Matthew Hamilton

1/4/12

Quarter 2 English Benchmark

Who am I Talking To?

      Recently, I went to dinner with my dad and four of his friends. We ate at a funky, ethnic restaurant. Once we had ordered they started to ask me some questions about school and life in general.

 “Everything is good, school is… well, school.” I said slowly and clearly.

 I went on to discuss in more detail some of my experiences with High School. We started to talk about how schools used to be different when they were growing up. Most of them had gone to Catholic school, due to the fact that the public schools in their neighborhoods were really bad, while regular private schools were unaffordable.

 “My family was middle class. Everyone in my family went to Catholic school. Everyone in my neighborhood went to Catholic school. I wasn’t really aware of other types of schools.” One of my dad’s friend’s, Tim, stated.

 “I went to grade school with kids from all over Philadelphia and then when it was time for High School we are scattered again to different schools” I said. “No one goes to their neighborhood schools anymore, Catholic, public or private.”

     We began to talk about similarities and differences in our schools. For the most part they looked at me as though they were genuinely interested in what I had to offer to the conversation.

 “ The nuns really did not care what we learned, they were more interested in how we looked, and sounded ... and smacking us with rulers.” Dad’s friend Roger said.

 I laughed, and said how I could not imagine learning that way. By the end of the night we were all talking together about many different things.  

     I was observing the way in which I was talking with my father’s friends, and how it was so different from the way I talk with my own friends. With my dad’s friends my sentences are shorter and more succinct. When I talk with my friends I tend to not think as much before speaking. I’m more relaxed when talking with my friends, however unlike my experience talking to my dad’s friends, they never look at me like they think I’m smart or incredibly interesting.

     I can’t remember exactly when I started to be more comfortable conversing with adults, not just answering questions that were asked of me, but really conversing.  I believe that it started sometime around 8^th grade. Before that, I didn’t actually think that adults cared about what I had to say. I believed they were just being polite when they asked me questions. I would mumble answers, or just look uncomfortable and hope someone would fill in the blanks for me.

     Similar to the story “Hunger of Memory” by Richard Rodriguez, Rodriguez was afraid to speak in class because he wasn’t confident of his abilities and didn’t want to sound foolish. I think I also didn’t feel confident or capable. But at a certain point I started to believe that adults were taking what I had to say seriously. Applying to High Schools was that turning point. I had many great conversations with teachers and the parents of my friends. They helped me look at my interests and listened to what I had to say and supported me in formulating my ideas for the next 4 years of my life. Writing essays and interviewing also helped me to get a voice into who I was, how I could communicate and what I had to offer. I learned a lot during this process, but mostly I learned how to talk to different people and not be afraid that they would think I was an idiot. This was an exciting time for me and one that gave me some confidence. Rodriguez had a lack of language skills and was afraid of looking stupid. He got better by practicing. I think I’ve also gotten better by practicing.

      I enjoy conversations with people my age, but also with older people that challenge my thinking and my opinions. Adults respond differently to my language abilities, and to me. Some expect a certain level of language and vocabulary from me, while others have no expectations and are pleasantly surprised to be able to talk with a fifteen year old.

 

Brandon Mangum 

 

Am I a Man or a Coward?

 

            I’m so happy we got out of school early; I had a fun time today. The only bad part of the day was that I have to attend my ILP. It’s all the way on spring garden and broad St. It starts soon so I had to hurry up and get there. I walked to the trolley and I took it to 15^th street. After I arrived at 15^th street I had to wait for the train. As I was waiting I notice about seven boys that were near me. I didn’t think anything of it the time; I just kept on playing the games on my phone. When the train came I walked on and sat in the first seat I saw. The boys that I saw at the train station walked on the train towards the far back. After waiting on the train for 3 minutes, I got up because my stop was next. Then all of a sudden the seven boys walked up next to me and surrounded me on the train. Two of them had their fist balled up. He looked like he was going to punch me but before he could the doors opened and I quickly walked out. I went up all the stairs until I was finally above ground. For a quick second I thought I lost them, but sadly, that wasn’t the case at all.

