I Was Angry

September 7, 2016
By M.F.Haley BRONZE, Radcliff, Kentucky
M.F.Haley BRONZE, Radcliff, Kentucky
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

I was angry. Not the short fused, ticking time bomb anger, but the silent killer. The type of angry where you can sit so still for days, thinking of different ways to introduce karma to its next victim.  I felt the beginning stages of my anger. It takes a while for the impassioned ball to build, and have any heat; though, once the ball was rolling long enough to grow in size, it picks up speed. It would catch flame, and strike. I was driving enormously well considering my state of mind- I was exhilarated: I was high. My headlights where the only light in the abandoned hood. The trees and hollow shells called houses blurred into estranged shadows of the midnight. I rolled my window down to feel the cool air on my freckled face, the soft breeze ran its fingers through my Shirley temple curls like a soft caress promising that he’ll get his. He will.
I picked Chance up at his house, a tiny little apartment on the east side, near 5th street. He gets in my car, and settles in for the ride, but he has a friend. Did I know him? No, I don’t. Well, isn’t that something? “Boy, if you don’t get your ashy, chicken boned butt ou- “I started.
“It’s cool, he’s cool. He’s a freshman too, He’s cool. This is Ajax,” Chance starts explaining, he knows. He knows something is wrong. Though I just shook my head and continued on my odyssey. What did I care if this kid is in my car; it is not my problem.
However, I was too tuned into my thought. I pulled down 8th street, not noticing I missed my turn back down the road. All I could think about was that this scrawny little 15-year-old is being baseless.
“Yo, what are you doing? This 8th shorty, swerve up out of here.” I snapped out of my stupor, his voice giving me a chill down my spine. That’s when I got a good look at where I was at, and got a good look at Ajax. His shades of red made me see only that. I saw in shades of crimson hues. With my ball of anger was gaining speed, I quickly tore down an alleyway that led me to 7th. The smell inched into my nose at with a murderous intent; I wanted to lose my lunch.
“Kid,” I started chuckling. Judging by the faint hearted expression on his face, Chance didn’t miss the dark edge to my tone. “I want you to be honest, how lit are you?” I glared at him through my rear view mirror, still chuckling.
“Not even that much anymore,” is what he tried to say. It sounded more like gibberish. He wasn’t in his brain’s driver seat, that’s for sure.
“And you wanted to fight Samir and Za’lik too. Think Chance, you’re going to get your butt kicked.”  I warned as we pulled up to Corn’s house. Corn lived on the corner of 7th and 6th street. His house was the only house with flowers. His mom loved the color. She always kept 4 different colors in the flower beds. This month it was red, violet, white, and yellow. The colors Corn’s mother surrounded us with gave me a comfort, like an assertion that I was ok. There were 7 other guys on the porch, including Corn. I started walking up the path, not paying attention to Chance and Ajax. I should have been paying attention.
Good thing Corn was. The second Chance got out of the car, Corn’s eyes were on him. Chance stormed out of my car the best he could. He pulled something from behind his back with a gleam in his eyes, and mumbled “Don’t worry, I stay strapped.”
Thunder boomed, the echo rolling to a stop. I dropped to the ground, hands over my head. When I finally gathered the courage to look up, I saw corn standing in front of me. The look in his eyes showed the wheels in his head turning, but he seemed so calm and sure; a strong tree standing tall against the prevailing winds. That’s when I noticed the smoking gun in his hand, and I slowly turned to look behind.
Ajax was nowhere to be found, probably ran off. Chance, with a .45 in his hand, was on the ground. Life had no home in his eyes.

The author's comments:

This peice in inspired by a story I was told by a pastor who had witnessed a situation similar. Things like this happen every day and I wanted to share this story to show the trials and tribulations of the world. If this story touches you in anyway, allow it to help you and inspire you to be better than this. 

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