Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / chased down by dreams,chapt.1& prologue (Analysis)
PROLOGUE :
I couldn't believe it. Stunned and confused, my mind raced to understand . This cannot be happening. I sat down on the bed and slowly moved closer to my pillow, be carefull, you know this cat is a killer, just keep em talkin, I thought. I looked over at tommy," why you helpin him do this to me?" He looked at the package on the table, shrugged his shoulders and with a somewhat of a devilish grin and started feeding me some lame ass sob story. My hand was almost under the pillow, keep talkin you sorry sack of shit. Damn! it wasn't there. I nervously wiped sweat from my forehead , as a feeling of panic and fear overcame me. Slowly I turned around. How can I be so stupid. Mentally I kicked myself as I realized the awfull truth. It's a done deal. They can't let me live................
CHAPTER 1:
So this is it, the end? I could've thought of a million ways. But never like this. Life, love, everything, gone, shriveld to nothing. All that's left is a hollow empty void. My whole world ,gone. Is this what I deserve? Is it just?
Yesterday seems like a dream, a fleeting memory where life was so dangerously beautiful, and full of unknown potential. But the past has a, way of chasing you down. My life use to be a thing of camouflaged nightmares, fast, hard, violent, and fun. Like so many urban youths, the city had its way of hiding the truth from me. What's real is this, the city dosen't seem so bad until you take a long look back by choice, or force.
I started life a rebel.The middle child amongst seven siblings, three brothers and three sisters. Even though I loved all my brothers and sisters, I didn't have a single friend between them and I liked it that way.To everyone else I was strange or troubled, but I was just me,a loner a dreamer. I was a quiet kid which everyone had mistaken for being shy, but there is a difference. I was a thinker. No one understood this, including me at that time. In my mind there was always why, when, and how,but never outloud. One day my sister lisa(she was the oldest girl and just like mama)was walking me to school,I guess I was around seven or eight. We saw red and blue flashing lights just a few houses ahead of us. It was the police,they were at TJ's house.TJ was a known drug dealer and the neighborhood thug. Now,all dealers were'nt bad guys but this dude was vicious and violent as they came. As we moved closer I saw him. There was blood everywhere, he was dead. I looked up at lisa with wondering eyes, but I didn't say a word. She stared back as if waiting for a question. After nothing was said,my sister twisted my head foward and we kept walking. This wasn't the first glimpse at death for either of us, or the last. I don't know what was so different about this particular murder,but all day I wondered why was he dead? Did he go to heaven? And strangely, how much money did he have in his pocket. I never talked about it.
My father died when I was one or two, so I never knew him.Plus you can't miss what you never had. I had mama though. she was a very strong women(still is),strict when she needed to be(with four willfull boys she had to be),but gentle and loving most of the time. Mama, for years she was my only ali.
My older brothers were hard,rough and unyeilding to anything or anyone, including me. But they were fiercely protective. Eventhough they tortured everyone in the neighborhood, family was everything to them. Once when I was a teenager (about fourteen),I was "jumped" by three adults, brothers. Our families had a history of bad blood .Although I was very big for my age,i was a child. And a child is just a child, right? I made it home late, bloody, bruised ,and swollen. Mama asked me what happened. I told her but left out names. She shook her head, cleaned me up, and left for work. When she left so did my two older brothers. They returned hours later along with our cousin jake. Neither of them could sit still for very long. Nervously they glanced out of the window, unconciously taking turns. I stood in the doorway and watched until kordell told me to shut the door. As I came into the room,I saw part of reason for there actions. Sitting on the table were more drugs and money than I had ever seen in my young life, and I thought I had seen a lot at that age. Kordell (my oldest brother) looked at me, smiled and said "I gotcha bro". As morbid as it was,I understood. I also knew the main reason they were so nervous had very little to do with the drugs,and a lot to do with the bloodstained money that was on the table. I knew what happened and why. One week later I saw a familar face on a missing persons poster. I rubbed my sore and slighty swollen jaw and kept walking. I never had a problem with that particular family again.
As I grew older I became the muscle, sixteen years old 6"2', 265 pounds,solid. I was still a quiet, but no nonsense and very serious teenager,still the thinker. I was pretty good in school , all A's. My teachers thought I was some kind of genious, just a little anti-socialble. Mama didn,t like me" hanging" with my older brothers, but all in all she thought I was an angel,well I was her angel. I wouldv'e never changed that perception if it were up to me. School was for her (mostly). I love my mama.
I dreamed of big things all the time, legal businesses, investments, stocks, bonds, everything (Constantly the thinker). But I knew the truth, I would probally die in the hood before the hood died in me. Plus dreams are just that,dreams, and life goes on, right?
My brothers had long since moved out ,and every couple of days they would come by and pick me up. Usually mama would be at work. They would show me a glimpse of their world, and I was hungry for it. I was back up in drug deals, when low level players didn't pay, I was the penalty. Anything that didn't involve shootouts and premeditated murder I was there, their personal attack dog, retribution, and I loved it. The more vicious the beating, the more respect (or fear) I earned. But they also knew that hell has no fury like a mother scorned. So when things were really bad they kept me out of it. I always knew when those times came though. These were the times when I would think about our escape from the hood. I would sit for hours daydreaming of legal money, and rightously earned respect. No more late night escapades for my brothers which involved things that they couldn't or wouldn't tell me about. No more police and drugs. No guns or violence, a dream.
I despised guns, but was fluent in the art of. I'd been the owner of at least seven since my 14th birthday by then and "puttin in work" was a normal thing. My brothers tried to keep me away from real violence. But by the time I turned 17 it was too late. I had my own clique, guns, and my own drugs. kordell and Treyvone would always say to me,"don't kill unless it's life or death". Kids follow by example though, not advice. My brothers were gangsters and so was I, and so was most of the "hood".
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I like a lot of what is here. You delve deep into these characters in a short time and it made their struggles seem so much more real. And I liked your protagonist, which is key in building a relationship with him and making us care about him. I liked how you put us into his head, also, allowing us access to thoughts that will eventually, I assume, shape who he becomes in the story.
Your structure needs work, however. You need to break up your paragraphs where dialogue is concerned. Indent each paragraph and clip a few sentences. I believe in the economy of words, whereby anything extraneous is cut. Simple. I wish you luck with this, though, because I really enjoyed what was here.
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