 

Why are those boys running towards me? Did I do something to anger them? Should I run away? I wish someone could answer my questions but unfortunately there is no one to answer them. I increased my speed and pretended like I didn’t see them, hoping they will stop running and not mess with me. But I couldn’t be more wrong, the gang of boys just ran faster towards me with balled up fist. I knew now I only had once choice, which is to run. I ran across the street, trying to dodge cars and avoid getting killed or very badly injured. I’m ducking under tree branches, jumping over fire hydrant, and hopping over gates. I never got so tried in my life. But I couldn’t help but think that I was acting like a “bitch” by running away from those boys. I started to feel like a coward or a punk because I didn’t stand my ground and fight those boys for whatever they wanted. I always called my self a man but can I still say that after what I’m doing now? A lot of men that I know would never run away from other people the way I did. Maybe I should stop running catch my breath for a little and try to flight all of them, I mean that what a man would do right? A true man wouldn’t like other people implant for into them, causing him to run. If I were a real man like I think I am, I would just flight with pride and if I lose at lease I lose being a man instead of a “pussy”. I started to slow down as I thought about it some more. Should I be a safe coward or be an injured man with pride? 

I am Christopher, a spy on vacation to have the chance of experiencing the life of a high school student. This would be a hard process for me but I love challenges. There is obviously nothing wrong with a 26 year old in a freshmen class. I had the choice to choice between 4 of the grades but I want the whole experience. From the beginning to the end I want to see how it feels.

Shoes tied tight, pants on tight snap back on. I wanted to blend in. The only thing that made me different was this 5 O’clock shadow. But I could just be a early bloomer. The bell rang I got to my first class. All I have to say is wow. I think this will be a good time. First class, was so easy. I mean all we did was talk to my teacher about who I am. It was heard to make up a lie and keep with it for the whole day. I swore today I am like 10 different people to many of my teachers. But they won’t ever find my true Identity. Class went on everything was a breeze. Then lunchtime came. Since I was new to this school I didn’t know anyone. But since I wasn’t the only one that was feeling this way it was easier to make some friends. I saw this kid sitting on the table just staring at his shoes. I decided to go up to him and said “Hey nice shoes”. He responded with a nicely said thank you. After that I decided to start a conversation with him. We basically just talked about video games girls and fighter. It seemed to be that my new friend and I (Rick James) had a lot in common. Besides our dislikes we are very alike. Rick James was from Europe. Melbourne, Australia. I always wanted to go there, but you know being a full time spy I don’t have for those types of vocations. There is actually a good reason why I am being a high school student except for the experience. It seems that there is another spy doing the same I am and is attended the same high school I go to. The current high school is called LHhs (Lion house high school). Pretty small school, but I seem to love it. Lunch ended, and it was time for my next class. All I heard was screaming a chanting. Me being a spy, I get my guard up and hold onto my gun. I was about to pull it out, but I then noticed that I’m still in school, so the only possible thing I could do at this moment is hide. So under the table I went. It was such a awkward moment because I was the only one moving. My teacher then soon told me that it was only a small fight about to break out, but everything is under control now. My school day ended and I decided to go home and do research on this Rick James dude, just in case he is not apart of my mission. My heart started bursting up, loud breather is all I hear. It seems that Rick James is a European spy that was sent to get the files of the government. The files that he is looking for is files about the U.S spy system (USSS). Once he gets a hold of this, he can and will just conquer the untied states and put us in a big war. I knew I couldn’t have a fight with out a good night sleep so sleeping I go.

7:00 out and on my way to school. I went thought my day like usually. I saw Rick James and confronted him. Everything I said was correct. Since this was a high school we took this like high school students. We had a street fight. But this time we will be fighting until the end. We called out bosses over to watch from afar. The goal of this fight is if Rick wins then I have to back down. But if I win he has to back down. The bell rings we being to fight. 2 punches fly on me, but I took it and countered. Once I got a hold of him he was done. And I did. All you saw was a quick jab to the eye and down goes Rick.

            Rick has fallen back now, and my high school life continues on because I would still love to have this feeling, also I just solved my case.

