The first time I ever saw the Street Ryders was when I was about eight years old.
People in crowds parted for them, it was like they oozed power and respect.
I dreamt every night that I could be one of them. That I would have that respect and power. That I would have their symbol tattood into my skin, and people would see it.
It's all I ever wanted for years, then my life took a sudden and unexpected turn.
Whispers echoed down the small hall ways of my school. They followed me day after day, from class to class, from 8:15 in the morning 'till 2:30 they followed me.
I was known asthe 'Psycho Bitch,' and it fit too. If you told me to do something, I told you where you could go. If you told me I was a slut, I was ready to beat you. If you threatened me, you'd better be watching your ass.
That's just the way I rolled.
"... Look at the way she dresses! She looks like a whore-"
I whipped around to see Tiffany talking to one of her followers. "You wanna repeat that?" I snapped, hands in tight fists.
Her blond hair was curled today, and her face looked scared. But she covered it up.
"Yeah. You dress like a slut," she said bluntly.
I stepped forward. "I may dress like one, but I'll never be a Prostitute like you," I told her. She blinked. Tiffany was 'famous' because for a few months she had been pimped a few years back. "And if I ever get stuck like you did, I won't enjoy it like you did," I hissed.
If you pissed me off, I always struck low, or hit you. No questions asked.
Her hazel eyes looked fearful and wide. Then wet, like she was about to cry. She took off passed me, her followers trailing her by feet.
I smirked to myself. That's why I was the 'Psycho Bitch'.
I only had Algerbra and History left, and I was getting restless. So I put all my books back into my locker, already done my homework, and started for the EXIT.
I was lucky I got out before the warning bell, because I would've been ratted out immediatly by some Hall Moniter, and that was the last thing I needed.
I ran down streets, going from the slightly nice street signs and houses to the shit ones.
I slowed down around that point, because I was tired and I felt like I was sweating a river.
All around me on the ground was trash, broken glass, and a used condom here and there.
The houses were dirty, some decorated in some Graffiti, and some of the doors had scars from getting kicked in.
Young children ran around without supervision, without shoes and runny noses, some of them hungry.
Drop outs lounged around on dead and dirty lawns and around expensive cars, most likely belonging to Drug dealers or Arms dealers, maybe some Pimps.
I really was glad, though, that segragation was more or less of the past, even if there were still some racist people, I would have felt really put out if I was the only white girl in this neighborhood.
Nearby a couple of dogs were barking and growling, and some people were shouting over something like cheques. Music was in the air too, 50 Cent... And I think someone else was blasting 2Pac.
This was normal. Everyday stuff. It never changed.
I walked up to my house, it's door dented, and windows dirty. I stepped in, and quietly snuck up to my room, hoping my cousin wasn't in the house.
The once off white walls were grimey closer to the floor, and there was only some furniture.
I slowly went step by step to the second level, avoiding the ones that creaked, and still I got caught by my fucked up cousin.
"What the hell are you doing home?" Rashel demanded.
I rolled my eyes, and turned to face her.
Her red hair was messy, and she had no make-up on. Her green eyes were surrounded by deep purple circles, and her face was gaunt. She's skinny, by the way, very skinny. She does Everything from Pot to Meth, so you an imagine what she looks like.
"I skipped. But like you give a shit," I snapped.
"Um yeah, I sorta do," she said. Her voice was like a fuckin' grater on my ears. "'Cause if you get shipped off to some foster house, I don't get my cheques, which means I got no place to live," she said.
I finally took note of her short house coat, and I looked around the corner of the stairwell, to see a pair of feet hanging off our beat up couch. I had been right, she had been having sex earlier in the day.
"Yeah, well if I do get moved you can kiss my ass!" I said. I grabbed my Street Bag, and stormed out the door, hearing incoherent shouts behind me from Rashel.
I ran deeper int othe East-End, and waited outside M. Harolds school for my crew. It sucked we went to different places, but whatever. I could deal.
Finally my crew came out of the doors, or most of them, and we greeted with a 'Gangster' hug. Like a 'slap hands and one arm around each other thing'.
There was a total of nine of us. Three of us weren't here at the moment.
We were laughing, having a good time, when screeching tires and gun shots made chills creep through me.
I threw myself at the ground, hoping I wouldn't get hit.
Within forty seconds the screeching tires were fading in the distance, and I slowly stood.
And when I turned around, what I saw devastated me.