(Kill the lights)
These children learn from cigarette burns, 590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoOGBsXle2z
Fast cars, fast women, and cheap drinks.590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpuX4vUy4N4
(It feels right)590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmcbBpyZroF
All these asphyxiated, self-medicated...590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPmz2IGviPM
Take the white pill, you'll feel alright590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRNFZCYhxZU
-3oh!3590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpc8UU4iHa7
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My feet didn't carry me very quickly, or very far. It was already a few hours into the night by the end of the bus ride, and Eastpointe was pretty difficult and frightening to navigate. I admit, I'm not as tough as I might seem.
I may be about 5'8, black, with close-cropped and unruly hair, and strong arms, but stereotypes don't mean anything in dangerous areas like these. I had to be careful. I repeated self-defense maneuvers over and over again in my head as I paced my steps to the beat of my favorite songs. Memories of home calmed me down when I passes large crowds of men or screaming teens. I regretted my decision to leave home, but I knew I woulds regret turning back more.
As much as I hated it, my life had turned into a crappy, PG-13 murder mystery story, but since no one else seemed to be doing anything about it, I was going to figure at least a little bit of something out. Who cares if I was being childish, impulsive? I was and am a child, and I have always followed my gut feeling.
It began to rain, blurring my vision nearly completely. Especially in a new area, I had no perception of my surroundings, making me very perceptible to a mugging at the moment. That didn't sit well with my gut feeling. As much as my anxiety and paranoia screamed at me not too, I found my body being directioned towards a group of kids, maybe teens, in an alleyway covered by a large overhang tarp.
They had a can with a small fire burning in the back, and immediately all eyes fell upon me as I walked into the alleyway. Some kids were sitting around the fire, talking in hushed whispers. Others leaned against the wall, sleeping, nothing but the clothes on their backs and the rusted keys in between their unconscious knuckles. Some kids were smoking, laughing, their eye whites no longer white, but bleeding red. The entire aura of hopelessness and abandonment made me want to cry.
I didn't cry. I would have been eaten alive.
I felt very out of place, with my cardigan and jeans, my few-months-old tennis shoes, my pocket knife from my kitchen. I dropped my bag at my legs, slipping it around my shins to prevent a grab-and-run mugging, and slid down with my back against the wall. An older-looking girl, maybe about 19, approached me from the fire, still lit joint in between her fingers, and slid down to sit right next to me. I noticed that she wasn't wearing shoes, and that she hadn't shaved her legs in a very long time.
Her head fell back against the brick wall, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she turned to me, opened her eyes, and blew smoke in my face. I cringed, but held my position, not breathing until it blew out of the way. Needless to say, I didn't want to be high at a time like this. She laughed, and extinguished the joint on the dirty cement before stuffing it into her pocket, embers still red and hot.
Her eyes were muddy brown and hazed over, and her skin was pale and blotchy. Her hair was long and blonde and dirty, and so, so greasy. It looked like she hadn't showered in a few weeks. She was short, and stocky, and very curvy. Her shirt was low cut and her shorts were self-cut up to right below to curve of her bottom. Her fingernails were chipped and maybe a little bit bloody, or dirty, I couldn't tell. Something definitely seemed off about her, but not off enough for me to be truly afraid. She didn't look like she wanted to hurt me.
"You're not from around here, hun." She said to me, head tilting back up to the overhead tarp. She shook her head, grease practically dripping off of her hair at the action. Her fingernails were dirty, her arms covered in peeling sunburn and her face coated in acne and dirt. She had smeared lipstick and eyeliner covering her features, and I couldn't help but wonder how long it had been there.
She shook her head again.
"You're not from around here, kid. And I'm gonna tell you, you don't wanna be from around here. You don't wanna be here. Go home while you've got one, kid."
I looked at her, before I shook my head, looking down and out at my feet. She pulled my face into her hands, eyes boring into mine, almost glaring me down. I could smell, almost taste, the smoke coming off of her breath. I could see the pain in her eyes, and I could feel her own past catching up with her and forcing words from her mouth.
"You've either got a dead wish or some sort of victim complex, but trust me, neither of those are a good enough reason to end up here."
I opened my mouth to speak, but she hushed me with a sloppy, intoxicated palm.
"No. No buts. Just look at me." She rolled her eyes, laughing, obviously a side effect of the drugs.
"Look at me. I'm 20. I used to be a wide-eyed little kid like you. Went to college for a coupl'a years, had a boyfriend, had a family that loved me. Then, i got the great idea that I needed an out. Thought I was tough shit, huh? Yeah, well once you get hooked on this lifestyle, kiddo, you can't get out of it. Nothing feels the same, nothing gets you that dangerous rush. Doesn't matter how self-destructive you are, this stuff'll screw you over again and again, 'n you'll end up right here all over again. Every time."