            No, I refuse to ever let them break me. They would have feared my look back on the cold Philly streets, but now, I have no power over what they do. I guess that’s what happens when the same people have imprisoned you for 17 years. No, this isn’t prison anymore it’s Hell. What they do to us . . . I bet if we were a different color, we’d have the same primetime of that Iraq torture prison. Of course, that’s not the case. If you tell what goes on, you’ll not only get laughed at and called stupid, but you’ll get it 10x worse than what you told happened.

 “What you want NIGGER!”

 “I’ll take the cream of wheat sir,” I always say, with a smile. My brain has been programmed to say this, even though under my skin, I’m hot like Mt. Saint Helen in 2004.

 “Good, cause you ain’t getting no banana MONKEY!”

 “Oh no sir, I don’t want that, too much potassium for my diet.” That’s how you get’em back. They never like it when you use “big words”. The accomplishment felt good until the expected happened. Every guards fist was flying at my face, while my legs instinctively dropped and curled up. 2 minutes and the occasional n-word passed before I got up, brushed my jumpsuit, and walked off.

  I go out to the yard to play basketball with my best friend. No one knows his real name, but he goes by “Silk”, though he’s almost 90 years old and wrinkly. I though about what I’m going to do when he passes, when the ball he shot missed and hit a guard smack in his head. I remember saying, “RUN NOW!” but it was useless to say to him, he could barely walk. I turned to see about 20 guards, tasers out, and every inmate outside. Everyone was looking at Silk, who was crying.

  “NIGGER YOU MINE!” bellowed one of the guards as he raced at Silk. He swung his big meaty fist and hit Silk in his jaw, retracting with a couple teeth. That must have been the cue. Every guard rushed in to get their licks, fueled by the smell of flesh opening up revealing pearl white bone. The horde of guards retreated, revealing an unrecognizable, close to death, Silk. As he lay there unconscious, inmates running furiously over to him, I could already see that he was dead. Somewhere, dormant inside my heart, a spark ignited the fuel that the guards’ 17-year-old abuse provided.

 

“What the HELL is wrong with you! It was an accident! You didn’t have to beat him to death! Fear was no longer a registered word in my vocabulary. Seeing my friend, my diary, the man I told everything too, my mentor dead at my feet, that overfilled the cup of hate I had towards the guards.

 “Boy, you better watch your tongue.”

If I hadn’t looked at him, I wouldn’t of saw the sheer fright in his eyes. He knew what he did was wrong, but he tried to keep his composure. Standing on a large boulder in the middle of the yard, the Death Valley sun beaming at my forehead, I did what I hadn’t done since my trial: spoke my mind. “My brothers, and that’s exactly what we are now. Not by blood, but by bond and hardship. We can no longer allow these oppressive tyrants to slaughter our souls! We can no longer stand back and watch one of our brothers get the leather belt across his face. The day for revolution has come, and this damn sure will not be televised! We pray to be delivered from evil every night, today YOU HAVE THAT CHOICE! MAKE IT!” Silence washed over the entire yard while I awaited the fist of these human devils.

 “Amen” came a voice echoing through the crowd.

 A roar erupted, drowning out the sounds of 400 inmates piling on to 70 guards.

 A discreet but extensive letter was sent to each inmate, apologizing to each one, promising a better future for us captured survivors.

 

 

“Miguel, wake up! It’s snowing!” My baby sister scared the heck out me, but in doing so, she got me up and running towards a nearby window. Pull the blinds up in a flash. It’s no lie. Snow was falling from the gray clouds in the sky above. Falling, falling beautifully. A smile appeared on my face. It was my first time seeing snow. Seeing snow reminds me what happened about a year ago.

I go back to Puerto Rico. It’s a place where you would never see snow down there. You’d see the beauty of the Tropics, the white sandy beaches, the crystal clear Caribbean Sea, palm trees swaying in the warm tropical wind that would flow over us. My community was a great community. My family and I knew everyone around us, and everyone knew my family and me. We would walk into stores for buying food, clothing, etc, and they would say hello or wave to us, and then we’d get into conversations about how has our day been, what’s been going in your life, the latest gossip, chats like that. (The gossip refers to my Mom.) My community was a community I loved. So if it was a good community, why did I leave Puerto Rico? It turns out I had no choice. Like all good things, they must come to an end. We struggled financially for a certain time. I knew it. We couldn’t make payments on our home. It wasn’t looking good.

