Chapter 1 Gangs

One day, I heard a pounding at my big cherry wood door.
“Wake up, Aurora, or you’ll be late! And you know what being late does to a little white girl!” Why does she always have to call me a little white girl? I am white, and she’s black, but that doesn’t make a difference in the consequences of being late! I flipped my legs off my four poster bed, and scanned the room, looking for any clues to Chris’s possible invading of my privacy. My desk, with the tiny silver Dell laptop and bajillion papers scattered on it looked normal; my closet doors, with the many posters of boy celebrities and teen idols stuck to it wasn’t any different. I looked under my bed; nothing but a few dust bunnies and some empty boxes; but when my eyes scrolled over to my dresser, I froze. Chris had a pet cobra named Lilly, and she liked warm places. Two of my t-shirts, sitting on the dresser, were her warmth, and she lay there, slightly curled up in them.
I wasn’t going to yell, but what I did do was swing open my door and run to Chris’s room.
He was just sitting there, holding his new “iPod Touch,” and playing Tap-Tap, like there was nothing else to do before school.

Chapter 1 Gangs

But, they decided, for some dang reason, to drop me off at the Black’s house (Yes, that is their real name.) so that I wouldn’t know my family. But really, I have it okay, compared to, you know, the people on the streets. I don’t have anything against black people, but Chris, the oldest, starts to drive you nuts with his booming music and so called “rapping skills.” Rita, the mom of the Black’s, annoys me merely because she doesn’t let me have friends over, doesn’t let me pick what my room looks like, what brand my clothes are, nor does she let me ever pick what kind of food we have in the house.
But, to me, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’ve gotten used to Chris, and Rita, and although they don’t have a father, Rita has a boyfriend named Ricky, also black, and together they had a baby who was born just ten days ago. Her name is Destiny, like one of my best friends, and she is really the only Black I like; she’s still innocent and sweet.

Chapter 1 Gangs

If you’re wondering, the person who was just allowed two chapters of fame, is not the main character. I am. My name is Aurora Daniels. I live in a home full of blacks. Okay, that is pretty vague, and they are really African American, but to me, they are merely blacks. I live in a room by myself, with a computer as my friend. I communicate with my friends that way. My real parents are alive, but I don’t know where they are. Okay, stop saying to yourself, “This sounds like Harry Potter.” Believe me, please, this is not like it. My hair is dirty blond, my eyes are blue. NOT the same as jet black hair and green eyes. (If you don’t know what Harry Potter is, it’s okay, ignore these comments.)
Anyway, I got in this predicament when my parents left me. I don’t know why they got rid of me; I was only one year old.

Chapter 2 Defendants

I woke up to three men, and this time, my mom, dad, and another brunette woman, whom I didn’t recognize. The three men were dressed in leather with their machine guns in their holsters. They led me into a small room, which really didn’t even look like a courtroom, but had an audience seating, a higher jury seating, and a big desk at the front for the judge. The audience was little, but everyone there I recognized, although I was too nervous to name them off to myself, and there were only three jury members. One was the lady who had come to my cell, who now walked up to the seats, and sat down in the middle of a little girl with brown curls and pink ribbons wrapped around her pigtails, bouncing up and down in her seat, and pointing at the judge’s hair, giggling to herself. I had to admit, the Beehive was kinda out of style, and I thought she was so cute, with her little teeth, fingers, and rich brown curls.

I looked to the other side of the lady, and saw…Jordan Lykes! His brown hair was as rich as the little girl’s, who must have been his sister; the lady, his mom. He was looking at the little knot of people surrounding me, and caught my eye. My breath was gone for ten seconds, and then I quickly looked away. I had felt it; it was real. My bliss evaporated when I sat behind the criminals’ desk. All eyes were on me.

Chapter 2 Defendants

The trigger was pulled, and in my half-blindness, the shell flew through the air, placing itself into Mr. Hagberg’s chest. I felt sick, and knew that it was only a matter of time before he died. I had the gun in my hands, but before I could turn it on myself, my dad had tossed it out of my hands, and rushed over to Mr. Hagberg, who was bleeding horribly, making the grass swim in red. My mind shut down, and the only thing I thought was that I was going to jail…………………….
The next thing I knew, I was in a cell, and those men had come.

So, now, as I walked down that dark, yet dimly lit hallway, cells with men wasting away on either side, and low, round, yellow lights barely lighting the hallway, I remembered that whole scene. I kept to myself even more now, and maybe it was just the fact that I didn’t want to give myself away, but it was also because, really, I have always been shy. You might never have known that if you read something I wrote, though. I don’t know why it’s easier to talk to people when I can’t see them, especially when they’re reading something that I’ve written in the past.

Chapter 1 Behind Bars

So, we walked out onto their hard concrete porch. I took off my heels, knowing that it would be a bad idea to run around in shoes that put my life on the line. Mr. Hagberg cocked the shotgun, and aimed at a sparrow high in the trees, and with the crash from the barrel, a dull thud, and a swishing in the air, the bird dropped through the air, smashing to the ground. Then, he handed it to me, after a nod of permission, and smile from my dad, and showed me how to aim well, then stood in front of the tree to tell me where the front of the barrel was. I aimed high, but didn’t see anything. Then, my finger slipped.

Chapter 1 Behind Bars

…and then I saw it. The shiny, copper barrel, the smooth black trigger, a box of gleaming, golden shells lay on the counter, right next to it. From my knowledge and wonderful eyesight, both inherited from my dad, I saw that the shells were 14-calibers. Mrs. Hagberg’s voice faded, and all I wanted to do was grab that shotgun and shoot a couple of birds, or maybe a deer, if I could go take it to the forest.
Then my dad and Mr. Hagberg came downstairs, and told us to come and see the beautiful birdhouse they had built. Luckily for me, Mr. Hagberg told me I could stay downstairs and look around the house, maybe look into Mrs. Hagberg’s room of collectibles. I smiled, curtsied, and clasped my hands, waiting for the four pairs of footsteps to fade completely. The moment they did, I swept silently over to the counter, and stuffed the shells into a pocket of my sweater.

Chapter 1 Behind Bars

The man’s fist acted of almost its own accord, making contact with my cheek, shattering my jaw-bone, and making me pour out blood, spitting from the left side of my mouth, careful not to use the right side. All five men laughed hysterically at me, slamming the cold metal bars, locking them in their brackets. I stared at those cylindrical bars, casting shadows on the floor from the moonlight streaming in through the window, also obscured by dark gray metal bars.
Now I was absolutely lifeless, a limp, dying form, in a cell; dark, cold, and gray. My navy sweatshirt was drenched in sweat, and dribbled with blood, but I ripped it off, tearing off a few strips and wrapping them around my jaw, making it grow darker, yet holding the bone in place, at least for now. I slid onto the stone table that was supposed to be a bed, but reminded me of a stone table; ironically, and made sure the injured half of my jaw faced the concrete ceiling. I had a fit-full sleep, dreamless, and darker than a starless sky.

Chapter 1 Behind Bars

Sweating profusely throughout, a cold-sweat ripped through my body, rendering me nearly lifeless. I held onto the one life-line I had left; my twelve gauge, shotgun, knowing it was useless to the shiny black machine guns sitting in the rough men’s holsters. Whips, about twelve feet long, lay just as lifeless as I, in the men’s hands, getting ready to slice into my flesh, doing their duties. One man kicked my left shin, so that I fell further down onto the floor, shivering and pleading with the men. “Please! Please! I never meant to hurt Mr. Hagberg! His wife killed him!” I screamed, even though the last few words were a lie. The tears streamed down my face with a profound speed.