Angel Draiker sped down the streets in his father’s old car like a maniac, the engine roaring as the city blurred around him. He was having the time of his life, a fleeting moment of euphoria until they showed up. He adjusted the rearview mirror, catching the glare of red and blue lights flashing behind him. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
“Why in the heck can’t I just be left alone?” Angel muttered, frustration tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He pressed down on the gas, the speedometer climbing rapidly.
I’ve got two choices: make this easy or hard. A mischievous smile crept across his face.
“Nothin’ in life is free, right? Let’s make you donut-eatin’ jelly rolls work for it!” He slammed the pedal to the floor, the car surging forward as his speed hit 120. “Now that’s speed, boy! Whooo!”
Angel laughed, the thrill of the chase intoxicating. He effortlessly turned corners and dodged oncoming traffic, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Speed had always been his escape, his way of outrunning the pain that had clung to him ever since that fateful night when he lost his father. The police called it an accident, but Angel knew better—it was murder, plain and simple. The anger simmering inside him had nowhere to go, so he channeled it into speed. What began as a hobby had become an addiction. Whether on a bike, skateboard, or behind the wheel of a car, the world became a blur, and for those fleeting moments, he was free.
That night, racing in a stolen car, he felt like he was in heaven, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders. He was finally living his dream of being a race car driver, unstoppable, like a mustang set free in the wild. But that freedom came with a cost.
Angel glanced in the rearview mirror again, seeing the police had pulled back. He had beaten them.
“Haha! Y’all ain’t got nothin’ on me, boy!” He danced in the front seat, reveling in his victory.
But then, suddenly, the car jerked and came to a screeching halt. Angel’s grin faded, replaced by a scowl of annoyance. They had laid out spike strips; it was a trap. He slumped down in the seat as the cops surrounded him.
“Dang...”
At just 14, Angel was caught joyriding in a stolen car, his need for speed and rebellion finally catching up with him. His father had promised to teach him how to drive as soon as he got his permit, wanting to help him fulfill his dream of being a race car driver. But his father wasn’t here anymore, so Angel decided to teach himself. Now, the lesson was over, and it wouldn’t be in session for a long time.
“Get out of the car and put your hands where I can see them!” an officer commanded.
Angel got out nonchalantly, raising his hands in the air as a dozen cops moved in to take him down.
“Aye aye, watch my arm, dawg! Why y’all gotta be so rough?”
“Angel?”
It was Officer Brown, his father’s former partner. The man shook his head in disbelief as he looked at Angel. Brown was about ten years younger than Angel’s father, slim, and still rocking a buzz cut in a world that had long moved on from that style.
“I’ll handle him,” Brown said, motioning for the other officers to back off as he roughly grabbed Angel, placing him in the squad car.
“You proud of yourself, Angel?” Brown asked, his voice heavy with disappointment.
Angel rolled his eyes, looking away, refusing to engage.
“You think this is what your father wanted, huh? Answer me!”
But Angel remained silent. He didn’t have time for a lecture from someone who wasn’t even his father.
“Okay, a’ight. We’ll see how you like it at juvie. Maybe after that, you’ll have an answer for me.”
The police car was a stark contrast to the freedom Angel craved—the cuffs tight around his wrists, the flashing lights reflecting off the windows as they drove him to juvenile detention. Five years, the judge had said. Five cold, hard years.
Juvenile Hall was a cold, unforgiving place, a far cry from the life he once knew. The walls were gray, the air thick with tension. Fights broke out regularly, and Angel quickly learned that survival meant staying tough and showing no weakness. But it wasn’t just about surviving physically, there was a psychological battle too. Angel had to keep his mind sharp, and his emotions in check. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought of his mother and grandparents, the only family he had left. He also found solace in a good game of chess, a skill his grandfather had taught him. At first, he thought it was boring, but soon it became a way to work out hardships in his mind and outmaneuver his enemies. He played it with himself, from both sides, until his mother or grandparents came to visit or it was bedtime. Those visits became the highlight of his time, reminding him of what he was missing.