We had to move out, but where? The answer was kind of obvious. The United States. We packed up what we needed, clothing, food, merchandise that mattered to us. Stuff like that. We made sure we didn’t forget the papers and passports. My Mom kept nagging Dad about it. One more of those, and Dad was ready to flip out. I was ready to flip out as well. I mean, I know she’s want to make sure we don’t forget anything we need, but it’s like she pokes us about it. She’s like “Hey, hey. You get the papers and passports. Did you? We can’t forget them.” Okay, we won’t the damn thing! I ready to here from Dad, but he never said it. Even when we got into the country, he stayed cool.

Speaking of coming into the country, America was a new experience for us. We entered JFK International Airport. That’s in New York City. We saw buildings reach up high in the sky, many automobiles, so many people in suits. There were so many things in New York City. However, there are some bad things in America I heard of. Lots of violence, an obesity problem (which was kind of obvious), and “party hooters.” The first night in our new American home, and the party hooters I told you about, yeah… it was a rough night for our family. At first I didn’t think this could work.

5 days being in our new home, I told Mom, “I don’t this could work.” She asked what I meant. I told her, “We moving to America. I mean it’s been rough these past few weeks.” Mom gave me a solution that she thought right off the top of her. “Give it time.”

With that, I think about these past months of being here, and well… she was right. Aren’t all moms right? Anyway, Mom finds a job at the New York Times headquarters. She works in a normal cubical like any other person in office. She just checks and edits a person’s article. Sounds boring. Here this, because of her work on, she got promoted to being the editor’s secretary. Dad has a job on art. I must have forgotten to mention that Dad is an artist. Loves to draw, paint, anything to make his art pop out, to inspire, to… make you feel. Apparently, what happen to start of Dad’s new art career. He made an art store on corner of where we live now, and a contractor comes into his store (I’m saying it from him), he said the contractor loved his art. Every art piece in the store had a theme to it. He offered him a deal that Dad could not refuse. He would sell his art around the world, to art museums, galleries, etc. He would supply him with his own art materials. Hearing all this from Mom and Dad, I’m like, “Wow.” I’m just amazed that we have come Puerto Rico in a financial crisis, and here we are. School is working out for me, too. I made good friends during these past months. I even showed them one of Dad’s paintings, I hear ooh’s and aah’s. One of my teachers said, “It’s remarkable. Your Dad must have an incredible mind to make such fantastic imagery.”

So yeah, I miss Puerto Rico, my old friends, my old community, but I have a new community that I like now. It’s my new home, have new friends, and I experience a weather change up here as well. I’m so use to warmth of Puerto Rico. Now I have to get used to cold winters, but at least I see a new kind of precipitation. And I can do cool activities in it as well. So I guess that wraps up my internal monologue. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going sledding.

 

Kyler Jones           

11/7/1

 

I find myself silent, black hoodie up, lying down, arms covered over my eyes blocking the sun, what I see is the grass. The grass. And then-flashback.

 

 I remember it was summer and this entire mini prairie that I crouch on now was alive with sunflowers, and various tall plants, like lavender. I didn’t know much about plants then (don’t know much about the now),but I knew there was something beautiful about this area that made me subconsciously venture there at my spare time, accompanied with my dog. The grass that I lay on now, was bright green and smooth then, and I always thought, this is here to stay, they-can-not-touch-it. As worn down and small fraction of what’s left of nature, it was still monumental to me, surpassing the awe of any skyscraper or city landscape you could see, To this day it is like a dying paradise. The grass passage way, always polished with dew, and the tall plants diverse with sunflowers, rabbits, spiders, hidden animals of all sorts, buzzing and moving with life. It was easy to get lost, and ignore the suburban wasteland on the other side of the creek.

