Tuesday, January 19, 2016


Once again, all I see is black. It is the cold and eerie silence I feel as I look for a way out, but I

see nothing, and nothing, with a side of nothing. Wait, I remember that I have a blindfold on so I

could sleep better, although it is scary, and maybe I should stop using it. It is hurting my eyes by

putting too much pressure on them, making me wake up grouchy and rude. I take it off,  and I

see Tyrone standing there as if he was going to take one of my cigarettes. He thinks he’s

smooth. He walks closer to my bed, closer… closer…. and closer. I’m tired of him stealing

my stuff. He is within foot range right now, with my rage building up. I can’t help but kick like a

horse on steroids. I kicked him square in the nuts. He is more surprised than hurt, and then it hits

him. He started screaming louder than a tornado siren. That’s the story on how Tyrone died.

Just kidding. He lost his voice screaming like a six year-old on cocaine.

As a smoker, it would hurt his throat when he puffed a pack. He started smoking when he

was in 6th grade I think, at least that’s what he told me, I should have known; we were in the

same classes. He was influenced by the kids who normally would bully him. Instead of dealing

with it violently, he followed what the teachers told him to do; snitch. This wasn’t smart at all,

including the fact that they would beat him up after class. There was that one teacher, where

she was straight out of alabama, the redneck teacher. You know, that one teacher where you

really don’t learn anything, but you act like it because you feel as if she will beat the crap out of

someone. Since we have been in the same schools together for years; you would think I would

have saw this and beat them up, but obviously not. In history, we were just learning about this

one guy named Martin Luther King Jr., but nobody knew who he was. I guess maybe he had

something to do with mexicans or space or something like that.

Anyway, we were having fun learning about it, and Mrs. Betty-Jo was getting a little angry because her can of Bud Light was almost out. Then the kids came over to Tyrone, I think because he was black, they would tease him. It was the south, it wasn’t exactly diverse, but these weren’t just harmless bullies; they were like demented, future KKK or ISIS members. They were bad, okay? Mrs. Betty-Jo, normally found her ruler stick and slapped it against the chalkboard; she was mad. It turns out that she was mad because her son had got into trouble in his highschool, another fight. Mrs. Betty-Jo was aware that she couldn’t get up and leave the class for that. It was bad timing for the bullies, because right after Mrs. Betty Jo put the phone down; they instantaneously started tormenting Tyrone, who happened to be sitting at the back of the class, where nobody could see them. Tyrone was scared to tell Mrs. Betty-Jo because she always gave out detentions for interrupting free time or class. Nobody wanted to stay near her. She looked like Honey Boo Boo’s mom, and she had skin tags, while reeking of Bud Light. The things that they were saying were a “little” racist, and the leader lit up a cigarette that he got from his dad’s truck, causing an addiction that Tyrone would soon regret. Mrs. Betty Jo was red with a temper, and she heard everything that was happening. She gets up, which almost shakes the whole classroom, and stomps closer and closer to the kids. She grabbed their “leader”, picked him up, and pinned him on the wall next to Tyrone, as she spits out the words “ I WILL END YOU!” To me it was kind of funny, with the hillbilly voice she had, I couldn’t help but laugh. So did everybody else, that was one of the funnest days in school that I remember. Not for Tyrone.
Now, about 4 years after school got out and in college, My friend and I are roommates. As you can tell from the beginning of the story, we are very friendly. Our little incident earlier was a little stupid of me; I have to present almost everything, because we are in all of the same classes. We had to do a project on Nelson Mandela, and we looked up a picture of him. Our project was just dumb, we had the facts, but the wrong person apparently. Our professor said that we had a picture of Morgan Freeman, which now that I think about it, they look the same, look it up. We both now have an average of  D+ in that class, I personally believe that the professor is just jealous of how smart I am. I’m not smart. One day in class, I would say about a couple weeks after our little project incident, we hear our alarm clock for school, the last one. This means that we only have 5 minutes to get dressed and go to school, recently we have been getting lates upon lates upon lates, so we will get a whole afternoon of detention, a referral, and our program we have will kick us out of financial aid. We can’t have that, if we do then our whole career of what we have been working on for so long, will be just wiped away like a bug off a windshield. We are hurrying, as fast as we have ever went, and we are just winging it. I already have my jeans on, and I am trying to get my gym red nike shirt on, I pack my gatorade, some snacks, and a fresh new pair of shoes for basketball practice. I already got out of the door and headed to the stairs, thinking Tyrone was right behind me. Before this, everyday I would wake up and think about how we got here, I was proud of how successful Tyrone was, he just got an offer to play for the Minnesota Timberwolves, he didn’t even get a scholarship like me, and he went to the next level.
As I walk further and further down the stairs, I hear a loud bang, as if somebody dropped something really heavy. That is when I heard the gasp for air. It utters out my name, “Steven.” I get goosebumps and ran up the stairs as fast as I could. It was Tyrone, he collapsed and started reaching out towards the railing trying to lift himself up. I had no idea of what happened, so i picked him up, ran outside with him on my shoulders, and put him in the passenger seat of my car. I feel his head hit the window as soon as I close it. I run around the car to get to the driver’s seat and start up the engine. There is blood at my glove compartment, coughing it up it seems. about 2 minutes away from the hospital, I see his body go limp and dead-like. Not a peep. I’m rushing, faster than earlier; I run two stoplights, and a stop sign. I hear an ambulance’s siren and wonder if the same thing is happening to another helpless kid… My mind is racing, faster than it ever has, or ever will be. Thoughts are running through my mind, wondering if he’s gonna be OK, or what is wrong with him, or even... BAM!… We collide with a firetruck. There is a flash, and once again, I see the eerie darkness. Along with the smell of gasoline.  

                    …………...TO BE CONTINUED…………...

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