. Blood was splattering up off of my wounds. The black returned once more.

I woke up lying in my bead. I walked down stairs to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table crying. “Mom, what’s wrong?” she looked at me tears flooding her eyes. “I thought I had lost you to…”