The Life of a Ratchet

Every other bitch, Every other day

Rhonda wakes up in her queen-sized bed on any old early Monday morning.

She automatically sucks her teeth as she sits up in bed, not wishing to go to this "ghetto ass school." As she'd label it.

She gets up slowly, hesitantly, and begrudgingly, making her way over to her fairly smaller room.

The early morning despair makes the walk feel like a sixty minute walk, when in reality, it was about three seconds.

She wipes her eyelids, clearing her blurred vision and smirks at the outfit she had picked out lastnight in the dark.

It is an outfit that she bought off of shein, hanging on a velvet hanger. It resembled Cher Horowitz's iconic outfit in the movie Clueless.

She imagined walking in with the outfit in slow motion, everyone looking at her. But then she thought to herself...

"What if I get jumped..." she thinks to herself, jokingly, knowing she can handle whatever this school throws at her.

Ugh! As if.

She pushes the outfit aside, opting for something more "Rhonda." She grabs a plain white crop top, a cropped sage green jacket, baggy jeans, and her whites forces.

"Streetwear and Y2K combined is always a fashion win." She admires the figure in the mirror, slowly caressing her hourglass torso.

After she's dressed she continues her morning schedule of brushing her teeth, unplugging her phone, making herself breakfast, and then playing with Pissy, the family's pet pitbull.

Pissy runs around the livingroom, bursting with energy, anticipating play time. The dog jumps up on Rhonda, putting her paws on Rhonda's thighs.

"Pissy getcho ass off my shit." She says disgustedly.

Pissy jumps down and Rhonda scoffs, walking out the door. She's usually not this snappy, but today feels off. Like she knows something is coming for her.

She walks out her house, down the path of her gated front yard, holding her bright green backpack by the straps, letting it dangle beside her ankles.

She observes her surroundings.

Music blasting from her neighbor's house and cars passing the road in front of the house.

The streets and air adorn smog which ghostly lingers in place.

The skunky smell of weed, gas, and the unkept sewers sting her nose hairs.

The air tastes bitter with a hint of acid and feels cool in the fall weather.

She takes in a breath of tainted air and stretches.

"Meh." This is her normal everyday life.

Walking to and from school was the most dangerous part of the day. The hood is filled with crime and injustice.

Rhonda recalls the time she was almost shot in a drive-by that had nothing to do with her. A stray bullet ricocheted off of a lamp post and came close enough to her head that she heard the air from the bullet beside her head.

She shakes the bad experience out of her head and continues her walk.

She's alone and walking elegantly down the sidewalk, making her way to Hoodsville Highschool.

Walking around the corner of an she's grabbed by a hand.

Rhonda doesn't even bother screaming, knowing nobody will help in the hood, so she swings a quick right hook.

"OUCH- Rhonda.. girl it's me!" Her bestfriend says in a hurt tone. She clutched her cheek.

"Girllllllll BYE. You shoulda never been grabbing people like a creep." They begin walking, now side to side.