Life ( A series of short stories) .5

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A prequel to the 1st installment of "life"

Submitted: July 02, 2017

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Submitted: July 02, 2017

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Life (a series of short stories) .5

She was 39 when she passed away. She was all I had, I was an only child, and my dad walked out on us as soon as he got word that my mom was pregnant. She tried her best to keep me on the straight and narrow, but she just couldn’t control me. She used to always tell me how she wished that I was still her “little boy”. At least that is what she used to say when I was younger. After I entered the teenage realm, her whole outlook shifted. It shifted, because I started hanging out with a sketchy crowd. I was only 15 when I started drinking, and 16 when I started smoking cigarettes. I was constantly getting in trouble in school, and had regular run ins with the cops. The whole ordeal started with petty stuff, like skipping class, and stealing candy bars from the local gas station, but the situation quickly spiraled out of control. I was 17 when I dropped out of school, and soon after I started using drugs, and to support my habit I started selling them as well. My mom realized the path I was going down, but she didn’t have the means to stop what was happening, because she was rarely around. She worked 3 jobs just to make ends meet. In hindsight, that’s probably what initially caused my misbehavior, not having a parental figure to mentor me, or pay attention to me. I was basically fending for myself. That’s what I felt like when I was younger at least, looking back now, I realize that I couldn’t have been more wrong. My mother worked her tail off trying to provide for me. I wish I would’ve thanked her more often. She deserved heaven and I gave her a living hell. I wish I could bring he back, just to apologize to her and tell her how much I love her. Knowing that it is my fault that she is no longer living, is something that haunts me every night when I fall asleep along with the memory of that night.

Two years ago today was the night my mother was brutally murdered, I was 18. We lived in a terrible part of down town Chicago and my drug selling only made the circumstances worse. That night, a completely blacked out SUV Pulled up in front of my house. Nobody got out, the occupants never rolled the windows down, or shut off the vehicle. They just sat there under the dimly lit street light for what seemed like an eternity. In all reality, it was probably 10 minutes or so, but you get the point. About 5 minutes later, I saw the same SUV turn back down our street, it slowed down before my house and the windows rolled down, 3 people opened fire on the living room with dual wielded automatic weapons. My mother was sitting in her favorite chair across from the picture window where the thugs shot through. Each of the gang members empties 2 full magazines into the house before they sped off. My mother was struck 10 times. Twice in the head and 8 times in the torso. I was completely unscathed, because I was out of the line of fire when the shooting began. The shooters, were sent by my supplier because I stole massive amounts of product from him. But instead of fulfilling his thirst for revenge, He shot and killed an innocent woman who didn’t even know I sold drugs. That night she died in my arms before I could even call the ambulance. He death was all my fault, and that is a guilt that will never go away.

 

(prequel to #1)


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