Novel Treatments / Just one of the gang
I stared into her emerald green eyes as I held her tiny three-foot frame, her hair, like black velvet, caressing my arms. She was five and in her eyes I could see a wisdom not usually born in one so young, wisdom that, in part, I had given her. The knowledge of ones own death it a universal feeling transcending all aspects of life, even age. In those eyes I could tell she knew that she was dying.
“Where is my daddy?” She asked, little flecks of blood drying at the corners of her mouth. Looking to my right I saw him, lying still on the ground only a few feet from me, his shirt crimson with his own blood and that of his precious daughters. “He’s waiting for you” I answer, a catch in my throat and tears welling up in me. The small hole in her chest burbled blood as she cried.
“Please where’s my daddy, it hurts. It hur…” Her legs twitched and began to convulse. I held her close to me, kissing her brow, rocking back and forth, trying to comfort her as she stiffened in my arms. I could hear sirens and the screams from behind me to get back in the car. I held her. I held her as she slipped away and joined her father once again.
-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—-—
The rain fell like a sheet of tears the day of her funeral. The very sun mourned her passing. I stayed a ways away so I wouldn’t be spotted. I had found out a great deal about the little girl in the past few days. Valerie Marie Davis. A first grader at a nearby elementary school. I saw her mother standing there, she would have looked just like her had I not intervened in her life. She stood there dressed in black, her own tears echoing the weather around her. In one evening she lost a husband and a daughter to a bullet I fired. I don’t even know why I fired it. Of course I know why, I was told to, but I mean the real reason, not the one to this day I regret. The hatred of rival gangs. Such a stupid reason for anything in life, hatred. No why did I have to pull the trigger?
Just like her mother she wanted to be a veterinarian. It was her dream, now shattered by my hand. My hand… In it I held the locket she had worn that night. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it. Maybe it was Gods plan for me to do so. I don’t know. I’m not all that religious. What I do know is that it served as a milestone in my life. That locket was an awakening for me. It was the pivotal moment that made me finally realize this was not the life I wanted.
-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—-—
Two years before this all I had moved with my mother to a small town on the lower tip of Texas. It was a quiet little place. One of those all American towns. As a matter of fact it was exactly like those types of town. It was fine on the surface. It was only once you started to scratch and peel away the fancy protective coating that one finds the filth beneath. At this time I hadn’t had the opportunity to scratch yet.
My first day of school was just what I had feared, awkward. I didn’t really fit in. I didn’t talk like anyone else and I had yet to make any acquaintances come noon.
In the school yard for recess was when my day began to reach its pinnacle of stereotypical idiosyncrasies. Of course I was the new kid. Just like any other school in the world there was a bully there who made it his profession, which he took great pride in, to “welcome” the new guy. After all there was always a new guy at school. The job never lost its flare.
“You’re sittin at my bench!” The huge teen said in rough tones to me as he approached. For a moment I could have sworn his knuckles were dragging the ground and as he finished he beat his chest with a gratifying roar. Shaking the picture away as just a figment of my overactive imagination. I cleared my throat and asked.
“What?” I guess that was the wrong answer.
The ape grabbed my shirt collar and lifted me to my tip-toes. Now don’t get me wrong I am not a small guy. I probably could have taken the slow moving neanderthal. I just didn’t want any trouble on my first day. Well in the immortal words of the stones, “Ya can’t always get what ya want.”
“Look” I said in that chocked up, barely able to breathe voice people have when being strangled.
“I don’t want trouble. I just didn’t hear you, that’s all.”
“Do you hear that boys?” The ape retorted to his gang of cronies behind and about him. “He don’t want no trouble.”
This was just getting worse by the miniute. I hated fighting. It was something I did only in the rarest of times. I had had enough though and if I didn’t do something now, I would have been branded a bitch here, for the rest of my days.
Carefully weighing my choices. I figured if I kicked him in the balls he would drop me. Afriend would probably try to throw a punch. I just had to keep watch as to which one flinched first. This could be easy if a teacher breaks it up after all the real commotion. Gritting my teeth and clenching my fists I prepared to do it when all of a sudden, like a tiny beam of sunshine on a stormy day. A voice I had never heard split the air.
“What are ya doin Gavin? Put him down.” The voice was cool, calm, young, not a Teacher as I had first thought. Opening my eyes I saw him. A sort of tall, not really built but deffinitely strong black male standing behind me. “Who is he?” I wondered to myself. My previous thoughts of escape a fleeting memory in my mind at the moment.
“Fuck you D, this ain’t got shit to do wit you.” The beast still holding me snorted in retort.
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The very sun mourned her passing.
Suggest:...about Valerie Marie Davis in the past few days.
Otherwise, the piece is emotionally engaging and could only be improved by more fluid breaks between the sections and maybe the addition of a little more setting and charachter development. Good job, could be great with a little re-work.
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good story graphic emotional and proving a great point, wish kids in neighborhoods like this could read this
The only thing I see here is: Dialogue should always be in it’s own paragraph.
Other than that. This is probably the best thing I have read here.
Good writers say that you should always write what you know. If this is actually a story of fact, not fiction, you definately know it.
If you could expand on it, put flesh on the bones if you will, this would make a great novel. For someone as young as you are, this is fantastic.
oh, beautiful. the first paragraph in itself captured me and made me feel as though i knew the characters.
please continue, and i’m surely adding this to my favorites.
wonderful descriptions… wondeful plot and story all in all. great job with this.
Wow that is so sad. The dad died and now the daughter died in what seenms to me to be a strangers arms.Anyways good job and keep writing.
There seems to be a great story in there waiting to come out. You just need to put it on the page. You’ve painted the picture of holding this dying girl near her dead father very well, but there’s a whole story that deserves as much attention. The story is about a man in a gang who has a revelation after killing a father and daughter. Tell the story. Get us to that point so we can see the main character before and after. There has to be a lot of story here. Put it together. Tell it.
As far as the writing itself goes, you seem to have some talent, even if you haven’t taken the time to carefully review. Emerald green eyes is redundant, emerald is enough. The second to last sentence of the first paragraph is plagued by typos. You stuck the landing at the end of that paragraph. Very nice, I’m hooked. Editing the next paragraph is needed. The first sentence and second is where the problem is. The image of blood burbling from her chest as she cries is disturbingly good. I’m a bit let down when I get to the next part. The wheather is nicely painted, but other than that, the scene is a bit vague. It’s just standard funeral kind of thing. No real details to lock on. The mom, that helps some. But like I said. The story just isn’t on the page yet. I really look forward to reading this once you put down the whole story. It could be incredible.
The description was believable. The leg twitching and convulsing really got to me, which is the sign of a good writer.
Not really sure if this really happened to you, or if the whole “this is my story” was true or not, but a good read overall.
Good work.
Wow. It’s very short and thus it’s hard in ways to connect to the characters, but you do an excellent job. I’d love to see it expanded.
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