“Born to Die”

                     
                     
        “Born to Die”        

I guess the only person there is, to better tell my story, is me
and it starts out the same way it would quickly and without notice, are
fair warning end. A young innocent inner city youth, new to the ways of
the world and cruel streets of Los Angeles, a product of despair
and decay, of America’s inner city and gives eloquent voice to one aspect
of the realities of life, for youth convicted, so young in life, to have to
grasp and weigh and ultimately master. First hand introductory, to the brutal

black ghetto experience, he has faced, every day of his brutal birthing life.
Hustle and flow was the game I grew up in, was familiar with and had to
unfortunately live and be condemned to.  Fatherless and mother
addicted to her drugs of choice, (All) of them. What was a kid with my
stacked against me odds at birth to do, a marked product, of the
thrown away section, of our society, whereby status decides whether you
live or die, survival of the fittest are was it, simply a government,
built upon an eradification   process, to bleed our society, free of
public aid dependency, in layman’s terms, we the poor part of society, the
part that don't make the evening news, if they were to suddenly
become missing. A kid with my whole line not worth a dime to any one, not even
my mom’s….The strongest was to be my creed before it’s all over,
this unfortunately, will also be my demise..The one that I will live by
and I will die by. A young kid entrusted to a dog eat dog world, I would
learn to live, rather than live to learn and (then die), when that final
day arrives.  Twelve and the only teachings I had in life, is that which
was taught by my own recognizance, a teaching I was sure to get high marks
in the world of drugs and crime...These were my true parents,(the streets)
never was I to know the warm of a mother's warm bosom against the face of
a child in need of nurture and care, nor was I privilege to a father, who
taught me the ways of a man and standing against all oppositions and walk
away when I should have…Mine unfortunately was the ways of being knocked
down, get up and try it again, until you get it right, no matter what the
size of your foe. Many a days I would find myself, beat to the pulp but
life wasn't to be on my side, nor was sympathy. So me being the
punching bag I was as a kid, would take my two black eyes, bloody nose and
swollen lips, back home without thinking twice of the consequences
awaiting me there and from whom, I am my own responsibility. This city,
this neighbor hood even this house, was my nemesis, no safe haven never
resided here, if that’s what you wonna call it,(safe haven), to me it was
more of walking out of one hell, the city streets, into another the only
solace I had known..I had no one and no one claimed me, I was more ignored
here,(home) which made the fighting almost acceptable in my book, at least
in that world, I was getting the attention I was missing from (someone),
anyone, for that matters. Even if it was negative attention...That someone
was “Trey” a (20) year old known to be gang member, liked by no one but
feared by all, our meeting wouldn't be no accident and one that will be
regretted even after my short lived life. This day just as all others,
started out me finding moms on the floor, no not in the sense of dead as
in body but true to the cause of being so sucked in by the heroin needle
she had dangling from her bloody arm and barely able to even breath. To
any outsider, the response would have been a quick call to (911)  but
I am not just any outsider and the game she play and live is not one new
to me. Hers is the game of slow death but as of now, just as always, I
will remove the needle embedded in her arm and place her safely once again
in bed., tucking her in, in the same manner, as I a child, should have
been tucked in, by her the parent but owe-well, how can you miss that
which you never had or could stake claim to. Continuing to up hold my tradition,
I said my prayers, though sometimes I feel they were never heard but I say
them anyway, one of the only things taught me by moms back in the day that
I will hold onto always.”Dear God watch over me, as you did your sheep,
allow these weary eyes and tattered bones a good night’s sleep, if I shall
stumble are ever to faultier, take my hand and lead me to your altar. If
I Shall die before my wake, I have nothing to give but this life, you
may take, Amen.” Suddenly, what’s up (LiL) Chris, I heard someone yell, a
voice that was familiar and I could tell, from a mile away, it was
my mom’s voice yelling, “don’t forget to take out the trash, before you
leave for school and unlike any other kid, breakfast was just as much a
dream as it was a nightmare...Oatmeal once again was my nightmare and my
dream of toast, eggs bacon and a serving of grits wasn't to be had, not in