 

So my spirit is back to the present now, in the same position, at birds eye view, I look as if I had fallen down and shielding myself from a bomb above. And then the grass I glimpse at, the grass of the now, the entire pathway, scarred by the tracks of construction machines. I’m still shielding myself, but I look away from the gruesome grass, and I try to look up ahead at the rest of the pathway. I always knew the pathway was finite. And at the end was more houses, but this time, the lovely trees that used to shelter the lost animals in it, were moving in the distance. I found this scary at first, for the fact that they were moving, but then I realized that their actually being commanded to move by the construction workers- and I’m scared at that fact even more. I sit up, and something is in my stomach. It’s the deer. The deer I saw a couple of weeks ago, there were so many that time. They were hidden, untouchable. But you saw them prancing so closely all along the half wood. Half wood, I should say nearly wood. And then they just disappeared.

 

‘ Oh yes I remember the deer, yes they’re shooting them off now because they are so overpopulated and lost out of their natural habitat.’ Said Justine Pierce.

 

Justine Pierce was a middle class, woman of bold age and bold wrinkles. She works at the Cobbs Creek Environmental Branch in Yeadon. She’s seen the same things I’ve seen. And cried the same tears, when the water department destroyed the land around the creek, last summer.  I met her a last month, those were words she told me.

 

I watched a documentary a couple days ago called “End-Civ”, I remember a clip where an anonymous Earth First! Member talks about how they mark the trees they will leave during clear cuts. I thought about how those trees were scarred forever, as the WWII Jewish holocaust survivors were scarred for life with tattoos. Clear cuts are a holocaust. The Jews were devoured for profit, and the trees are devoured for profit.

 

Bears, I hear the sound of bears. Loud grizzly bears screaming, I want them to be bears. But I know they are the sounds of chainsaws and machines. And then there’s the laughter of the big bellied construction workers. They leave their coffee cups, Dunkin Donut wrappers, and gasoline tanks in on the soil. But I know I can’t be angry at them, because I know that they are just trying to make a livin’.I know they need to eat.

 

I walk to where there was once a beautiful landscape of trees, and I see a broken trashed up grave. And the trees, the trees, all of them piled up, past my head. Then I remember how in war they pile up the dead bodies, without proper burials. The soldiers get proper burials.  I saw only a couple trees left, they were all scarred with the X’s, I saw a black cat run up the trees as my dog Poncho went after it. Then I remember all the animals that make these trees their homes. The nests these trees provide, the oxygen, they shelter the tops soil so that life can grow.

Between the sound of the construction workers laughing as they tore down trees on the other side of creek, the loud industrial roars of the chainsaws, why do I not feel shame. Why do I not feel the tears? I’m afraid to feel, but I’m even more afraid not to. 

If pain is the only thing I can feel, than let me have the most miserable life I can. I don’t see the rationality in destroying your planet in the name of human progress.The earth is a finite resource, in fact it's not a resource it's a living thing. It’s not sanity to kill everything, in the requirements of a technological God? You can’t pay for the air you pollute, the water you blacken, the animals and land that we gobble up and replace with these deserts we call cities. We’re all guilty for when the time comes when we realize that our children can not eat money.

Aazimah Muhammad 

11/17/11

Monologue​



I love ice cream, well, loved ice cream. You and I were one, but now you’ve fallen. Now I’m sad. Now I can only think about your cool choclatelly-ness on my lips. I loved you, and now you left me. Looking at you not in my cone, made me cry. I thought it was only you and I, but now your cheating. Cheating on me with the ground? I was good to you; I even made sure you were paid for. You were going to be the highlight of my day, but now I cant think about it because it will only make me feel worst. I could go get another one, but I only wanted you. The next ice cream cone will only be yet another failed relationship, after I eat it of course. I only wanted you to be with me, and you left. Because of my clumsy pink church shoes, I tripped and you left me. We could have gotten thought it together, but you flipped and fell. You lay beneath my shoes, even with a little of your chocolate on my ruffle socks.

 

And now I just have to cry. Just sit here and cry. How could a 4 year old child, ever be so lonely. Well without you I feel just that, lonely.  Looking at you melt on my shoe soles, now changing my shoes a different color, I just cry. Tasting the complete opposite of you, hot, salty tears only make me break down. I wish I had you to be sweet and cold on my taste buds. But now I’m too upset, I don’t know what to do anymore. You’re still melting and I’m still standing here with a blank and salty face, wishing you could make it better.

