Squash in Egypt

Pierre….
Staring down the barrel of a gun makes it hard to think. What makes it even harder is that the
man holding the gun is ready to pull the trigger at any moment, without an ounce of thought. That man with no regard for human life was Bars; no one really knew his real name. I doubted any sane person would want to hold a conversation with him long enough to find out. I didn’t dare move, knowing that I could get blasted away in a split second. I wasn’t scared, however. Most people would be, but I wasn’t. Events like this were common in my life. I barely even breathed; so many thoughts ran through my brain. The alley, which I was in, was completely hidden, wedged between two vacant buildings. Cars zoomed past. If the drivers of those cars had seen us, which I doubt they did, they would have simply continued on their route like they hadn’t. We were completely alone.
“Who you rep?” Bars asked gripping the gun tighter.
Thinking over my response carefully, I replied, “I don’t rep anyone.” Claiming any gang besides
his meant certain death. Not once did he look away from my face. His cold, hate filled eyes stared into the pit of my soul. I forced myself to look back, making sure I showed no signs of fear or intimidation. These were two things they thrived in. Fear was what kept them in control. He looked me over carefully and reluctantly lowered his gun.
“I’m just passing through.”
Bars slowly stepped aside so I could pass by. I walked by him and breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Walking down the alley, I knew that was the last time I would be taking any shortcuts.
I stuck my key in the lock and tried to open the door to the apartment. The key didn’t turn. I
jiggled it a little and the door clicked unlocked. I threw my books on the sofa and headed straight for the fridge. Passing by the counter, I saw a piece of paper hidden under some magazines. It was a notice saying that the rent was late. Papers like these were as familiar as the bills themselves. They were just another one of life’s little reminders telling me and mom that we weren’t doing any better than the day before. I opened the fridge; there wasn’t much in it. There was a Chinese take-out box squashed in the back. Finally, food. I reached in and pulled it out. I opened the small, cubed shaped box only to be met with disappointment; it was empty. Disgusted, I tossed the box in the garbage. I closed the fridge and settled for some dry cereal and juice; we were out of milk. I sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. After channel surfing for awhile I came to the conclusion that nothing was worth watching. The worst thing on was the news. Nothing good ever shows up on the news. Robberies, drive-bys, and rape. All news is bad news. I turned the TV off, thinking I might as well take a look at my homework. I rummaged through my book bag and located my crumpled homework assignments. History: Summarize the American Revolution. English: Summarize today’s lesson. I balled up the history paper and threw it towards the garbage can. SWISH! I thought studying the past was pointless; it was all about now. You can’t change the past and tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I flattened out my English homework, got a notebook and pen from my book bag and began writing.

To me, writing is easier than talking. I can lose myself writing, but if I have to express my
feelings verbally I won’t know where to start. Writing is my get away. Writing and music is all I have, but music is my true passion. It helps me get through the hard times. When I listen to music it takes me away. I feel weightless and free. I love any type of music. Rap, R&B, jazz, soul, and instrumental. It’s all good. I’ve never played before but I know if I learned I would be great. That’s my ticket out of here, but that’s wishful thinking. Once you’re here you don’t leave. The events of life remind me of that constantly. Where I come from is a prison. Brooklyn. It’s a prison without walls and bars. Where the sentence is life and there’s no bail. If you do make it out you don’t ever look back. That’s how life here goes.
I’m not scared of much. But then again you can’t be. They see your fear and they turn it against
you. Fear can get you killed. I wasn’t trying to die anytime soon. Dying is one of the few things I am scared of. I always wondered how I would die and what happens afterward. Is there a life after death or is everything just a dark open space? The scariest part was not knowing. I hated not knowing. I didn’t know how, where, or when. I was completely clueless. I guess I wasn’t scared of dying. I was scared of not being in control of my own life. That’s where the fear lied. Like I said, fear can get you killed. I told this to no one. They would laugh or they wouldn’t listen. Who could I tell anything to? There was no one I could talk to. I was completely alone yet surrounded. The only person who I was remotely connected to was my Mom. She was the only person I had. My dad left a month

Oh, wow, this is really good!
You made me want to read the whole thing with just a small introduction. Hoorah for you!
Introductions usually bore me to tears, but yours was very captivating and suspenseful!
It’s amazing. You have a real talent.
Give yourself a high five!