𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝑰𝑿

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 9: Letting it out

Syre

Los Angeles, 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚
June 12th, 10:24 am

❣︎

It's either the streets or the law that's gon get you eventually, no matter the cause behind it. Could be word of mouth or a planned attack, that goes for both of 'em gangs. And it don't matter who you are, status only get you a bigger target than what you already got, learnt that the hard way. But regardless of knowing this, the rush of it don't never stop. The thought that you playing a cat and mouse game only make you go harder, make you want that shit even more.

Eventually, you get addicted. You crave that feeling of adrenaline that go through you soon as you pull that trigger and watch that body drop, smell the blood that reeks with the longer they leak out in front of you. It's that sight of they eyes stunned open just staring at you, lifeless, that power of taking another life. The sound of them taking that last breath, watching it happen in front of you.

In that moment, you ain't thinking bout nobody else. Not family, not kids, especially not a bitch who home wide awake and crying cause you just missed her 15th phone call. She sitting up watching the red, white, and blue mixing colors of the ambulance and police cars racing down the street right past her house. Going in the same direction you just told her you was gon be at, and suddenly her mind roaming wondering what side of the gun you stand on.

Every lil nigga, from Compton to Long Beach, done been exposed to ways of living and surviving round here. Cause that's what it is, survival. I live comfortably now, ain't catching me on no corner selling shit, but that just make the target on my back even greater. You can't be the best if someone already in that position, and the only way to be the best is to get ahead of who already got that title and position. You get second place in a race, you still the loser. You get a shot in at a shoot out but catch one to the head, you still a corpse.

I had dreams for myself from young, but it wasn't those normal dreams these other kids got. Wasn't no NBA or NFL dream, didn't have nothing to do with fame but everything to do with fortune. I wanted to be where I'm at since a lil kid, I wanted to run all this shit and put blood sweat and tears into that shit. Except the tears stopped, the sweat lessened, and it became just blood. But not mine.

Yet even if it was, death didn't scare me, that shit was inevitable no matter who you are. I lost a countless amount of niggas at the hands of a bullet, maybe a knife, sometimes from the fists of another nigga. Had to stand by mothers staring down at they sons caskets, crying over the lifeless body that was gone in the snap of a finger.

That's what scared me. One of those mommas one day being mine, and her having to stare down into a casket her son laid in. My kids having to walk past and wave goodbye to they pops. The only woman, outside of my momma, who ever had my heart having to watch me get lowered into the ground.