 

Before you melt completely and run down the sidewalk of the ice cream shop, do you remember that time we were on the swings, and I was so over excited that you and I were at the park on that lovely day. What about that time when we were at the amusement park, and you were running all down my hands, or even the time that you made my hands all sticky. Or do you even remember my love for you as a child? Being an adult now I have to think about many-failed relationship as being that day you fell off my cone. You taught me something; you taught me that all relationships end. Either someone gets left hopelessly, or it ends sweet and abruptly.

 

The bigger picture is that it could be sweet every time, but no matter what, it has to end. Ice cream now that your almost gone, I would like to tell you that you and I were meant for each other, just like the rest of my favorite desserts, who managed to terminate the relationship. I will understand, and even as an adult I will understand how things work out. The first lick is the sweetest, but the first cut is the deepest. 

Taylor Ximines

 

Welcome to the jungle. Where people here usually end up in jail, where they actually do look like animals inside of a cage. Welcome to Hell on Earth. Some days you feel as though Hell is a wonderful alternative then being in this place. Drug addicts and dealers are on every corner like clockwork. Welcome to the place that will make you or break you. Where if you do live past 21 then you will not accomplish anything. Either you are making babies or making drugs, there are no other options. Here we have no real mothers. Instead we have women who had to give up their childhood and dreams to raise their own children. Here babies have babies. Women who repeated the dreaded cycle of nothingness. Bitterness and regret run through their veins instead of blood. And fathers? Half the people here don’t even know the definition of this word. All they know is that 9 months before their birth dates their mothers had sex with some man. And the ones who do know their father only know him by a tombstone or an inmate number.

There are no houses on the hill in this place. Instead, we have houses so closed to each other that you can smell what your neighbors are cooking through your walls. No one here lives in a condo, instead they have apartment buildings whose hallways are filled with filth and urine and elevators are never in operation. Nope, there are no backyards here, alleyways are what we have. And in these alleyways there are no Mercedes or BMW cars with the top down.

The streets are covered in nothing but filthy trash, so much people can’t even tell you what color the concrete on the ground is. There is a foul smell here also, not so much an actual stinky smell; but the smell of failure. A smell that once you’re here you are here forever.

College? The kids here can’t even spell that word. Most people dropout by age 15 or 16, or just stop going. You see education means absolutely nothing. The only “higher learning” that gets done here is the high people get from smoking drugs. Only a few people have gotten out of here and got an education and better life. And the ones that did get out? Oh trust me, they have no thought of coming back. Quite honestly I don’t blame them. I mean why come back? People here think of you as a sellout or snobby, because you did what they never could.

Welcome to the place where the sun don’t shine. Only good days here are the days when no gunshots are heard. And the funniest thing of all is that this is never going to change. Poverty is always going to be the driving force that keeps people here. Something that this place never had and never will is hope.

You see I am what causes all of this, I am the reason why these people will never know or do any better. I am what keeps these people from living a better life. I am Ignorance.

11/10/11

Captured

       (To self) The water is much warmer than usual. (To self) It does not smell like my home. Did we move to another location momma? I know you hear me talking to you, where are we? Where did you go? I do not want to play games right now, I just woke up and it’s very early. (To self) Okay, I guess I’ll come look for you. READY OR NOT HERE I COME!! Momma! Where are you I can’t find you anywhere? You are a very good hider; maybe we should play when I am familiar with this place though. (To self) There are no hiding places around here and I can see everything; the water is so clear. (To self) I have no clue where she would be hiding and I do not know my way around this place. I give up, I’m done looking for you momma, and you can come out now. What is that over there? Is that humans? Yay, I love humans I’m going to go play with them, and maybe they can tell me where my momma is hiding. OUCH! What is this, why can’t I get to the humans? Hello humans can you hear me? My name is Jayden Dolphin, I’m 3 years old and I’m looking for my momma. She is hiding from me and I cannot find her. Do you know where she may be hiding; I’m having trouble finding her. Why are you laughing? I am asking you a question. What did you say? I can’t hear you speak louder please? Can you hear me? STOP! What is that bright light! What are those objects all of you have? I want one too they look fun. (To self) I found one of them at the bottom of my Ocean before but I did not know what to do with it. What do they do? What are they called? Can you show me how to work it please? Are they poisoning me? STOP I do not like that, the flash is unpleasant to my eyes. Why are you all laughing? I want to know what is funny may I laugh with you? What is so funny? Please tell me? Can you speak up please? I cannot hear what you are saying. I think there is an invisible wall I cannot get through it, can you try to come over here? Then, we can swim together, you can teach me how to work the flash thing you have in your flipper, and you can tell me what is funny and we can laugh together. Come on, it will be fun. Why won’t you come play with me? Something is preventing me from going over there to you, so you have to come over here. This is not fun; I wanted to play with you all. Now my feelings are hurt, I’m going away you are not nice humans. My momma is going to hear about you, and she is not going to like you guys at all. She is going to tell your mommas and you will get into trouble. MOMMA, where are you! (To self) I do not think I am home anymore, what if I never find my momma? (To self) What if the horrible people Papa used to always talk about have kidnapped me? (To self) There are lots of yummy looking fish around here. I am hungry now. Too bad momma isn’t around right now; she could be enjoying these fishes with me. They are very delicious, and just how I like them. I have been thinking about my day today. Unfortunately, I have come to the conclusion that I am in a tank, that maybe my momma is never coming back, and that the horrible people have caught me.