this life time at least, but today was to be different from yesterday,
“Trey” had made arrangements for he and I too meet at the corner market,
next to the new (5) and dime store, that gave way, to some of the more
noticeable, newly (renovations), of the older buildings, in the neighbor
(hood) and by far, there will be no school for me today, been waiting all
week to see what “Trey” had in store for me and his means and reasons are
little, to be known, must not be too bad, for him to feed me, like a king,
for one time in my life. Who needs school anyway, school was felling me in
the academic department, not me giving up and felling it in life. I was
alone, barely surviving from one “struggling” day, to the next and
then steps “Trey”     meeting him, the block tougher
than tough guy, has his own business and all the girls, jewelry and wine,
all the things a young (14) year old such as Chris, thought to be “cool
and popular” he not realizing that the game of life that will soon value
his introduction, isn’t one known for fame and glamour but one primarily,
of ruthless drug traders, producers and distributors. A story told he
throughout his small life, by his mom, of, “getting involved with this
type of people and (owing) them that, which you don’t have, yet each time,
you attempt to replenish your drug of choice, (any and all), you promise,
again those empty promises, to pay a toll, you don’t have and never will,
due to falling continuously behind.”Chris’s spider senses kicked in and
began to wonder, why such a detailed story, from his mom, as if, she had
literary wrote the book, on this spoken subject” and by me being young,
never understood, that mom did in fact submit, some of her own pages, of
(life living on the edge), in this, (subject) book and owe, do she know,
(quite well)…… With her insert in place, It begins to ring then echo in my
head, that mom was the (subject story) and fear replace the once
advertised sought out feelings of anticipation..Yet in moms eyes, I don’t
exist and her interest in this story was of the glamour she herself once
saw in it rather than to warn me of the unavoidable consequences but I did
not let her know, I knew, in this world I was all alone. So “Trey” will
fill that void, where (life) once dictated and today will be the
beginning, of that new life. Another voice that rung high on my list 
now,” Trey” approached from the rear of the (5) and dime and gestured with
a wave and a light whisper,” what’s up young blood,” you hungry, let’s go
get a bite to eat, some breakfast, I was hooked, turning back to the old
me was no option now and why should it be, with all this to chose from or
own all, “around the corner” he waved me on behind him, and I, as a newly
constructed puppet. There is a “Moms & Pops” breakfast Inn, around the
corner from the (5) and dime store. As we stepped through the squeaky,
un-oiled,” steel “double doors the aroma that filled the air,
was fulfilling to the nose and filled all the nasal sense but did nothing
for the stomach, accept myself salivating at the mouth. I have no
money to be here was my thinking, so what was Trey thinking, suddenly out
of nowhere, “Trey” spoke out, in a lyrical tone, “Yow young blood, money
isn't no matter, this is on me, chose whatever your heart’s desire, was
the response he heard and hoped to hear.”A sentence, that won me over, as
soon as I saw the assortment of what was considered the special for the
day. Chris eyes suddenly became as big as his empty stomach, seeing items
only dreams, are made of and each item he chose, he secretly pinched
himself, to ensure he was not dreaming, only to wake up to his long lived
nightmare and in fact, he wasn't and the only repercussions
gained, was a whole lot of bruise marks from his pinches. I must have died
and gone to heaven, I have never seen so much food before in my life and
to be now invited, to taste any and all of it, is that dream I had,
that was evading me but will now come true. A guilt feeling fell upon me,
to know that, tonight will be the same routine eating for moms, no food
for the stomach but for the arms, there will be plenty,(her heroin
addiction has become her only friend and craving in life, owe-well, there
is nothing I can do about this. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom but
don’t like, the directions she chose in life, which led to our parvarished position
to this day, (nowhere). All I can say is that today’s worries will
hopefully be tomorrows learnt lessons. Suddenly realities again set in, as
“Trey” yelled, “Get your grub on.”------------------------- To be continued.

Jim 

P.S.
The child in this  "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"">image is not dead, just a victim to be, to the sad
realities, of what society and neglect, from all those he grew to
know and entrusted with his care, convicted him to at birth. A
product of his environment to be, due to his unfortunate
dealt, (life
to be)....Fictitious....