She wiped her face, not doing much but smearing her eye make-up.
I stared at her, and she lifted her hand to let me speak. All eyes were on me in the alley, all eyes of kids who never got the chances I did, and were wondering what the hell I thought I was doing here. I figured I might as well let them know. I figured I might as well give them a reason, they deserved that much.
"My father was murdered. It was some sort of...drug cartel, I'm pretty sure. Nobody will tell me anything, and nobody else seems to care. Everything just feels like I'm drowning and I need some answers. I need something."590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoKXLzazFP2
She nodded, pulling me into a hug, and an older, male voice called from the other side of the alley. Something like, "this isn't a therapy business girly, get outta here." I was very thankful that the greasy-headed girl decided to ignore it. 590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr2OjFUlZCk
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"Yeah, you need something. But not this. Nobody needs this. You got somewhere you're going?"
I nodded to her. I did, but I didn't really want to tell her.
"Where you headed? Figure I might I go along, y'know. Don't got nothin' else, and I think I want a little bit'a adventure, if I can get it. Anything to get me outta here, y'know.
I narrowed my eyes, going on the defensive.
I spoke. "What makes you think you're coming?"
She shrugged, "What makes you think you can stop me from going?"
I shook my head. "I don't have to tell you where I'm going."590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGYpr333lVt
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She rolled her eyes, hitting her back roughly against the wall.
"I'm not gonna beg you 'r anythin', just thought you could use some help. Pretty 'il girly, on these streets, alone? Nah, you're not gonna make it. I guarantee it. Not without me, or maybe some more than me."
I nodded, actually considering it. "Yeah, whatever, just don't kill me or anything?"
She scoffed, eyes wide and sarcastic, "Yeah, honey, sure, no promises or anything. It's like you think we're heartless, rough, criminals. I been here since I was 15, 'bout your age right?" She asked, I nodded, and she continued. "Yeah, I don't wanna kill you. I'm not doing anything with my life, why not help yours. If you'll trust me. Will you trust a girl at the end of her world?"
She smiled, sickeningly, all teeth and all overwhelming pain. Everything inside of me was screaming no no no no NO. But I nodded. I agreed, and that was it.
"Tomorrow morning then. You can come with me, but just don't slow me down. I have things I need to do."
I nodded again, not believing even myself. Everything was so out of character. I just felt nothing but raw emotion and anger and loneliness. I looked out of the corner of my eye, to see a preteen boy extending his arm. It was a beer bottle, half dranken, but I took it and took a long swig. It burned my throat and I sputtered, and the boy extended his other arm, and I took it, allowing him to swing me to my feet.
He pulled me over to the fire, where we both sat, and a group of kids began to meander around the fire, circling around, watching me expectantly.
The greasy-haired 20 year old girl wandered over, sitting beside me, taking a swig from my bottle without asking and then handing it back to me. I looked at her, a little-bit-very-much afraid. She nudged me and gestured towards the crowd of lost children.
"They wanna know your story. They wanna know how you got here, why you're here, and where you're going. We've still got our childish story-time side, nothin' else is'll that interesting, y'know?"
I nodded, and looked around. They didn't seem so intimidating anymore. Just tired, just curious, just dreamers. They wanted a story, I'd give them a hell of a story. Who cares, it's not like my story even belonged to me. It belonged to all of us, all of them, who had suffered. They'd all suffered in different ways and at different extremities, but the young, drug-hazed kids were really not that different than anyone else I knew. They just had more pain, and were less willing to ask for help.
So I told them. I opened my mouth, took a swig, and launched into my morbid flashbacks and anxiety attacks. I slurred on, drunkenly preaching my soul to the crowd of children who once wanted to do something with their life but no longer had the chance. I spent a few hours letting the words tumble out, and letting their words fill my mind, morbid and slow and so so candid. So raw. So real.
It was nothing like I had ever seen or heard or felt before.
So then, when we were done, I curled up on the dirty cement, listening to rain pounding and children crying. Gunshots in the distance, sirens somewhere, a yell or a swear word or a joke. A morbid comment and a candid response. 590Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoBDd9bJJWG
It was like a brand, burned into my skin, that I could never get rid of. Because I realized, that no matter how drunk I got, I couldn't ever truly forget. I could never forget the sheer angst that I felt dripping like venom from their musty yellow teeth.
I kept drinking, and passed out eventually, curled up against a few other kids and the greasy-haired girl, my bag still wrapped protectively around my body.
I no longer held my knife. I no longer tried to hide my presence
I no longer felt like I had to protect myself, I had twenty-something other kids to do that for me.
ns 18.68.41.148da2