 I have been…CAPTURED!

 

​Hey dad how was…Damn, another one of them dreams. I looked around, it was still dark outside and I didn’t want to get up. I wish my life was a dream. My mom at home with us cooking dinner, my dad coming home from work. I hate my life. I hate my parents, especially my mom. Why did she leave, she was doing so well. If she was struggling with her addiction all she had to do was tell us. I would of got her some help. But she left me, right after dad got locked up, making me take care of my sister alone. I mean my dad was a good guy he just did the wrong things. He made sure me and Amya kept our grades up, always made sure we was living somewhere, and kept us on the right track. I know he’d change what he did if he could, but he can’t. I looked at the alarm again, 6:05 am. I gotta wake up Amya.

We did our usual routine. I wake her up, she fusses, and eventually gets dressed, while I make breakfast…. well, cereal. As I walked down the hallway I made sure I locked the apartment, we don’t have much but the last thing I need is to have whatever we got left taken from us. We made our way down the dark hallway, with that one flickering light that can go out at any moment, and on our way to the elevator. Once we got down to the first floor, I wave to Mrs. Brown our landlord, and walked Amya to her bus stop. But this time the bus wasn’t there. I looked at my watch my dad got me the day before he got arrested. It said 7 am so where is this bus, because I really gotta get to school. If I’m late one more day that’s my ass. I can’t afford to repeat a grade, at least not tenth grade. I mean my teachers have been trying to help since they know my situation, but there’s only so much they can do.  I looked down the street. There was nothing but street lights and broke down houses. No one was out which is the usual around here. People only come out at night to sell drugs and stuff. I'm safe in my neighborhood though. I kind of have street cred around here since my dad was a drug dealer. Everyone that sells drugs around here works for my dad… well use to. Her bus finally came giving me just enough time to get to school.

I got to school just in time to get to my locker and get my books for history. Just as I shut my locker I felt someone tap me on my shoulder. I turned around and I saw her. Naomi the most beautiful girl in this school, but why was she talking to me. “ Hey Daemon.” I looked at her surprised she even knew my name. I mean I wasn’t a loser, I knew people, I had friends and was surprisingly popular considering the fact that I never had new clothes so I guess it was my personality. “ Umm... Hey Naomi. Wassup?” I finally said, I started wondering how I sounded. “ So I just wanted to know….” She said in a very sexy voice but my phone started ringing. My phone never rings unless it has something to do with Amya. I answered it. “ Hello Daemon?” some lady said. “Yeah this is me” I said I was getting annoyed. “Okay I was calling to tell you about your sister, Amya.” The lady said. She had a calm voice  so I didn’t think it was anything serious. “Yeah what’s wrong with her?” I said confused. “Well she has a very high fever and she’s very nauseous, is there anyway that someone can pick her up?” At that moment all I could do was look at Naomi. The one chance that she will ever talk to me slipped out of my hands, but it was my sister. This was something I knew I had to give up to give my sister that perfect brother. The big brother that will always be there for her and never leave her.