Born Into Death – Intro

I woke up only to realize it was all a rather abstract dream. To think that I myself could ever be more than just some poor kid from Inglewood. I grew up in a terrible neighborhood full of alcoholics and drug addicts, the more the better they always would say. The words family and friends no longer had any meaning behind them to me. My father was an unemployed drunk who didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. On a daily basis he would go out drinking late into the night and come home drunker than ever. He would get home from the bars drunk screaming and yelling as if he was a lunatic from an insane asylum. He would tell my mother to get ready for bed, which meant to be ready to sleep with him. The man thought because he was her husband he would treat her however he wanted. Well one night he came home completely wasted and had a crappy day at work. There was a dead silence in the house that night, before we all went to sleep. As I laid in my bed, I was able to hear them, their voices through the walls of the building. He was yelling at the top of his lungs for my mother to take her clothes off, but she wouldn’t. She told him she did not want to have sex with him anymore while he was drunk. This infuriated him into a cold blooded rage in which he said, “If you don’t take those damn clothes off and sleep with me, I am going to kill your son and make you watch, then I will kill you.” Putting up a fight against my father would have been useless for my mother to try since she was no match compared to his strength or power. She began to undress herself while he watched her every move. I heard a loud slap come from the room, and knew exactly what had happened. He had started to beat my mother for the way she acted towards him earlier. I continued to hear it, one after another and began to have fear in my heart for my mothers life. I was so scared that I figured that maybe if I cried and screamed enough that my father would send her in to my room to comfort me to sleep and while she was in here he would pass out in the other room. She didn’t come to my room. He did. His face was as red as a tomato, the anger was building up inside him the more and more he did not get his way. He grabbed one of my school books from my backpack and began to talk to me as if he was interested in my school work, while still walking closer and closer towards me. Finally he approached where my bed was and smacked me across the back of the head of my social studies book. I started to cry but he kept hitting me over and over. He was yelling that I was the son of the devil and that I was the biggest mistake in the world. After about 6 hits from the social studies book, he dropped and and grabbed me by the arm and started dragging me towards the hallway. I tried to stay on my bed but the sheets just followed with me, there was nothing I could do to keep what was about to occur from happening. I was pulled all the way to the bottom under the staircase where he opened the door to the smallest closet in the house and tossed me in. I went flying towards the wall of the closet and slammed my back against it. I felt as if I had just got hit by a train right across my back. I fell to the ground crying and sobbing, screaming that I was sorry for what I had done. All he had to say was,”Trust me after tonight you are going to know what to means to be sorry!” He shut the door to the closet and then locked it shut, because I heard the clank from the key inside the door knob. I was alone, locked inside a closet under the stairs. This is the story of my life and how I died. (to be continued)