The looming smell of gasoline fills the street. Poisoning our lungs with toxin fume. No victims can escape its grasp. Trapped in this pathetic neighborhood. Where devoted criminals roam around the streets freely without a care in the world. Because of no security in the hood, their's no hope in keeping it in control.
For that reason alone, that makes us worthless. All of us who live in this Dreadful place call the hood, are worthless. My mom is worthless. My dad worthless.
I'm worthless.
I live in a place where revenge, corruption, and Slaughter is the norm. If someone told me there was a rainbow around the corner, I probably think they're lying.
Trust no one, because if you do just expect multiple knifes literally thrown behind your back.
Sorry if I make my story sound more difficult then yours. I just don't give a damn about your life. I figured if my life so horrible and worthless, why care for another?
Beside that, I consider myself a very volatile person. I'm super happy that I am a very violent person because if I wasn't I would had bruises scattered around my body. Even though I'm a girl it doesn't matter because in my hood all we worried about is whether or not we can fight and be champion's.
Our motto is; Only the strong survives.
So are you strong or nah? And don't lie. I can tell if you're lying.
"Mira! Mira! Get your ass down here. Mira!" seems like my worthless peice of shit of a father is calling me. The way he is calling me tells me he's drunk again, like always.
Slowly twisting my body to the edge of the bed. Just sitting there and collect myself by breathing in the soft perfume of vanilla and lavender that lingers in my bedroom. Keeping me eyes close and take another deep breath in, holding it. Then breathing out. Reminding myself where I'm at and whom I'm going to be talking too. I do this everytime to keep myself in check so I won't harm myself or my father. Every time I get the urge to punch something or wreck things up.
"Mira!" hearing my name one more time I get up off my bed. And walk towards my door, my feet making creaking noises on the floor alerting my father I'm coming.
Since the steps that leads to down stairs is next to my room, I was fast enough to make it to the last step quick enough; before my father call my name again.
"What took you so long, slut?huh? Is someone up there?" My father with a cold beer in his left hand, while his right hand pointed at me.
"No father." saiding it emotionless. Without a care in the world.
His face fumes up, he was clearly irked with my response. He swing his bottle of cold beer near my head. I didn't flinched or moved because I knew he didn't have the guts to harm me. He couldn't hurt the only thing that's keeping us alive. I work as a stripper and waitress. You would be surprised how rich you can be as a stripper, but the consequences is being too popular. Always at risk of being attacked or raped. That's why I only do it in the morning then work as a waitress for the rest.
Strangely enough my father still looks mad. How appealing.
"Don't talk to me that way bitch. Get Out! Get Out now! I don't want to see your worthless slut self in my house," well technically it's my house but I'll let that slide. "Leave and never come back. Die. Just die. Die sult!" he started messing up the living room, which I cleaned up yesterday.
At this point I'm done. I'm done listening to people. I'm done reasoning. I'm done working my ass off for someone who doesn't appreciated my time and effort to keep a roof over our head.
I am done.
Walking into an ally way I use as a short cut to get to the playground I play at as a kid. I hear someone footsteps behind me. I stop automatically.
"Hey who'--" Before I could asked. A shot gun fired into my chest. Blood oozing out my chest. You remember when I told you no one cares for the hood because if you shot... Well tough luck because there's no hospital.
There's only one thing running inside my mind right now.
Why the fuck did I let a coward kill me?