One day, the guards called him for his daily visit. He walked to the booth with a rare smile, only to find his mother’s solemn face on the other side of the glass.
“Momma?” He sat down slowly, the smile fading. “You a’ight?”
“No, Angel, I’m not,” Maya said, her voice trembling. “What’s it gonna take for you to understand? You’ve extended your sentence more than twice, and now you’re gone all the time. Do you think this is a game? Do you think this is fun for me? Do you even think about me? We just lost your father... now what? I have to lose you too?”
Angel was at a loss for words as his mother broke down into deep, heart-wrenching sobs.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” he whispered, guilt twisting in his chest.
He hadn’t realized how much she was hurting. Each time she visited, she kept a strong exterior, but now, here she was, broken.
“No, Momma, I promise you won’t lose me,” he said, but she got up and left without a word.
The years passed slowly, each day blending into the next. Angel decided he wanted out. His mother’s sad, pleading eyes haunted him, and the weight of his bad behavior extending his time pressed heavily on his shoulders. Officer Brown had told him they could cut his sentence if he did some good, so Angel made up his mind.
He found himself surrounded by others like him—kids who had been dealt a bad hand in life, who had made mistakes, and who were trying to find their way in a world that had turned its back on them. Among them was Gabriel, always positive under pressure; Asha, the fighter who stayed strong no matter what; Khalil, who never let anyone mess with him; MaryJane, whose light sense of humor brightened even the darkest days; Michael, the one who kept to himself but was fiercely loyal; and Selena, the strategist and manipulator who could outthink and outtalk anyone.
Together, they formed a bond, a makeshift family in a place where trust was scarce. But even among his friends, Angel remained restless. His need for speed, for the thrill of pushing boundaries, never left him. He often daydreamed about the rush of wind in his hair, the roar of an engine, and the feeling of flying down the open road. It was the one thing that kept him going, a flicker of light in the darkness.
By the time Angel turned 18, he had changed. The anger that once fueled him had dulled, replaced by a quiet determination to make it out and keep the promise he’d made to his mother. His good behavior earned him an early release, but the world outside was different now—colder, more distant. The shadows of his past still clung to him, a constant reminder of the life he’d left behind.
As part of his release, Angel was required to attend counseling sessions with Spring Flowers, a woman whose patience seemed endless. One day, she listened, offering advice without judgment, but Angel remained guarded. He didn’t trust easily, not after everything he’d been through. But when she mentioned a trip to The Sanctuary of Fire—a state-of-the-art wildlife reserve that housed creatures thought to be extinct—his interest was piqued. He played it cool, shrugging off the suggestion as just another meaningless excursion, but deep down, something stirred.
That night, Angel sat at the kitchen table, his mother busy preparing dinner. The familiar smells of home-cooked food filled the air, a stark contrast to the sterile, bland meals he’d gotten used to in juvie. His grandparents sat in their usual spots—his grandfather with his cane resting nearby, his grandmother humming softly as she stirred the pot on the stove.
“Angel, you want some cornbread with your dinner?” his mother asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“Yeah, Momma,” Angel replied, his voice steady but low. He couldn’t help but notice the way she looked at him as if searching for the boy she used to know.
His grandmother looked up from her cooking, her eyes warm but concerned. “You know we’re just glad to have you home, baby. It’s been too long.”
Angel nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. “I know, Grandma. I’m tryin’ to adjust, it just feels weird, I guess.”
His grandfather, always the quiet one, finally spoke. “You’re a man now, Angel. We all go through things that shape us, but it’s up to you what you make of it. Remember, it’s not where you’ve been but where you’re goin’.”
Angel looked at the old man, his face lined with age and wisdom. The words struck a chord, resonating with something deep inside him. He had spent so long running—running from his past, from his pain, from himself. But now, for the first time, he began to see that maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running.
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